Ms. Kathy's Lucky Break

Ms. Kathy won the landlord lottery this month.

You see, Marty Sunshine decided to take advantage of the lower interest rates and various mortgage voodoo to see if we can refinance the home we live in.

Normally, when one refinances the home they live in it is a simple process, consisting of filling out a loan application, joyfully delivering past 1040s and a few bank statements to the mortgage loan officer.

But of course, not in my case. My mother swears if there is an easy way to do something and a hard way, I won't even blink. And just to prove my mother true, I have a gazillion rental homes in another state. But I digress... What were we talking about? Oh yes, getting a mortgage.

When one gets a mortgage and owns three LLCs, an S Corporation, is self employed by an entirely different vocation and also receives a his and hers pay check, the process is similar to the aforementioned process, with the exception that a small Peruvian jungle is sacrificed for the paper alone.

My loan officer needed bank statements for the past 12 months. And of course we started this process in February, so they now have 14 months of bank statements.

I also needed to show the financial records for the LLCs. Except only the properties in Marty's name. The ones in Mr. Partner's name were sort of cast aside in the "Dear Underwriter, kindly have a soul. These properties don't matter to you so please don't ask. Thank you." Which did not fly with the soulless underwriter, so I had to sacrifice a jungle in Borneo to write a detailed letter explaining about the properties in Mr. Partner's name.

I also had to show the legal ownership of said properties and show the articles of organization registered in Arizona for said LLCs.

Then there was the matter of the underwriter wanting cancelled checks from every single mortgage payment (for the homes in our name--not Mr. Partner's--that was clarified early on). One night I stayed up until 2 a.m. sifting through bank statements trying to get this together for the loan officer. In my defense, the reason it took me into the wee hours was not from a lack of competence, but rather, the night I did this, I started after I got home from work at 11 p.m.

I pointed out to the loan officer the silliness of needing the cancelled checks, suggesting that if I didn't pay my bills my credit score wouldn't be so high and wasn't the act of just showing the bank statements enough? I was greeted with a "bless your heart" and spent an additional three hours in the office of my loan officer combing over the payment histories to prove that loan x on the bank statement indeed matched the payment made on March 28, 2011 for the Waterford home, and so on. Now multiply this by half a gazillion homes.

The other item needed to make this special bundle given to the underwriter all pretty, was the sacrifice of a Honduran rain forest for the sole purpose of providing lease agreements for each and every tenants. Those on month to month leases, needed a special detailed letter explaining why they are month to month (because the lease states this wasn't a sufficient reason). I carefully timed this part of my rain forest deforestation around Mr. Wonderful's arrival into my Alabaster home. Vacant homes do not make for happy underwriters (if, indeed, there is something called a "happy underwriter"), What I was also counting on was Ms. Kathy would pay like she said she would at one time.

Of course Ms. Kathy can't keep her word to save a roof over her head so Ms. Kathy unless Ms. Kathy comes through, she is probably about to find a new place to live. But, not so fast! I need her lease in good standing until my refinance closes. I did not go through two months of jungle destruction to have it all fall apart over Ms. Kathy. So, lucky for her, I am not dealing with Ms. Kathy for a few more weeks.

Kirby's Lucky Day

Remember Mario? He was the other property manager I brought in to manage my home on Hysteria Lane--only taken away from Kirby because of Kirby's company's incompetence Kirby's company's inability to find a qualified tenant for my lovely home.

Mario and I started out breezily enough, with him renting my home in a mere six weeks. However, Mario has nickled and dimed me since then. When I called him today to once again question the unusual amount of repairs coming from a seven year old home, he spoke to my lack of understanding by telling me twice because I wasn't male, I could not possibly have any earthly idea how to read the income statement or make decisions. Let's leave that to Marty Sunshine, shall we?

I am not an overly sensitive person by nature. Nor am I one to interpret a man saying this as a condescending comment on a regular basis. I guess if I think about it, I should be more astonished it took more than eight years of doing business in the South for someone to suggest to my face I was incompetent because of my gender.

Marty Sunshine is none too thrilled about this either, as he got an earful from me and now gets to solely deal with Mario on a regular basis. But it is for the best, I don't have anything professional to say to him anyway.

