#i’ve dreamed of living in la or nyc my entire life and now it’s slightly different.

[adainesfroggieboggy]

in my “my dreams are real and tangible. i can make them realer.” era. working hard because i want to, working towards a goal i can see and feel and hold in my hands. all my stumbles and all my setbacks? roadblocks. i can find another route. i can get there. i will be ok.

[eldritchsurveys]

378.

So far, how has summer been treating you? >> Pretty well, I’d say. When was the last time you had a slushie? >> I don’t remember. Is there someone you miss right now? >> No. How many pairs of sunglasses do you own? >> Like... four. I need to buy just one good not-cheap pair and be done with it. Do you prefer sticky notes or cork boards? >> I don’t have a preference, it depends on what it’s being used for.

What was the last movie you watched online? >> Crash (1996). Is there much drama going on in your life at the moment? >> There’s none. Are you graduating this year? >> --- Do you feel like doing something radically different with your hair? >> No, that’s way too much work. Are you in a relationship? >> Sure. Did you ever think your cell was vibrating when it wasn’t? >> Yeah, but that doesn’t happen to me as often as it would to someone who’s used to their phone going off a lot. The last person who added you on Facebook, did you accept or decline? >> --- Are you at all interested in America’s Next Top Model? >> Not now. What did you last take a picture of? >> I don’t remember, but I did take some video of the laser light show I got to see during the last storm that passed through. Would you like to learn another language? >> Sure, but not enough to dedicate myself to it right now. What type of earphones/headphones do you own? >> AudioTechnica bluetooth ones, and also a pair of wired Sonys as backup. Your portable musical device (mp3, iPod, etc): How old is it? >> I just use my phone, which is about a year old. Do you own a pet that most would consider different? >> No. Have you ever wanted to travel to Germany? >> Sure. When was the last time you used scissors? >> I don’t remember. What’s your favorite kind of perfume/cologne? >> I like those roll-on scents you get from street vendors in the city. The unfortunate thing about that -- besides the fact that I don’t live in a city anymore -- is that there’s no standardisation of the formula, so an “Opium” variant you get in Chicago smells markedly different than the one that you get off Etsy (which is a thing that just happened to me and it’s so annoying because the one I got in Chicago is my perfect scent). When it comes to amusement rides, do you get sick or can you handle it? >> I’m fine on many of them, but I did do the teacups at Luna Park Coney Island once about 10 years ago and it threw off my equilibrium so badly that I had to sit down for the rest of the day. Is there a movie coming out that you would like to see soon? >> It Chapter Two comes out next weekend and I’m pretty stoked about that. Do you love buying shoes? >> No. Do you bother making your bed everyday? >> No. Have you had your wisdom teeth removed yet? >> No, and I most likely won’t. Have you ever been drunk and regretted it? >> Certainly. Do you like to do anything artistic? >> I like to write. What did you last cook for yourself? >> I don’t remember. Has anyone ever called you a “pipe dreamer”? >> I don’t think so. Who was the last person to text you? >> Sparrow. Think back to your last kiss, did you enjoy it? >> I sure did. Are you even slightly addicted to applying lipgloss or lipchap? >> No, I apply lip balm a lot because my lips get dry a lot, not because I’m “addicted” to it. Do you ever make fun of your own country? >> Sure. What Internet browser do you use? >> Chrome. Do you consider yourself to be spoiled? >> No. What song are you listening to right now? >> None. Are you comfortable giving random hugs? >> No, I’m quite not-comfortable with that. Who did you last argue with? >> The last time I got into a real argument was over a year ago. Do you ever have conversations with your pets? >> --- Have you ever listened to the band Rammstein? >> Sure. Do you have any plans for tomorrow? >> No. Who is your celebrity love? >> --- Are you more a Twitter person or a Facebook person? >> I have neither and I never really liked either of them. Have you ever lost a best friend? >> --- Do you own an exercise ball? >> No. Xbox 360, PS3, or Wii? >> PC. Are you messy or organized? >> I’m more inclined towards organisation. What band / artist would you love to see live in concert? >> Meh. Are your nails painted right now? >> No. What was the craziest color you’ve ever dyed your hair? >> Purple, I guess. Do you consider yourself to be a daredevil? >> No. Does it snow where you live? >> Yes. Do you have any significant scars? >> Er... what makes a scar “significant”?   Who last had their arm around you? >> I don’t remember which inworlder it was. Are you feeling deprived of anything? >> Nope. Have you ever been obsessed with working out? >> No. What color is the shirt you’re wearing currently? >> Black. Are you talking to anyone on an IM right now? >> No. What did you think of the movie Avatar? >> I remember being extremely unimpressed by it. I remember watching it at Sylvia’s Place when I stayed there after returning to NYC from NOLA, and just... dunking on it the entire time. Do you collect anything? >> No. Have you ever feared the future? >> I don’t know, maybe. What was your highest mark this year in school? >> --- Can you walk in 4+ inch heels? >> Yeah, I’ve walked in 6″ heels before. Is your significant other shorter, taller or the same height as you? >> Sparrow is one or two inches taller, Can Calah is one or two inches shorter, and King Crimson is like a whole foot and a half taller. Is there a friend you would trust with your life? >> No. Have you ever been purposely ditched? >> I don’t know, maybe. Do you live in a relatively safe area? >> Yeah. What was the last alcoholic beverage you had? >> I’m drinking a sangria in a can, by Sierra Rose Winery. It’s pretty good, as I expected from them. Is there someone you know who is obsessed with Call of Duty? >> No. Have you ever looked into the mirror and hated who you saw? >> Definitely. Is there a piece of jewellry you always wear? >> Besides piercing jewelry, no. When was the last time you saw your significant other? >> I see two of them constantly and I see the third daily. What was the longest conversation you’ve had with a person? >> I don’t know, hours. How many purses do you own? >> Zero. Is there something you should be doing right now? >> No. I’m going to take a shower after this, though. Do you wish on 11:11? >> No. What’s your opinion on the Gulf oil spill? >> I know nothing of this. Is it hot in the room you’re in right now? >> No, the weather’s been... variable lately. And it’s been a lot chillier than I’d expected overall. Are you one of those people who are always rearranging the furniture? >> No. Do you listen to any music that’s really old? >> I suppose. Are you a fan of the LA Lakers? >> No. When the last time you were upset and weren’t exactly sure why? >> I don’t remember. I usually can trace my moods pretty easily. Have you ever been somewhere tropical? >> Subtropical, but not tropical. Would you consider yourself to be a chocoholic? >> Quite the opposite. Have you ever heard of Channing Tatum’s website Post The Love? >> No. Do you know anyone who’s currently pregnant? >> No. Are you a fan of mix CDs? >> I mean, now we just make playlists. But when I was younger and mixed CDs was The Thing(tm), yeah, I loved them. Has anyone ever given you their business card? >> Yeah. I once thought about making cards that just had all my social media info on it... now we have stuff like carrd.co that kinda functions in the same way. What is your dream job/career? >> I don’t have one. Do you have a friend who’s naturally a redhead? >> No. Have you ever had a one night stand? >> Yeah. Do you listen to the mainstream music or prefer to find your own? >> I listen to whatever I like, is all. What time is it now? >> 3.52p EST.  

[yehet-me-up]

Decisions, Decisions

Pairing: Park Chanyeol x reader (female)

Word Count: 4,247

Genre: angst/fluff 

Rating: (F) for fluff 

Summary: All your life you’ve wanted to be a singer. And all your life you’ve followed your father’s wishes instead. But a chance encounter at a dive bar in NYC might be just the push you need to chase your dreams.

