Well, we finally made our first sale, even though it wasn’t a very profitable one. Someone bought a computer book from the store. Two of the 3 auctions that ended yesterday got bids. We put the bait doll up yesterday, along with my Barbie lot, though I still have my doubts about the other dolls selling. It looks like the Bowflex isn’t going to get any bids either, which means we’re stuck with the hassle of dismantling it and shipping it if we want it to sell.

The realtors will be here in a couple of hours. I just hope they can and will help us and will do it in an honest way and not screw us over while they’re at it.

Later…

We met with the realtors, and I am not in a great mood right now. And what is it with people driving over the corner of our fucking property?! They did that in Phoenix and they’re doing it here.

To start from the beginning, they came on time and appeared to be a very nice couple in their 40s. Ron and Amanda B are their names. The guy had a very friendly smile and the woman had the body of a 20-something-year-old. They seemed honest and didn’t waste time by getting too personal with us or discussing things not related to why we called them out. The only personal question Mandy asked was if we had kids. When Tom told her no, she said, “No wonder the house is so clean.”

They saw the inside first and were just as impressed with the layout as I was when I first saw its model. They also sympathized with us as far as the bank not giving us any information and plans to surprise us with a 30-day notice once they come to buy the house back before they remarket it.

I was only with them for a part of the outside tour. I didn’t want to get rushed by the renter’s dogs, so I went indoors. Fortunately, though, the dogs didn’t butt in. I saw them hanging around, but they ran off in the other direction. I met with them after they’d gone down Meadow Green, across the back and up the other side. That’s when they let me in on the renter’s little encroachment. I knew they’d be a problem too, but as they said, they’re renters, they don’t care. They’re not only driving over the back corner of our land, but they’ve got some strange pen with a strand of barbed wire around it on our property, and I’m like why the fuck didn’t George tell his tenants where the fucking property lines are? Better yet, the renters should’ve known better when Tom was discussing the property line with them 8 months ago when he was staking out for the fences I knew were never meant to have. What, did they figure it was okay to use some of our property since we hadn’t fenced it after all? Of course there was no problem mentioning this encroachment to them since they were out and about as always. They “say” they’ll move the pen, but I won’t believe it till I see it. It seems I’ve heard all kinds of false promises from renters before, but damn it, why is it always us that has to have shit for neighbors? Every single fucking place I’ve lived in for the last 12 years has had nothing but problem neighbors. When’s God ever going to give us a break in that department? Tom says he’s going to call George (I still have his number) and talk to him in a few days, but I don’t think it’ll do us any good. Unless we go out there and we move it ourselves, I don’t think they’re going to cooperate. Again, this is Arizona. You don’t complain against people here. I just hope it doesn’t get us shot or thrown in jail. It didn’t surprise me, though. I mean, if they’re going to use our land for their dogs, why not for other things, too? They have a whole 2½ acres of land, though, so why the fuck they need some of ours is beyond me, and why everything has to go either in front or on the side of the house that faces us is beyond me, too. What the hell’s wrong with the back or the other side?

Nothing’s going to change as far as neighbors go in Oregon. No matter what state we move to, it’ll never change. This is why I stressed to Tom that the first thing we’re doing when we get moved is fencing up the place. Seeing and hearing neighbor’s shit is one thing, but I’m through with the our-land-is-their-land shit. We never gave any neighbors anywhere any permission to use our land for vehicles, trash, animals or anything else and we never will.

God, why can’t we ever have nice quiet neighbors who own and who don’t make such a fucking mess?! Why has it always gotta be the always-home Mormons and welfare bums whose dogs are outside 24/7?

Anyway, because we didn’t list the place last June like we should’ve, there’s just not enough time for HUD to get the date bumped up because, by the time they got around to reviewing it, it’d be past the 6 weeks we got left, although they did send us a letter saying that they were going to send the bank a letter about it. There’s also not much time even if we had a buyer today, and an investor may offer us shit. We could probably sell it for $150,000 if we could get his mother to get the payments current. Either way, we’d still probably be out here between June and July. It’s looking like that’s going to end up being the case, though we may still take an investor’s offer if it’s decent enough. If we’re only going to get a few grand, then no. If we can’t get a fair amount, no matter who buys it, we won’t do any damage to the place, but we’ll gut the house of everything we can that we can possibly sell.

I don’t like the “Everybody’s moving to Oregon, what’s going on in Oregon?” comment Mandy made. Tom insists she was just making small talk, but either way, I know people will follow me wherever we go. If they’re not there waiting for me when I get there, they’ll soon follow.

It does appear that the new houses are occupied because we saw them get their trash picked up. Trash pickup is available now. We just didn’t think it was worth paying for with what little time we have left here (at least I hope it’s a little. I’m more than ready to go at this point. This house has been nothing but a curse for us). Anyway, the people have been wonderfully quiet so far, but again, that’s only so far, and it’s the difference between renters and owners. I don’t know why renters think they’re automatically obligated to make a mess and a scene, any more than I can understand why poor people think they’re supposed to, but they obviously do.

