Glo$$ing Over the Details

Dear Mr. Partner,

Wow! What a week. Poor Ms. Angie. Her furnace went out twice. What terrible timing with the cold weather they are having over in Birmingham!

It turns out the root of her lack of heat was a small electrical fire burning inside the wall. What a relief it was caught in time! However, it appears we now need a new electrical box. And, the fire melted the furnace. So, it seems we need a new one of those too.

Fortunately it was caught in time and the damage was minimal. There was no smoke damage. No loss of life. The home is habitable and the repairs are underway. Between you and I, let me tell you: it could have been much worse.

Your Frazzled Property Manager

Where There's Smoke

Ms. Angie was hysterical. And I told her so.

My assertion actually quieted her long enough so that I could get one critical sentence in edgewise. "You need to immediately call the fire department if this happens again."

And ladies and gentlemen, that is how my Wednesday started.

In the event you are unaware, landlords do not get calls about toilets overflowing at 2 a.m. They get calls on holiday weekends with some sort of impossible problem that can't be resolved no matter who asks. Our Saviour could come to Earth and try to find a plumber at 5:01 p.m. the Friday of Labor Day weekend and would get an answering service. That's how life works.

It is no different if you have a backed up septic system, no air conditioning, no heat or the hot water heater blows. This is why we have gracious friends with couches.

But, back to Ms. Angie. The trouble started Christmas weekend, with an easy furnace fix on Monday morning. However, the "easy fix" was really masking a much bigger symptom. And, if her heat hadn't gone out a second time this week, we might not have discovered the root of the problem until much, much too late. Apparently there was a smoldering wire in the wall, causing the furnace to short.

Ms. Angie awoke on Wednesday to no heat. Apparently there had also been a "funny smell" for days as well. When she called me at some horrid hour that morning, all she did was mention the heater. The smell didn't really phase her, I'm guessing, because it was colder than the polar North on her side of Birmingham.

With my limited information, I told her to do the sensible thing: call the HVAC guy out there again and have him take a look. It would be a lot quicker than me making the drive to take a look--which I didn't tell her.

When the HVAC guy walked in, he immediately recognized the smell of ozone wafting through the home. I was on the phone with Ms. Angie a second time when this occurred. The HVAC dude had just passed me back to her, right after I directed HVAC dude (who had no reason to help--other than he was just being nice) to break into the wall. He muttered something about "a possible fire" to his counterpart and Ms. Angie rightfully lost it.

It turns out there was a smoldering wire in the wall. And, how it didn't ignite the entire home, I will never know. According to everyone there, it should have.

In the mean-time, Ms. Angie and I had a quick chat. That electrical smell is more important than heating her home. That smell requires a quick call to 911. Only after she has made sure everyone is out of the home, she can then call me. And, after all is said and done, then she can be hysterical.

I know I will be.

Loyalties

I don't give a fig about college football. But please! Don't tell Diamond Jim--who follows the Oregon Ducks. And more to the point, please don't tell the gang down South who are rabid University of Alabama fans (or maybe it is Alabama University? You know, I am not quite sure.).

I can pretty accurately predict a typical autumn weekend somewhere in Alabama. Saturday the masses are shouting, "Roll Tide!" Sunday they are saying, "Praise Jesus!" And all is good.

Given that I like keeping my business relationships sane, I have become an Alabama football fan. (You are welcome to read about this terribly awkward moment here).

Last year, when the big college bowl game was between Alabama and Texas, it was a no-brainer who I was to cheer for. This year, when the same bowl game is between Oregon and Auburn University, I wasn't quite sure. And, if truth be told, the root of the Hatfield and McCoys disagreement had everything to do with Alabama and Auburn Universities. Hence, a rivalry was born.

Diamond Jim has been predicting this particular college bowl match-up for months. And next week he gets his wish. But, I wasn't sure what to do. I did know being neutral wasn't really an option. After all, I don't wish to create a major faux pas next time I talked with Attorney Jon or Jack.

So, I asked.

In my e-mail to Jack I said: "I have a quick etiquette question: as an Alabama fan who am I to cheer for in the BCS game? Are we to momentarily set aside our dislike of Auburn? Or, do we want the Ducks to crush them? Where should my loyalty lie?"

Completely putting my mind at ease, Jack replied: "You are now a BIG DUCK FAN!!! Roll Tide."

Tidings of Comfort and Warmth

I don't care who you are or how long you might have rented from me. I happen to know if I get a call at 7 p.m. on a Sunday night from a tenant, it will be not good news. This past Sunday was no exception.

