Random Correspondence

I don't make this stuff up. I don't need to.

I was cleaning out my office today and ran across these two little ditties below. I am sorry I only saved two. There have been many, many more.

A word about this first letter. It came just as you see below. The paper was folded in half with Marty Sunshine's name hand-written on the front.

For grins (and possibly to unload a home), I called the phone number. The first time I got a business voice mail for ABC Something Or Other--which had nothing to do with real estate, investing or anything of the like. The message said my call had been "forwarded" to this number. I didn't leave a message, but thought better of it. So, I immediately pushed redial.

This time I got a different voice mail. It was one of those generic "You have reached 2-0-5-XXX-XXXX" messages. I opted not to leave a message this time either. The third time I called was later in the day. I got a woman's voice mail. Her message sounded more like she was part of an escort service than a Michael Jones. I even double-checked to make sure I called the correct number. Yep. The last time I called, it went to a fax machine.

Sorry about that Michael Jones. I am sure you are totally credible.

This sweet postcard came from my AC company. They really are a good company, in the event you are in the market for someone to do HVAC service.

2012 Bucket List

Ok, I am writing this down in hopes I will remember--because I keep forgetting.

I need to pay property taxes tomorrow.

Plan E

It took Mr. Wonderful 32 cell phone minutes to tell me he was moving out. I had gathered this the moment the phone rang, as why else would he be calling me?

He has bought the house he mentioned to me before. I am happy for him. Mr. Wonderful is truly a nice guy. He seems to have had a bit of a struggle in years past and presumably things are looking up. Now, I don't know for sure if he has had struggles--because I refuse to get too personal with the guy. But I can guess based on life circumstances which brought him my direction. And the fact that my home in Alabaster seems to attract either Ms. Shirley crazy folks or people in life transitions.

This house isn't hard to rent. The neighborhood is quiet. The house is cute. It isn't my nicest house, but it is in the top three. Also, I get pretty decent rent at this house.

Mr. Wonderful, of course, is blissfully unconcerned about what I am facing: finding another tenant. However, for this particular house, I had a plan.

Plan A: Mr. Wonderful would show the home to prospective tenants, helping me find just the right crazy person delightful person whose life is in transition to move in.However, experience tells me tenants shouldn't show homes. Ever.

Tenants mean well of course. But tenants who are moving out get busy and then take it personally when the folks who are looking aren't always reliable and don't show up. Also, tenants might say something that may cause misunderstandings down the road. And then there is that pesky little issue of tenants thinking they are doing me a favor--which they essentially are.

So, though having Mr. Wonderful help looks like the easiest solution, it probably isn't.

Plan B: This one is a bit tricky. You see, in the past Mr. 114--the next door neighbor--has often helped me with this house. This is a much better situation because I can pay Mr. 114 and then the relationship is somewhat even.

However, it turns out Mr. 114 doesn't live next door any more. Mrs. 114 still lives next door, but I don't know her. I was somewhat aware of this situation, as Mr. Wonderful is quite chatty, but I opted to play dumb and just see if Mr. 114 might want to help me out anyway.

When I contacted Mr. 114 I found out two things: first, he doesn't want to help me rent out the home next door to his ex wife. And second: well, let me just say this, I am a divorced dad magnet. I now know many more things about a casual acquaintance than I ever wanted to know.

Plan C: A former tenant contacted me recently wanting to know if I had anything available in the area. At the time, I told them Mr. Wonderful's home might be coming available. I promised to keep them apprised. Though this seems like an easy answer on paper--instant tenant! Please note: it was my third choice and there is a reason for this. I didn't hear back from them when I broached the subject again two weeks ago, so I let it slide and didn't shed any tears.

Let's just completely gloss over Plan D: Do it myself. Frankly, it wasn't really much of a plan. This house is too far for Carolsue to help me with. And, let's face it, even though I can manage it myself, I have two property managers who are already there and can deal with the crazy calls. Mario prefers managing homes in Shelby County. However, because of a gross miscalculation of my competence on Mario's part earlier this year, I preferred to go straight to plan E.

Plan E: call Kirby. It isn't anything personal about Kirby that he is my last resort. I happen to really like the guy. It is just that this house is far from most of the others. And, I am never sure how busy he happens to be. But I e-mailed him anyway. I gave him my best, "Gee, I know this is kind of far, but I have this super-cute house in Alabaster that needs the right tenant and I am ready to loose an additional percentage of rent to have you manage it--just in case you might want to."

Kirby got back to me in record time. He looked up the house, checked out my pictures and assured me it was every bit as desirable a rental home as I promised it would be. According to Kirby, he is already working on finding a tenant and hopefully I will get this home rented quickly.

In the mean-time, Mr. Wonderful happens to be on the hook for the rent until I find a new tenant. I know this because he may have reminded me of it in one of our 30 minute chats.

Reality Check

I won't bore you with the knock-down drag out details that make an MTV reality show look tame, but Mr. Partner and the Sunshines have been at odds for months. Mr. Partner's complaints are legitimate: we aren't making money.

My response is something along the lines of, "No $^%# Sherlock. How nice of you to notice."  In fact, I am quite shocked it has taken Mr. Partner this long to catch on to this little ditty.

And, let's be reasonable here: I assure you Mr. Partner has been informed of our undercapitalized issues every step of the way. He knows rents in Birmingham have decreased about 20 percent. Unemployment in Birmingham is around 19 percent. Match that with a culture that doesn't seem to care about debts or obligations and you have the perfect storm of landlord hell.

What I find interesting about our conversations with Mr. Partner, is how clueless he seems to be each and every time we talk. It's as if he completely forgets what was said or written to him from a week earlier. Instead, he retorts with astonishment, taking it as a personal affront that this is the first time he has heard that his money is being used for such things as property taxes and home owner's insurance.

Rinse, lather and repeat.

Quite frankly, it is not just Mr. Partner's money that is being used for such endeavors. It is also Marty's and my money. It is also MY time. And, if I could humbly point out, I have at times worked two jobs just to ensure Mr. Partner's credit score stays intact and bills got paid. So, we are acutely aware of the cost and upkeep involving rental properties. Our kids know.  My bookkeeper knows. My accountant knows.

I am not sure what Mr. Partner expects at this point. Every year we have the same expenses: mortgages insurance and property tax. (And for anyone who feels pious here, Yes, I know buying an investment home for cash is the way to go. Crystal clear on that fact thankyouverymuch.). Every once in a while a potty leaks or someone moves out. It is the cost of doing business.

And, I assure you if I were to call Mr. Partner every time a tenant called me just to say, "Mr. Jones has a leaky faucet. What should we do?" Mr. Partner would come to the same conclusion I come to: get it fixed. He would make the same decision for his personal home too.

What Mr. Partner isn't saying is that property management costs us more money--money he wasn't intending to spend. This is true. Instead of consulting with Mr. Partner before I started putting homes in property management, I staged a coup. In fact, when the subject of property management first came up, Mr. Partner said no way. After a while, I found that the cost of property management is less expensive than the cost of turning over a trashed home--which is what I was getting because I was not able to effectively manage tenants from a long distance.

It isn't that Kirby and Mario get better tenants (in many cases they do), it is that there is someone right there and then who has the resources to hold tenants accountable when they move out. With me being 1,700 miles away, a tenant can take their family, but leave their garbage and make the latter my problem.

The situation with Mr. Partner has ebbed and flowed through the course of time, with Mr. Partner getting all partner-y and asking for financials and 8" x 10" color glossies every time he is asked to come up with his fair share.

And, if I could point out: we aren't making money on a monthly basis, but the assets have value. There are a few we could sell a few for a nice profit--but Mr. Partner isn't interested in selling. There are also a few we could sell for a reasonable loss too, but down the road they will again have equity.

Lest you think Mr. Partner is a complete jerk. He isn't. He and Mrs. Partner are pretty terrific people. When we started, he had a lot more landlord experience than I did and I greatly relied on his expertise. His experience, however, was managing local rentals--which right now I could do with my eyes closed and one hand tied behind my back. He has had his fair share of issues with local rentals too, but he doesn't manage as many in Phoenix as I do in Alabama so his problems aren't magnified.

We are coming to the end of another fiscal year and once again we need the funds necessary to handle his fair share of the property taxes. This isn't a shock to anyone but Mr. Partner. But I am sure he will figure out how to make this right. Because no matter how often he is shocked by what he is told, the reality isn't changing.

By the Time You Read This

I will be (or had been) sitting with my sister-in-law at some swanky mall on Wilshire Boulevard in Los Angeles. I don't care about the swanky mall (her choice for vacation destinations), whose Web site shows the same stores are also in the Phoenix Metro area. I certainly don't care about Los Angeles, which I have been waiting patiently to fall into the Pacific Ocean for quite some time (don't let me down Myans!). I do care about my sister-in-law, whom I love and adore and who took the day off to spend with Marty, the kids and I.

However, I know you don't come to my corner of cyber-space to hear about me being forced to spend Marty Sunshine's vacation in Southern California. You come here to read about the latest challenges I might be facing running an undercapitalized accidental rental business miles from my home.

There are a few items happening with the accidental business too. I have written several rough drafts of blogs that never were worthy of publishing. Perhaps after I get back from our Southern California Therapy I will feel like telling you about the demi-feud between the Partners and the Sunshines.

