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.