Ms. Angie called me Sunday night, yes at 7 p.m. After carefully asking me how my Christmas was and sweetly inquiring about my health, the health of my family and the weather, she got down to business. It was 27 degrees in Birmingham, she had no heat and was darn unhappy about it.

I hate calls like this. Mainly because I have to say the very logical thing: there is not much I can do on the Sunday of Christmas weekend. So, she was stuck. And cold.

I did give her a quick pep talk (with a smattering of "bless your heart... I am so sorry to hear this" thrown in) that absolutely did nothing to make matters better. I also told her to call my HVAC guy in the morning and quickly gave her a couple of phone numbers. My last directive was if my guy didn't work out, find someone immediately in the morning and have them show up on her doorstep. And, by the way, whomever goes out must call me for authorization. I wouldn't be excited to find out the furnace had been replaced and I was on the hook.

I don't blame Ms. Angie for calling again Monday morning before 6 a.m. After all, it is difficult to think with frozen your brain cells. When she asked if we were the same time as her, I just replied with a dull "no" and left it at that.

What Ms. Angie wanted was the name and numbers of the repair guy that I had already given her the night before at a much more reasonable hour. I suspect this was my punishment for not waving my magic landlord wand and making her home toasty warm. My bad.

One of the really great nice parts about what I do is that I have set up decent relationships with my vendors. When I say, "Please bill me." They do. I have credibility with them.

My HVAC guy was also kind enough to patiently explain how the flux capacitor was broken and needed more dilithium crystals. And, as it turns out, he just happens to have a few extra dilithium crystals in his truck.

So now Ms. Angie has heat. And it didn't cost too much money or good will.

Whew!

The property taxes are paid. This was no small feat.

We had the money for the homes we have with Mr. Partner. But, we weren't exactly sure on we could swing it for the homes Marty Sunshine and I own.  We had a back up plan of borrowing money a small amount from family if we couldn't come up with the total ourselves. But, it wasn't necessary.

I can sleep tonight.

It Took Me 51 Weeks To Write This

As far as Marty Sunshine is concerned, my level of organization is akin to that of an over-tired hyper ADD toddler.

I don't personally think that is fair. I am organized in my own way. First, I have a super-good memory for mostly important things Second, I am too frugal to bother with pretty office organization trinkets. Third, how is this not organized?

This is a year's worth of filing. Which conveniently is now full--and it took 12 months to get there. Coincidence? I think not. This top shelf is actually all of the documents I have that need to be put into color coded file folders (yes, really, they are color coded) and then shoved into here:

Which will then start the arduous process of getting things ready for taxes. Like every year, "getting ready for taxes" will afford me breakfasts with Diamond Jim and will strain my 25 year plus friendship with Bliz (I love you dearly my friend). Which in turn will afford her a pound of "forgive me for being an idiot" toffee in the end. (And let me just say now, Bliz--I really do adore you and hopefully you are aware I am never fully myself from Jan. 1 to April 15--as I have to contend with Mr. Partner too).

Today, with a heavy heart and a sprained wrist, I am going to tackle 12 months' worth of paper--minus what Bliz will be sending me. She also has 12 months worth of my paper.

And, just because he says he loves me, Marty is offering to help me.

And as a quick disclaimer: if you are a real estate client, your file is not on these shelves. They are professionally tucked away in my filing cabinet or in my briefcase.

And, The Mother of the Year Award Goes To...

I got a call from Brenda on Monday morning. She had my Arizona cell number. The reason for her call was she heard I was the "lady who had lots of houses for rent." If I hadn't been in mental vacation mode I might have asked her where she got my number, but alas, I was ready to bake cookies and deck the halls.

Brenda, it seems, needs a place by mid-February. And, did I happen to have one available? She said she is having the darnest time finding a landlord who has a home available.

I pointed out that most landlords would prefer not to have a vacant home available two months from the time someone calls. Keeping a home vacant two months isn't good business. She didn't fully grasp this, and I didn't direct her to this blog either.

What I did do is chat with her for a bit. After all, I have a few homes that could be vacant with a bit of notice. Two in particular: Ms. Kathy's and Ms. Shirley's. So, depending upon where Brenda wanted to live, I might be easily able to accommodate her.

It turns out Brenda's conundrum really isn't location as much as it is basic economics. It seems dear, naive Brenda only has a modest sum to spend. Though I might be able to work with her budget, I needed a few things settled first.

"Who all would be living with you?" I asked.