I’m a little worried about him calling George. I just don’t think he’ll cooperate since this is Arizona, after all, where it’s a sin to voice any neighborly complaints no matter how kindly it’s done. If worse came to worst, though, Tom could always go to the county and complain if he had to, though that could be putting us at risk if these people happen to have the wrong connections as they did in Phoenix. The only difference this time was that they couldn’t use race against us. However, if they’re Mormons like I think they are they could use that as a defense. Either way, I’m sure God will equip them with all kinds of ammunition and leave us totally defenseless and vulnerable to trouble.

Later…

Tom and I talked some more about our situation, and oh how good it felt to laugh after all this frustration! I’ll get to that in a minute. First, he assures me that the renters are no big deal compared to other things that are going on (well, they’re certainly no big deal compared to the blacks and Hispanics) and that George is nothing to worry about. If anything, he may be interested in investing in this place what with the way he was drooling over the well. It’s a good thing I kept his number. I knew we’d one day need it. I just thought it would be to bitch about loud music and maybe a bit of trashing dumping along the way, too.

Anyway, we nearly slipped and were laughing over it. When Ron was talking about how not being current on the payments could hurt his credit a bit, he almost said, “Hey, I don’t care. I don’t plan to ever have a mortgage again.” This wouldn’t have been a good thing to say, though, because then they wouldn’t take us as seriously and work as hard to set things straight and get us the best deal possible. That’s the reason we didn’t tell them that his mom would get us current if it came down to us needing her to do so. They’d jump at that and not bother to try to find us an investor willing to make a decent offer. We want to see what they can come up with on their own first.

Where I almost slipped was when we met up with them on the utility side of the house and Ron mentioned the renters. I nearly said to Tom, “See? I told you they’d be an issue. Who’s the psychic in this household?”

Tom says we can’t possibly have renters for neighbors where we’re going because it’s against the law to have rentals where there’s no electricity, and that helps ease my mind a bit, but there’s no law saying owners can’t be trouble, too. If it’s near us, it can definitely be trouble.

They may be Mexican and they may be slobs, but I’d say the people next to us have turned out to be the best neighbors since we’ve been here.

If a miracle happens and we get enough money, we’re going to go for this place that’s listed in Oregon that’s too good to be true. It’s only a couple of acres, but it’s got a 24” dome on it, the foundation for a house, a bathhouse, a septic and a travel trailer. I guess the owners bit off more than they could chew and had to sell out. God could never bless us like that, though, so I won’t even get my hopes up. I’m sure we either won’t get enough money or that it’ll be sold by the time we did, if we did. Still, that’d be perfect for us to start with! It’s listed at $29,000.

It’s looking like we may settle in a place near Klamath Falls which is in south-central Oregon. It’s about 2-3 hours from the coast, 20-50 miles from the California border. Klamath Falls is a little bigger than Casa Grande.

We compared the yearly weather averages to Agawam, MA and found them to be somewhat similar, although they have higher fluctuations between their lows and highs because they’re further inland than Agawam is. I don’t look forward to the cold and snow, but the bright side of it is that it should keep people indoors more often and at least I don’t have to take the bus, ride a bike or walk in it. I also like rain and woods.

We discussed another possible way of getting there which is to rent a very small U-Haul for just $80 and pull it up with the truck. We’d stay in hotels along the way. Hotels are noisy and expensive, but comfortable and convenient. As soon as we got there we’d dump our stuff in storage, drop off the U-Haul, get a trailer and begin the hunt for the land with me hopefully being able to psych out evil/good lurking about. In the midst, we’ll open a PO Box somewhere.

We can’t sell the green truck. It doesn’t have a title and has been stripped to a near skeleton of a truck, so we’re just going to leave it here.

The land, we found out, is exactly 660 x 601.

As for Mary, now that’s someone I just might see someday. If someone had told me when we first became pen pals that she’d never be in this house, my first guess would be because the freeloaders started new shit with us and drove us out, and my second guess would be that either she dumped me or I dumped her.

Speaking of Mary, she’s worried I’ll use events from her case in my book, saying that even with a different name people would know who I was referring to, so I promised her I’d not only change her name but change her case, too. I’ll have her shoot her husband in self-defense and get off. We can be cellies like we were while she’s awaiting trial, and she can even be childless, too.

She also said that the copies were for her and not for Maria like I had originally thought, but didn’t mention getting them or Haiku’s picture. Didn’t mention finishing my book either, but I guess she has.

Oh, and these pigs she’s been talking to, though what for I don’t know, say they can’t understand why someone would help her with her book without a motive. But what could I possibly have to gain? I’m actually putting myself out by helping her. It’s my ink, paper, envelopes, stamps and time, but that’s just pigs for you.

I was worried, due to so many people not putting their actions where their mouths are, that Maria wouldn’t do all the things she said she was going to do for Mary once she gets out, but Tom thinks she will take her in because she’ll want someone to cook and clean for her. This isn’t something I’d tell Mary, though. I don’t need to be the one to burst her bubble. It’ll happen on its own, in its own time. Same with her finding out that no, José isn’t ever going to get out of prison to sweep Mary off her feet and live happily ever after with her, and no, she’s not ever going to get off probation, though lifetime probation should get easier with time. In a few years, she’ll probably only have to call in once a month. I’d still run like hell if I were her.