Or how Mr. Wonderful has designs that I am not thrilled about, and how plans A, B and C didn't pan out for me and Mr. Wonderful's home.

Or about how I was once again a magnet for another divorced dad--and keeping in the same vein how it utterly astonishes me when quasi acquaintances tell me such personal items about their lives.

Or, for that matter, how I feel about my Section 8 tenant leaving.

Or how I got another bill from Attorney Flip that is roughly equal to the National Debt from seventeen days ago.

Anyway, all these and much more to come when I am not so burned out.

Until next week!

Incompetence

Marty Sunshine recently asked me what obscure task could he help me with that would make my life easier. He was giddy with joy when I asked him to please find out about the property taxes. "That's all you need?" he naively asked.

Yep. That's what I needed.

You see, Jefferson County did not send me property tax notices this year. Some might think they did this because they are incompetent. They would be right.

So, early this morning Marty Sunshine went off to search for a phone number or any type of information whatsoever on Jefferson County's web site that would tell us exactly how much we owed. Three hours later, Marty was in a foul mood and no closer to finding what we had to pay.

There are no phone numbers on this site. There is no useful information on this site. In fact, the "old" way to look up properties--using the parcel ID number has been replaced by the "new" way to look up properties. The "new" way includes taking one's tax statement that was presumably mailed to them and typing in the "receipt" number one received on their tax statement.

In the event one didn't get a tax statement, Jefferson County has accounted for this: they have a message below the "tax receipt number look up" that says to contact their office if one needs a property tax notice. And then they give their physical address.

Marty Sunshine then went on to the most obvious way to look up properties: by address. Nope. This was a no-brainer to me, as the entire County has about four street names. For example, if you want to get to my home on King James Circle, one must go down King James Court, hang a left at King James Drive and proceed around the bend back to King James Court, until they reach King James Circle.

After about sixteen different searches, Marty found the place to input a parcel number--which has been how I looked up property tax information in the past. However, for whatever reason it wasn't working this morning. The noise you may have heard if you turned your head slightly in our direction was Marty Sunshine telling everyone how displeased he was that the parcel ID search wasn't working.

Eventually Marty settled for looking up each address by the name associated with the address. This is not an easy task when your last name is the same name as a county in Alabama and one's first name is probably one of the most common names on earth--as poor Marty's happens to be. Then there are a few homes titled to the LLCs also, those weren't as easy to find either, because instead of being classified as ABC Homes, LLC, they were listed in the system as (first name) LLC (last name) Homes (middle initial) A.

What we did find out through the course of this exercise is that Jefferson County has changed the parcel numbers for every single property we own. We now have the new parcel numbers so that this task will be much easier when I Marty does this again next year.

In the end, we decided that if we had just left everything alone Jefferson County probably would have sent us delinquent notices letting us know exactly how much we owed and what our parcel number happened to be. Or then again, maybe they wouldn't have noticed we hadn't paid.

Crying Wolf

One of the major byproducts of Landlordom is the level of astonishment I continually feel towards my tenants. Prior to the last 10 years, if you had ever suggested being a landlord includes providing free advice and/or solving personal problems of grown, (presumably) productive members' of society I would have laughed hysterically waiting for the punchline.

"No, really. The tenant expects you to what?!"

That said, I have been told all sorts of personal tidbits from tenants that blow me away, including but not limited to health challenges, love life questions, and lets not forget private issues that landed me a subpoena where I had to explain to a judge exactly what a tenant told me. And, let me tell you, the tenant was furious my memory was decent. And so was the judge.

I bring this up because of how I spent part of my weekend. My new refrigerator is coming this week. And, not a moment too soon. Sunday I spent the day cleaning up the melted goop in the bottom of my freezer. There is no question: this freezer is on life support (fortunately, the only thing being kept in this freezer at the time were ice cube trays, chocolate chips and bread). I figured this out myself. I took care of it.

Which brings me to Mrs. Green. A week ago Saturday she sent me a message about her refrigerator. I ignored it, wanting to see what "my refrigerator is acting up" really meant. However, I fully know I may eventually have to deal with this.  But here is the catch: I have heard nothing. Not text, e-mail or phone call. Nothing.

Contrast that to the Greens wanting me to drop everything and put a tarp on their roof last August. Given that I owed them a tarp at the time, I was still astonished at how little effort they were willing to go to in order to make sure their bedroom was protected from the elements. I would expect a similar panic if they didn't have a working refrigerator. But instead, it has been eerily quiet. Perhaps the refrigerator isn't really as bad as she suggested and she found her own solution.

Thin Ice

I read somewhere that the busiest time for plumbers is the days that follow Thanksgiving. That's going to be a problem for Mr. and Mrs. Green. You see, on Saturday, while I was at the orange big-box hardware stores that sells appliances, bolt cutters and grass seed, I got three texts from Mrs. Green.

The gist of the first two texts were to tell me that someone had stuffed an entire turkey down the kitchen sink when they weren't looking. And lo and behold! The sink backed up. The Greens had tried the usual methods of prayer, cursing and drain cleaner and now were on to drastic measures: letting the landlord know. And, what was I going to do about it?

In case, dear reader, you hadn't noticed it was the Saturday of a holiday weekend. There isn't a lot I can do. I am here. They are there. Getting on an airplane to jet over to Birmingham just to check out their sink is cost-prohibitive. So, I texted Mrs. Green back the only thing that made sense to me: call a plumber on Monday.

The third consecutive text message in her trilogy was to tell me that her refrigerator wasn't cooling or freezing. Coincidentally, I happened to be making an emergency refrigerator purchase at the time of Mrs. Green's texts. But this one was for my home. My 27 year old side-by-side is making funny noises and the ice cream is mushy. However, mine has been on the fritz for weeks. If Mrs. Green knew about her refrigerator for any length of time, she shouldn't have waited until a holiday weekend to tell me.

Given that the Greens--who are perfectly delightful tenants most of the time--expected me last August to get on a plane, fly to Birmingham, purchase a tarp at the hardware store, find a ladder and put the tarp on their roof, I am not inclined to offer up any feedback on the whole refrigerator thing.

I examined my options. I could purchase a refrigerator which she would hate. Or, I could tell her to look for a used one and bill me (knowing full well they would expect me to get on a plane, pick up the refrigerator and deliver it to their home). Or, I could just completely ignore her last message and see how serious her situation really is. Which, is what I decided to do for now.

The Divorced Dad Magnet

Mr. Wonderful is my tenant in Alabaster. He is a prominent business owner (so I hear) and seems to be an an all-around great guy. I really like him in a professional, Southern-friendly kind of way.

Recently, the City of Alabaster tried to extort money from me. I asked Mr. Wonderful about the legitimacy and he assured me that yes, they could do that. If you are so inclined, you can read about this experience here.

Fast forward to some random time in recent memory. Mr. Wonderful e-mailed me. Apparently the City of Alabaster has changed their minds and is no longer in the business of extorting landlords. He sent me a link to the aforementioned extortion page. Lucky for me, our LLC hasn't had the money to pay anything, and I hadn't complied anyway. At least now I am officially off the hook. 

However, I found it interesting how the dialog went with Mr. Wonderful. He sent me the story, with a brief explanation about why he was contacting me.

I thanked him for thinking of me and told him I was relieved this new rule had been enacted.

He wrote me back, re-iterating how awesome this is.

I thanked him, once again.

He wrote me back saying, once again, how this is just totally ducky.

I re-read our correspondence, making sure I wasn't missing anything huge, like there is a water leak, rent will be a day late or there is a herd of wild hedgehogs inhabiting the attic that need my immediate attention. When I didn't see any reason other than he is just being totally nice, I again thanked him and went into detail about the depths of my gratitude, but this time I cc'd Marty Sunshine.

Marty Sunshine's solution to said correspondence was to snicker. You see, for what ever reason, I am a divorced dad magnet. No, no--not in a home wrecker sort of way. But divorced men seem to gravitate to me in a sisterly, girl next door kind of way.

And, to make matters more awkward, Marty Sunshine thinks this is amusing and doesn't have a problem with these folks striking up friendships. I think he is totally ok with it merely for his entertainment. In fact, as Marty is reading this post over my shoulder, he is telling me this blog entry really doesn't convey the level of divorced dad magnet that I really am--whether family, friends, church or Alabama. They find me.

They always find me.

Which brings me to a few weeks later. Mr. Wonderful called. He has a possible steal on a home and wants to buy it--which translated to he is actually in the process of buying it. I gleaned this last nugget as Mr. Wonderful kept me on the phone for about 30 hours going over how carefully he will honor his lease if he buys this house. He also filled me in on ever single neighbor in his caulde sac.

He reiterated all of the above about sixteen more times as I stood on a rickety farm chair with a bic lighter desperately trying to make the smoke detector go off so I could feign another excuse to get off the phone. Hey! Don't laugh, short of hanging up on the poor guy, I was totally out of legitimate ways to cut off the conversation.

As a rule, brought to you by years (YEARS I tell you!) of experience, I don't make friends of my tenants. Mr. Wonderful is a top-notch tenant, quite fascinating and I actually have some legitimate business items I would like to discuss with him if he weren't my tenant. But right now he is my tenant. And, it is time to let Marty start answering my phone.