“I have to get out of Boston, Cass,” you say, your voice high and anxious. A restless energy has been coursing its way through your body all day; a suffocating feeling that’s making you desperate to get away. “Can I come up for a girl’s weekend tomorrow?”

“Heck yes! You know the bed in my dorm is big enough for the two of us,” she says. “Stay as long as you need, babe.”  

The next day, after your two hour Economics seminar from hell, you board the train to NYC. Cassie texts that she’s more than ready to help you drink and dance your sorrows away, or to listen and rub your back if you need to cry and talk. You talk practically every day, but right now it’s just not enough. You need her real arms around you, feeling lost and unmoored and needing something tangible to anchor you.

You spend the entire train ride fighting off tears. Three and a half years of college and four before that in high school, you think, barely paying attention to the scenery as the train speeds along. Seven and a half years of working your ass off as an AP student, honors society member, and an Econ major, just months away from graduation.

The thought of spending another two and a half years, finishing your degree and getting an MBA, not to mention a lifetime after that, working for someone else’s dream makes you sick to your stomach. 

Your father insisted that you major in something practical and he’d steered you toward his chosen path with hints both subtle and not. He couldn’t care less that all you’ve ever wanted to do is sing, and hadn’t cared since you’d first expressed the desire in middle school.

All throughout high school it had been a knock-down, drag out fight. A choir class for you, an internship with a local marketing company for him. The spring musical for you, AP Macroeconomics for him. A weekend visiting your aunt in LA to meet with a vocal coach, two weeks during the summer building houses to buff up your resume. And it hadn’t let up once you started college. 

For years you’d been fighting him tooth and nail, wondering desperately why you couldn’t have Cassie’s parents. She’s studying screenwriting at NYU and her parents are thrilled. But she could be studying plant biology or dentistry or underwater basket weaving and they wouldn’t love her any less.

I wonder what that’s like, you think bitterly, trying to discreetly rub your tears away with the edge of your sleeve. Your mother just goes along with your father, not wanting to choose sides in the fight, picking your father by deferral.

You close your eyes and lean back against the seat, sighing heavily. It’s not that you hate Econ, or that you don’t see the value of education, or purposely want to not follow your father’s dream. You know he comes from a place of love, wanting you to be financially secure and stable - it’s what every parent wants. But why can’t he also want me to be happy, too? you think miserably.

It’s been over a year since you sang – the toll of classes, internships, and MBA applications over the summer and fall had cast a dark cloud over your life. It’s as if the frustration and apathy you feel towards your life had robbed you of the words that used to flow effortlessly from your lips.

The train pulls into the station with a jolt. You sling your backpack over your shoulder and join the crowd piling onto the platform. In seconds you see Cassie, dressed in an enormous sweatshirt, holding her arms out to you. Fresh tears blur your eyes as you dash into her arms.

“Oh, babe. It’s okay, I’ve got you. It’s going to be all right,” she says soothingly, squeezing you tight as you drop your forehead to her shoulder.

You let out a deep sigh, leaning into her. You’ve been so busy with class and your most recent internship at LNG Financial that it’s been weeks since you’ve seen her in person. But now that you’re here, squeezing her tight, the combination of your best friend and your favorite city in the world is already starting to ease the ache in your heart.

Pulling back, you let her put an arm around you and guide you from the station. She knows you’ll talk when you’re ready; with a friendship as deep as yours she knows what you need without your having to ask.

The city is alive on this early Friday evening in early March. The streets are packed with tourists and locals alike. Winter is just starting to fade and spring is on the horizon and it feels like something in you is thawing as well. You can finally breathe, miles away from school and Boston and that constant feeling of drowning.

“I can’t do it,” you say suddenly, turning to look at Cassie as you wait at a stoplight for the traffic to slow.

“The MBA, you mean?” she asks, no stranger to your hatred of your father’s chosen path for you. “Wait, did you hear back?” she asks, her eyes going wide.

“Yeah. I got in,” you say, the words leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

You’d pulled up your phone yesterday morning on the way to class. Anyone else would be popping champagne, crying tears of joy, if they found out that they got accepted into one of the top MBA programs in the country. But the email had felt like a punch in the gut and you’d looked around, wildly wishing you could be anyone else, just for one day.

“Oh god, did you tell him yet?” she asks, bracing herself.

“No. But if the eighteen voicemails I have right now are any indication, he’s been trolling the website and knows that this is the week I find out,” you say with a surge of frustration, stepping out into the intersection in a huff.

“Why don’t you just tell him no, hun?” she says delicately, taking large steps to catch up to you. “You know how I feel about this, just come live here with me after graduation. You’re twenty-two. He can’t dictate your entire life.”

You sigh and look up – the stars are just barely visible in the growing darkness above the lights of the city. “I know. But I can’t seem to get over this need for his approval; I can’t explain it.”

She nudges you with her shoulder. When you look over she’s giving you a sympathetic smile. “He’s your dad. Of course you want to prove yourself to him. But it’s your life too, you know. You deserve to be happy.”

You wrap an arm around her waist and grin as you reach the door to her dorm. “What would I do without you Cass?”

She ruffles your hair and you groan at her. “Lucky for you, you’ll never have to find out,” she teases, dashing up the stairs ahead of you. She turns around on the first landing, her hair flying around her face as she leans down to you with a wink. “And I have just the place to go to tonight to take your mind off of things.”

“It’s perfect,” you say with a grin, sweeping your hair behind your ear as you look up at the entrance.

“Karaoke night – your favorite. Do I know you or what?” she says with a wink as you hand your ID to the bouncer.

The inside is dark, crowded; hot from the crush of people inside fighting to get to the bar for a drink. You and Cassie both draw stares, dressed in matching dark jeans and v-neck black shirts. The attention is energizing; the dance of attraction is just another form of performance, after all – and you’ve always been a star. Finally at the bar, you both order drinks and move to find a place to stand.

A narrow table along the wall opens up and you dive after it. As you sip your drinks, a familiar warmth starts to flow through you, happiness once again taking up residence in your heart as you get into the karaoke.

The singers throughout the night vary in success. Perpetual favorites like Don’t Stop Believin’ and Sweet Caroline get the usual applause and you cheer along with everyone else, invigorated by the collective sense of excitement. A group of college guys get on stage and belt out a terrible off-key version of Baby Got Back, to a solid minute of cheering.

Cassie excuses herself to the bathroom and you do a sweep of the bar. You’re here for some girl time, not to hook up; but it doesn’t hurt to look. The requisite hipsters at the bar, some college guys in the corner staring up at the screens showing a football game.

A tall man at one of the pool tables catches your eye, and not just because of his lanky figure and leather jacket. He’s laughing at something his friend’s doing – a shorter, blonde man who ducks down below the table. You feel yourself smiling in response - you just can’t help it, he exudes joy and amusement even from across the bar.

His friend retrieves a ball from the floor and starts talking rapidly in his defense, which only further draws laughter from the object of your attention. As if pulled by your stare, he turns in your direction, his dark eyes widening slightly as they meet yours. His gaze rakes your body. His eyes meet yours over the lip of his drink as he takes a sip, an eyebrow quirking up with interest.