"Just my son and I," she innocently replied.

I can work with this. Even if her budget was a bit more modest than I care for. However, Brenda it seems has a bit of a sense of humor. I asked, "Any pets?"

Brenda laughed. "Just my daughter and her three kids. But they will all share a room. I made that clear to them."

Perhaps the rest of you aren't in mental vacation mode and figured this out faster than I did. But, I did finally decipher what she meant before we parted ways. And, I wasn't as amused as she was by her little joke.

Nope, turns out I don't have anything available.

Jack's Way

Jack and I rent to Harold and Haroldine. Because of life's circumstances, Harold and Haroldine continue to be late. In general, my basic idea is to grouch at tenants who don't pay on time until they play my way or move. That works well when I am 1,700 miles from the house. However, in the case of Jack and I, he has something I don't have: proximity to the home we own.

And, before we go any further, I must tell you: I really respect and admire Jack as a man, business partner and landlord. I like the fact he wants to work things through with people. I like like the fact he has reminded me through thought, word and deed the reason landlords exist: to help people. I have gravitated away from this ideal and Jack has been kind enough to steer me back on track.

So, Friday when I found out Haroldine hadn't sent the rent, I called her. I knew where Jack stood--work something out if need be. And, that is much easier when Haroldine acts the part. In this case, she did what puts her in a higher echelon from Ms. Kathy or Ms. Shirley--she answered her phone and was accountable.

As we discussed, I asked her what needed to happen? Obviously rent wasn't getting in on time and it was doing neither of us any good. What can be done to fix this?

It turns out, the real issue is the due date. She wondered if it could be changed to better accommodate their paychecks. An easy fix that makes my life so much simpler. One that doesn't require drama, instead is based on communication and cooperation--both of which Haroldine is willing to offer.

We left our conversation open ended. I gave Haroldine some homework: find me a date that works. Provide it to me next week. I can work with a new due date. I can't work with uncertainty.

The Cold Hearted Truth

Months ago, Jack came to me with his dilemma: he had a tenant who was a month late on his rent. Jack had given him ample time to make good. In fact, as Jack had explained, they had talked the previous Thursday, and the tenant said he would let him know what was going in two days--the previous Saturday. And, not to worry.

It was now Wednesday when Jack and I were chatting. Jack had tried to call the tenant but wasn't getting any response. And, more to the point of our conversation, Jack was curious what I thought.

What I felt was a mixture of pity and astonishment of how naive Jack happened to be. What I thought was the tenant had communicated loud and clear. I told the later to Jack and left the former to myself.

During the whole Harold/Haroldine issue last month, I called Jack to keep him apprised. His attitude was to talk with them as reasonable people. He wanted to work something out with them and see if we could come to some sort of peaceful existence--even if that meant they left. Jack was willing to refund the security deposit in exchange for keys.

As we talked, I felt ashamed for being so hard-core. Here was Jack, willing to work something through so that we would have a win-win situation. Me? I was ready to serve their butts and kick them out on the street. My shame was washed away ten minutes later when I talked to Ms. Shirley who snapped at me for not sympathizing with her level of poverty.

Truth be told, there are people I would (and have) willingly worked with when money was tight. Ms. Robin hasn't paid me on time in months. Mrs. Sherwood could pay the rent late and I wouldn't blink. But there are others--the ones who have jaded me--who are directly responsible for the calluses on my heartstrings. These are the Mr. Smiths and the Ms. Kathys of the world. Because of them, any excuse is lame. Because of them, I no longer believe.

Return to Sender?

Dear Home Owner's Association for my Waterford Home:

Thank you so much for sending me a bill for the first time since I have owned this home. I appreciate you letting me know the fees for the HOA are due in two weeks if I do not want to be penalized. Though I would have preferred this knowledge earlier, the fact that I got a bill in the first place is a significant step forward.

I would be happy to pay this bill--even if you have given me only two weeks to come up with the money. However, my problem is a simple one: nowhere on your bill, or on the return envelope for that matter, have you given me an address to send the payment to.

As a reasonable person, I have made obvious inquiries to resolve my issue, though these actions now are being handled in between spurts of uncontrollable swearing and shots of amaretto. The woman I spoke with this past summer does not seem to be involved in your board any more. Her number is disconnected. Her e-mail no longer works. Thus, it appears I will be spending a good portion of the next two weeks (as to ensure my payment won't be late) finding a highly intelligent carrier pigeon who will be able to precisely send my check to the correct entity.

In conclusion: bless your collective hearts.