Random Bama--The Absentee Edition

The e-mail's subject line said, "potential tenant, no section 8". In the event Opal, Kirby's assistant, was afraid I wasn't going to respond to her e-mail, she shouldn't have worried. Telling me she had a potential tenant for Ms. Kathy's former home was something I couldn't ignore.

The tenant in question has now moved into the home and has already whined about minor maintenance issues that need to be addressed--like all of the stuff Ms. Kathy left in the shed. I was temped to tell Kirby to toss it over the fence, where she is currently living, but opted to remain silent and let him figure it out.

________________________________________________________

Speaking of Section 8, my first foray into a Section 8 tenant is coming to an end. My tenant had two pit bulls living at my home and several months ago I asked her to remove the dogs. Pit bulls and home owner's insurance don't go hand in hand.

The tenant gave two month's notice and will be leaving at the end of December. Kirby asked if I wanted to do anything to entice her to stay. "Not sure I can offer much." I replied. I wasn't about to reduce the rent and she couldn't have the dogs.

So... starting January 1, I will have another vacant home. I am not sure I will accept another Section 8 tenant. I have some thoughts about this, but it will have to wait for another blog.

________________________________________________________

You might remember Mr. Wonderful? I owe you a blog about him too. He is truly a wonderful tenant. However, he is buying a home. Because he is so darn wonderful, he is honoring his lease until it expires or until I find another tenant.

This house is easy to rent, so I am not too worried. Just sort of annoyed I have to turn it over again. In addition to that, Ms. Shirley--the tenant who lived in this house before Mr. Wonderful--painted sample colors on just about every wall in the home. It still hasn't been painted. Mr. Wonderful just didn't care. But it strikes me as something a future tenant will probably care about.

________________________________________________________


My tenant in Fultondale came through. They paid, but not without a bit of cardiac arrest from me. Fortunately, the note I sent Kirby that Friday said "please don't make me go into the weekend without an update on this situation. It just won't be fair to my family," was received by an update on Friday afternoon and another one Saturday morning--letting me know they did indeed pay. They also renewed their lease.

October Surprise

It is no surprise that for the past several Octobers I have managed to get mind-blowingly sick. I wasn't shocked when it happened this October. Instead I was annoyed beyond belief. I still am annoyed (and still under the weather, for that matter).

However, this year, as I have been laying around, wishing I could run, knit and sleep I was reveling in the fact that All Things Alabama were more or less under control. Yes, Ms. Kathy's former home is vacant. I expected that, though if I was going to have the money for the mortgage has been nagging at me. But this year, with the help of good tenants, two property managers and Carolsue on the ground, I haven't really needed anything and have been able to focus on getting well because all other minor pesky issues could wait for better health.

So, imagine my astonishment when I woke up today to find out that one of my tenants hadn't paid rent! It is one of Kirby's properties. I had gotten a seven-day notice on them earlier in the month--right before I had taken ill. I had been in continued correspondence with Kirby since then, but nobody on his team had the presence of mind to tell him, or for that matter me, that rent is now 26 days late.

The house in question is not in Mr. Partner's LLC, it is one Marty and I own solely. So, there are different challenges with this.

I have contacted Kirby, explaining my ultimate displeasure with his person who dropped the ball and didn't keep me posted. I also asked for an update by the end of today, explaining that nobody wants to deal with me if I have to play "what if" over the weekend.

Nobody.

If there is some sort of silver lining on this one, the tenant in question tends to come through. Hopefully they will do so this time. If not, I am not sure I have a plan B right now.

Give'n Take

For the most part, Kirby and I have a reasonable relationship as long as we aren't talking on the phone. Which we never do because Kirby is totally incabable of returning my calls.

But, we do e-mail, with me fully understanding that e-mails at the month-end are not going to be answered in a reasonable amount of time. Kirby manages 200 homes. I know he is busy. Month-end is even busier.

In the past few weeks I have e-mailed Kirby a lot of questions: did the tenant on Fultondale sign another year lease? How far along is the repairs for the home in Moody? And speaking of which, how is the whole rental ordeal going for the home in Moody? Has the new wing on the home in Pinson been added? And I have a modest proposal for the tenants living in the home in Leeds. What do the tenants think of my idea?

All of these have been met by an empty e-mail in box. And, then all of the sudden Kirby wanted money for the home on Moody. I was happy to send what I owed, but it came with a small price. I wrote him, telling him I sent the check, and in return I would like an answer or three.

That doesn't strike me as too much to ask.

Today's Safety Tip

If you are a landlord, might I suggest getting a PO Box where rents and general correspondence will be sent to? This way your tenants don't know where you live if things go South. I am not saying anything will happen, but safety first. K?

Oh yes, even if wish to counter this post by proclaiming how you have some sort of fabulous direct deposit system in place, I still recommend not giving out your address to future former tenants. Just saying...

Empty Tank Of Gas and No Patience Left

So, this week two random people found me and wanted me to help them rent homes.

In case you are unaware of how much I hate using my real estate license for leasing homes... Never mind. It is close to the Holidays. I have a gaping hole where a dishwasher might someday again go (I really miss my dishwasher) and I can sure use the money--even if it works out to less per hour than I pay Buckaroo and Polly to wash the dishes (which is nothing).  

Anyway, I had nothing but time and a full tank of gas this past week as I agreed to show homes.

Sam and Diane were an interesting couple. I spoke with Sam on the phone and he told me what he was looking for. The good news is he wanted Mesa. The bad news is the only places one can find homes in his price range are in neighborhoods I don't normally frequent in the daylight. And, in the event you think I am exaggerating, our first rental home was a block away from the house he and Diane fell in love with.

This ordeal bled into Friday morning at 7:45 a.m., when I met Diane at the bank parking lot near my home to exchange her application and credit check money for my smile. She and Sam had dutifully filled out the the entire application and all of the various questions such as, "is there anything that would keep us from renting to you such as a felony or eviction?" They had put "no" on both.

The other couple, Dan and Sandy, also called me about the same time this past week. They were moving here from out of state and Sandy was going to be in town for precisely 18 hours to find a home. They wanted anywhere but Mesa (they had heard how bad some of the neighborhoods are). The catch: they wanted a three month lease.

There is an expense involved with a tenant moving out. No matter how clean they may leave the home, there is turnover cost for landlords. Also, there is the cost of marketing the home and having it vacant once again. No sane landlord ever takes three month leases. And if they are desperate to do so, it is for a serious premium.

So, Friday afternoon, Sandy shows up with her mother--bless her heart. I am sure her mother is a lovely person. Her mother has never lived in Arizona, also just flew in for this excursion, is a self-professed negotiating maven and doesn't really have any interest in social graces. Momma was careful to let me know how things would be going down with her daughter's home hunting adventure--completely bypassing the me and reality of the East Valley rental market.

Given that I found precisely four landlords in a metropolitan area of two million who were desperate enough to buy my sales pitch about three month leases ("This way you will have a tenant through the Holidays!"), I didn't think there was much hope in securing a home for Sandy. Plus, three of these homes were in Arizona's second (or third, depending upon who you ask) largest city: Mesa.

It was the third home Sandy fell in love with. It was in the Mesa. It was cute. There was no negotiating price or terms. Sandy filled out the application, we sent it to Dan back at home for him to sign and we waited.

Meanwhile, back to Sam and Diane... Sadly, their credit check did not agree with them, there was an eviction reported. And, when I called them Friday afternoon to tell them there seems to be a bump in the road, and perhaps we could get to the bottom of this whole eviction thing, as it was certainly an error? Sam's answer was to fly off the handle, jump in his car and let the poor leasing agent at the apartment he used to live at hear how they have messed with his life by falsely filing an eviction against him.

Of course, I only heard snippets--all from Sam, who was very proud of his actions. The challenge was, he needed these folks at his former apartment to fix this error, and they weren't inclined to jump through any major hoops at 4:17 p.m. on a Friday after he had just read them the riot act. Go figure?

At the same time I was fielding calls from the property management company handling Sam and Diane, I was also politely chatting with Sandy and trying to stay on Momma's good side, while waiting for Dan to return the lease application. At one point, I just looked Sandy in the eye and said, "You've never had an eviction, right?" Sandy seemed somewhat shocked anyone would think such a thing.

The long and the short of this is Sandy and Dan were approved in mere hours. It was the easiest $1.28 per hour I ever made. Sam and Diane are enraged and don't know what to do. Hopefully they can channel their energies to stay out of jail long enough to find a home. At this time they are out of people to abuse, as it is the weekend and the property manager who has their application won't be available until Monday to field their calls.

I know what to do: get busy enough selling homes to fix our undercapitalized issues so that I can finally retire from rentals. I'm thinking these tenants are crazy.

Random Spam--Head in the Sand Edition

Oh, you know you've made it big in the blogosphere when you get random spam comments that aren't about body parts or the medications they are supposed to support.

Here's my latest. It sure beats telling you about the humongous bill Kirby sent me to get my home in Moody cleaned up. I dare Ms. Kathy to call me. I double dare her.

"Your furnishings, utilize a little bit of duct tape to elevate and eliminate these. It is really tough to picture that."

"I really fondness for the matter you shared. Thank you pro rearrangement."