You confidently return his look, leaning on your elbow on the table and cocking a hip out. He brings his drink back down, revealing a flirtatious smile. He leans over to say something to his friend, his eyes never leaving yours. The shorter man turns to look at you and grins widely, smacking his friend on the shoulder. Just as he pushes off the table to move in your direction, Cassie comes back in a wave of excitement.

“So you’re either going to love me or you’re going to hate me,” she says breathlessly and grabs her drink, downing a huge swallow.

“What do you mean?” you ask, staring back across the bar at the tall man. He gives you a friendly raise of his glass and settles back against the pool table to wait.

“Alllll right ladies and gentleman, put your hands together for our next singer, Y/N!” the announcer on stage calls in a theatrical voice.

Your jaw drops and you finally turn to look at Cassie. She gives you a nervous smile and shrugs. “It’s been ages since I heard you sing. And it always makes you feel better. Plus, I picked one of your favorites,” she says and takes your drink from you, setting it on the table.

You turn to the stage, your mind a whirl of disbelief, fear, and nervous excitement. She comes over and pulls you by your shoulders, moving you towards the stage. With a gentle shove she sets you walking. You swallow and nervously push your hair behind your ears, an old reflexive movement.

The lights are bright on the stage as you step up next to the announcer, bringing your hand up to shield your eyes. From up here you can see the man at the pool table fold his arms, leaning back to watch you with an eager look.

“Good luck,” the announcer says with a genuine smile and then moves off to the computer to queue up the song.

You take a deep breath, dropping your hand and steadying yourself. Trying to remember how to do this; how to be on stage, how to lose yourself in the song and the sheer enjoyment of singing. It feels like holding up your old favorite dress - both nostalgic for how you used to feel in it and terrified that it won’t fit anymore.

Reaching out a hand to grab the microphone on the stand you lift your eyes, scanning the crowd. As the song starts the talking dies down, people turning to see how you’ll do with the challenging number. Cassie raises her glass to you and you shake your head in amusement, your old confidence beginning to rise.

The opening beats to You Know I’m No Good by Amy Winehouse start. It’s one of your all time favorites - the smoky, sexy vibe of the song always shocks people coming from you. With your classic features and normally conservative style of dress, everyone pegs you for a Whitney Huston type or even a Celine Dion. They always expect you to go with a ballad, something sweet and endearing.

But you love playing against type and showcasing your love for the blues. Your lower, huskier tones come out during this song and you smile to yourself in anticipation. Your hips start swaying unconsciously as the familiar beats flow through you.

From the first line you can only focus on one person – the man at the pool table. His eyes widen with attraction and interest as you begin to sing. He gives you a wry grin as he sips the amber liquid in his glass, bobbing his head along to the music. He has to know you’re singing for him as much as you’re singing for yourself.

The sultry sound of your voice sends a thrill of pleasure through your veins. The fear that you’d lost your talent melts away as the crowd cheers you on. The final bars of the music are drowned out in applause. You give a shy wave, turning back into your normal self away from the stage, like Cinderella at the stroke of midnight.

Smiling ear to ear you dash over to Cassie, practically tackling her into a hug as you thank her over and over. She laughs, clinking her glass to yours.

“I knew you still had it in you,” she says happily. “You’re never more yourself than when you’re up there. I just wanted to remind you that there’s still things you love in the world.”

You feel a wave of gratitude rise in you, your eyes going misty as you look at your best friend. A movement to your left catches your eye and you blanche as you see that the man from the pool table is standing next to you, his hands in his pockets as he looks at you.

“That was some performance,” he says, raising his voice above the newest singer on the stage.

“If you want to hit on my friend, you might want to get in line,” Cassie says with a sassy wink.

He laughs, bending at the waist, all of his teeth on view as he smiles. “I mean, your friend is drop dead gorgeous, I can’t lie. But I’m actually here to talk to her about her singing,” he replies, his lips twisting into a lopsided grin.

You nearly choke on your drink. “My singing?”

“Yeah. Come on, you have to know how fantastic you are. I just started a new music agency here in New York. I’ve been on the hunt for talent, and I think I’ve found it,” he says, pausing to watch your reaction.

Your brow furrows in confusion, looking over at Cassie. She shrugs and takes a sip of her beer. “So, what are you asking?” she says with a hard look at Chanyeol, like she’s daring him to try and bullshit you.

He grins and he instantly looks younger, boyish, as his eyes crinkle in the corners. “Well, I’d love to meet up with you tomorrow. Hear you sing some other things, discuss what we might do together,” he says, handing you a business card.

Park Chanyeol CEO Loey Entertainment Inc.

Below it is a phone number with a local area code and an address uptown. You hold the card in your hands gently, as if it’s a bubble that’s going to burst any second. Your buzz fades, reality slamming into you.

“Wait. Are you for real?” you gasp in confusion. “You’re not just messing with me?”

He laughs with his whole body, smacking his knee as he leans against the pool table for support. “No, I’m not just messing with you. I’m also a performer too, I wouldn’t joke around about something like this.”

You glance back and forth between his handsome face, the card, and Cassie’s barely contained glee. “So what do you say? How does noon tomorrow sound?” he asks, taking another sip of his drink.

“Yes!” you blurt, startling the people near you. You clap your hand over your mouth, a giddy laugh rising in your throat. “Oh my god, yes. That would be – I can’t even –” 

“She’ll see you tomorrow,” Cassie says with a knowing smirk, grabbing the card out of your hand and steering you out of the bar. She turns and gives a wave back at Chanyeol as you duck out the door onto the street.

You straighten your skirt, nervously tucking your hair behind your ears. You smile to yourself; it’s been ages since you felt anxious excitement. If you’re honest with yourself, it’s been ages since you felt anything but dread when it comes to your future. 

The building is modern, a converted warehouse that’s obviously in the middle of renovations. Cassie had pulled up the address last night from her dorm room, in between throwing clothing options at you and digging out your old lyrics from her Google Drive ‘just in case he wants to hear something original!’

You’d spent last night in a state of disbelief, more than happy to let her steer you through this. She’d sent you off this morning with a slap on the ass, making you crack up as you sped down the stairs and up the many blocks to the address he’d given you.

Pulling out your phone, you check the time. 11:55 it reads. You also see another text message pop up from your dad, the fifth this morning. I’m serious Y/N. Call me the moment you get this. Your mother and I are very worried. You sigh and click the screen off, shoving the phone in your purse.

Your reflection in the glass doors is frowning and you quickly pull yourself together, reminding yourself how thrilled you are for this opportunity. To sing, full time? You can’t think of anything you want more than that. 

Pulling open the door, you see Chanyeol in the middle of the space. The large, open area is unfinished – steel beams and piles of wood are all over. But a desk is set up in the middle with a computer, and he’s wearing headphones as he stares intently at the screen.

You walk over, coming around to the far side of the desk to draw his attention. He jolts, finally noticing you, and his surprised expression turning into one of joy when he realizes who you are.

“Hey! I’m so glad you came. Please, take a seat,” he says, attempting to stand up and getting pulled back by the headphones still around his head.

You both laugh as he untangles himself and sets the headphones on the desk. He pulls a chair over near him so you can sit down. You put the folder with your lyrics in it on your lap and fold your hands anxiously in front of you. He sits back down and slaps his hands to his knees, watching you.

“So, why don’t you tell me more about yourself? I’m dying to get the full story,” he says with a smile, motioning with his hand for you to start.