Always,

 Your Frustrated Landlord

December 17

Just want to send a quick shout-out to the love of my life, Marty Sunshine. He is the father of my children, the mower of my lawn and the one who keeps me grounded while we reach together for stars.

Happy birthday and I hope you have many more.

Approved

After I wrote my post for Tuesday (it was written Monday afternoon), I got a call from Kendra. She is the grandmother who had recently gotten custody of her five grandchildren. This time she was surprisingly calm and articulate. She called to say Kirby had just shown her the home in Leeds. And, by the way, thank you, for taking enough of a chance on her to actually be willing to think about renting to a family with five kids. Before me, she hadn't managed to find a landlord who would even talk to her.

She understood she wasn't approved, but if she were approved, she would make sure her five grandchildren would not be trashing my lovely home. Because, as far as she was concerned, she was going to live there forever--if indeed I approved her. Which she understood I hadn't. But hopefully her grandchildren would have a home for Christmas.

And, if that weren't enough to make me change my mind, I got an e-mail from Kirby later Monday night. Kirby tells me Kendra and Mr. Kendra's daughter is in jail. She and Mr. Kendra packed up and moved to Alabama last week to gain custody of these children so they wouldn't end up in foster care.

Mrs. Kendra is a cancer survivor on disability. She is about to get child support for all five kids (ages ranging from youn'un to medium-sized). Mr. Kendra also has a job. So, income is no problem.

Kirby told me his first impression was that all five kids were all well behaved and Kendra has them in line. Kendra also told him she has no intention of moving again. Ever. As far as Kirby was concerned, he felt these were the best renters that had come along for my Leeds home.

It appears Santa will be able to find these five kids this year after all.

She Called Back

I got a frantic call on Monday from the woman with five grandkids who didn't leave her number on Sunday. Interestingly, she had heard of me--but not through the ads in the paper or Craig's List. Someone (a former tenant is my guess) referred her to me. I find this strange, as the former tenants I have on that side of Birmingham aren't people who I would be speaking that highly of. So, my first assumption is she doesn't keep good company.

This woman immediately started in on her desperate plight: she just got emergency custody of her five grandchildren. She doesn't have all the money necessary to move. But, will I help her? All she wants is for her grandchildren to have a place to call home for Christmas.

Before she could incriminate herself further, I stopped her and told her to call Kirby.

Oh yes! This is why I have Kirby! I don't have to be the cold-hearted one who will say, "No! I will not allow you to move into my home a week before Christmas when you have no money to do so--and perhaps with a ton more baggage I don't need drug into my life."

(And I know if I listned to her story I would probably cave. I would be instantly sorry, but you, Dear Readers, would benefit greatly from some excellent blog fodder later. But I digress...).

Instead, Kirby can listen politely to her story, relay it to me with a positive spin on her situation. I can then make an educated decision, whereby Kirby can tell her what a cold-hearted heathen I really am. Or, perhaps there is some upside to this and he can tell her I approved her.

Her Loss

Yesterday, I had a voice mail from a caller with a restricted phone number waiting on my Birmingham cell. The message went something like this:

"Hello, I am interested in the house you have for rent in the paper. I just got custody of my five grandchildren and need a place to move into desperately. I want to give them a good Christmas. I can move in right away. Please call me back."

Too bad she didn't leave a number. I am desperate enough to overlook the fact she didn't give a name and the fact she has five children living with her.

Drat

I know what I have to do. But I don't wanna.

Sigh... but I will.

Mrs. Spring's lease ended on November 14. She left the place clean--move in ready clean. I wish I could say that about more tenants. She also left me the dishwasher.

Even though she moved out in September, she dutifully paid her lease through the end. Even if she did it because (as Carolsue claims) she is afraid of me. She still did it. She fulfilled her end of the bargain.

So it's my turn.

I have to give Mrs. Spring her security deposit back. Of course, she hasn't given me a forwarding address. So, I haven't been in a major hurry to mail the check. But, the law says certain things. And, even if the law didn't. I know right from wrong. I am not a thief.

So, it is time to hunt down Mrs. Spring and have one more conversation with her. Hopefully it will be brief. And more importantly, drama free.

At this point, all I want for Christmas is drama free.

Oh No He Didn't

I am thinking about taking back all the nice things I ever said about Kirby.

