DRESS FOR SUCK-CESS

Dress For Suck-cess
An UnReal Estate Film Treatment:
C’mon - tell the truth - you’ve seen many agents who present such a bad image you know even their own parole officers wouldn’t hire them. Today at an open house I saw an agent (with his client) who was decked out in shorts and flip flops. By contrast, at the same open house there was an agent in a very tasteful skirt. However, the agent’s name was Steven. Okay, I made up the last one, but you get my point. Thus, I have decided to create a mini film treatment for your consideration based on these characters. I will be accepting submissions of resumes for those who wish to play the lead roles. Please remove all coffee stains from photos before submitting.
Fade In:
As the sun lifts its sleepy head over the Los Angeles skyline, Vivian enters Motley Real Estate, her equally sleepy head balancing an enormous straw hat designed to cover her unwashed hair. Grabbing a cup of java, she makes her way to her desk as Tommy watches from across the room, enjoying her entrance. Vivian’s tight skirt screams in pain as Vivian sits, and her ample bosom tries to escape the confines of the extremely low-cut sweater she is almost wearing. “Wow,” Tommy sighs as he pokes one finger through the hole in the knee of his jeans, “those mountains deserve their own zip code.” As he is visualizes skiing those Black Diamond slopes, Vivian wipes coffee off her listing sheets and shoves them into her purse.

In the chair next to him, Hilda grins as she watches Tommy watching Vivian. “She’s dressed up for a listing appointment,” Hilda informs him as she stirs her coffee with her long acrylic nail. When she withdraws her finger from the hot liquid, Hilda notices that the nail has melted into a perfect question mark. It now matches the other nails. The lovely hue of her talons reminds her of lemon tarts. In fact, she thinks, I may even have some lemon tart still hiding under one of them.

Tommy, still observing Vivian, sighs again. ”Oh, I thought she was just returning from her date last night,” he responds. “You know, Hilda, I have a listing appointment today myself.”

“Great,” Hilda says with her usual enthusiasm. “The spiky hair and all those chains you have on really do make you look cool. Are you meeting a musician?”

“No,” Tommy grins, “this is a big fish from a stock brokerage in Beverly Hills. My dad referred him to me. That’s why I dressed up.”

“Well I’m sure he’ll love that Snoop Dogg Tee shirt, Tommy,” she says while wetting one finger and rubbing some dirt off the heel of her worn hooker pumps. “Be sure to ask Mel over there for some pointers - he deals with a lot of executive types.”
Cut To:
Hilda is using a magic marker to polish the toe of her shoe when Mel slides his chair across the floor, going zero to twenty in 10 seconds at the thought of sucking up a little attention. He lands squarely at her side. When his chair stops rolling, he touches his heavily sprayed coif to make sure every hair is still in place, pulls his powder blue trouser leg down over his pink sock, then adjusts his mauve jacket. A clump of rogue chest hair peeks over his top button like a rabid Pekingese. “Ohhhh,” smiles Hilda at the whiff of his pungent cologne.

“Hey, man” Tommy grins, “that spray-on tan of yours sure warms up the whole office like a nuclear reactor. I like that hint of orange that you’ve been turning lately.”

“Thanks, son,” Mel oozes, “I’m cooler than the Dogg, that’s fo shizl. I heard Hilda mention that you needed some pointers with the executive types. The best advice I can give you is to wear a jacket, kid. I have a plaid one in my Vette if you want to borrow one. And get yourself some reptile shoes.”

“Alligator? But they’re endangered!”

“Hell, then get Iguana, I don’t care. I’m just trying class ya up a bit, kid.”
And Along Comes Harry
Overhearing this, lanky Harry Houston stops while passing by. He shakes what’s left of yesterday’s lunch out of his long dreads and props himself onto the edge of Tommy’s desk. ”If you really want to get business man,” he says while weighing in on the subject, ”ask Georgia what her secret is. She closed four deals this week.”

“You sure know a lot about the office for a janitor,” Tommy replies in admiration, backing off from the smoke-and-cigarette cloud that clings to Harry like a second skin.

“I’m an agent, Porcupine Head,’” Harry corrects him while cleaning his cigarette stained nails with the tip of a pair of scissors. He sways gently as if imagining the ocean breeze in his hair. The heels of his boots are worn down so well that he is able to rock back in forth like a Weeble and still remain standing - always an advantage for Harry, who tends to nap on his feet a lot.