You start off telling him about the musicals you’d done, the coaches you’d trained with. But he gently prods you to go deeper, to tell him about how you got into singing. Who your favorite artists are. How you feel when you’re singing. 

By the time he finally asks you to sing, you feel like you’ve bared your whole heart to him. It makes you furrow your brow in confusion as you marvel at how long you went without doing the one thing it feels like you were born to do.

He leaves the choice up to you so you choose another favorite – Feeling Good by Nina Simone. The sound echoes around you and Chanyeol in the empty space, his dark eyes intent as they watch you. When you hit a high note his eyes drift close, his head tilting to the side as he listens.

“Perfect. Just perfect,” he says with a smile after you finish. “Do you have any original songs?”

“Yeah, actually I do,” you say with a nervous inhale.

You pull out one and sing it for him. It’s a simple tune, Cassie had played her guitar to accompany you on it at your Senior year talent show in High School. 

Your lips tilt into a smile as you sing, the world falling away as you get lost in the pleasure of singing without agenda. Yes, you’re trying to impress him, but his gentle, excited presence builds you up, relaxes you, rather than pushing you down.

He claps for you, looking again like a big kid. “I know I’m new at this, and I have no idea yet how to go about all of the legal stuff, my partner has been taking care of the paperwork side of things. But, I’d love to start messing around with that song together. I actually play guitar too, if you wouldn’t mind accompaniment?” he asks.

“Me and my friend from the bar last night used to join me on her guitar actually, so that would be perfect,” you reply. “Wait – legal stuff…. Does that mean you want to sign me?” you gasp, your eyes going wide.

His head bobs up and down wildly, his hair falling into his eyes. “Absolutely. With your voice and your songwriting ability, I think we could produce something amazing together. How about we get together Monday night – I’ll bring my business partner and you can bring your friend and we can work something out?”

“Actually, Monday I hav-” you pause mid-sentence. Monday is the longest day of your week. A morning at your internship and back-to-back lectures followed by a study session with some other students in your major.

You bite your lip, torn. “Do you mind if I make a call real quick, before we get back to it?” you ask.

“Absolutely, take as long as you need. I’ll be here when you’re ready,” he says with a warm smile.

You pull your phone from your pocket and head back to the entrance, stepping out into the street. You clutch the phone to yourself, feeling as if you’re floating as people rush by you on the crowded sidewalk. You dial Cassie’s number and tap your foot while you wait for her to answer.

She answers in a rush of breath, as if she picked up the phone mid-sentence. “How did it go?” 

“Good. Great, actually. He wants to sign me as his first artist,” you say and then let out a squeal, still in disbelief that it’s real.

“OH MY GOD,” she screams into the phone and you have to hold it away from your ear, smothering a laugh. “What did you say?”

“I said I had to make a call first,” you answer. “Cass, I have a whole life in Boston. I have three months left before graduation. I can’t just pick everything up and move here.”

“Honey, you once belted Memory from Cats at a police officer to get us out of a ticket. While wearing a unicorn onesie. I think you can do anything you set your mind to,” she says with a laugh. “Besides, you can live with me in the dorm until graduation and then we can get a place together.”

You sigh. “God, you make it sound so simple. I want that more than anything, but what about my dad?” 

“That’s up to you babe, but I’m here for you no matter what,” she says and you know she means it with her whole heart. 

“All right, Cass. I’ll fill you in when I get back. See you soon, okay?” 

She agrees and you hang up the phone, staring at the screen. Slowly you swipe back over to your contacts, pulling up you dad’s number. Before you can chicken out, you press your thumb to the call button and hold the phone up to your ear. 

As the line connects you turn around, your eyes meeting Chanyeol’s through the clear glass wall. He’s sitting in his chair, his guitar in his lap. He’s singing along as he strums, bobbing along to the tune. 

Though you can’t hear the song, you can see the joy on his face; his eyes crinkle at the corners as he meets your gaze, giving you a nod and a smile. 

Your own lips tug up in response, spreading into a grin. You have a feeling that Cass won’t be the only person there for you in the future, and as the call connects you feel a wave of peace wash over you - your decision made. 

“Hi Dad, it’s me. Listen, I have something to tell you...” 

[thejivechild]

Year Three, What a Feat

What up homie,

It’s me again, back to give you your annual fill on all things good, bad and probably boring. It’s weird how long you’ve been gone. It feels like a lifetime in some moments and no time in others, then I look up and realize “three years, so much has happened.” It’s an odd sensation, feeling like days creep by but years vanish in the blink of an eye. Yet here we are, doing our best to look like we’re successful - fake it til you make it, right? Right! I was going to go back and read what I wrote you last year, but I figured it didn’t matter much. So here we go, sorry if any of what I tell you is simply a reiteration of last year’s letter. I’ll borrow from a popular paradigm because I think I’m wed to the idea of you coming back some day. Without further ado, something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue.

Something Old: I told you last year was my 1L year, right? Well I finished that in typical basement boy fashion, smoove. It didn’t feel pretty or glamorous when I was in the library reading until my head hurt, but the end result was well worth it and I got my first year of law school outta the way, THANK. GOD. Henry recently met a law student in NYC who described 1L year as “academic hazing” and I couldn’t agree more. It was like being in high school all over again, but with adults who like to use bigger words. I won’t front like I didn’t flex the lexicon at times, but can you blame me?! All in all it was really a massive learning experience. I did my best to bridge the gap in knowledge that I came in with and to ride the learning curve, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t stressful. Onwards and upwards!

Henry remained in Iraq for another year. He started his juice business, er I started it as the idea man (He owes me royalty payments!), and it took off. He’s mastering the art of social media and millennial marketing, which is a massively important skill to have in this day and age. On a different note, he took Zenry to new levels. From telling me he was studying stoicism, to his newfound obsession with healthy diet and living, he did his best to transform into a modern ascetic, and he did it pretty well. Don’t let any of this fool you though, he’s still the same Henry that you man marked in possession drills at Seneca park. Still ratchet as ever, still LITTLE bro, but would we love him if he wasn’t?

Afrika kept his head down and plugged away at success silently and smoothly. He just finished his masters and I’ll be damned if the only notification I got was a hilarious snapchat with the caption “just finished my last presentation.” It’s funny how little he’s changed (or any of us, for that matter) since you’ve been gone. He went to Afrika for most of the summer and did this program called “Kick for Life,” I think. If I butchered the name I apologize, but you can guess what it was from my description. It sucked not having him around all summer, but the snaps made me want to go to Afrika, and I plan to!

Snat and the Kennison house remained the exact same. A band of misfits if I’ve ever seen one, but how on earth could we expect different? Their humble abode remained the place to be on Friday and Saturday nights and like we basement boys have always done, they made it their own unique experience that was unlike any other on earth. Snat continued in “medical sales” if that’s an apt description of what he does - I still don’t really know, and I’m not sure he does either. He wears scrubs, fitting, but he’s certainly no doctor. Doctor of Destruction, maybe. He won awards for whatever the hell he does, took some trips to LA and got medals. I really don’t understand it lol but all success is good success!

Ham and I fell outta touch to a degree, but not for any real reason. I go MIA in Lexington when school gets hectic, so it’s almost entirely my fault, but he knows and understands and doesn’t hold it against me. I was there for his bday (of course) and it was a lot of fun and felt like I hadn’t been gone for a minute. Same inside jokes, same antics, same squad. I pray to god that never changes.