A Small Kindness

Attorney Flip sweetly sent me a newspaper article about the Late Attorney Jon's family. It is an old story, written several years ago, but it shed some light on the Late Attorney Jon's life. Just when I thought I was putting Jon's death behind me, this stirred up new emotions.

I am sure the Late Attorney Jon would not have defined our relationship as "friends." We were friendly and I would go as far as to say there was a fondness between us. He did non-legal counsel things like setting up up introductions to the likes of Jack--who is now my business partner--and Legal Eagle. Back when we had a very different economy, the Late Attorney Jon helped me get in front of a big-time SEC lawyer and he was crucial in assisting me in fine-tuning the business plan we were promoting. So, though we weren't friends, per se, the Late Attorney Jon went out of his way to make me feel welcome in the South.

For that, I will always be grateful.

However, I have struggled with my right to grieve about Attorney Jon's death. I doubt he would have felt this way about my death if the situation were reversed. But, I do grieve. I think when one leaves this life the way Jon did, there are always unanswered questions for those who are left behind. I think of Mrs. Late Attorney Jon and their daughters and hope they find a way to be whole again. I think of Jack, the Late Attorney Jon's friend of 30+ years and hope he and the very dear Mrs. Jack are coping.

When I was in Birmingham this summer, Jack and Mrs. Jack talked with me about the Late Attorney Jon. At the time, I didn't want to share. I was specifically in Birmingham to take care of some business Jon didn't finish and I found it to be a slippery slope to discuss such things with Jack, as there was no way to do so without suggesting Attorney Jon had dropped the ball on me--big time (and I prefer not to think about the fact that the Late Attorney Jon was remiss with my files).

When I met with Flip last summer, I pointed out that the rest of those in Birmingham who knew Jon had already been given a chance to grieve together. For almost a year, they were able to share stories, smile and cry all in Jon's name. I was all by myself in Arizona. There was nobody for me to share stories, smile and cry with (Though they spoke on the phone once or twice, Marty Sunshine never physically met the Late Attorney Jon.).

In many ways, my trip last summer was to help me deal with my grief. It wasn't intended to be that way, it just happened. One of the more bizarre events that occurred was that I accidentally found Jon's final resting place while I was driving around Birmingham. As I was flying back to Phoenix after that trip, I got a lump in my throat and shed a few tears, probably for the first time in Jon's honor. And though I must have been quite a sight on the plane, I didn't care. The wave of emotions were released.

The article Flip kindly sent me was insightful. It gave me some idea of what kinds of challenges Jon had as a young adult. And in some ways, just the fact that Flip sent it to me, made me feel like I am not grieving alone any more.

The Guard Dog

Ms. Kathy frantically called me yesterday. She wanted to tell me someone was breaking into my home--she could see it all the way from her sister's house next door.

And what should she do?

Of course, when she called, I saw it was her and let her message go to voice mail. So, after I heard what she had to say I instantly called back and asked her to call the police if someone was breaking in.

When I pressed further, I found out that the home probably wasn't really being broken into. What was really happening was presumably that some real estate agent was showing the home and Ms. Kathy (or her sister) didn't like the looks of the man, mentioning several times to me the man in question didn't "speak English." Ms. Kathy made some sort of comment about how her sister didn't want undesirable people living next door to her and one can never be too careful.

Ain't that the truth! Who would want paying, law abiding citizens living next door, keeping up the property and paying the rent on time?! Speaking of which, Ms. Kathy also mentioned she hadn't "gotten around" to mowing the lawn before she left. I guess the two and a half months of living there for free was too taxing for her.

But the real reason for Ms. Kathy's call was to tell me Carolsue wasn't very nice to her last week. I am not sure what I am supposed to do with this knowledge. When Carolsue talked to Ms. Kathy last week, she was a heck of a lot more charitable than I was at that particular moment. And, more to the point, Carolsue is a lot scarier and Ms. Kathy took her seriously. Ms. Kathy certainly wasn't taking me seriously. However, I didn't share all this with Ms. Kathy. Instead, I gave her a dull "uh-huh," as there wasn't much else to say. Carolsue was effective; Ms. Kathy moved out. (Thank you Carolsue.)

Which brings me to Part B of Ms. Kathy's agenda, she innocently asked why exactly she had to move last weekend if I haven't rented out the home just yet?

I truly did not want to go into great details about how Ms. Kathy is stealing from me by living in my home for free. Instead, I changed the subject, mentioning the apartment complex called asking for a reference, and would she be moving this week to her new home? I never did get a straight answer from Ms. Kathy on that one. She said something about the apartment complex needing more "documentation" and left it at that. I'm guessing there is much more to that story--but I may never find out.

In the mean-time, I need to play nice with Ms. Kathy. She lives next door, and apparently is planning on defending my honor by driving off anyone she doesn't feel looks desirable.

Random Spam Comment

This was in my SPAM comments folder for this blog.

"Great post however I was wondering if you could write a litte more on this topic? I'd be very grateful if you could elaborate a little bit further."

I think I have elaborated enough, thank you.

Flip Update

Flip, the attorney I went to visit in Birmingham last summer, is taking care of some extreme legalities the Late Attorney Jon neglected to handle before his untimely passing. For those of you who aren't up to speed on Flip, essentially, it took an e-mail introduction from Legal Eagle, repeated phone calls from me for three weeks, a 20 minute wait in his office and another 20 minutes of selling myself before Flip took out a legal pad, looked me in the eye and gave me the time of day.

What I found out later on (indirectly from Flip) is that had I invoked the name of Jack--my Birmingham business partner--I probably could have bypassed the first three weeks and forty minutes of pestering Flip and got straight to business. Flip and Jack, apparently, are good friends.

That doesn't surprise me. Jack knows everyone. Even though it is about the size of Mesa AZ, in many ways Birmingham is a very small town. I have never discussed my working with Flip with Jack, but word has gotten back to me Jack is aware I hired Flip.

Anyway, back to Flip. Flip took care of Bizarrely Legal Hassle #1 with ease and a bill that is roughly the equivalent of the national debt. He is still working on Even More Bizarrely Legal Hassle #2. It is taking some more doing, but I am confident it will be resolved.

In addition to Flip handling these items, he sent me an e-mail two weeks ago, completely out of the blue, offering to be my agent of record. A tremendous honor, and he didn't have to do it. Granted, he probably doesn't think it is that big a deal, but he doesn't read this blog. Or, for that matter the items that aren't published in this blog.

I am so grateful for Flip. He has put my mind at ease and has a level of compassion that blows me away--the kind of compassion I found in the Late Attorney Jon. And speaking of Jon, the other day Flip sent me an e-mail saying he found a newspaper article about the Late Attorney Jon he thought I might like to read. Would it be ok if he sent it to me? Yes, actually I would like to read it. But more than that, I am beyond grateful he is flipping over backwards to help me.

A Not-So Psychic Prediction

Let me tell you about my pal Lisa.

Lisa and I have been friendly for a zillion years. I adore her. About once every six months or so she calls me, asking me to run comps on her home or just asks a basic real estate question.

About a year ago, Lisa and her husband inherited a spare home in the greater East Valley metropolitan areas of Phoenix. Enter Friend of Lisa's.

Last summer, Friend of Lisa's needed a place to crash for just a few weeks. Would it be ok to use Lisa's spare home? Lisa's Hubby obliged. After all, they weren't using it. Why not help a friend out?

For those of you familiar with the Roman calendar, you can now see we are no longer into summer. And for that matter, just a "few weeks" have painfully come and gone with Friend still hanging out, stretching her few weeks to several months.

Last I heard, Lisa and Hubby have reached some sort of agreement with Friend of Lisa's that Friend will now be moving out early November. Of course, none of this is in writing. Lisa and her Husband were handling this with the Friend with the best of intentions when this all started.

Though we weren't discussing any of this when Lisa called me to chat today, I threw in my two cents anyway. "If you have convince your friend to move, come early November, you will need to evict her. The first part of this is by sending her a 30 day notice. Today." I said.

"Evict?" Lisa gasped.

I then proceeded--without solicitation--to explain all the things that can go wrong with the implied agreement they have in place. One of which is that from the two minute background I had just heard, I was pretty sure Lisa's friend isn't as loyal to Lisa as Lisa is to her. Lisa's friend probably wants another month to figure out where she is going to go next--which is what she has done for the past three months.

And then, when push comes to shove come early November, Lisa's friend will probably give Lisa some sort of sob story about why she needs to stay longer. That's why Lisa needs to start putting everything in writing--including a 30 day notice--starting now.

All of this sounds like a bad B-movie plot to Lisa. I am not saying she ignored my advice, but I don't think she took copious notes either.

Now then, I don't have a crystal ball here, but I would be willing to bet this won't be the last time I will be blogging about Lisa's situation.

You've Now Read It All

I got a phone call on Tuesday from some lady named Ellen. She called about sixteen times in 20 minutes, I guess, figuring if I didn't answer the first fifteen times, perhaps it was time to finally leave a message.

And actually, I didn't answer the phone because I saw the caller was from Moody Alabama. I know precisely two people in Moody Alabama: Mr. Smith and Ms. Kathy. And, bless their hearts, I don't really feel like chatting with either of them.

Ellen's message was simply that Ms. Kathy had given me as a landlord reference and would I please call Ellen back with the scoop. I give Ms. Kathy props for nerve. After all, why not just ask a friend, or for that matter, a random stranger to vouch for her?

