3lastnamesblog

MLS is the Match.com for Real Estate January 8, 2016

 

 

Over the years I’ve come up with some interesting parables. I particularly like my finding a mate is like shopping for shoes” and “August feels like one long Sunday”. But while selling my house, a new comparison dawned on me- Multiple Listing Services (MLS) is the Match.com for Real Estate. This goes for any of the real estate websites- Trulia, Zillow, etc.… It’s so obvious, I’m surprised no one has ever thought of it before.

To begin, you create a profile. You need to put up lots of pretty pictures that make your house look its best, highlighting the selling points. Next you add some narrative such as the neighborhood, convenience to stores or railroad, and who you think would be the ideal buyer for your home. Then, its time to talk money. But instead of your salary range like on dating websites, you give the listing price. One thing is for sure, only serious buyers need inquire.

Once you upload your profile, the waiting process begins. The profile has gotten a lot of hits, but why hasn’t any body asked to see the house? Is it not attractive enough? It looks better in person, I promise! Is it too expensive? I’m negotiable! All these doubts start sinking in. The house you once thought was move-in ready and a great value doesn’t seem so inviting anymore. Maybe I’ll paint some rooms and spiff up the curb appeal a bit.

Eventually someone appreciates the allure of your home and wants to see it. Elated and excited, you set up a time to meet; the sooner the better! When the doorbell rings you have butterflies in your stomach. Will he like me, I mean, my house? Will this be “the one”? You repeat this process many times. Some showings are longer than others. Some buyers seem more interested than others. And please, don’t get my hopes up and say you’re going to call if you have no intention of ever doing so. Occasionally you will have a second “date” and sometimes even meet their children or parents. I’ve even had contractors and engineers come, only to have the deal fall apart without any reason or warning. It’s an emotional roller coaster.

Then of course, there’s the real estate agent who plays the role of your mother. “Ya know, you’ve had your house on the market for quite a while now, maybe you should lower your price”, to which I hear, “ya know, you’re not a spring chicken anymore, maybe you should lower your standards”. Or if you get a low offer the agent will say, “Ya know, there’s a lot of competition out there”, for which I hear my mother saying “Ya know, there’s a lot of competition out there.

The neighbors like to chime in too. “Did you here the Johnsons are in contract?”, they say with pity in their eyes. The Johnsons live down the block, have the same model house as mine and have listed their house only 30 days ago for a comparable price. Their buyers never even came to see my house! Why not??? What’s wrong with me, I mean, my house?

Despair starts to set in. Where is that special someone? Where is the lid to my pot?  Maybe I should just give up my dreams and take my house off the market. NO, NO, NO! Snap out of it, girl! You know you have a beautiful, spacious home, in a prestigious neighbor. There are plenty of people that would love to live there! You must continue to be positive and move ahead with your plans!

But I am happy to say, when you least expect it, a match comes along! In my case, it wasn’t even from the website, it was from the For Sale sign on my front lawn. Love at first sight. When it’s the right one, you just know it.

And oh yeah, a match came along for me too, at yoga. Love at first sight. When it’s the right one you just know it.

 

 

 

A One of a Kind Story February 5, 2013

 I knew “it” was in the box labeled “Jackie’s Memory Stuff”.  In that box was everything from my wooden shoes from Holland (didn’t all kids go on family vacations to Europe?), to the 1991 Massapequa Post cover of my sister and I with our kids on our lap coming down the big slide at the St. Rose Fair (the irony of the Jews at the St. Rose Fair) and of course all those pictures and letters that someday my daughters will read when I’m gone (just like Bridges of Madison County) and realize  that their mom was not sitting home alone on the weekends they were at their dad’s.

Just as I hoped, I found “it” – my very first letter to my pen pal.

It started back in second grade. (You’re thinking to yourself, wait, isn’t she 50? How does something from 43 years ago have any relevance?  Be patient!) It was the 1969-70 school year. My teacher (Miss Rice) announced that we were going to have “pen pals”. She explained she had a friend that taught second grade in Ft. Wayne Indiana and they were going to match up their students so we could write to each other.

A few weeks later a letter arrived at my house. (In those days nobody worried about giving out your home address). It was dated January 16, 1970. Enclosed was a picture of the most beautiful blond-haired girl I had ever seen.  It read:

Dear Jackie,

          I am your new pen pal. I have a puppy and his name is Bullet. Do you have a pet? What is his name? I go to bed at 8:30 and sometimes 9 o’clock. What time do you go to bed? I have one sister and a dad and a mom and me and my puppy. Do you have a sister or a brother? Please write soon.