All in all the crew continues to remain largely intact. Life gets in the way sometimes, but rest assured that none of us have forgotten where we came from. It’s still basement boys for life. Thuggish as ever, prettier than before, breaking hearts and chasing dreams haha.

Something New: I deviated from the legal path, albeit temporarily and slightly. I’ve decided to pursue a JD/MA and get my masters in International Relations. It added a year (don’t remind me) to my academic tenure, but I think the end will be well worth the means, ya feel me? It’s putting me closer to a career in international law and eventually world domination. Getting closer to that penthouse! I just finished my first semester, killed it in the classroom, and made some new friends. Truth be told, the extra year sounded awful but I’m halfway through and don’t regret it at all. But enough about me…

Henry’s back in the states! First time in two years. He came back, surprised his mom, then got surprised by me a couple days later. It was long overdue and I think (I know) he missed the freedom that we cherish in the Western world. He left the juice biz and decided to become a #ProReader (his words, not mine). Sadly, his taste in literature is limited to “how to become a millionaire” self-help books, earning him the nickname “self-help henry” or “SHH” for short. I like it because sometimes you just want to tell him “shh” when he goes on his rants about… who knows. That being said, he’s on a real cultural adventure. I think he’s endeavored to see, smell, touch and taste more of the world than he would have had he stayed in the states after school. I hate to mention Drake, but for SHH it fits; he’s trying to live “more life” and he’s succeeding. But despite that, he’s still the little kid who couldn’t hit a long ball to save his life, don’t let him tell you different.

I sort of gave it away, but Afrika is finished with school - for now. He’s toyed with the idea of law school (I told him not to go) and with the idea of a master’s in International Relations (I told him to definitely go) but for now he’s still moving in silence and success. He and I are working on a lengthy research paper and the goal is to get it published in some scholarly journal in the future. Not a ton of new, but certainly priming for massive success in the future.

Snat, oh Snat, Snat’s perhaps made the biggest move of any of us. The child moved to Warshington DC. I STILL don’t know what the kid does for a living, but it took him to our nation’s capital. I think it’s great that he finally spread his wings and got outta town. I visited him recently when I was in DC for a conference and soaked up a little of his new life. It was cool. He lives in a swanky apartment complex in a nice part of town and wears scrubs to work. Most of his neighbors probably think he’s a doctor and I’m sure he’s in no hurry to disprove that theory, but I’m not hating. I told him to get a raise so that when I graduate we can be roommates (again, coming for that penthouse). He and Mcaddams are still a love story for the ages. Still posting the cheesiest pictures online and conjoined at the hip, even from hundreds of miles away! It’s a site to behold haha, but they’re happy which is all that matters. I drop the occasional comment riddled with unnecessary emojis and exclamation marks on their FB photos.

Sadly, I can’t tell you how much new has gone on in Ham’s life, but I do know that he’s moved up the corporate ladder. I want to say he’s some sort of manager now, you know, still living the life of a team captain just in a different arena.

I should mention the coolest thing (IMO) that we did this year. Two nights before Thanksgiving I was in the shower when I had an epiphany. “People always play Thanksgiving morning football games,” I thought “we should do a soccer game.” A minute or so later it hit me again, “we should do it in honor of Spotie. Eventually, we should make it a charity game.” And on and on and on. I was on a roll and it just made so much sense. We (Me, afrika, snat, henry and several others) put a plan into motion and on Thanksgiving morning we held the first ever Nick Spaulding Memorial Soccer Game at, you guessed it, Seneca Park. It was great. So many people showed up and played, cheered and braved the ice cold for you. Some of us came out of retirement, some of us rose from the dead, some of us played in what probably felt like slow motion, but all of us had fun. It was, is and will surely always be a highlight of this year and many to come. It was grassroots and unorganized, but it laid the foundation for what is going to become an incredible annual event, I promise. Check my FB and see how many people showed love!

Optimism over everything. Life is going pretty well on all fronts. There’s no huge drama to report, no heartbreak or endless sadness. There have been some utterly devastating moments, but those aren’t to overshadow the unbreakable happiness and the ties that can’t and won’t ever be undone. People grow up, people grow out and people grow apart, but the latter certainly isn’t us. We’ve all grown up and grown out in many ways but we haven’t grown apart. Time may pass and we may not speak daily, but the same principles apply and the same standards are adhered to. We’ve all got each other’s backs no matter where in the world or when in time something comes up. It’s actually insane to think about. Nothing could break these ties, no force on earth or in heaven has that kind of strength.

Something Borrowed: We’ve all reached a point where life has become real, but that’s not to say that it’s hardened us or erased memories of our pasts. I won’t speak for everyone, but sometimes I wake up mad. Sometimes I wake up sad. Sometimes I wake up and the last thing on earth I want to do is go exercise, or go to class, or face the day. Sometimes I wonder why any of this ever happened to me, or how it could have. I often think “I’m too fucking smart to have let things play out the way they did.” It’s moments like that when I’m most humbled. It’s moments like that when I realize that some things are just out of my hands. It’s moments like that when I remember that I’m human and that my struggles and my flaws are as visceral and real as anybody else’s. Those kinds of moments scare me. It’s a delicate balance between survivor’s guilt and self-perceived invincibility. Sometimes I cry and ask myself why it wasn’t me. Sometimes I grin and think “I survived that, how the hell could this stop me?” Sometimes I don’t think about it at all, because it doesn’t make any sense. One thing stays consistent though, through all of those emotions I learn. I learn about myself and what I’m made of and what I can and can’t handle. It has certainly raised my self-awareness and for that I am thankful.

If I had to describe the past three years in one word I’d say they’ve been incredibly educational. Academically, sure, but I’ve learned a lot of intangibles as well. I’ve learned that there are certain, unavoidable truths that we’ve all got to come to terms with. For example: it’s entirely possible that any given day can be the worst day of your life. It’s absolutely terrifying how fragile this existence is and how temporary. But in the same vein, there exists a light in all of us. A light that cannot be extinguished unless we ourselves choose to do so. And that is perhaps the most beautiful thing. Because while any given day can be the worst of your life, the chances are equally likely, if not better, that any given day can also be the best day of your life.

Something Blue: So instead of today and all subsequent December 20th’s being the hardest days of my year I’m vowing to make them the easiest days of my year. I vow to make them full of nothing but happiness and laughter and joy and remembrance. I do it in your name and your likeness. I do it for Momma Ros and Dr. Spauld who, although they never dreamed they’d have to, now live on in your image. They now perpetuate your legacy and your memory, as we all do. I know I live in your shoes when I stand up for what I believe is right and unashamedly wear my heart on my sleeve, or when I stumble into something delicate like a clumsy, lovable bull in a china shop. I’m not religious, you know that, but before I do anything big I say a prayer for success. Not to god, but to you, my brother. I always ask you to send a little extra basement boyness my way and to give me a little help from the other side. I walk with my chin held high knowing that I’ve got the greatest good luck charm in the universe and my best friend on my side. I smile through the tears, knowing that my ambition, our ambition, far exceeds my talent but that it will be the driving force behind the change that WE affect. There’s something holy about the connection we have, even after all these years. There’s something incredibly about the intangible and invisible. I know it’s there, I feel it every day. You know it’s there, you always send it my way. It’s comforting knowing that no matter what life throws at me I’ve got a partner in crime. So, I laugh when I want to cry, I joke when I want to give up, I grin when things get harder and I welcome every challenge that comes my way. I don’t flinch at the thought of studying until 2 in the morning, or running until I can’t feel my legs. Bring it fucking on. Because I know that when I’ve fought until I can’t fight anymore, when I’ve given everything I have and when I think I can no longer go on, well that’s when you come in. That’s when you give me that little bit of strength, that nobody else has. That’s when you serve that shot of extraterrestrial espresso that fuels me. Someone asked me how I did it earlier this year, where my drive came from. I smiled and simply replied “my ambition is wicked,” and it is. OUR ambition is wicked.