Shoving a pencil between his spiked locks, Tommy scratches his head and shoots Harry a puzzled look. “Oh, sorry about the misunderstanding, Dude,” he mumbles. “Are you referring to that Georgia over there? She closed four deals this week? But isn’t she our cleaning woman???”

“Nope,” replies Harry. “That pine smell comes from her skin ointment.”

“…Oops, my bad.” Tommy says with chagrin. “Hey, Georgia,” he calls out to her, “what’s your secret for success?”
Enter Georgia
Georgia rambles over, stopping occasionally to yank up her pantyhose, which are migrating South like a flock of geese. “Oh, I just know how to handle myself,” she brags, “and I pay close attention to details, Toby.” (Tommy doesn’t correct her on his name, bowing to her seniority. In fact, he momentarily even considers changing his name out of respect.)

“Well, I plan to learn from the best, Georgia,” he explains.

“Well, then pay attention, kid,” Georgia growls, a bit perturbed that Tommy’s attention has already drifted. In fact, the entire group has suddenly been rendered speechless by:
A Cloud of Candi
There is shock and awe at the sight of Candi, the new agent with the dark roots and the platinum mane. Her back side is definitely a distraction to the entire group as she bends over in her napkin-size skirt to retrieve her eye pencil. As her skirt hikes up and momentarily becomes a belt, they all cock their heads to one side to get the wide lens view of Candi’s candy. Suddenly Candi uprights herself, looks around, and then slaps herself loudly on the forehead. “Oops,” she giggles, ”I think I’m in the wrong office. I’m with the real estate company down the hall!” She sashays toward the door, bounces off the door frame, and loses a few more IQ points in the collision. As she makes her spectacular exit, her Poppin Fresh giggles trail behind her behind.

After a few silent minutes, they all shake off their shock and drift back into the conversation. Well, all except Harry, who is now asleep while swaying in his rockabye boots. Vivian slithers over, her hat shading her eyes and her hips shading the rest of the office. “So who is your clientele, and why are you able to close so many deals, Georgia?” Vivian presses.

They all lean in closer to hear her response, knowing that she has a secret that somehow eludes the rest of them. What is it? How can they also have the secret to cultivating great client relationships? How do they make the same impression on people that Georgia does?
The Secret of Suckcess
Georgia leans back in her chair and props her thick ankles on the desk, her feet protruding over the sides of her shoes like two over-baked popovers. When she raises her arms to beckon forth her followers, the stains that line the armpits of her blouse form a juicy smile. She whispers dramatically as she imparts her secrets for a winning career: “As you have probably noticed, I am the the queen of dressing for success.”

Silence. Then: “Ahhhhh,” they exhale in unison. Georgia nods her head and shoots them all a supercilious grin. “I was taught by my father who was a very dapper business man.”

“Was he an agent also?” Tommy inquires, taking notes on a napkin.

“Hardly!” she sniffs, pausing for drama. Then, as if giving a benediction, she delivers the secret: ”He ran a clown college.” She waits for the effect. The group, one by one, absorbs the information with slack jaws and nods, unified in their appreciation of her sartorial heritage. Georgia then stands imperiously, her slip winking at them from below her hemline, and gives them all a Queen Elizabeth wave. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must be on my way,” she apologizes, “I need to tend to my client base. They adore me and they love my sense of style.”

“Are they clowns, too?” Tommy asks.

“No, Toby, it’s the Square-Dancing Society of Bakersfield.”

A reverential silence then: Loud applause breaks out as she exits, one broken heal clickety, clack clacking as if to salute her splendor. Several agents wipe tears from their eyes.
After a beat, Vivian jumps into Tommy’s arms and throws her hat in the air. (Cue the theme from “Officer and a Gentleman.”) And then…
Fade To Black
Casting Director’s Note: Any similarities to real persons is accidental. Yeah, fat chance. If you feel you are exactly right for any of these roles - and some of you KNOW you are - please turn in your R.E. license before auditioning. And keep your dirty shoes off my casting couch!

I just got caught on 2 Typos in my post about The Caravan From Hell - which is especially funny considering my last post was all about typos! I LOVE that!!! Thank you, and a pancake to both of you (see blog that follows). Let's also give a RazzBerry Award to Spell Cheque! (Um...that was a yoke, fiends...I mean "friends.")