My original idea was that I was transition my homes from Kirby to Mario over time. So far that hasn't happened. And at this rate, I am guessing it probably won't. Kirby may not be real responsive, but at least he is afraid of me.

Just Something Fun

I think I may have seen something like this on my rental applications. (For those of you young'uns... the guy in the denim blue shirt was "Doc" in Back to the Future)

How I Spent My Monday

Monday morning, I was contacted by the owner with the fabulous home but crummy kitchen cabinets. He had another application for the house, but if my folks wanted it, my folks could have it. Just say the word. In a last-ditch effort to get a commission from Sunday's rental lunatics, I contacted them and passed along the owner's message.

The man said no they did not want the fabulous home. But they were still interested in the dump. Or, at least he was. Either she had come to her senses and decided that the master bedroom was not a most desirable egress to and from the parking spaces and the back yard or she had found some other minor thing wrong with the home. There is, of course, lots of things wrong with this home--including but not limited to health and safety hazards. But my educated guess is she decided the flooring was the wrong shade of taupe to match her Christmas tablecloth.

The man also kept me on the phone for way too long telling me way too personal information about the problems in their relationship with me changing the subject every time he came up for air. Finally he said, "I shouldn't be telling you this. You aren't my therapist."

My personal rule is that one should not admit they have a therapist. Call me old fashioned, but it isn't really any of my business. Of course neither was everything else he included in the moments before. Or for that matter everything that was said Sunday in my car right after they broke up on State Route 51.

Anyway, I did get back to the owner of the fabulous home they weren't interested and sent him on his merry way. I didn't tell him he dodged a year of high-maintenance hell from these folks. But he did.

A couple hours later I received an e-mail from the woman client. Since I had last heard from them, they had decided they might want to pursue the fabulous home after all and could I make this happen? And while I was making it happen, would I please call the agent who has the dump for rent and find out all they were planning on doing to make this place more wonderful. Just in case the fabulous home didn't pan out.

Then I fired them.

I wasn't rude (Marty suggested I take out the snarky parts). But I was direct. And wouldn't you know it, the man wrote me back. He was utterly befuddled that I found his behavior unacceptable. Perhaps I have a different memory of the days events than he and his lady friend did?

Yep, perhaps I did. And so did the neighbors at the second house who were gawking at them as they unloaded a ton more personal information that should only be reserved for his therapist.

Hours later, the man wrote me again. Completely ignoring my resignation, and the fact he acknowledged earlier that day I had fired them. He told me they decided they want that last home: AKA "The Dump." Would I help them secure it?

I thought about it for around nine seconds. If I represent him I get a commission. If I walk away, they can live in their own karmic retribution. (Did I mention this place is a rat hole with a new coat of paint?) I passed. I have my sanity back and at least this way I won't be going to jail any time soon.

How I Spent My Sunday

I should preface this by saying, if you are reading this, and I have ever shown you rental homes, it was my pleasure. I like you. I like spending time with you. It was fun. I promise. And I will do it again. Gladly.  

Though I write about what tenants should be doing to find a rental home, there gets to be a point where they have looked enough. I have had these perpetual rental clients for the past several years. And every year I forget what a pain in neck they are. This year has been the worst.

The man of this couple wants to be closer to his other children. The woman has agreed to leave the newer pink stuccoed homes with red tile roof of Chandler and move to Central/North Phoenix. This part of town has brick homes built in the 1950s. Owners of past might have added another bathroom, a complete wing or might have done nothing to the home. It might look just like a modern 1950 house. The yards are stately and each home has its own distinct flair. Personally, I love this part of town.

The biggest issue I am running into with this couple is that the woman has no appreciation for the Central/North Phoenix corridor. She is in culture shock. We went out this weekend for the third week in a row to view homes. I was pretty much complete with them last week (they weren't getting the whole "I am taking Easter Sunday off" concept). And frankly, the only reason I have lasted as long as I have with them is because I know they plan on buying. But three weeks to find one rental home is ridiculous.

And speaking of ridiculous... we saw the fist home. They spent 45 minutes inside checking out the place. It was totally charming. The man loved it. I loved it. It was everything the woman said she wanted in a home in the North/Central corridor. Everything except the kitchen was outdated. She wasn't sure she could stare at an outdated kitchen for a year. Did I think the owners would let her put in (at her expense) new kitchen cabinetry?