After three years I can comfortably say that my life is great. I can comfortably say that we’ve all grown and learned and matured in immeasurable ways. I can comfortably tell you that we’re all going to be fine. We’ve gone different ways, but our ties have remained constant and strong. The sun rises and sets every day and each passing day brings us all one day closer to that thugs mansion reunion that we all so desperately yearn for. Although each new day brings new experiences and new reasons to be thankful we don’t forget about you. We don’t cease to make you proud nor do we move past you. Your memory lives on in all of us, even if we don’t actively express it. We work harder, stay up later and get up earlier because we’re all trying to build our own penthouse apartments, our own sky-high, iced out paradises in the sky. Do you want know why I’m so obsessed with penthouses? Why I’ve talked about them for the past three years? Not because it signifies wealth, or achievement, or luxury but because it’ll put me that much fucking closer to you. I love you, my brother. I can’t wait to see you again, but I promise I won’t come a minute early. I won’t come til I’ve left my legacy and til I’ve made you proud. Be good up there and don’t forget about me, I promise I won’t forget about you. I won’t let people forget about you. Take care and have a good year. I’ll be back next year with another letter. Tell the post-man to expect it.

XX XII XIV

Your Brother

[futuresandpasts]

Futures & Pasts | MRR #408

I’ve been doing this monthly column in MRR for over two years now; life is wild. Still not punk enough for the punks, yours truly, Grass Widow & Y Pants-listening “cool” librarian. This one’s from Maximum Rocknroll #408 (May 2017).

Last year’s Subnormal Girls LP compilation was one of the best archival punk collections in recent memory, and Waiting Room Records are back with a second volume of international femme-punk obscurities from 1979 to 1984. There’s a handful of selections this time around that have been included in some other really great (and for the most part, still in-print) reissue efforts over the last few years, but if you’ve slept on picking up, say, the Life It’s A Joke/We Live In A System anthology LP that Softspot Music did for spiky synth-wielding Belgian anarcho-punks KEBAB, or Danger Records’ 7” re-release of the three songs that Austria’s PLASTIX had originally contributed to the Die Tödliche Dosis compilation in 1981, this might be the motivation that you need to finally remedy that. A few other highlights from the compilation’s “previously rescued from the dustbin of history” faction: “Herpes Simplex” by hallucinatory minimalist French No Wave duo ROSA YEMEN, whose amazing 1979 EP was included in the expanded 2015 reissue of vocalist/guitarist LIZZY MERCIER DESCLOUX’s solo Press Color LP; “Double Acting” from moody Danish art-punks TEE VEE POP (track down their criminally overlooked Only Years anthology LP from 2013!);  and a stuttering DIY detournement of the riff from KRAFTWERK’s “The Model” called “Creeps” by Iceland’s Q4U, presented in a slightly later version from the one on Dark Entries’ Q1 1980-1983 LP spanning the band’s progression from rudimentary punks to stark coldwavers.

 That being said, the truly deep cuts on Subnormal Girls are what really warrant your attention, not to mention the high cost of postage if you don’t live near Germany. The lone single from mysterious Welsh post-punks VAIN AIMS has been one of my holy grails for awhile, one of those records that is so elusive and rare that I’m not entirely sure it actually exists - feel free to send me a copy to prove me wrong, though! The B-side of that 7” (“Count”) is included here, and it’s an absolutely perfect slice of rough-around-the-edges femme-punk, with a wildly zigzagging bassline, some scratchy guitar and the deadpan recitation of lines as brilliant as “he was the man of my dreams / I think I had a nightmare.” I’ve extolled the virtues of UK DIY one-single wonders OCCULT CHEMISTRY in this column before, and there’s a reason why their song “Fire” is basically a permanent part of my arsenal alongside my MO-DETTES and DELTA 5 records when I DJ out at bars. Other personal faves on this volume include Québécoise punkers TÉRAPI’s jagged new wave ripper “Camisole,” with urgently snapped vocals en français and warbling, ‘60s garage-trash-style organ, and “Lost In Madagascar” by Australia’s ANNE CESSNA & ESSENDON AIRPORT, a totally warped minimal wave classic based around giddy sing-song lyrics nearly obscured by kaleidoscopic buzzes, whirrs and beeps of synth. Yet another essential compilation in this series (with hopefully many more to come), and it’s limited to a mere 300 copies - buy now or cry later! (Waiting Room, waitingroomrecords.bandcamp.com)

 Sharp-cornered post-punk with skronky saxophone seems to be enjoying somewhat of a underground renaissance these days (a development that I thoroughly back), although BLANK SQUARE’s sax squeals deviate from the two prevailing influences of most of their peers - namely, the fiery dub/punk synthesis of Rough Trade’s late ‘70s/early ‘80s UK brigade or CONTORTIONS-worshipping No Wave dancefloor deconstruction. Rather, their debut LP Animal I has all of the clenched-jaw intensity of the more art-damaged bands operating on the early ‘80s Southern California/SST Records hardcore axis (okay, maybe just SACCHARINE TRUST), with a tightly-knotted rhythm section pummeling away behind raw-throated shouts and saxophone blurting. But alongside the moments of violent punk whiplash like the breathless 48 seconds of “Put A Lid On It,” there’s also a more foreboding and slow-burning side to BLANK SQUARE (see: “I Was High” and “Empty Head”) that has invited some pretty dead-on comparisons to the FLESH EATERS’ psychedelic hellfire rave-ups that I won’t argue with. Don’t let this one get lost amidst the endless procession of THEE OH SEES records flooding the Castle Face roster. (Castle Face, blanksquared.bandcamp.com)

 French quartet SIDA have just released their first LP after a handful of cassette and singles going back to 2010, and whenever I hear people casually dropping names like NERVOUS GENDER or the SCREAMERS in reference to modern synth-punk outfits, this is the sort of terrifyingly unhinged, born-in-flames noise that I always hope for and very rarely actually find. If anything, the synth plays a supporting role here to the seething, snarled delivery of vocalist Maïssa (the brains behind one-woman minimal wave project THÉORÈME), adding a blown-out and appropriately harrowing electronic texture to her spitting and howling. The bleak, serrated sheet-metal noise of “Commercial” and “Le Crève” immediately brings to mind the more punishing and confrontational No Wave faction that included THEORETICAL GIRLS or pretty much anything that LYDIA LUNCH was involved with (particularly TEENAGE JESUS AND THE JERKS/8 EYED SPY), filtered through the distinctly 21st century techno-dystopian nightmare lens of like-minded contemporary French post-punk groups like LE CHEMIN DE LA HONTE and DELACAVE (SIDA shares their drummer with the latter). It’s not all quick flicks of the switchblade here, though - “Enterrement de Vie” grinds on a drone of spin-cycle drumming, synth static and distorted bad trip vocals for a sprawling nine minutes that makes “Death Valley ‘69” sound like the fucking MONKEES. C'est chouette! (Population/Le Turc Mecanique, population-label.bandcamp.com/album/sida)