Wednesday night--while I was busy fretting about how the hell I was going to pay the property taxes due in 23 days, Kirby sent me an e-mail. In it he said:

Been very busy around here lately and the holidays just slow things down more. Leeds is either going to be tough one to rent or it is just because it is close to the holidays and no one is going to want to move at this time of year. I thought I had a couple who were going to bring the application back and move quickly if they were approved but I have not heard back from them since I showed it to them last week. They were iffy at best and they must have realized that. Not getting many calls at all from the newspaper either.

Well now! I know Leeds is tough to rent. In fact, if you have read my blog a couple of times you probably know it isn't a walk in the park either.

But before Kirby's e-mail, I had hope. Hope this joint would have a family sooner than later. Hope that asking for a higher deposit from the four unmarried people with no rental history was the right thing--and them getting upset and leaving because they didn't want to play by those rules would then lead me to a better tenant.

You know... the general kind of hope. Now, not so much.

I am a worrier and a fretter by nature. I have been so proud of myself this year for keeping it together up until these past two months. I have been proud I created a business strategy and we were able to follow it--and even make it work. I even put my fears aside and let Fate run its course.

I am going on three months with no tenant in Leeds. Granted, it is not our most expensive mortgage. But I could really use it rented right now.

And more than that, I could really use an encouraging word or two from Kirby.

Long Live the Streak

One of the drawbacks of writing my blogs days in advance is that things change.

Like Ms. Shirley.

Marty Sunshine opted to surprise me and made a pilgrimage to the post office on Tuesday--just for me. And lo and behold! There was Ms. Shirley's check.

Of course, this sparked a debate between us about calling off Red the process server. According to Marty, why pay to serve her when we have her money? My opinion was why on Earth did he pick up the check when I want to serve Ms. Shirley? After all, she doesn't seem to grasp her obligations here and needs a gentle reminder.

Besides, it would derive me great pleasure.

Which turned the conversation to Marty Sunshine's contention that I have disturbing aspects to my personality that he just doesn't find attractive--including my mean streak. By the way, according to my father, the mean streak is an Aries thing. And if truth be told, I don't mind my mean streak.

When push came to shove, we went with calling off Red--who hadn't gotten around to serving her just yet anyway. He offered to keep the Termination Letter to be revisited later or just shred it.

I begrudgingly agreed to him shredding it. But, I don't think Ms. Shirley and I are done. Because my mean streak lives on.

I Think There Was an X and a Q in the Word

Mr. Partner is convalescing nicely--or about as nice as can be expected--after spending a week in the ICU. We found out last week about his plight through the grapevine. Mr. Partner told us personally on Monday through an e-mail. He had some sort of issue that required surgery and had a big fancy name that impressed me to no end that he could spell it.

The upshot is Mr. Partner is alive and well. I am pleased to hear that. I am quite fond of Mr. Partner.

Last week when we were only getting snippets from hither and yon, I started thinking about what happens if Mr. Partner has an untimely demise. This of course is very different than when I pleasantly daydream about how much work Mr. Partner and Marty Sunshine will have on their plates if I had an untimely demise...

This is different. This is an asset question.

Mr. Partner has a quarter share in our LLC (Mrs. Partner has a quarter share too--just like Marty Sunshine and myself). So, the partnership would then be divided into thirds if I read my articles of formation correctly. This changes things for tax purposes. And changes the dynamics of the partnership too.

All the same, it gets complicated and tricky. I would then defer to CPA Diamond Jim who would have to figure a few things out.  And I am sure there would be long, hard to spell words in that transition too. So, it is definately for the best that we keep Mr. Partner around for a while.

Tough Love

Monday Marty Sunshine came home from the post office with a check in his hand. However, it was not from Ms. Shirley.

Could we all stop for a moment and gasp in mock-horror that Ms. Shirley didn't send her rent check. Yes, yes, yes... I am just astounded as you are.

Ok, now back to our regularly scheduled blog.

In all fairness to Ms. Shirley, it is possible she sent the rent and I hadn't receieved it on Monday. But, I wasn't taking any chances. I called Red, one of the process servers I use. He offered to deliver my love letter on Tuesday--but knowing that Alabama Time is not in sync with the Roman Calendar, "Tuesday" might mean any particular moment between Tuesday and Independence Day 2067.

The truth is, if Ms. Shirley sent the rent, I won't know until at least Thursday. That is the next day anyone is heading near the post office. So, if Red serves her the money might already be in Arizona. That's fine with me. Serving her might mean she won't be as embarrassed next time to pick up the phone when things go South.

Even if Red and my rent check do cross paths, that's ok. I am under the impression Ms. Shirley seems to think she deserves some sort of special entitlement from me. And, that is getting a bit old. A letter telling her she can pay or leave might give her a better understanding about my true feelings.

