Okay, so what's it really like being a full-time Investor?

I can only answer for myself, for you it may be something different, and I'd be interested in hearing about it. Please e-mail your day to me at ckohout@appliededu.com

The following is a day taken from my journal for 2006:

I got up alone at approximately 7.00 a.m., since my girlfriend had been out of the house for at least an hour in order for her to catch the train to Hoboken, only to switch trains and get on another one into lower Manhattan where there probably aren't any seats. I think she is beginning to realize that about 3 hours of her life are sucked up every week day by commuting.

As I pour a cup of hot coffee that she so thoughtfully left for me, I slowly go through the numbers in my head. 5 work days in a week, 52 weeks in a year. That's about 260 days she is working, I think to myself as I write it down. I realize this is too complicated as I reach for my calculator and plug in the 260 then multiply it by 3.

The answer that comes up shocks me so I do it again. The answer is the same--780 hours. 780 hours each year of her life are consumed by riding on a human cattle car with other disgruntled people stuck in this so-called rat race.

Then I remember the vow I made to myself to take control of my life and never go back. Even if I failed or if I made less money, at least my life is my own. I don't answer to anybody and I make my own decisions. I was living my dream. Of course the fact that I made more than $250,000 a year working a few hours a week helped me feel good too.

780 hours per year. I can't get that number out of my head. I also can't divide that number by 24 hours in a day, because I'm outside now watering my herb garden before it gets too bright out and the sun burns the wet plants. On the way back into the house I feed my goldfish. I grab another cup of coffee and the calculator and do just one more computation.

780 hours divided by 24. I wince and coffee creeps into my sinuses and sprays out of my mouth like someone had just told me some kind of hysterical joke. I look at the numbers again. Sure enough there it is. 32.5 days.

She spends just over a month every year on the train!!! No wonder the commuters look so angry when I pick her up every evening--I would hate life too if I only had less then 11 months a year left to work and live. I think of telling her but it's better if she realizes it for herself.

As I grab my keys I jot down one more note. "Have her keep the books." If that doesn't make her realize that you don't have to work for money I don't know what will.

I get in my car that looks more like a mobile billboard with "We Buy Houses 1-888-754-8597" plastered all over it and drive to school.

7:30 a.m.—I arrive at the before-school program two towns over at a local elementary school. My coworkers are over 70 and retired. As the parents drop their kids off that are in my Kindergarten through 4th grade group I smile at them laughing inside as I here them mutter to each other. "It's such a shame, is he that lazy, why can't he find a real job?" If they only knew. When I have kids they will never be a part of something like this.

We play checkers, Uno and wrap it up with the Friday morning Dance-a-thon.

8:30—The bell rings and I walk the kindergarteners to class. I say goodbye to my elderly co-workers and hop into the Deal Mobile that was parked at a major intersection down the block. I get home and start making breakfast, 6 egg whites & a cup of oatmeal.

9:00—I call my girlfriend at Merrill Lynch as she is getting to her desk. I tell her I need her help. I'll give her a credit card in the company name with a $500 limit every month just to deposit checks and pay bills. She agrees.

I check my phone messages from the day before and log in to my e mail and make a list of people to call back.

By 10:30—I've contacted my attorney and mortgage broker and faxed all the necessary documents to my title company. They are all preparing for a closing next week. And what a closing. This is my second transaction this year and I stand to make about $180,000. After this I'll already be well over $250,000 this year. What I find odd is that this one required less work than much smaller deals I've done. I think to myself I must be getting good, and I grab my fishing pole, sun block, bait, and my polarized shades, and of course my PDA and get ready to bike about ½ a mile to my favorite pond where I plan to fish away the rest of the morning.

As I ride my bike down the middle of a main street in town I realize again just how unique what I do is. During rush hour I would be afraid to cross but now I can practically have a picnic in the middle of the road because every one is at work.

I arrive at the fishing spot and meet my buddy Joe who is a retired World War II veteran. As I hop off my bike and unload my gear, he yells at me, "You're late Chuck." Joe's been here since 9:00, I respond with, "Yeah, sorry boss, rough day at the office. "

We catch and release sunfish, channel cats and large mouth bass. I help him bait his hook and take off the fish because his eyes aren't what they used to be, and in turn he packs me a lunch and a beer. Every day I remind him, "Joe I don't drink," and he responds with the same answer, "Well then I'll just have two" and I smile at him.