"You want to rent kitchen cabinets?" I innocently asked.

At which point, the man of this party totally exploded. We were in my car, heading on State Route 51 and he lost it with her. And then she lost it with him. And a big old fight ensured. In my car.

And then they broke up.

In my car.

I kept driving because I honestly had no idea what else to do. If I had been thinking I would just left them on the 51 and let them figure out their own way home. By the time we got to the next house, the man was cursing at the top of his lungs at the woman in the driveway. She was cursing back. The neighbors were staring.

I walked in the house, hoping not to be a part of this circus. Finally they followed, looked around the living room in three seconds flat and walked back outside.

On the drive back on the 51, things were eerily silent. I turned on the baseball game--figuring they really couldn't knock me for being unprofessional at this point.

We arrived at the third house and it was an absolute dump. I was thrilled. If the second house was out and the first house--which was amazing--was out, then there was no way they wanted this joint. Hallelua! The rest of my day was saved for my family.

The outside was falling apart. The inside was beyond quirky. We walked in through the master bedroom (yes, that was where the door happened to be).  It was a total maze. It looked like the owner slapped a coat of paint on the interior and put in new carpet. He did nothing to the exterior--which was a shame. Plus, we kicked--and I am understating--about 1600 dead cockroaches out of our path as we navigated our way through this dreadful place. When we go to the dungeon basement, they had made up. When they started making out right in front of me, I walked upstairs, and right outside.

Marty Sunshine texted me about ten minutes later asking when I was coming home. I wrote him back that I was going to jail and please find bail money.

The couple finally found me several moments later and started gushing about how much they loved the home. Both of them. Even though the kitchen was outdated. Even though the plumbing and electricity were questionable. It was nothing about this home either of them wanted. The schools were wrong. It was south of Camelback--something they had been adamant about for the past three weeks. The place was falling apart. And it was waayyyy overpriced for the neighborhood.

Nope, they loved it. By the way, would the owners throw in someone to mow the lawn? My personal feeling is the the owners would like someone to move in and the lawn was the least of their concerns. But I countered with, "I can certainly ask."

After I drove them back to their car, they sat in my car and talked about how fabulous that third home was (love is blind and stupid sometimes). As they were deliberating, I crossly interrupted and said, "I have to go," at which point the woman actually got the hint (the man did not and looked pained that I didn't want to sit and chat longer).

It is difficult to make tires squeal in an all wheel drive Subaru, but I did it. I glanced in my rear view mirror just in time to see them making out again in the middle of the street.

And this is why I now only show rental properties to friends.

Le Sigh

I am corresponding with Ms. Kathy. I am using words with lots of syllables. I am not happy. She probably isn't either. Or she won't be after she breaks out her dictionary.

Here's Hoping For Twelve Months of Bliss

Ok. So this is a tad late. But, let me tell you about my new tenant.

Mr. Wonderful was the second person to answer my ad about my vacant home in Mr. 114's neck of the woods. The first person and I had a bit of discussion, where she agreed to be a bit cross with me and I agreed not to rent the home to her. Bless her heart...

But enough about her! Let me tell you about my new tenant. After talking with Mr. Wonderful for several minutes on my Birmingham cell phone, I started doing my happy dance, jumping up and down all the while Marty Sunshine watched, wondering if I had to go to the bathroom. When he heard me tell Mr. Wonderful he needed to call Mr. 114 so he could view the home, Marty knew I was hooked.

Not only was I hooked, but Mr. 114 called us immediately after Mr. Wonderful left and positively gushed about Mr. Wonderful. He is a civic leader. He has a well-known business in the area. He isn't Ms. Shirley... and the list went on and on. I think if we passed on Mr. Wonderful, Mr. 114 would have offered to let him move into his own home.

But no need, Mr. Wonderful did want our home. Apparently, Mr. 114 sold him on how awesome we are too.

In addition to Mr. Wonderful being just about as ducky as he can possibly be (did I mention he owns a lawn mower?), he is also willing to remedy the big paint splotches Ms. Shirley left on every single wall for the cost of supplies and beer for his buddies. There was no need for me to get the interior painted.

I am loving Mr. Wonderful. Did I mention that?