                                                                                      Your friend,

                                                                                      Beth Anne Nartker

From that moment on a lifelong friendship was born. Beth and I continued to write non-stop through the rest of elementary school, middle school, high school, and college. I remember telling her I was engaged….

Then of course real life stepped in and the letters became farther apart and eventually ended. But not for one moment had I ever stopped thinking about her and wondering how her life was going.   Remember, there was no internet, Google, Classmates.com, or Facebook back then.

But now there is! A couple of years ago I had the idea to search for her on Facebook. I used the first name “Beth Anne” and came up empty. After months of trying different variations, finally up came a picture of the same beautiful blond-haired girl. I recognized her immediately.  I messaged her on Facebook, “I’m not sure if you remember me….”

Well she replied that of course she remembered me, had been thinking of me as well and had also tried to find me on Classmates and Facebook . (But let’s face it, with all my last names, that’s an impossible feat!)

We picked up right where we left off, taking time to update each other on the past 25 years.  Just recently, after Hurricane Sandy, Beth (now living in Arizona) reached out to me and the girls. I expressed my gratitude for her concern especially from her of all people. She didn’t understand what I meant by “you of all people”. I explained that her concern meant even more to me, considering we had never even met! She responded, “I paused for a moment when I read your comment that we have never met as I actually forget that is the case! I feel I know you so well and consider you a dear friend – and we will meet some day. : ) xoxo”

So, it can happen. Two people who only correspond through the written word (we have never even spoken on the phone) can cultivate a life-long meaningful relationship. Perhaps I should’ve written to inmates instead of going on Match.

So I ask. Do we meet and run the risk of realizing we are total strangers that have nothing in common? Or do we give ourselves the chance to finally wrap our arms around the lifelong friend we’ve grown to care so much about?  I’d ask somebody who’s been through this before, but like I promised, this is a one of a kind story.

pen pal letter 1 (2)pen pal letter 2

pen pal pic        pan pal recent

 

1 in 5 ? May 29, 2012

The TV commercial for Match.com says that 1 in 5 couples now meet on online dating sites. If that’s the case, then perhaps my online dating experience can be of some help to society.

First, the basics. Everyone’s age ends in a “nine”.  Thirty-nine means you’re in your forties. Forty-nine means you’re in your fifties and fifty-nine means you’re eighty. “Separated” means married and looking to cheat. “Slender” means fat. “Entrepreneur” means unemployed and a baseball cap in every picture means balding.

At 49 (now for perpetuity) I seem to be the “it “girl for the 60 and over crowd. Men with white hair fill my in-box promising me compatibility even though they’re a “bit” over my age range. A BIT over my age range? Methuselah is younger than these guys.  So needless to say, I can’t wait around for men my age to email me, I have to search them out.

I have a very intense screening process. When I finally do send an email it’s after three days of examining the pictures and profile like it’s a crime scene investigation. And no matter how handsome and successful he may portray himself to be, if he doesn’t capitalize his I’s or know the difference between “your and you’re”- he’s out.  Smiley faces is a deal breaker too. Pictures of his pets- enough said.

So let’s say he gets through the first round and we email each other. I’m not interested in having a pen pal so I suggest the phone right away.  When he calls for the first time, I do not answer the phone. This is not game playing; this is the next part of the screening process. I have to listen to see if I like his voice and I must analyze his message. “Okie doke” and “Alrighty then” will not get him a return phone call.

If he can survive the phone message and the obligatory first conversation, we set up a date. The chances I’m going to like him are slim to none. For instance, I schlepped all the way into the city only to be met by a man wearing the same brown, suede earth shoes I wore in seventh grade. That was it for me. On another date the guy was wearing “slacks”. You know, the kind with a belt that’s pulled up practically to his chin. He reminded me of my Uncle Itchy and as much as I love my Uncle Itchy, I do not want to date him.  One guy had a tattoo of a bull’s-eye over his heart…NEXT!   Another  guy  had me meet him at the Spartan Diner. He sang Broadway tunes so ridiculously loud from our booth everyone in the diner started singing along. I picked up the check. He thought it was because I liked him, but it was so I could get the hell out of there as fast as I could.

A couple of months ago I had a nice date set up, but I was dreading it all day. My mother said I was the only girl she knew that had a date with a Jewish doctor for dinner at a nice steak house and was in a bad mood from it. But just as I expected, I didn’t like him. He said his “ch’s” funny. And he had bad eyebrows. But the creamed spinach was delish.

I admit it; I’m a man’s worst online dating nightmare. There’s probably a skull and crossbones next to my profile picture. But, I’m on a hiatus from Match right now and have hidden my profile. So all the men out there on the internet can take a big sigh of relief. There’s no chance our paths will cross anytime soon.