Erin Bates wants some low-down for her ActiveRain contest this month, so here's the down and dirty for your dining and dancing pleasure for my November fulmination.
Most everyone whose been hanging around ActiveRain for the last six years knows that I live a pretty satisfied lifestyle as a single man.
A very satisfied life.
No drama.
No B&$# S%&#.
No illusions.
And double as a musician at times when the occasion arises.
Realtor board luncheon, studio stuff, holidays, parties, etc.
My radio show at the university keeps me pretty busy, too.
It's something I've been doing for several decades,
And I absolutely love every minute of it.
And researching the effects of real estate fraud, and how it impacts the nation, keeps me pretty busy, as well.
But once upon a time, about 10 years ago, while I was working for a local morning radio show, at the most popular rock and roll channel on the FM dial in Memphis, and moonlighting for the top local real estate school here in West Tennessee, a very attractive young woman offered me a couple of weeks of casino comps, dinners, free slot play, a jacuzzi suite, the use of a new Chevy Tahoe, and her curvaceous blonde company to boot if I'd help her negotiate a deal for a home in North Mississippi.
She was a fan and soon to be a stalker.
You see, the casinos are just down the road from me and she knew the drill down there.
She'd been gambling for years and
had tallied up enough comps for a lifetime !
She wanted me to pick up an interest in the home, at that !
She wanted me to put up the down payment.
Negotiate the deal with the seller, etc.
All for her.
But, of course, she'd handle the note.
With my good credit for security !
I was younger, had broken up with someone recently, felt like a free bird, had great resources, and really didn't want to get involved with anyone.
Romance is a big expense.
And was unnecessary at the time.
Been there - done that !
But the blue eyes, long blonde hair, spandex leggings and Durango boots almost roped me in until I heard five letters screaming at me:
R E S P A
Most all of us know what that means.
I worked hard to get my brokers license.
Mata Hari wasn't about to trip me up.
I knew better.
I didn't know about her estranged spouse, the insurmountable, unconquerable debts, addictions to valium, xanax and other stuff designed to screw a person up for life, bad temper, and propensity for prevarications and pill mills.
The near-disasterous decision to co-sign for a loan with a broke, busted, blue-eyed, blonde operator almost came to fruition until Valentine's Day arrived nine years ago.
I was late for dinner. She went nuts.
I knew at that moment that I was in the wrong place and that I had wasted my time.
I politely thanked her for being pleasant (not), left, never looked back, didn't put my license or good credit on the line, and never heard from her again.
I was glad that I had been late for dinner.
I probably would have left the house with indigestion.
And Cupid got to keep his arrow.
Life is a wonderful thing.
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