And, what exactly am I supposed to say? I kicked her out because she only paid on time twice in the entire three and a half years she rented from me? She is a victim of everyone else and takes zero responsibility for her life? She gets a social security check every month for four times the amount of her rent, but couldn't figure out how to give me what she was contractually obligated to pay?

You know, I once had someone use me as a job reference under similar circumstances. It was a political thing at the time, the person in question is a very good friend of the family. Not vouching for this person as a job reference would have caused future pain and heart ache. At the time, when asked, I said that the family friend was "innovative" and an "outside the box thinker". Which were both true, because I was the last person she logically should have picked for a reference.

In Ms. Kathy's case, it is also a bit political and, it is probably in my best interest for us to part friends. So, I waited until after hours and called Ellen back leaving a message. I said Ms. Kathy had rented from me for three and a half years. And, then I said how much the rent was every month. Then I made some sort of "I hope this answers all your questions. Thank you," noises and hung up. At no time in my voice mail did I say say, if she had any questions to call me back.

Hopefully Ellen doesn't call back and ask for more detail. Because I am not sure saying Ms. Kathy is innovative will sound like high praise for her rental history.

Tricky Logistics

As someone who deals with landlords like me, I really feel for Kirby. I don't feel for Mario--my other property manager--because I don't talk to him unless I am forced to. He and I prefer it that way.

When I gave Ms. Kathy's former home to Kirby to manage, I neglected to tell him former tenants Mr. and Mrs. Smith--whom I kicked out and have a sizable judgement against--live directly across the street at Mrs. Smith's father's home.

I sorta kinda brought it up to Kirby Monday when he asked me about marketing the house. I mentioned it only because I wanted to be sure there wasn't any chance he was going to rent this home back to those morons folks. I also sorta, kinda brought up the fact that Mrs. Kathy is going to be living next door with her sister until she finds someone to rent her the mega-mansion she feels she deserves. So, could he please get the locks changed?

His reply: "Do you have any other surprises?"

Nope. None that he should know about at this time. But, then again, he doesn't read this blog.

Closed

Kirby, bless him, stopped everything he was doing on Monday morning and drove out to Moody Alabama to meet Ms. Kathy. I had told her he was "taking possession of the home" at 9 a.m., whether she liked it or not.

According to Kirby, she did not. But she left. And, I know you are all going to be utterly shocked by this--but she did not leave the home clean--even though she assured me for the past three weeks when she left the place would be cleaner than an OCD housewife's kitchen. Nor did she mow the yard, which I hear is out of control.

But, she is gone and my homeless shelter is now closed.

The Miracle

Last Tuesday Ms. Kathy called me. She had two pieces of information for me: first, she was moving out on Friday. No worries. And just in case it came up, she would certainly leave the house in tip-top shape. Yessiree, you could count on her to leave that place prettier than she found it. You bet.

The other item she slipped in was that she was (her words) "confused" as to why Carolsue had called her at all the weekend before. After all, hadn't she and I been talking all along? Well, no. I am talking. She is ignoring.

But instead, I gently reminded her about how I had called, texted and e-mailed her last week. Kirby, the property manager who was taking this house off my plate as soon as Ms. Kathy moved out, also was doing the same. Additionally, I had sent a carrier pigeon over and sent smoke signals. Ms. Kathy had ignored all of the above. So, what was a girl to do but call Carolsue?

Ms. Kathy's feeble answer was simply to say, "Well, I can't text back on my phone. I can only receive texts."

Let us fast forward to last Friday, shall we? Ms. Kathy left a voice mail for me saying she hadn't found a place to live just yet. She hoped it was ok if she just stayed in my home a bit longer--and I am not making this up--just until she found some where she "liked."

It was so totally not ok.

In fact, it was so totally not ok that I may or may not have thrown an icy water bottle at the wall and may or may not have put a nice hole in the said wall. But, I am not admitting to anything. (Did I ever mention that I have an awesome husband who does handy jobs when necessary? Not that this previous statement has anything to do with the above.)

And, may I also say, God bless Carolsue, who actually called Ms. Kathy back and managed to get Ms. Kathy to cry like a baby to commit to leaving by the end of the weekend. I don't know exactly what Carolsue said, but it probably was a little bit nicer than what I wanted to say. And besides, Carolsue doesn't work for me. She can legally say whatever she wants without violating Fair Housing laws. (but in all fairness, if I were to call Ms. Kathy a white trash thief and whore it would not be violating Fair Housing laws specifically. White trash thieves and whores aren't protected. And, I would prefer not to discuss the other legal and ethical violations I might be making here, I am specifically talking about Fair Housing).

But, back to my story... Now Ms. Kathy is supposed to move out over this weekend.

Like today.

Though I am not holding my breath, but I am going to play along because I have nothing else I can do right now. And besides, I am fresh out of wall patch.

However, in the event Ms. Kathy does follow through, I needed a plan. So, Friday night e-mailed Kirby and begged him to drop everything he had going on Monday morning and please meet Ms. Kathy and retrieve my keys. Kirby didn't even flinch. He e-mailed me back at 7 a.m. Saturday morning saying he would be there Monday morning at 9 a.m.

My only step left was to let Ms. Kathy know. And, because I don't really want to talk to her, I was left with few choices. So, I sent her an e-mail. And, I also sent her a text saying Kirby was showing up at 9 a.m. to take possession of my home and take the keys away from her.

And wouldn't you know it! Her phone has been healed. A true miracle. She immediately sent a text back saying, "ok."

Calling in the Marine

Ms. Kathy was moving. Then she wasn't moving, instead she was going to pay up and stay in my home forever. Then she "lost" her social security money the day it landed in her bank account. Her solution was to tell me she was going to pay half of what she owed--which I did not agree to. Two hours later she managed to loose that too. Completely bypassing the fact I told her I was refusing the payment, she then offered to send me $100 and call us even. Would that be enough to stay? Then she and I had an interesting conversation where she came to the conclusion she was going to move.

That's the story of the past month.

Except Ms. Kathy didn't move and she seemed to forget about our chat two weeks ago about how she was going to leave peacefully without me going to the trouble and expense of evicting her and garnishing her wages (she has a job). At that time, her big issue was that she said she was having trouble finding a place as inexpensive as the house she has now. Not that I believe that. And, if I could just point out the obvious: her sister lives smack-dab next door.

Anyway, last week I called Ms. Kathy. I texted Ms. Kathy. I e-mailed Ms. Kathy. Kirby (who is supposed to get this house in his collection of my homes in property management) called Ms. Kathy. And--I know you are totally astounded by what you are about to read next--Ms. Kathy didn't respond to any of the above.

Go ahead, catch your breath, get a drink of water and recover. I can wait.

It was time to call in the big guns. I asked Carolsue to drive over. She did. Ms. Kathy ignored her too. So, Carolsue called her and told Ms. Kathy if she didn't call back, Carolsue was going to show up again with the sheriff and several trash bags, use her house key and personally move Ms. Kathy's stuff to the curb. And, I promise, if you hear Carolsue say such things, you would be afraid too.

The long and the short of this is that Carolsue and Ms. Kathy had a discussion where Ms. Kathy cried--which seems to be the affect Carolsue has on my tenants. Carolue got back to me with the following compromise. Ms. Kathy would really, really like to stay. But she wants a $100 a month rent reduction.

I give Carolsue a lot of credit for what happened next. It is fair to say, I didn't take well to the news. In an undignified manner, I explained to Carolsue exactly how insulting Ms. Kathy's negotiation techniques happen to be. The answer was simply no. Except I think poor Carolsue now has lost her hearing in her phone ear.

Later that day, according to Carolsue, she once again talked to Ms. Kathy and explained that Kathy had until Friday to leave. Carolsue would be over on Saturday to collect the keys. Let's hope this time Ms. Kathy goes. I am not sure I can take much more of this.

Walking a Mile for Mitch and Tonya

By now, I hope that those of you who read this blog know how to make a good impression on a landlord. Conversely, if you happen to be a landlord, you either have gleaned a nugget or two that might come in handy or given me lessons on how to do this whole thing better myself. So, thank you.

Sadly, those looking to rent Mitch and Tonya's lovely home don't read this blog. And, they are contacting me in droves, sharing all sorts of personal stories that I never needed to hear.

The latest was a woman who was looking for a home for her in-laws. After a few questions, I found out that her in-laws did live in town and knew the basics of telephone communication. Why they weren't calling me themselves, I don't know.

Though I feel very protective of them, I can't decide who lives in Mitch and Tonya's home, I am just facilitating this. Therefore, I am really not in a position to point out that the potential tenants in question are too lazy busy to search for their own rental. Who knows? Perhaps the woman calling was living with her in-laws and this was her best solution.

What the woman did tell me (she wouldn't give me her name) was that her in-laws were going to need a co-signer for the lease. Was that ok? I probed further with a simple "Why?" and when that netted me backtracking and babble, I countered with, "As you haven't seen this home, how can you be so sure this will be the case?", she assured me they would indeed need someone else on the lease. Would that be an issue? Knowing this upfront isn't an issue. In fact, it is probably a blessing in disguise. But I didn't tell the caller this.