WINOS AND FLYING OVENS

Why Agentz Shud Prufrede

The MLS should be on Oprah’s Reading List. Seriously. There are so many typos and outrageous remarks in the MLS that it makes for great leisure reading. The newspaper ads certainly add to the merriment. I love houses with features such as a “slimming pool” or a “crook’s kitchen,” especially if those features are in a “Post and Bean” house. And what could be more entertaining than a “barge yard” (for your barges of course) or a “wall of widows?” Thus, I have compiled some of my favorite typos. So take a moment to smile, fiends. (Uh, I meant “friends.”)

Would YOU Buy This House???

Large slitting room (Is this Tony Soprano’s house?)
House on Beautiful wok street (But what if I don’t cook?)
Libary with built in shivs (In all fairness, perhaps this is in a prison.)
Disclosure: Crack on back side (Relax, we all have one.)
Call lasting agent (There aren’t many of us left!)
Oven flew in from Italy (Paid for with frequent flyer miles)
Built in wino bar (My favorite kind!)
Lunch severed (One misplaced r and you’re dead.)
Snacks and drunks okay… (My sentiments exactly.)
Bang hard (We just won’t go there).

Let’s Sell This Sucker
Seller moved but furniture strayed (Now that is just visually hysterical)
Brick Drivaway (Mama Mia - Those bricks must have flown in from Italy with the oven.)
Seller in NY - Coming out soon (This was in West Hollywood…think about it.)
Plumbing needs motivation (Way too much information.)
Terrorist yard (Another head-scratcher.)
Pouter room (A place to go when the first payment is due)
Call Frist (Will the Senator filibuster for me?)
Beautiful terpentine tiles in shower (Huh?)
Rear entry blocked off (Eat prunes.)
Pieceful feeling (Especially when in the shiv room)
Seller can’t say no (There’s a 12 step program for that.)
Seller says Gas is a problem (His plumbing must “need motivation” also.)

Weird and Random
Rooster somewhere in the neighborhood, but not for long. (Need I say more?)
Screams reported at twilight open house were coyotes we think. (Or a rooster perhaps?)
The foundation bolted (But the house stayed???)
Grass fireplace starter (Perhaps this home was on the tundra.)
Owner says Dog likes the taste of people. (This was just damn funny!)
Built-in smoker (Grandpa won’t leave.)
Strange glass windows (I’m too dumb to make this stuff up.)
Cemetery nearby (That must be a big sales motivator.)
Ass is (Seriously – I just can’t take it.)
Agents to be split down the middle. (I sense a need for anger management classes here.)
No smaking please (But you deserve one upside your thick head.)
Close to Therapy, Rehab and Shopping (One of those choices is bound to work.)
Designer Don. (A decorating offer you can’t refuse!)

And in Case You Need Your Own Motivation:

Seller will look at all offers but has been saying no a lot. (Are you kidding me?)
Call then go. But call again if you can’t get in. Then try again. (Fool me once…fool me twice…)
Call for show times. No kids. Seller may be there and can’t handle anything less than four feet tall. (Short agents should stay clear also.)
Seller says he’ll give dog to buyer. Check with city for past complaints. Cute dog.
Does anyone want a noisy bird? (To feed to a “cute dog”?)
Must sell. Not a short sale. Seller has just had it. (I love this.)
Hysterical Home (Is it in the Hysterectomy Books?)
Recently bombed for fleas. (That may have been overkill.)
Marina Del Ray houseboat with great living style. Ask about leaks and other issues.

Biggest Sellers, So take Note:

No earthquake insurance. But this is a few miles from the San Andreas Fault so you’ll be fine.
Voted Safest Neighborhood until last year.
Van Nuys: Driveway is shared, but other party doesn’t share too good.
Neighbor on N. side is nasty. You’ve been warned.
Short Sale. Must qualify with lender. Call soon. Lender may go out of business.
Seller leaving state, Going to State of Denial. Kidding. It’s just a bad market.

Okay, so I know what you all are thinking: Los Angeles is not a state of mind…it’s a mindless state. But at least we are colorful and constipated. I mean consistent. Until next week, go in piece.

Did That Come Outta Your Yap???

