"Well I certainly hope you don't have any problems with that."

That phrase drives me crazy. I hear it all the time.

"Well I certainly hope your tenants don't tear up the place."

"Well I hope they don't stop paying rent and you have to try to get them out."

"Well I hope you don't need a new roof."

JESUS CHRIST people! Apparently most people go through life just hoping nothing goes wrong every day because they're so FUCKING terrified of it. And real estate seems to make them particularly terrified.

Nobody, NOBODY said anything like that to me about getting a dog. No one says that about going to grad school. What do they usually say when you're pregnant? Congrat-u-fucking-lations, and let me tell you, that is a lot more problematic and expensive than having a bad tenant if it all goes to shit. I used to work in a prison - do you know how many parents have dumped their life savings into their psychopathic children? I think I have a pretty good idea of it.

But guess what? Things go wrong. Things went very VERY wrong with my dog. I didn't know when I adopted her that she'd be a bite risk and need an expensive veterinary workup for immune-mediated polymyositis and a toe amputated. I sure as shit didn't know a few years later she'd impale herself on a tree branch and then I'd have to pay for all that.

Shit went wrong in grad school! Six-figures of student loans wrong! No one warned me about that!

Hell, shit went very wrong at work this week! For reasons I won't get into, it's making me hate my life right now. No one's telling me not to keep my damned job! I wish they would though!

Yet everyone wants to tell me all about what can go wrong with real estate. Yeah, I know. You know how I know? This.


You see that? That's a tree branch that came down in a storm between when I closed and the seller closed. I then got the keys to find that this branch had come down, punctured straight through the roof, and in the interim, all the rain came in and saturated the ceiling, to the point where half the closet ceiling came in. And you know what I did? I fucking handled it. I made some calls and got it fixed. I'm not thrilled about it, but that's what you do when shit goes wrong.

You don't cry, you don't moan, you don't tell other people to never ever ever buy a house. You just fucking deal with it. I had the cash (and it was a surprisingly small amount) to have it fixed. I may be pushing the envelope a little bit sometimes, but I'm not stupid enough to completely deplete my cash reserves to the point where I can't deal with these little things. And it is a little thing, in the grand scheme of having an income-producing asset for the next however-many years.

But when I post a picture to Facebook, everyone freaks out. Moral of the story today: don't freak out. Because ceiling cat works in mysterious ways (courtesy of a friend of mine, I'm no graphic artist).


This is the house I'm BRRRR-ing. I'll let you know if that happens as planned or if I just end up flipping it or what-the-fuck. Regardless, no freaking out from me.

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