I did explain the in-laws would have to make an appointment to see the home first and then fill out an application. There would be a credit, background and eviction search. The potential tenants would also have to provide proof of income. Only after this was completed would the landlords decide whether or not a co-signer was necessary. And, rest assured, according to Mitch and Tonya, they will take credit challenges on a case-by-case basis. So, perhaps this situation wouldn't call for a co-signer after all. Sadly, all this was lost on this poor lady, as she fell off the bandwagon at "make an appointment to see the home." She wasn't interested in continuing with me from that point forward.

I am hoping this five minute conversation probably saved Mitch and Tonya a major train wreck down the road.

Games, Games, Games

For those of you who are familiar with the Peanuts cartoon, you might remember Lucy promising to hold the football still for Charlie Brown and moving it out of his way at the last second, making Charlie Brown fall smack down on his rear.

That is parallel to Ms. Kathy and I. When I sent her an eviction notice, she came back, promising me rent instead of moving--an option available. Today I got a note from her asking her if it was "ok" if she didn't pay me what she owed.

For those of you scratching your head trying to figure out why I have been playing this game with Ms. Kathy, it is because it is cheaper to keep Ms. Kathy than evict her. That is, if she pays the rent. Which she generally does. Simply put: it is a business decision.

But there comes a point where enough is enough. There is no amount of coaxing, cajoling or threatening that can make her pay her bills on time. Business decision or not, I don't want to live this way. My stress level is high enough without this game.

Of course, because I played along, I am one month behind. I will probably have a vacant home through the holidays. That's the price I will pay for playing with Ms. Kathy.

Why I Appreciate Kirby

Thirteen months ago, Mitch and Tonya bought a home with a ready-made tenant in place. The tenant said she wanted to stay for "years", which meant until her year lease was up. So, now Mitch and Tonya have a vacant home.

Mitch and Tonya don't live in Arizona, so they need someone to help them find a tenant. Enter me. If you don't know how I feel about finding tenants for properties, then you must be new to this blog. So, welcome! You are my fifth reader!  You are welcome to peruse the archives where you can get a crystal clear perspective on the topic and many others.

And for those of you who aren't intimately aware about how I feel about using my real estate license to lease houses, I will give you a quick primer: I have to really, really, really like you enough to work for free less than the hourly wage of a small Asian sweat shop employee--which is what leasing agents make and why most sane agents don't do leasing.

And for anyone who is reading this and I have helped you lease a home, I really, really, really like you and didn't mind. I promise. I would even do it again.

Mitch and Tonya have an utterly charming townhouse in Gilbert. It is is pristine condition, priced competitively and even are throwing in a few extras to sweeten the deal. Unfortunately, every single soon-to-be homeless person with limited funds has called me this weekend asking if Mitch and Tonya are willing to lower the rent, lower the deposits, allow for a medium sized pet water buffalo and/or add a third story, complete with solarium and indoor pool.

None of these folks wish to see the home until they have completely exhausted my patience, negotiating this and that. Mitch and Tonya aren't interested in reducing the rent by $500 on the third day on the market (nor should they reduce it at all). And, they certainly aren't going to reduce for someone who won't make any effort to view the property. Nor does it sound like any of these folks have the caliber of character Mitch and Tonya seem to be looking for.

As for me, I am offering to do one mass showing some time this week for all these folks. They can show up all at once and see what a lovely place this is for themselves (it is 45 minutes from my house and just as far from my office). If they like it, think there is room for the water buffalo and can live comfortably with the knowledge that the home owner's association will simply not allow for another wing to be added, they can then take application. If I get the application back, all the better. Or, if that doesn't work, I can give them the name of a couple of other insane agents who are also willing to work for almost free.

Rain, Rain, Go Away

We desert dwellers don't have earthquakes, snow, sleet, mudslides, typhoons, hurricanes, tornadoes, and tsunamis.

We do have heat. We also have an occasional monsoon, where the rain will last about four hours and the temperature will drop to a brisk 75 degrees.

What we don't have is days of endless rain to delay the roofer who is scheduled to go out to Mrs. Green's house, remove the blue tarp and put on a brand spanking new roof! So, it looks like it will happen either later this week or sometime next week.

National Bliz Day

Happy Birthday to my dear, dear friend and bookkeeper Bliz. I am honored and blessed to call you my friend. I hope you have a wonderful day and a fantastic year.

Book Club with Diamond Jim

Diamond Jim is in town for a week or so. He has all sorts of accountant-y things to do, but managed to find time for breakfast with me. Our breakfasts often turn into a book club. His book today was The Twelfth Imam.

I am working on two books. The first one is an awesome book: Project Based Homeschooling written by my cyber-pal Lori (on sale right now on Amazon. This book is amazing for all parents--even if you aren't homeschooling). I am also reading a chick-lit book that I can't bring myself to discuss with Diamond Jim--not that he would want to hear about it anyway (and no, gray, or any other shade is not in the title). Besides, we used up all my end of the conversation on Project Based Homeschooling.

We had left our prospective books, just finished discussing the Stephen Drew trade (I am still in mourning about the Dbacks loosing their shortstop) when the insurance adjuster called. All is right in the world. Mrs. Green is getting a roof next week. And could I please call the contractor and pick the roof color?

As my business transitions, and as Diamond Jim actually retires and lives out his golden years in small town Oregon, I am going to need to find a new accountant. Hopefully the one who walks into my life next will be just as wonderful as Diamond Jim.

All Kinds of Crazy

The insurance adjuster told me I would have my quote by noon today.

I didn't. Color me shocked.

At 12:03 p.m. Birmingham time, everyone with any power had heard from me, including but not limited to the adjuster's supervisor. Coincidentally, the insurance adjuster did manage to call me by 12:42 Birmingham time to update me. He gave me lots of detailed information, at which point I explained that if he had spent this much time answering these same questions yesterday when I asked them I wouldn't have had to escalate this to the powers that be today.

Personally, I don't have a lot of patience for insurance adjusters who brush me off with their version of "Don't worry your pretty little head about this." Which is what I told the insurance adjuster's supervisor at 12:57.

My situation is still in limbo. But now I have a much better idea of why there is a hold up. Simply put, the insurance adjuster dropped the ball and from what I understand, he has all kinds of crazy to answer for on his end too.

Been There, Done That

So. Mrs. Green has been missing a big chunk of her roof for weeks now. Me, the dutiful landlord has been doing everything conceivable to remedy this, short of hauling myself to Birmingham, buying some tar paper and putting this roof back on myself. Though, it did occur to me that the whole process might have been a tad bit faster if I had.

In the event you have never filed an insurance claim, let me educate you. For, I have filed many.

After the niceties have been taken care of--everyone safe? everyone's possessions out of the way? No future disasters pending, such as, but not limited to impending fire or more water damage? Ok. Good. Now then...

The first item of business is to contact the insurance company who has your policy. You will answer a few questions, giving specifics, and allowing an adjuster to view the damage for themselves. If you are unclear as to if it is worth contacting the insurance company, do it anyway. As it was explained to me BY THE INSURANCE COMPANY when I was dithering about this a few weeks ago, "Bless your heart. That's why you have insurance in the first place."

The next step (which is usually done concurrently) is to contact some person specialized in fixing the said damage. In my case, it was two roofers. The first one flaked out. The second roofer gave a quote to me that was akin to the GDP of a small third world nation. According to my doctor, I have a strong heart. According to Marty Sunshine, I need to breathe slowly into a paper bag.

After these two items are completed, the insurance adjuster will kindly issue a check, the roofer will get the work done and the tenant in question will live in a home with an intact roof happily ever after.

Except with my insurance company. For those of you who might remember back to the good old days of 2008, the insurance adjuster only worked on Tuesdays. Therefore, if I did not get in touch with the particular adjuster on a given Tuesday, I was out of luck until the following week.

Additionally, the company in question (back in August 2008) gave me pittance for the home where the tenant took everything from the carpet to the kitchen sink (not to mention the copper pipes). According to the adjuster at the time, it was "normal wear and tear."

Eventually everything was escalated, Marty Sunshine supplied me with lots of paper bags and it got worked out with considerable drama (you can read the stories in the blog archives if you are so inclined). By the way, I use this insurance company only because I have a zillion homes and there are some complications to getting home owner's insurance when one owns a zillion homes.

Fast forward to August 2012. Another house with yet a very legitimate claim. The only thing the same is the sting of rejection from years gone by.

In this case, the master bedroom doesn't have a ceiling. A representative from my insurance company told me I "needed" to file a claim, as I am paying for insurance for disasters. It stands to reason this is pretty open and shut.

Yet, the adjuster's voice mail says he only returns calls on Fridays. However, he does not return phone calls until I escalated this to Defcon 5--and only then did he do so begrudgingly, telling me I will have a quote "later in the week." When I did talk to him today he cryptically told me he was still working on my file. As I explained, my tenants were still working with a missing roof.

I am under the distinct impression that the roofer and the adjuster are worlds apart, which means the insurance company doesn't want to shell out anything they don't have to. Not that I am bitter from last time or anything. But experience really is the best teacher.

My Type-A Personality is Reeling

I am on week three of the insurance adjuster drama I haven't taken time to write about.

To summarize: the insurance adjuster still can't be bothered to get in touch with me. Yes, the situation has been escalated. No. It isn't helping.

Yes my tenants are frustrated. And so am I.