Hi Everyone,
I hope you enjoy this week's feature blog that I posted on Agent Genius. It's about the outrageous comments we agents hear from buyers and sellers. Turnabout is fair play, so feel free to send me any ridiculous remarks you have heard agents say...and I'm sure there have been plenty. Some of these are real head scratchers:

Did That Really Come Outta Your Yap?
I heard a very odd story that involves Mrs. Butterworth (well, peripherally anyway). Agent and AG writer Matt Stigliano told me about the time he overhead a mother tell her child not to run off because strangers could “chop you up into little pieces and put you into pancakes.” And it was said at the Hollywood Christmas Parade! Will anyone really be surprised when that hapless child someday jumps Mrs. Butterworth and the Hungry Jack guy at an IHOP Yuletide party? I sense a smack down coming…
Let Em Eat Pancakes!
Matt’s anecdote caused my rather perverse brain to recall a few memorable lines I have heard in my own career. My colleagues were all very eager to share a few experiences their own, so consider this the first installment of the “Did that flotsam really come out of your mouth?” sweepstakes. The prize for best reader comments is a Hungry Stack from the Studio City Flapjack Emporium.
Questions That Deserve a Flapjack
1.) “I’d rather have a yard than that pool. Do you think the seller can fill it in for me and plant some grass?” Answer: Only if you are lying at the bottom of it, my friend.
2.) “Will they give us a break on the price if we give them some swag from our concerts?” Answer: Will you please get your hand off my ass?
3.) “I know I haven’t waived contingencies, but my dog died and I can’t bury him at my condo. Can I bury him there?” Agent: “What if the deal falls through?” Buyer response: “Well, I could go dig him up and move him.” Answer: Smack. And here’s another smack just because the last one felt so good.
4.) “Do you think my Laurel Canyon neighbors will mind if I practice drums at home?” Answer: “No, not as long as you don’t interrupt the filming of their porno movies.”
5.) “Can I back out of the deal even though we waived contingencies? I feel the presence of spirits in the bedroom.” Answer: Of course…and let’s add one more dead person to the crowd…because you’re next, you John Edward sycophant.
6.) “Did someone famous live here? Answer: Jimmy Stewart. “Oh, that preacher guy?” Answer: No, that Root Beer guy.
And For the Second Serving…
7.) “Isn’t this where Marilyn Monroe was discovered? Agent Answer: “No, but it’s where she was buried.” True story.
8.) “I want this house, but I only need three bedrooms. Can I get a credit for the fourth?” Answer: Of course…and I’ll have him move the house to the beach and throw in a Beemer while he’s being so generous.
9.) “Why do I have to list the disclosures in writing? Isn’t my word good enough?” (From a musician just out of rehab.) …Need I say more?
10.) “Will the buyer let me keep my furniture here for a month? It looks good, and I won’t have any place to move it until after the holidays.” Answer: Sure, but the pool won’t hold that much.
11.) “Can I take my rose bushes with me?” Why not…and take the whole damn Oak grove while you’re at it.
12.) “Does the buyer need the garage?” HUH – What does this even mean?????
One For the Road
And one for the road for the nonbelievers:
“Do the police patrol here a lot?” Answer: “Yes, all the time.” Buyer’s response: “Then I don’t want the place.” Hmmmm.
Ya know, I think we poor agents have all been traumatized as much as that poor little kid. Mrs. Butterworth, anyone?

Gwen's Post on Agent Genius: The Caravan From Hell"

Hi Everyone, I just wanted to share my latest post on Agent Genius in case you missed it and need a good laugh for the day. Thanks for viewing!