 From the vault of underrated and neglected early ‘80s US post-punk: the VERGE started out around 1980 or 1981 in Albany, New York, which is one of those perfectly nondescript places that I’ve often heard described as being a ideal stand-in for generic city settings in TV and film productions, but otherwise stuck in the overwhelming cultural shadow of New York City. The group’s only release was 1983’s four-song Habitual EP, which completely ignores the frenetic disco-not-disco dance leanings and mangled No Wave freakouts that dominated the NYC underground at the dawn of the ‘80s, aligning itself more closely with the desperate and dissonant post-punk approach of bands like MISSION OF BURMA, NATIVE TONGUE, or even the PROLETARIAT further east down I-90 in Boston - slightly off-kilter rhythms, razor-sharp bass hooks, trebly slashes of guitar, and dual (and sometimes dueling) matter-of-fact vocals. But the VERGE were also obviously affected by the reverberations from UK post-punk’s initial waves, as evidenced by the hyper-angular choppiness and lyrical agitprop of “Tradition” that could pass for an American interpretation of GANG OF FOUR (or is that a proto-FUGAZI?). It kind of blows my mind that none of these songs have found their way onto Hyped to Death’s extensive Homework compilation series chronicling the late ‘70s/early ‘80s US DIY weirdo-punk scene, but picking up those loose threads is essentially why this column exists, right?

[paperscraps-and-inkstains-blog]

Good Vibes Only

Normally the old Kol would have taken off long before now.

The old Kol would have seen all this stress coming and said 'Fuck it, this isn't for me'. He would have gathered all his possessions and portaled them to somewhere like LA or some crowded city in the depths of Britain. Or Vienna. He could stand to live in Vienna again. Just go hide away somewhere the party never stops- as most warlocks are known to do when life gets tough. And all he'd leave for James and the others would be some lame note about having business to attend to and saying to expect him back eventually.

But he's not that guy anymore, supposedly.

The Kol that exists now goes with James to council meetings and plans out his arguments so that the whole group of stuck up shitheads has no choice but to listen to him. This new Kol helps James keep New York in order, whether that means exhausting most of their magic fighting demons, carefully navigating the politics of NYC's supernatural populace, or just being awake when its three a.m. and James needs to talk to someone who gets it. New Kol thrives in this environment.

Or at least, that's what he's letting everyone believe.

Perched on the ledge of the roof of some abandoned building- it was either a library or an office building in a past life, Kol doesn't remember which- the warlock basks in the warmth of the setting sun. His ebony wings stretch to absorb more of the rays, the feathers at the very edges twitching occasionally. Through his earbuds, a happy-go-lucky, everything's great and life is fun sort of tune pulses, played off an app Logan had to teach him how to work.

Millenials were incredibly bright to be able to memorize how to run all of these things. Kol figured he couldn't because he'd spent too many years memorizing latin chants and complex old spells. There wasn't enough room in his brain to learn things like apps or how the fuck a Snapchat was supposed to work.

On top of that, despite looking like an average twenty two year old street punk- di-colored hair, piercings, band t-shirts and skinny jeans, the warlock was actually several centuries old. Apps weren't even a thing people dreamed about back when he was actually a young adult. They'd been to worried about things like not catching the plague or, in the Blackrose family's case, hiding that many of their younger generation were the spawn of an actual demon. Kol had blocked out most of those memories years ago anyway.

As the song changes, Kol does have to admit something to himself. He hasn't been this miserable in a long time. Sure, he's been more dependable and responsible in the recent months, but that's exhausting when one is used to being the irresponsible type.

And of course, much to Kol's chagrin, everyone around him seems to think he's better this way.

Emmett glances up from cutting vegetables in the kitchen, grinning at him the minute he walks through the balcony door.

"Ha, I told James you'd be back eventually," The raven haired warlock states, his blue eyes flashing with amusement as he does. "I win."

"Where is James?" Kol asks, ignoring the fact that it certainly sounds like his cousins have been betting on whether or not he'd bail again. It's entirely warranted, he'll admit, but that doesn't make it any less hurtful that they were doing so.

"In the attic. He lost some tome of angelic-something-or-other and he thinks he accidentally moved it up there. I'm making fajitas, they should be ready in an hour if you want some," Emmett says, still grinning.

"Sure, thanks," Kol says, turning to dart down the hallway. Finding the stairway to the attic still hanging from the ceiling, he makes his way up, wings folded tightly against his back in order to fit through the small square hole.

"James? You up here?"

A stack of boxes topples over, spilling old photographs onto the floor, and revealing his cousin- who's bubblegum pink hair is now coated with dust- behind them. Pulling off his glasses to clean them, the older warlock waves for Kol to come closer.

"Did you get my text?" James asks. Kol shakes his head. Frowning, James retrieves his own phone from his back pocket, chuckling after a moment. "Ah. That would be because apparently I never hit send."

This makes Kol laugh a little, as he kneels to start picking up the pile of photographs. "Is that why you were worried I wasn't coming back? Because I didn't respond."

James kneels across from him wordlessly, his eyes fixating on the pictures on the floor. A classic James reaction for "I'm guilty." Kol sighs gently, reaching across the pile to set his hand on his cousin's knee.

"I'm not going anywhere James, promise," Kol says. "If I'd been planning to run away I would have done it months ago, you've known me long enough to know that."

James sighs too, setting his hand over Kol's. "I do know... but... I don't understand why. I can tell you're miserable. You have been for the past three months. So why stay? That's not like you in the slightest and honestly its got me worried something might be terribly wrong. Like you're being threatened or you're in trouble or-"

"Or I'm starting to get what my mum had," Kol finishes James' sentence, smiling kindly. "That isn't it, James. I'm alright. I'm not in any trouble- at least, not that I know of- and the only threats I've received have been from Senna over Mariokart."

As James seems to relax slightly, Kol adds. "I am miserable. Totally miserable. But honestly thats only because I've spent the last couple centuries acting like a child and running from my problems. So, now that I'm trying to behave like a genuine adult and deal with all the good and bad things that happen in our day to day lives, it sucks. I'm just not used to this kind of thing. But, I'll manage. I'm a Blackrose, after all."

At this, James smiles, and the two begin reboxing the photos in peaceful silence.

From: https://paperscraps-and-inkstains.tumblr.com/post/171111179118/song-prompts-set-one

[ronaldmrashid]

The Worst Landlord Horror Story: You’ll Never Want To Own Property Again

Real estate is wonderful isn’t it? You get to buy a property with other people’s money at a dirt cheap interest rate. Your costs are largely fixed while rents keep on going up thanks to inflation. You get plenty of tax deductions. And you get to earn a $250,000/$500,000 tax free profit upon sale in America, depending on if you are single or married. No wonder why real estate is my favorite asset class to building long term wealth.

But I haven’t done a good enough job over the past eight years telling you about the negatives of owning real estate. The main reason why is because I’ve been bullish on the asset class – coastal city real estate in particular. What a shame it would be to have convinced you out of buying years ago, like some doom and gloom sites who only focus on the negatives because their author missed out.

After a massive run up in property prices, my bullishness has turned neutral-to-slightly-negative. Supply is rising. Valuations are expensive. Rents are falling in places like NYC and SF (where I’m a landlord). While mortgage rates may finally tick up, although they’ve continued to remain low despite the Fed’s moves. Therefore, I’d like to share a reader’s horror story about being a landlord in the last down cycle. I’ve shared my own horror story, which sounds like a first class trip to Paris in comparison. 