Good News, Bad News

Good news! Red found Ms. Kathy.

Bad news! Ms. Kathy is under the mistaken impression she paid a "last month's rent" when she moved in. (I sweetly told her to check her lease. No she didn't).

Good news! Ms. Kathy seems to think she needs to be gone in 10 days.

Bad news! I have another tenant moving out this month too.

Good news! With Ms. Kathy gone, my sanity may return soon.

Bad news! I am going to have two vacant homes in less than three weeks. My sanity will probably hide under the covers until further notice.

Insert Swearing and Sound Effects Here

My Cyber-Pal Lori, has mentioned from time to time that I need my own reality show. The other day I explained that if the public wanted to see a crazed woman swearing they could watch "Jersey Shore." They don't need me.

My life is not set up for a reality show. But even if I didn't mind camera crews following me around and my face out for the masses to view, this wouldn't work for a variety of reasons.

1. I am actually painfully shy. So, right there it blows the idea out of the water. Camera crews would see more closed doors or get more footage of Buckaroo sparring with his stuffed bear than they would of me.

2. Logistics. I am over here. My homes are over there. Viewers would see me staring dumbly at my phone waiting for text messages to never arrive. Viewers would see me getting stupid e-mails at midnight (which is about when I check my e-mail these days). The producers would probably add sound effects just to point out to the four viewers (my brothers and my parents) that the e-mail was bad news, though my viewers would probably figure this out from the string of obscenities that would leave my mouth.

Which reminds me, anyone else find it utterly annoying in Pawn Stars when sound effects are added right after Rick tells someone they aren't getting the $50,000 for their grandmother's autographed picture of some B-list celebrity?

3. If everyone did pay on time it would be jumping the shark don't you think? After all, where's the drama in that?

4. My marriage is functional. My kids are normal. We lead a dull, pedestrian life (outside of rental homes in Alabama), complete with scouts and karate. We would have to manufacture family drama. And we all know that doesn't happen in reality shows (insert lame sound effect here). 

5. I doubt the camera crews would be allowed into the insurance adjuster's office to see an empty desk and a ringing phone (which reminds me, I still owe a blog about Ms. Green's roof. Trust me. Even after two weeks all you are missing out on is a string of obscenities.).

6. The camera crews would still be waiting for Kirby to call them back to film last week's episode. For that matter, I am still waiting for Kirby to call me back.

7. Nobody, and I mean nobody, North of the Tennessee River and West of the Mississippi River could possibly understand Ms. Angie. Even when she isn't upset.

8. There will not be camera crews in my home filming me at 5 a.m. when the phone rings from some perky Alabama tenant, proudly wanting to let me know they just mailed the rent on time, but yet can't comprehend Daylight Savings Time and is utterly confused as to why I am still sleeping.

9. The juicy stuff that happens can't be filmed (or blogged). Just saying...

Though I don't think a reality show is in my immediate future, I can tell you this, my tenants make great story and blog fodder. And someday they will all be prominently featured in the Great American Novel.

Eating My Words

About six weeks ago I got a call from friends of mine. They are accidental landlords because the husband was deployed to Arkansas around 2008 and could not sell their home for what they owe. They have been stressing out about this in one way or another since they started the process.

Part of the reason they were stressing was, for them, this was their happily ever after home. It wasn't a piece of meat they bought for the single purpose of cash flow and tax deductions. They like the carpet color. They like the wall color. They like the back yard. The other reason they are stressing is they happen to read this blog (and may have heard a behind the scenes story or two) and they know exactly what tenants are capable of.

So, back to this phone call. Shawn, the husband, called wanting some advice. He has tenants who were supposed to move out, but they are asking about staying for three more months. Should he let them stay the three months, missing out on the prime rental season when they leave in October? Or should he let them stay because the known is a lot less scary than the unknown? After all a tenant in the hand...

Oh! I should also mention the tenants in question were holding his rent check hostage until he made a decision (suggesting they weren't going to pay if they were moving out).

I should back up a teensy bit here, the tenants had been varying shades of royal pain in the rear for pretty much the duration of the lease. Shawn would call, reasonably demand they fix the broken window/get rid of the king cobra/pay the rent. They would parlay, giving Shawn the unfortunate impression they understood and agreed to everything Shawn said. Shawn in turn would go on his merry way, relieved, only to find out the tenants just wanted him off their back. Two months later they would lather, rinse and repeat the entire exchange.

Anyway, back to the phone call (once again). Shawn called me wanting advice on what to do with these yahoos. I forgot my manners as I barked into the phone. "Kick them out. Don't look back. They are making you crazy. And furthermore, they don't respect you. They are playing you for a fool."

His instant silent reply from my marching orders made me realize this was probably not an option he was seriously exploring when he called. He was looking for ways to get along and make the whole Shawn-tenant thing work out properly.

The good news is Shawn did get rid of them (not without a fair-share of drama and expense) and now has wonderful tenants.

I bring this up because last week Ms. Kathy's rent check did not come. If you might recall, she gave me this song and dance about rent being a priority now. On Thursday I texted her and asked what day she mailed it. On Friday I texted her and said "I take it since you didn't reply to my text you didn't mail it."

On Saturday I got an e-mail from her saying she would be sending $100 this week and $50 thereafter starting next Friday. I didn't reply. On Sunday night I got yet another e-mail from her saying, "Oops. I don't have that $100. But I will send you $50 this next Friday."

My words to Shawn and Lynn have been ringing in my ears. "Kick them out. Don't look back. They are making you crazy. And furthermore, they don't respect you. They are playing you for a fool."

Today I called Red, one of my process servers. I also called Ms. Kathy's place of employment, let her boss misunderstand that perhaps a flower delivery might be coming for Ms. Kathy and what time was Ms. Kathy working (so that Red could deliver the eviction notice. Perhaps he will pluck a daisy to go with it)? I also called a low-cost attorney I found from Kirby.

As she is month-to-month, I really don't have to evict Ms. Kathy. However, I tried the just-move-out route in 30 days before. Though I got rent, I did not get a long-term solution that makes me happy (seriously? $50 next week???)

This will not be cheap. I will not get the kind of rent I am getting from Ms. Kathy (when I get rent). I will have some repairs I haven't budgeted. Mr. Partner is MIA right now. I don't know how this is going to turn out. But at least Ms. Kathy's silly drama is soon to be over and she can go play some other landlord for the fool.

Well, That Sucks

I suppose I have that completely wrong attitude about this--especially because I have been wronged, but I hate it anyway.

It looks like I have to file a malpractice claim against my Late Former Attorney. Still waiting to hear if it will affect his surviving spouse and children--not that it will make this decision any different.

Crap.

Flipping Tired

There is soooo much to write about these days. But, you will just have to bear with me today. Buckaroo, with a bout of insomnia, woke me up so many times last night to announce he couldn't sleep that today I am one breath short of reenacting a domestic zombie apocalypse B-movie.

But, allow me to stay awake long enough to announce to my six readers: Flip the Attorney is all kinds of Awesome!!!!!

Last week, I got an e-mail from a former tenant who--until recently--didn't know there was an issue at hand that the Late Attorney Jon hadn't resolved. Mrs. C. told me she would do whatever she could to help me out. She could have said, "Too bad. Sue me." which would have made me cry.

Last night (or early this morning--and long before Buckaroo's insomnia got the best of me) I got an e-mail from Flip at 1 a.m. his time asking me questions about the other property in question. And, I even got e-mails from him today, where he copied me on letters to title companies and the county recorder's office, with words like "forthwith," "whence" and "hereto".

I love lawyer-speak--when the lawyer is on my side.

I am so grateful to have Mrs. C's issue almost resolved. And hopefully the other one will go as smoothly. Now, off for a nap. Or caffeine.

A Flood of Suggestions

I happen to consider myself a practical person. I thought most people were practical until I became a landlord. For whatever reason, "practical" seems to fly out the window in the most stupendous fashion when tenants are faced with no-brainer tasks.

For example, Mr. and Mrs. Green have an unfortunate situation. They have accidentally inherited a skylight in their master bedroom. This happened early Tuesday morning when a portion of the roof collapsed. Today is Thursday. I have called two roofers who are swamped. One has promised me a tarp twice in two days. However, nothing has happened as of yet. I know this because I am getting regular updates on the situation from both Mr. and Mrs. Green.

The insurance adjuster is a whole 'nuther story, worthy of its own blog (stay tuned). But the fact remains, there is a gaping hole in the roof and the Greens can see daylight, or stars, or depending upon the weather, running water.

It stands to reason, if this is a situation they are having to deal with, they might be motivated to do something about it. After all, THERE IS WATER COMING DOWN ON THEIR MASTER BED.

Instead, I have gotten about twenty seven calls an hour for the last two days, reminding me the roof hasn't been tarped. Try as I may, I don't have a magic landlord wand to make this happen. I have suggested to them that they might want to take matters into their own hands. You know, haul their collectively wet butts the 1/8 of a mile to the local Orange Big Box hardware store and buy a tarp.

"We don't have a ladder." Mr. Green lamented.

I know first-hand that that particular store rents ladders. I also know first-hand that Mr. Green's next door neighbor owns a ladder. I have used it. Otherwise, perhaps someone they know or a member of their church might own a ladder and be willing to help. I suggested both to him and he feigned the same type of confusion Buckaroo gives me when he doesn't want to wash dishes.