Puppy Power

Mrs. Green e-mailed me on Friday asking if they could get a puppy. And, more to the point, what would it take to get a fence put up?

At this moment, it would take a winning lottery ticket to get a fence put up. I have property taxes due at the end of the year and I have been scrambling since August to make that happen too. Thanks to Ms. Shirley and a few others, this task is a bit more daunting than I expected. And, I am only loosing a few hours of sleep every hour over it. But, I digress...

What Mrs. Green's e-mail really did was tug at all the self-doubts I have. I can't afford a fence. I can't afford to re-roof this home or paint it. The two things I really would like to do. Mrs. Green doesn't complain, but I know she would prefer an air conditioner that doesn't go out at the worst possible moment. Who wouldn't? And perhaps there is a landlord out there who could provide this for her. But at the moment, it isn't me.

I am guessing Mrs. Green has had the dog for a while, and finally got around to telling me about it. What I wrote to Mrs. Green--after determining that the "puppy in question" wasn't a pit bull (which brings up another burning question: what is it with people in Alabama and pit bulls? Surely there are other breeds of dogs out there?)--was that I would waive the pet deposit if she would take care of an enclosure for the dog. I figured that would bring some clarity to the situation, as I am guessing a pet deposit was the furthest thing from her mind. 

So far Mrs. Green doesn't seem phased by me asking her to take care of a puppy pen. I don't know what this enclosure will look like. Will she use the basement for the puppy? The basement with the newer carpet? Will she use the garage for the dog? Or, will she do the responsible pet owner thing and figure out a way for the dog to go outside when necessary?

And, I have to tell you, a pet deposit is used as landlords as a deterrent to weed out possible trouble tenants. There is no reasonable amount of money that will fix pet damage. Puppies chew. Puppies scratch? Puppies do what comes naturally. A $300 pet deposit won't fix this.

Mrs. Sherwood will Never Write a Cookbook

Mrs. Sherwood called me on Tuesday in the middle of a very serious meeting with Busy Mommy. Ok... Actually, we were at the dollar store looking for stocking stuffers. The purpose of Mrs. Sherwood's call was to get my fax number so she could send me the receipt for the stove I bought. Sadly, as she struggled with the fax machine, she realized carrier pigeon might have been faster, as the machine in question hadn't been used since Reagan was in office.

When I asked how the new stove was working out, she told me the major flaw she was finding was that her husband expected it to be used more than once. And, as far as she was concerned, she had tested the oven with Thanksgiving dinner. It worked. There was no need to jinx it.

While waiting for her fax to transmit, we swapped microwave dinner tips (tortillas, with melted cheese and canned chicken was my idea, instant grits with butter was hers) as I walked the aisles, searching for army men for Buckaroo and lip gloss for Polly. It was right around the peppermint sticks when Mrs. Sherwood dropped this one on me: the 47 year old carpet must go.
Her husband--who happens to be doing a bit more of the cooking--keeps spilling on the kitchen carpet. It is driving her crazy. It isn't like it can be just mopped up, she explained.

In turn, I explained that I just spent my last dollar on her stove and the money wasn't exactly in the budget right now for flooring. But down the road I would be happy to take care of this.

"Oh no! I plan on living her for a while. I wasn't asking you to replace it. I was going to do it," she said.

Well now! I can live with that. Because, I was going to replace the 47 year old carpet when they left anyway. So, if she wants to help me out. I am totally ok with that. Mrs. Sherwood promised me she would pick something neutral. And more importantly, something that her husband can mop up when he makes his mess.

The Action Plan

In the event you haven't read this blog in the past few days, Ms. Shirley really irked me. Mainly because I really resent people with a sense of entitlement. And, I hate cowards. Ms. Shirley is a coward.

So, when Kirby finally got back with me about Leeds on Monday (I asked for an update on the unrented home), I threw Ms. Shirley's home into the mix. You see, she is month-to-month. I sent Kirby a few photos and told him to please let me know if he might possibly have a tenant who might be interested. \

I am happy to give Shirley a 30 day notice.

A Carolsueism

I called Carolsue on Monday, still annoyed by Ms. Shirley's accusation that I didn't know what it was like to be poor. Carolsue had the best retort. I am sorry my wayback machine doesn't work. And, if it did work, I would need to practice the smooth Southern drawl to make the maximum impact. She said:

"You know, I heard my maid and my butler talking about that the other day. That 'poor thing' you mentioned sounds just awful."