Fear the Awesome Power of the Bendy Straw

Tuesday, Marty Sunshine forbid me to discuss Kirby any further while holding a kitchen knife in my hand. I am however, allowed to hold a soda straw in my hand when his name comes up. Apparently Marty doesn't feel any real damage can come from that.

Did you know October was the last time Kirby actually called me back? Now, he has e-mailed me--only when I write things such as, "the courtesy of a response would be greatly appreciated."
Kirby has a distinct voice. He sounds like Randy Travis. On Tuesday I called his office. His secretary told me Kirby wasn't in, but I have to tell you I could hear through the phone one interesting party going on in the background. Apparently Randy Travis was standing nearby talking to someone else.

Marty Sunshine says that Kirby is afraid of me. Marty's reasoning is he has failed me and Kirby knows I am upset. I am a middle-aged overweight woman who lives 1,700 miles away. My only weapon is a plethora of multi-syllable words--especially now that Marty has banned knives. In my book, fear does not seem to be a good enough reason to ignore someone.  Even someone who can wield a mean soda straw.

Begging for Mercy

Dear Bliz,

I am sorta, kinda hoping you don't hate me yet. But, I am truly sorry I have ignored your texts and e-mails. If it makes you feel any better, I am ignoring your texts and e-mails a lot less than I have been ignoring everyone else's.

I think it is Monday. I am pretty sure it is still February. At least I hope so. Last time I checked it was February 11th. I haven't stopped moving since then.

You see, last week alone I managed to work about 95 hours alone and--provided it really is Monday--I will probably clock slightly less than that this week. I do all this to avoid tax season so we we can fix, or at least put a sizable band-aid on, our undercapitalized issues.

I will admit, I took a few hours off on Sunday and joyously dragged Marty Sunshine around the garden center of the large big box retailer. I even managed to plant some of the gladiola bulbs I bought. But, other than that, all I have been good for is promising you things I haven't delivered--like the items you have asked for so that we can get the financials to Diamond Jim. In return, he can do my taxes one last time.

I have one more promise for you that I intend to deliver. So, if you can find it in your heart to forgive me for being a bigger flake than usual in the 25 plus years we have been friends, there will be answers to your very reasonable and well thought out questions as well as toffee in your future.

Sincerely,
The Landlord

It's Just Super

Random SPAM comment I got for this blog:

"Thank you very much for your cool article. After analyzing your contribution I understood the significance of the intention which you was trying to deliver to your subscribers. One more time thank you for this super essay."

Jeepers Creepers

When I wrote my post a couple of weeks ago, suggesting Ms. Shirley might be moving, a) I was having a very bad week and b) I was actually thinking of asking Ms. Shirley to go because she can't seem to figure out how to pay her rent on time.

It didn't really matter. Because Ms. Shirley actually e-mailed me about an hour after I posted my blog and told me she was moving.

It has occurred to me on a few occasions that Ms. Shirley might read my blog. She tends to know a bit more about my business than I have told her. And she lets comments slip now and then. Or she might just be some sort of creeper stalking me. If that's the case, I'm glad I am 1700 miles away.
Oddly enough, Ms. Shirley telling me she was moving didn't really put a damper on a very bad week. In fact, it actually brightened my mood. I wish Ms. Shirley well. But I am not sorry to see her and her drama go.

My Third Call Monday Morning

So, I have a tenant with an electrical issue. The tenant has been calling around, looking for an electrician who can fix the electric box. On Monday, it was 20 degrees, and her hope was someone would take care of it right away.

Her dilemma was thus: my normal electrician was taking a world tour, courtesy of Ms. Angie's and Ms. Kathy's homes, and wasn't available until Wednesday. As far as my tenant was concerned, Wednesday was 48 hours away and she could freeze to death by then.

So, being innovative, Mrs. Roebuck opted to call around for another electrician. One perhaps that hadn't already bled me dry and might have time to work sooner than later.

She found Marvin the Electrician.

As she explained to Marvin the Electrician when she called him, I am out of town. I pay my bills. However, I don't just hop over on the first hot air balloon heading to Birmingham to whip out the check book. Marvin has to fax me a bill. Then I pay it.

Marvin clearly understood Mrs. Roebuck, but asked for my phone number as a way to counter this. And then Marvin called me.