At this point, I am really under the impression what they are expecting is for me to get on a plane in the next hour, fly out to Birmingham. Buy a tarp and either rent a ladder or borrow one from the next door neighbor and put the tarp on their roof. At which point, I will need to immediately fly back to Phoenix to await a phone call from the MIA insurance adjuster (Spoilers. Sorry.).

I have always considered the Greens to be practical people, who have managed to find their way thus far in their life with little issue. I am sure, if they are properly motivated they will figure this out too.

Gather the Animals Two By Two

If the pictures and videos are to be believed, Birmingham is flooded.

I heard about this first-hand at $#^%^(&  6:20 a.m. from Mrs. Green who sent me a scary picture of what is left of her bedroom ceiling. I would post the picture here, but technology hates me.*

What did happen at 6:28 a.m. this morning (after I got off the phone with Mrs. Green) is I called Dave the Roofer. I commented to Marty Sunshine that I really never wanted to be in a place in my life where I had phone numbers for a roofer, electrician, plumber and two HVAC guys in my cell phone directory. "Don't forget two lawyers!" he cheerfully responded.

Mrs. Green's roofing disaster wasn't exactly enough to convince me my day was going to be challenging--though I don't know why I would think otherwise. So, when I checked my e-mail an hour later Kirby sent me a note telling me the downstairs of my Fultondale home was flooded. "How did that happen? They leave a door open?" I stupidly asked.

Kirby, characteristically, has yet to respond.

I realized everything was pretty darn serious when Mrs. Roebuck sent me an e-mail later that morning telling me there had been storms all night. When she went outside in the morning she found out her tree had been struck by lightening for yet a third time.

"Buy a lottery ticket." was my only response.

Carolsue did send me this little gem just to prove there had been a bit of rain. Apparently this is where Mr. 114 and Mr. Wonderful live. Carolsue has suggested next time Marty and I want to start a business in Alabama, we might want to consider being roofers. She may have a point.

*Actual conversation with me and tech support guy:
Tech support: What kind of computer do you have?
Me: A black one.

A Bless Your Heart Kind of Day

Last Friday, as we passed the sign that says, "Now Leaving the Phoenix Metro Area: The Last Bastion of Civilization for the Next 70 Miles" I quickly checked my e-mail on my phone. My property manager Mario's minion--Ben--had sent me an e-mail saying that the air conditioning at Hysteria Lane had gone out. Could I please send someone out there to fix it.

I promptly e-mailed him back, explaining I was on my way to pick up Polly at summer camp and about to loose cell service. Could he please call the AC company? I omitted the part about that is why I pay them an exorbitant amount of money to handle these things. But I did add that I wanted to make sure this was taken care of ASAP, as I would hate to have my tenants uncomfortable through the weekend.

When I checked my e-mail this morning, Ben had followed up to tell me the company did not go out there and the tenant was upset. Ben's directive was for me to call the air conditioning company and make this happen.

My first order of business was to call the tenant. I left her a message giving her my info and the AC company's info. I told her we would take care of this and I was so sorry she spent the weekend without cool air. I may have also let it slip that I wasn't sure why I had a property management company if they couldn't handle this particularly simple task.

I then called the AC company. Apparently the tenant was unreachable. They tried several times. They also were willing to go out on Saturday if the tenant would have just returned a call or three. Of course, Ben didn't mention the fact the tenant hadn't returned any calls when he sent me this directive to do his job to call the AC Company. Granted, he may not have known. For whatever reason, tenants seem to like drama.

My second to last order of business was to contact Ben. The AC Company is ready, willing and able to go to the house ONCE THE TENANT RETURNS A CALL. Short of me getting on a plane, showing up in Birmingham and tracking down the tenant, I am not sure what else can be done. To my credit, I took that last sentence out of my e-mail to him. No reason for total snark before 9 a.m.

My last order of business is to locate the contract I have in place with Mario's company and find out what to do not to renew it. I understand it isn't Ben's fault the tenant is unreachable and it is the tenant who is causing her own discomfort by not returning phone calls. However, the reason I have a property management company in the first place is so they can volley phone calls and take care of the nonsense.

Silly Question

Mrs. Green is a long-long term tenant whom I have never met. The reason I haven't met her is simply because she has caused me such an insignificant amount of grief, that she never makes my radar when I am in Birmingham. In fact, the only drama I have had with this woman was on my recent trip. I went looking for her home, only to find out that Mr. and Mrs. Green summarily moved streets on me. I distinctly remember the home being in a different location.

To give you an idea of how awesome Mrs. Green happens to be, she will often overnight the rent to me without a signature required. I have repeatedly told her it wasn't necessary to overnight the rent, I trust her, but she has thing thing about being late. I am ok with that. Especially when I don't have to stand in line for 45 minutes in the post office to retrieve my rent check. But, I am also totally ok if she would just slap a stamp on the envelope and send it over too.

Anyway, Mrs. Green sent me a text yesterday. Apparently her son just found out and/or just told her that he was being deployed. She was on her way up North somewhere to squirrel away his worldly possessions and bring them back down to her home. Her question to me was would it be ok if she paid a few days late? It wouldn't happen again. She promised.

"You Didn't Build It"

Dear Mr. President,

Recently you made a statement about how small businesses didn't really build their their businesses. Someone else built it for them. I would like to address this statement.

Someone else didn't provide me with the capital to use as down payments buy my rental homes. The money came from us saving and using the dividends from investing in other businesses. We did not receive government assistance. We earned it.

Someone else did provide me with loans. That someone is banks. At the time, the government wasn't running the banks. They are now. I can't refinance, get another loan or make my financial position better since they took over the banking industry. Just saying...

When unemployment hit 19% (yes, 19%) in Birmingham in 2009 and several of  long term tenants left, someone else didn't pay my mortgages. Someone else didn't take out 401k loans (of which, is our money--not someone else's) to survive. And, thank Someone we had the money to do so!

Someone else didn't eat bread, cheese and tomatoes every night because we couldn't afford groceries. Someone else didn't do without a dryer because we couldn't afford it. Someone else didn't work extra jobs, just to ensure all the mortgages were paid on time.

But I wish they did.

Mr. President, if this someone else is still available to do all this awesome and innovative work that made our Country great, please have that person call me. I need a break. I am tired. They can take over for a while and I will rest. I am ready.

Sincerely,

The Landlord

An Historic Day

Today needs to go down in history as the day Ms. Kathy pulled one over on me.

You see, I cut Ms. Kathy one heck of a deal. Option 1: leave my house. Take you money, don't pay me another dime, here's your 30 day notice. Get out of my house. Go. Go. Go. I will even refund your deposit (less any money owed--like back rent or late fees). Just go!

Or Option 2: pay up and stop whining. Just stop making my life a living hell.

If the truth be told, even though I was publicly hoping she would pay up, I was secretly pushing for Option 1. It isn't personal. Ms. Kathy isn't a bad person. She's a good egg. But I have been done with Ms. Kathy's drama for quite a while now.

But no. Ms. Kathy, however, choose door number 2. Just to be completely sure there wasn't any confusion, I called her. She not only answered the phone, but she and I chatted for 20 minutes, with her completely assuring me me, yep, she wanted to stay.

Here's how Option 2 worked: pay me something moderately substantial over the course of three weeks, with the big payment due to me early July. It was a test. Would she manage to pass all the hurdles? She did. In fact, part of the money owed was due the day I was in Birmingham. She handed me cash. She didn't even want a receipt.

In the meantime, behind the scenes, I was holding on to her payments she sent. Everything I got--including the cash--was in my safe in my home. The reason I wasn't depositing them was because Legal Eagle tells me if I cash even one check, I have acknowledged the rent and it takes longer for an eviction.

Though I think one can argue either way on this particular point, I opted to just hold her rent money to wait and see if the big payout was coming. I didn't want to take a chance this drama might drag out longer than necessary.

Additionally, I found a low-cost eviction lawyer and was ready to call as soon as it became clear I would be kicking Ms. Kathy out. And, on top of that, I was working behind the scenes with Kirby looking for potential tenants to move in early next month.

Early July came and went. There was no check. I was not shocked. In fact, I was secretly elated. Ms. Kathy would be leaving my life!

I started my happy dance. I chilled campaign.

Marty Sunshine suggested I had little faith and Ms. Kathy indeed would pay me the remainder of the rent money owed. Why would Ms. Kathy spoon feed me rent money every week when she knew if she just moved her rent debt would be forgiven and I would pay her back her deposit (less any fees she owed--like back rent) if she just moved out?

"Can't a girl just dream?" I whined.

Meanwhile, this week I got a call from a former tenant who needed a place to live early August. Did I have anything available? Possibly? How did Ms. Kathy's house sound? That sounded just great. Keep them posted.

Because of the Independence Day holiday, I opted to wait a bit longer to call the eviction lawyer. I had already decided I was no longer speaking to Ms. Kathy. Either she payed or she didn't. As far as I was concerned, the next conversation she and I had would be in court. On Tuesday, the money still hadn't arrived. I did a virtual cartwheel.

We didn't make it to the PO Box on Wednesday.

And wouldn't you know it! Ms. Kathy was all paid up on Thursday. Now let's see if she really meant it when she told me rent was now a priority.