The Caravan From Hell
Yes, we have all had those caravans that were not exactly successful. But there reaches a point when a gal just wants to burn her license. My friend from Nelson Shelton told me a tragic story (hilarious to my sick mind, of course), about a Caravan gone so wrong that Right was just a burg in another galaxy. The agent had advertised, prepared a luncheon, purchased flowers, lit candles, and even said a few Hail Marys before getting her listing ready for the first Brokers Open.
Smoking Will Kill Ya!
The agent decided that a fire in the fireplace would be the final touch in setting the ambience. She lit the fire and went back to her food prep. When she smelled smoke, she realized that she had forgotten that little fireplace device called a ‘flue.’ The instant she opened it, something out of the depths of Hell flew past her face…something too dense to be smoke. In a moment of disbelief that could rival only a Hitchcock film, she looked up to see three bats overhead, freaking out from the smoke. Apparently they had taken the fastest path out of the chimney - the open flue - rather than the upper path to freedom. Or maybe they were just blinded by the smoke. The ratlike creatures were absolutely manic. She reckoned that the screams that were erupting from her prolapsed jaw were not helping matters.
Is There a Continuing Ed Course For This?
Being the brainy agent that she was, she grabbed a broom, opened the wall of French doors, and managed to scoot two of the flying vermin out of the house. Then came the showdown. The remaining bat hovered against a skylight, eyeing her coiffure with a taste for vengeance. In the nick of time, the first agent on caravan arrived at the scene of the disaster. Being the macho sort, he sized up the sitch, told the listing agent to grab a towel and stiffle her screams, and then he mounted a chair. Carefully…oh so carefully, he grabbed the bat with the towel and ran for the door. By this time, he also was screaming like a girly-man. He threw the towel onto the patio, and waited for the bird to break free and head back to Lucifer’s den. The OK Corral had better results.
Some Visitors Just Can’t Take a Hint!
The bat had other plans. Its foot, or talon, or whatever those creepy things have attached to those vampire-like bodies, was stuck in the towel. It tried to launch itself, but the heavy towel kept the evil thing tethered. (Back off, PETA - no vermin was harmed in this rumble!) Now both agents were yelling as they helplessly watched the horror show. Soon a few more agents arrived (packing loaded business cards); and then the Police rushed in (armed with high-tech donuts, no doubt), having heard reports of screaming. Last to join the soiree was the seller, having been alerted at work by a neighbor who was sure a homicide had occured in their normally tranquil neighborhood.
Eight Heads Are Not Always Better Than One
The cop offered to shoot the bat. (Joking) The agents all vied to sell it a condo. (Half-joking) And the seller was pissed about the Egyptian cotton towel used for extrication purposes. (Not joking) Finally one brave cop, not content to wait for Animal Control because his coffee was cooling in the squad car, approached the weary bat. Reluctant to use his pepper spray on such a breeezy day, the Man of Law shook the towel a few times as everyone scattered, screamed, and looked for a nearby bush where they could empty the contents of their stomachs. But no could drag himself away from the adrenalin rush. More agents arrived, too curious to keep driving after seeing the squad car. (Hey - cops are prospects, too!) Finally the bat, having had about all he could take of the noise and hysteria, broke free and escaped. Alas, no one was quick enough to get his email address.
Moral of the Story
(Yes, Virginia, We Agents Still Have Morals.)Check fireplaces before burning anything, especially the Living Evil. Carry your own towels - you never know when you may need to soak up something nasty. If you ever have bats in a fireplace - or anywhere - be sure to get the bat pre-qualified for a loan. In this economy, everything breathing is worth your time.