He gets aggravated when I return a few phone calls, collecting information from buyers as they walk through my houses without me being there, then text-ing it over to my mortgage brokers to see if they are qualified to buy. Then answering the phone again when they call back and tell me how much they loved the place and that they locked it up after they left. Man I'm happy I'm not a realtor, I don't even have to show up.

Around 3:00pm—I pack up and get ready to ride home. I tell Joe, "Same time tomorrow?" he yells back "Don't be late!"

I get home and check my e-mail, and make a few phone calls to people whom want to sell me their house and make one appointment in the same town where I run the before- school program at 5:30. I shower, put on some clean clothes and go to the grocery store.

What do I want to make for dinner tonight? I decide on baby lamb chops, a salad, and brown rice. I go home and pick some fresh rosemary and throw some fresh garlic in the food processor. I smother the lamb chops and put them back in the fridge. Wash my hands and get ready to go see a house.

I plug the address into my GPS and in 10 minutes I'm there. Half an hour early. I drive around the block and call on some signs in the neighborhood so I can get an idea of what houses are going for.

5:30—I see my seller pull in the driveway. I know everything about the situation. It's a bitter divorce, they're 3 months late on payments, there is a custody battle raging, and to say that the soon-to-be ex-husband and wife had nothing nice to say about each other over the phone would be an understatement. I had been on the phone with each while I was prepping my lamb chops.

I ring the doorbell and think to myself this looks like a nice place in a great town. If I can get it where I want it, it'll be a quick sale and one more thank-you letter on my wall.

The husband answers the door with a gaping mouth and a puzzled look on his face. I know him but I don't know from where. I extend my hand and say "Charles Kohout, pleasure to meet you," but he says nothing. Then his son runs to the door and asks, "Daddy Daddy is this the guy who is going to buy our house?" Then I make the connection.

He shakes his head in amazement and says "You're the lazy kid from the before school program." I respond by saying, "Yeah I am" and thinking to my self he must be a little embarrassed. I say, "Do you think you can keep this a secret? I don't want you to blow my cover." He laughs and smiles and I offer to move my "We Buy Houses" car around the block.

He invites me in, shortly after his wife shows up. She makes a pot of coffee and we sit at the kitchen table and discuss options after I've taken the tour. We agree on a price that makes us both happy and I tell them that I can't make them any promises. Then I ask them to make me one.

They respond with "What's that?" So I ask, "If I can do what I say, would you write me a thank-you letter?" and I stone face them. Silence fills the room. I've just presented them with a bunch of reasonable solutions and all I'm asking from them is a thank-you letter must be running through their heads. They smile and laugh. I check their ID give them a $10 bill to take some pictures of the house, do some simple paper work, and we agree they will be out in 2 weeks and I'm on my merry way.

By 6:30—I've already been back home and walked a few blocks to the train where I meet my girlfriend. As people I know in town get off the train and walk by they say things like, "How's the job hunt, Chuck?" All of the sudden there she is, and she looks exhausted. Beautiful but exhausted.

I ask her, "How was your day, baby?" and she responds by saying, "Long." We hold hands and walk home while we tell each other what we did that day. She takes a shower, while I finish up cooking dinner. We eat together, happy that it's Friday.

After dinner she cleans up, and I hand her a big checkbook and tell her, "This is your responsibility now." I write down "6 months" and tape it to the wall in my home office. That's my prediction on how long it will take her to realize she will make more money working with me part time.

We go for a walk listening to the frogs chirping away at the pond down the block and talk about the future, she tells me about how she would go to law school if she could find the time and the money. What she doesn't know yet is that I've just laid the groundwork for her to find it. But I can't tell her that the struggle to attain what you want is more important than actually getting it. If she can figure that out then I'll marry her some day.

We go back home and watch HBO and doze off on the couch in each other's arms. Life is beautiful, I can't wait to see what the next day will bring.

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