I really wasn't expecting Marvin's call. I was still pondering Cassie the Appraiser and what that was about. I wasn't really focusing on smoke in the walls of Mrs. Roebuck's house (which probably was much more urgent but a lot more scary. I wasn't ready for scary Monday morning).

Anyway, Marvin starts our call by telling me Mrs. Roebuck needs electrical work done and he's happy to do it. But to pay him first. Instead of telling me the scope of the project, exactly how much said work would cost or when he would get it done, Marvin tells me about how other "landlords have shafted him in the past" so therefore please hop on the first Birmingham-bound hot air balloon and bring my checkbook.

I am sure Marvin didn't really mean to suggest I was a thief.

Probably.

What I did tell Marvin was there was no need to concern himself with this any further. My normal electrician would be back from spending all of his hard-earned money on my behalf soon enough. I am sure Mrs. Roebuck has plenty of blankets to keep her warm between now and when he returns. So, thanks for calling. Bye-bye now.

For the record, my fourth call Monday was to Mrs. Roebuck. I let her know Marvin and I just couldn't see eye to eye. That was ok by her. Marvin wasn't even free to do the work until Thursday. And as it turns out my normal electrician would be available on Tuesday to deal with her electrical issue.

Fortunately he trusts me enough to fax me over the bill.

My First Call Monday Morning

So... I was woken up Monday morning by Cassie. And damn! Was she ever perky! You see, Cassie was an appraiser. She was "ordered" to do an appraisal on Ms. Shirley's house. And when could she get inside?

"The house isn't for sale." I replied through a sleepy fog.

"Oh, I know it isn't for sale!" Cassie replied with way too much enthusiasm, and acting like we were just the best of friends sharing a funny secret. "But the bank has asked me to do an appraisal anyway. So, when can we make an appointment to get in?"

We can't make an appointment for a myriad of reasons. Now I was awake, I started with the most obvious: "I don't know who you are..."

"I'm Casie the appraiser," she interrupted, like that somehow added a certain amount of credibility to this phone call.

I started over, "I don't know who you are and the house isn't for sale. So, if the bank wants an appraisal, they can call me and tell me they want an appraisal." Cassie started to interrupt with her credentials again, but I stopped her. "So, have the bank call me, tell me why they want an appraisal first, and then we can talk."

Cassie didn't seem to think this was a very good solution, but that's ok. If the bank really wants an appraisal done on my home (which can happen--but usually that only happens when they are calling the note due. I pay on time, so there is no reason to call the note due) the bank is welcome to call me to discuss.

But more to the point, I am not buying this. Something doesn't smell right. Hopefully the bank will get back to me soon. Otherwise, Cassie the Appraiser can just call someone else and be perky with them.

My Second Alabama Call Monday

An actual quote from a tenant at 8:03 a.m. Monday morning, "If it wasn't for the smoke and the burned wires, I wouldn't have bothered you."

A "Bless Your Heart" Might Have Gone Down A Bit Smoother

An acquaintance of mine asked me earlier this week if something was wrong. In fact, there were a lot of things wrong. All were Alabama. My upset caused me to loose 8 pounds in five days (and I am not the kind of person who skips a meal). When I gave this acquaintance the reader's digest version of the events leading up to a blood pressure reading of 140/101 (that was after three aspirin) she began to lecture me on all she saw wrong with my Alabama business and her overall opinion of landlords. She didn't even preclude it with "Bless your heart."

Mind you, she doesn't read my blog. She doesn't have any history with the chain of the events that led to my particular stresses. She doesn't have any context for the information. Nor did I ask her advice. But she asked me at a weak moment what was wrong, and I answered her.

The lesson I took from this was simply not to share. So I haven't written this week. Though I know you readers aren't the type to kick a girl when she is down or ostracize her for decisions years earlier that led to this moment. And thank you for that.

However, I could use some really positive thoughts and a few prayers if you are up to it.

Things have been worse--as I reminded myself. And then I read a few older posts to really remind myself how bad things could be. I will be back next week to tell you the tale of the pit bulls. And possibly Mrs. Green's cryptic drama. And to tell you if Ms. Shirley is going to move involuntarily (she probably will stay). But today I think I will just take up knitting in my garden.

Have a great week!