Taking A Vegas Gamble

$250K janitors. $9K/month direct deposit easy rental income. It all sounds so wonderful, but it applies to a tiny part of the US, metro areas with concentrations of educated professionals with very high incomes sipping lattes and driving their Priuses to the wine country on the weekends to stay in a nice B&B.

I moved from the Bay Area to Las Vegas in 2004. I thought I was so smart to sell my Bay Area townhouse for $425K, enabling me to buy a single story LV house here for $220K.  Then I bought two rental townhomes, new construction for $200,000 each. Cash.

I didn’t see the point of borrowing money and paying interest if I could afford cash. I was going to be a happy landlord, collecting rents and capital gains on my investments. I would trade my one abode in the Bay for a nicer abode here, plus two rental streams. I had retired, early.

By 2007, the builder of the townhome complex had filed bankruptcy with 157 of 300 units empty, and all the other units which peaked at about $250K were being abandoned by people walking from their mortgages.

The banks would often leave them in limbo, vacant, and vagrant squatters would break in and live in some units (new construction, remember). As foreclosures were slowly processed, the going price to buy a unit similar to mine on the courthouse steps for cash was $50K.

All the units that had been purchased with financing were abandoned, there was no point to continue paying a mortgage for even $150K on a unit worth only $50K. The new purchasers at the foreclosure auctions were mostly absentee landlords, out of state, many from CA, but many Canadian, Australian etc. They simply wired money over and instructed realtors to buy some and get them rented.

The median income in this town was under $50K per household, and these people mostly bought a house. The tenant pool was much poorer. And vacancies were off the scale, so lots of property with hungry landlords needed income. Therefore, very poor quality tenants got great deals.

Realtors then told their out of state landlords that the best way to get a tenant who could pay and not have to be evicted would be to Section 8. Get a poor person with a government voucher to move in, and the government pays you 80% of the rent. You collect the remaining 20% from the tenant, except they usually do not pay. A landlord can evict, and lose his income stream, but most often landlords simply take the 80% payment from the government and write off the rest.

Commercial property prices/demand has leveled off

A New Owner In Town

When the builder filed for bankruptcy, the court ordered sale of the remaining 157 units were bought in bulk by an investor for $9M. That works out to about $60K per. They rent for approximately $1K per month, creating an astounding 20% gross rental yield.

That investor experienced high vacancy rates as well so they took in Section 8, and this new construction complex in a new and up and coming area quickly started looking like an inner city housing project. Crime, drugs, idle people milling around all day, sitting in their garages smoking pot, tons of kids everywhere. Domestic disputes. Continuous police presence, you name it. Have you seen The Wire?

The HOA fees started at $42/mo but over a couple years, and three managers later, they were raised to $145/mo. Common areas were destroyed by tenants. A swimming pool bathroom was lit on fire. Pool furniture was thrown into pool. An unsupervised toddler drowned in a pool while mom was passed out in a unit from drugs. Gangs of unsupervised thug kids terrorized residents for fun. The pool has been chained closed for five years due to lack of funds to open it plus the scepter of repeated vandalism. Water to external landscaping was turned off years ago to let the landscaping die, due to lack of money to pay for water.

Landlords experienced continuous turnover and breaking of leases. No one would live there, except people who had no other choice. Lowest credit quality applicants, Section 8’s whose past history caused other landlords to turn them down but desperate landlords would take them here. Gang symbols were spray painted on buildings and fixtures.

Here’s What Happened To My Rentals

I have owned these rentals since 2005. Today my $200K purchases have returned to about $130K in current value from a low of $100K. I have evicted twice, and repeated repairs and turnovers.

The latest blow is that it turns out the HOA was managed for many years by a local community manager who didn’t have a license. The reserve study shows it should have $1.6M in reserves, but has about $200K instead. A $900K construction defect lawsuit was won against the builder’s insurance co, which should have provided some relief, but all that money was ‘spent.’ Legally spent, by overcharging by managers, contractors and other helpers. The State Dept of RE has ordered audits, fined the HOA, and has a case pending against the board president who it turns out started a pest control company then and made sure to get a $6K contract for his little company from the HOA. All the absentee out of state landlords pay their dues and really have no idea what is going on.

I suspect soon I will get a letter saying a new manager or receiver has been appointed. He’ll turn around and tell us the HOA is woefully underfunded and special assessments of an extra $1K a month are now required to keep the HOA afloat.

More supply in these six cities than in any time during the past 20 years

Profiles Of My Tenants

My tenant applicants have been: DJ, prostitutes (legal), exotic dancer, cab driver, etc. Here are the financials for one example: he earns $1700/mo and has $700/mo car payment. No thank you.

Another application was for roommates, three young people each with incomes of $1000/mo (McDonald’s) who wanted to pool their resources to rent for $1000/mo. Big question is how do you afford this if one of you moves out? Uh. No idea. When I pointed out that move in cost would be one month rent plus one month as deposit, and each of the three would need $660 cash they realized they couldn’t afford to move in.

These are not isolated examples, this is reality. This is the tenant pool in this market. They simply do not have the income.

My own home that I bought in 2004 for $220K is again worth roughly $220K today. At the bottom it was worth $100K and many around were foreclosed. At that time I bought two more, at $100K, and so clearly I have a gain there, which offsets my losses on the townhome disasters.

My point is this happy landlord dream with continuous work, toilet repairs and many other repairs (yes I do it all myself) has earned me perhaps a break even on capital, and perhaps a rental yield of 5%. And the break even required gains on the townhomes I bought in 2012 to offset the ones I bought in 2004/5.

It all sounds so wonderful in blog land. So happy, effortless. I gather that many of the people who have discovered the joys of this investing have never seen a crash or downturn. Or a destroyed unit. Evictions. Tenants threatening your life by calling in the middle of the night firing guns to scare you, because you filed to start eviction and they have no money to pay. Maybe it will never happen in La La Land. But maybe it will, and you’ll question why on Earth you tied up so much of your capital and your life to an extremely illiquid asset.

The production boom in Seattle looks abnormally high

Buyer Always Beware

I hope this reader’s story gives you a clear idea of what could go wrong when the real estate cycle turns south. Here’s a property owner who paid cash for three properties in 2004 and had to buy two more properties in 2012 just to break even 13 years later! What’s worse is the amount of stress and heartache he had to go through to manage the properties. If he had to stretch to buy all those properties with a mortgage, I’m pretty sure his entire retirement nest egg would have been wiped out.

If you’re close to retirement or in retirement, the last thing you want to do is spend your free time worrying about your assets. I’d much rather go on an around the world cruise and earn income 100% passively. Sure it sounds like the reader could have hired a property manager, but if you’re already bleeding cash, you aren’t as amenable to bleeding even more cash.

The longer you are an investor, the higher the chance you will experience bad times. It’s easy to feel good about your investments after such a prolonged bull run. Just know that when the storm hits, the floor drops out as the herd gets scared. At that time, you’ll wish you had a tremendous amount of liquidity like the investor who bought 157 units for a mere $9M with a 20% yield (BURL in effect!).

Related:

Ranking The Best Passive Income Investments

Real Estate Investing Rule To Follow: Buy Utility, Rent Luxury (BURL)

Always Work On Improving Cash Flow For Financial Independence

Any readers out there want to share their own real estate horror story?

from http://www.financialsamurai.com/worst-landlord-horror-story/