The great news is I am going to get an awesome tenant (I hope). The bad news is I will probably only get him for a year because he is planning on buying a home next year. I am already missing him.

Today's Bit O' Ruminating

My tenant screening process is to figure out who I want babysitting my asset for the next year. I am listening for what a tenant tells me and what a tenant neglects to tell me--because the last thing I want is 12 months of scheduled headaches.

In my real estate life, when I help tenants find homes, I gently remind them even though they may find the home they really want, the landlord might not want them, so make sure everything is neat and pretty on the application, make sure your kids are well behaved while you are walking through a potential home and by all means, as you are strolling through the home in earshot of the landlord, make sure you don't mention you hate some personal aspect of the decor (such as the owner's personal Barbie doll collection which is proudly displayed in the living room). Somehow this advice always seems to come a major surprise to potential tenants. Coincidentally, the ones who are most surprised are the ones who have the most baggage.

What I find even more amazing is how little a tenant seems to care about the landlord. A tenant's screening process should be more thorough than it is. Generally, from their perspective they just want a place to live. Will the home's bedrooms be big enough? Will the landlord throw in the refrigerator? Most tenants don't think about will this landlord be a cheapskate and not replace the missing blinds? Or will the landlord show up on their door three times a month to check on me? Yet, they should.

I am always impressed with potential tenants who take the time to find out about me. Do I have local references? Am I current on my mortgage? Are my property taxes paid? Once in a while I find a potential tenant who asks these types of questions.

I like tenants who think this way. They are telling me they pay attention. They don't want trouble. And neither do I.

And on a personal note, Happy Birthday to Carolsue!

Amateur Hour

I won't go into the particulars in the Phoenix metro real estate market right now, only to say there are bidding wars on just about everything. I--and every other active real estate agent--am utterly exhausted.

I am currently working with a first time investor and we finally found a home that I thought was priced well, would provide a great return on her investment and would be in a neighborhood to attract desirable tenants.

When I presented it to her, this first time investor responded that the pictures weren't very "pleasing to the eye."

Ok, seriously? She saw a picture of the garage door, completely bypassed the fact there was a ready made tenant who wants to stay and pay a sizable sum of money for rent every month--with a lease already in place. She also missed the part of about the substantial cash on cash return and a great cash flow every month.

All I can say, for those of you with half an interest in buying a rental property and don't like the color of the garage door, is $60 in paint might be worth it for a good investment.

Teaching an Old Tenant New Tricks

There is a certain level of dysfunction I am willing to put up with from Ms. Kathy. Part of it is expected--because I swear she can't stay on the straight and narrow for more than about three months before she gives me fits. And part of it surprises me time after time. I tolerate Ms. Kathy for two simple reasons:

1. Dealing with Ms. Kathy gets wrapped up quicker than kicking her out and finding a new tenant who will probably have a whole new set of baggage that I will hate more

2. Ms. Kathy comes through in the end and her baggage is tolerable

Recently, Ms. Kathy reverted back to her old ways, making me curse her name. And, because Ms. Shirley is out of my life (hooray!!!), Ms. Kathy is holding the honor of being my highest maintenance tenant. And, let me tell you, she didn't disappoint.

Last month she forgot to tell me she forgot to mail the rent in. She only remembered when I sent her a text saying, "where the hell is my rent"  "I haven't seem to have gotten your rent check yet. May I inquire as to what day it was mailed?" At which point I found out she has new bearings on her truck.

And, for about the 2,373,981 time, I reminded Ms. Kathy that by letting me know these things up front and not making me hunt her down, I am more inclined to be in good humor to her last-minute emergencies and less likely to pellet her e-mail with veiled threats and multi-syllable words.

Apparently Ms. Kathy took my advice to heart. Today I was utterly shocked when Ms. Kathy e-mailed me and asked if she could pay most now and the rest in a couple of weeks. That is a major break-through in the landlord-Ms. Kathy relationship. She actually asked first.

I told her yes. Because it really is easier to work with her than deal with a vacant home for two months and a new tenant's baggage. And because (historically) Ms. Kathy does come through in the end.

Could It Be True?

Now then, I don't wish to jinx anything here. But... I think I found a tenant for my vacant home. Crossing my fingers and toes, lighting a candle and saying a prayer. Hopefully the possible tenant won't have a change of heart before I can get the credit run.