Gwen's First New Column, As Seen on Agent Genius.com

Come Out of the Closet!
Okay, let’s all be honest – we want everyone out there to see our business as professional and dignified, but I say, “TIME TO COME OUT OF THE CLOSET!” I have heard so many shocking reports of Real Estate high jinks that I decided to share them… and maybe add a moral or two to the mix just for grins. Yes, I’m talking naked women in closets, bats in the chimney, crime scene shockers, and a Mini Cooper in the swimming pool.
I live in L.A., and yes, we are the Mother Lode of Weird, but my first report actually comes from a Realtor friend of mine from back East (dubbed Slow Take) . When I tell you the facts of his memorable event, you’ll know why this hapless soul chooses to remain anonymous.
It seems Slow Take was showing his recently separated, lovely prospective buyer a home on the Jersey Shore. The sun was grinning, there was a lovely breeze dancing in from the ocean, and Slow Take was mentally computing what his commission check was going to look like. (Cue the horn section.) As he and his client looked around the lovely beach house, excitement mounted. Unfortunately, there was more excitement than just the vibration of Slow Take’s wallet.
Moral Number One:
When he heard the back door slam, he and his client paused, all senses on alert. After a few minutes and a cursory look out the back door, Slow Take decided the door had been left unlocked and had simply been nudged by the capricious ocean breeze. Moral Number One: Never Assume Anything – Especially in a Vacant Beach House. As they went on their merry way, the imaginary sound of cash from the ATM caused Slow Take to salivate and his step to quicken.
Moral Number Two:
By the time they reached the bedroom, the buyer was ready to write a check and Slow Take was mentally purchasing his first Mercedes. Then he opened the closet. Moral Number Two: Never Open the Closet After You’ve Heard a Strange Noise. (Doesn’t anyone watch those babysitter horror films besides me?) Yes, there was a half dressed woman in there, frozen in place as though embalmed – nice, huh? But that’s not even the good part of my friend’s story!
After the mutual screaming subsided and garments were gathered, Slow Take re-dressed himself in all his professional dignity and announced that he would have to call the cops because there was obviously some breaking and entering that had taken place. At that point, naked girl picked up her dignity along with her remaining clothing and said with the greatest of self assurance that there would be none of that. She had entered legally – with an agent from another office - with whom she had been enjoying some afternoon delight when they were rudely interrupted. Apparently the agent/lover had high tailed it out the back, leaving her there in all her nonplussed glory.
Moral Number Three:
Slow Take, not to be outdone on the self-assurance scale, demanded to know the agent’s name. Her lover was a new agent Slow Take hardly knew…but someone else in the room apparently did. His buyer gasped and ran like a rabbit on crack back to the car. You guessed it – it turns out that the fleeing agent was her philandering spouse. Slow Take, not too quick on the Up Take, thought his client had just had her sensibilities offended. It took a V8 and a smack to his head before he caught on. Moral Number Three: Don’t Ask Too Many Questions Unless You’re Jack Bauer.
Moral Number Four:
Needless to say, his client’s marriage broke up, but believe it or not, my friend still got the sale! His client had enough money of her own to buy a beach house, but she chose to purchase a different one with no surprises (like a blue dress with a spot) in the closet. My last moral is really for my own satisfaction: Moral Number Four: Never Have a Tryst with a Spineless Agent.
Coming Out of the Closet
Well I just retraced my steps, and it seems we have come full circle back to closets. (We’re coming out, remember?) So next week I’ll tell you about a story from my own office that involves a crime scene during caravan. And who says we don’t have fun? Until next week, remember my motto: SANITY’S NOT ALL IT’S CRACKED UP TO BE.

Oops! Who Clobbered the Mom-n-Pop Investor?

As contractors, we real estate agents have to create ways to compensate for a lack of a benefit package. Perhaps you, too, are in the same situation. As you all know, the goal of the new Bailout Plan is to reduce homeowners' monthly payments to affordable levels. But the plan does NOT apply to real estate investors. This initiative is available to help homeowners retain and refinance their primary residence. However, those with multiple properties, even small investments that barely break even, need not apply.

There are many people who struggled to save and invested back into our economy as a means of obtaining financial security. Doesn't it make sense that we try to keep those people afloat as well - especially if they pay on time, have documented income and high FICO scores? (In other words, they earned the same considerations.) Quite honestly, it scares me to think how many mom-n-pop investors - and we're not talking Eli Broad here folks - are going to walk away from property they cannot refinance, especially when the lower rents are not covering the adjusting mortgages. How will this help any of us? If the government is trying to stop the stream of foreclosures, has anyone considered finding a way to help small investors hold on as well? Who is more likely to walk away from a property that cannot be re-financed to a reasonable rate - the person trying to re-fi a primary residence, or the small time businessman who knows that if he lets his rental properties go, he can still keep his residence?

There seems to be an image of an "investor" as a bigwig in a shark skin suit sucking on a cigar behind the steering wheel of a Bentley. But let's get real here. There are many hard-working folks who used property investment in place of available 401ks. Okay, so you may be thinking, "Why didn't they use IRAs or Sep IRAs? Good question. Well, one struggling "investor" (who drives a Pontiac) told me he used some equity from his residence to buy a few cheap properties a few years ago because his wife was sick. He believed in the economy and trusted that he could get some equity built up. Then, if his wife needed more treatment, he could sell if necessary and not be faced with the penalties of IRA's. Of course, this is just one story, but think of how many people out there have an extra property they are ready to let go. Is anyone else wondering how the Big Bailout is going to address THIS issue? As more REOs threaten to take us further down that slippery slope, why are we ignoring the small investors who need some assistance. After all - WE NEED THEM.