Open House and Salary.com

Today we had our first open house. We’re selling our little slice of Los Angeles. Despite the fairly crappy real estate market, our neighborhood is a nice one and values are holding pretty well.

We could be deluding ourselves thinking we will get our price, but I believe we’ll do great.

Our place is small. It’s just about 1,000 square feet. That’s right…just 200 feet per person, if you don’t count the dog or the brain surgeon’s sister.

Plug for the sister…she’s hot and single.

Anyway, having an open house when you have three kids crammed into two bedrooms is a Herculean effort, to say the least. We spent the early part of the morning moving toys and boxes of things that normally belong in our bathrooms and such into our very-accommodating neighbor’s condo.

Then I cleaned like never before, did some amateur real estate staging, baked cookies and chilled lemonade.

And then I pretended to be my realtor, since he was out of town.

This was challenging. And not just because I’m not a studly gay male as my realtor is. It’s also tough to watch people open all the cabinets and closets while suppressing the urge to apologize profusely for the mess.

Sometimes I admitted the condominium was mine. Other times I didn’t. One time when I didn’t, the couple went on and on about how neat and organized it was for a couple with two kids. Yea me!

For this, FlyLady deserves a plug. I owe it all to her. Attention all crazed housewives: Sign up for those FlyLady emails!

I didn’t tell them what a HUGE effort it took or that there were really THREE kids. They did wonder aloud where everyone slept – I guess because the kids have a queen bed in their room. We are such co-sleepers that I honestly don’t realize it anymore.

I felt horribly dishonest about the whole thing, though. I almost want to call them and come clean. What if we meet again? What if they make an offer?

It happened by accident – as lies sometimes do – and then grew enormous – as lies often do. They asked a question about the owners and I answered in the third person. That might have been fine, but then they stayed a half hour, asking and commenting about everything under the sun. Whew.

All this while the brain surgeon and the kidlets ran around and went down to the pool.

Did I mention it was SO HOT today? I think our combo of air conditioning and cold lemonade was a hit. Now we just need some offers to prove that theory.

I do love our little place, but I must now have a yard and my own laundry facilities or I will simply perish.

On the money front, I just read this article entitled, “Brain Surgeon: Dream Job.”

Now, some of you might know that residency training is highway robbery. During the brain surgeon’s first two years of residency, I calculated his hourly earnings and he made a whopping

HOLD

YER

BREATH

(and don’t be envious now)

FIVE dollars an HOUR.

Yes, folks, you heard that right. The brain surgeon was operating on human brains for 5 bucks an hour.

Now that he’s chief, he’s almost doubled that hefty wage, but still makes less than our nanny does, and we aren’t rich so she isn’t paid as well as she deserves. All this for 4 years as a pre-med plus 4 years of med school plus over 5 years of residency thus far.

And people ask me why I work. Um, yah, the brain surgeon can support a family of 5 on this. In Los Angeles. Yah.

The only reason I don’t slap people who say doctors make too much money is because I used to BE one of those people. Really, if you are out there, you are so clueless.

Now, the only major flub in the "Dream Job: Brain Surgeon" article is that it says you have to have a minimum of 14 years of training before being legally qualified to poke inside somebody’s head, but the brain surgeon has been performing brain surgery – albeit attended – since his first year of medical school – so gifted a surgeon and social schmoozer is he.

But here’s a clue for those who don’t know better: That’s was residency is. The surgeons in training OPERATE.

My particular brain surgeon, for example, has performed over 1,000 surgeries as a neurosurgeon, and many more as a medical student.

Even I, lowly writer, had my days in the operating room back when I was a lowly medical student.

Anyway, the article on the dream job, if anything, had a touch of inspiration that I’ll share with my own beloved brain surgeon.

Because it’s tough to be a brain surgeon. Intuitively, everyone knows that, but living it – especially during residency – is another thing entirely.

The next time you have a chance, hug a brain surgeon. They need hugs. They really do.

I'm having visions of T-shirts, mugs and bumper stickers...

Toodles!