I Really Do Hate to See a Grown Man Cry

Good riddance 2013. It was the year of the perpetual migraine.

This morning I signed an agreement with an new property management company. I negotiated a few things, including sliding scale management fees at a reduced price. Also, I asked to be able to take back the properties after 30 days of vacancy with 10 day's notice. They had 60 days of vacancy with 30 day's notice (that would equal 90 days for those of you who are skimming this paragraph). I also asked for this and that and threw in a few weird things that I was pretty sure he would balk at--including tenants pay for the stupid repairs they cause. He gave it all to me, making me wonder what else I should have requested while I was at it.

Allegedly Daisy is going to be hanging her real estate license with this dude. I called, e-mailed and texted her yesterday making sure before I gave him my contracts she would for sure be there. I never heard back, which put me in a real pickle. I had until today to change companies or I was going with Mario. So, hopefully she is there. Otherwise some one other than Daisy is my new contact.

Speaking of Mario, he sent me one last e-mail yesterday afternoon. He told me Bruce (his top minion) is crying himself to sleep every night because I did not move my homes to his company. His note made me laugh but I didn't reply. I almost asked him to post a short video of Bruce doing this and post it on their site so I could see it. But, I thought that might sound snarky and I don't want to fight with Mario. I am concerned I may need him sooner than later.

The only loose end, and it is a bit of a biggie, is I haven't seen December's rents from Kirby yet. I would tell you I am trying not to panic, but that would be a bold-faced lie. My chest seized last night and my blood pressure--which is usually pretty low--went through the roof. I am in a happy place right now and going with the optimistic idea that the rents will magically appear in my bank account like they are supposed to by the end of December before Kirby's company poofs into dust. Because I would prefer 2014 does not start out as the year of the defibrillator.

Had My Fill

I have dealt with Mario and his minions more in the past 12 hours than I have in the past 12 months. First, I had an administrative tax issue. I have been trying to get this resolved since last January. When I have asked about it before, I am told to go to their web site, watch a "short" video and voila! my question will magically go away.

In the real world, watching videos don't make problems go away. Even in Propertymanagement Land. So, this slight issue has been dragging. And in two days, if I don't get it resolved, Diamond Jim is going to have to jump through a lot more hoops and the IRS might get cranky. So, today was the day.

Anyway, after spending a good portion on my morning playing with their site (seriously, do I really need a capital, numeral and non-alphanumeric character in an 8 character password for a property management web site??? Who wants to steal the work order information telling me the garage door doesn't open properly?), I broke down and e-mailed Mario and asked him if he could provide me with a link, or dare I say it, the actual forms to fill out to change my tax ID number and bank account information? Wouldn't you know? Mario got back to me in record time with words like, "Fantastic," "Happy to help" and "How was your vacation?" (which I did not tell him I was taking).

Later today I got a cryptic e-mail telling me the gas fireplace smells like gas when the tenant uses the fireplace. The e-mail was from someone named "Manny" said, "Please help us to keep a happy tenant by contacting them as soon as possible to let them know that you have received it and you are working on it and/or setup a time to get the work completed."

I beg Manny's pardon, but I was under the impression I have a property management company so I don't have to call the tenant and reassure her this is under control. It isn't that I mind doing so, but Mario charges enough as it is. Manny can do his job and call the tenant himself. And besides, the note was kind of ambiguous as to if I was supposed to get the issue resolved or just pat the tenant on the head.

Because I have had enough of Mario for one day, and because Mario and his minions seem to do much better when Marty Sunshine calls them, I made him call. Bruce--Mario's top minion--is going to look into everything and let me know if I am calling someone or patting someone's head.

Bruce also said to Marty that it pains him that we didn't move our properties to his company. Marty gave some diplomatic answer about their Web site being a hassle, all while I was gesticulating wildly and holding up hand-written pieces of paper about the real reasons I am not using them. And I have many. Though I gave examples on my handwritten signs, Marty ignored them and kept on talking to Bruce promising that we would give them a try if the new company didn't work out.

In the mean-time, Bruce is set to call Marty back with an update on our maintenance issue. And with any luck, that should be all the contact we have with them for the next twelve months.

"Truce in the Forest"

This story was brought to the public's attention during an "Unsolved Mysteries" episode in the mid-1990s. Apparently there was a man named Ralph Blank in a nursing home in Fredricksberg MD telling a similar story. The two had been independently searching for each other and the other members of that 1944 party for years. 

I first heard about this story last night. I thought it was worth sharing. 

Merry Christmas

"Truce In the Forest" by Fritz Vincken

It was Christmas Eve, and the last, desperate German offensive of World War II raged around our tiny cabin. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door...

When we heard the knock on our door that Christmas Eve in 1944, neither Mother nor I had the slightest inkling of the quiet miracle that lay in store for us.

I was 12 then, and we were living in a small cottage in the Hürtgen Forest, near the German-Belgian border. Father had stayed at the cottage on hunting weekends before the war; when Allied bombers partly destroyed our hometown of Aachen, he sent us to live there. He had been ordered into the civil-defense fire guard in the border town of Monschau, four miles away.

"You'll be safe in the woods," he had told me. "Take care of Mother. Now you're the man of the family."

But, nine days before Christmas, Field Marshal von Rundstedt had launched the last, desperate German offensive of the war, and now, as I went to the door, the Battle of the Bulge was raging all around us. We heard the incessant booming of field guns; planes soared continuously overhead; at night, searchlights stabbed through the darkness. Thousands of Allied and German soldiers were fighting and dying nearby.

When that first knock came, Mother quickly blew out the candles; then, as I went to answer it, she stepped ahead of me and pushed open the door. Outside, like phantoms against the snowclad trees, stood two steel-helmeted men. One of them spoke to Mother in a language we did not understand, pointing to a third man lying in the snow. She realized before I did that these were American soldiers. Enemies!

Mother stood silent, motionless, her hand on my shoulder. They were armed and could have forced their entrance, yet they stood there and asked with their eyes. And the wounded man seemed more dead than alive. "Kommt rein," Mother said finally. "Come in." The soldiers carried their comrade inside and stretched him out on my bed.

None of them understood German. Mother tried French, and one of the soldiers could converse in that language. As Mother went to look after the wounded man, she said to me, "The fingers of those two are numb. Take off their jackets and boots, and bring in a bucket of snow." Soon I was rubbing their blue feet with snow.

We learned that the stocky, dark- haired fellow was Jim; his friend, tall and slender, was Robin. Harry, the wounded one, was now sleeping on my bed, his face as white as the snow outside. They'd lost their battalion and had wandered in the forest for three days, looking for the Americans, hiding from the Germans. They hadn't shaved, but still, without their heavy coats, they looked merely like big boys. And that was the way Mother began to treat them.

Now Mother said to me, "Go get Hermann. And bring six potatoes."

This was a serious departure from our pre-Christmas plans. Hermann was the plump rooster(named after portly Hermann Guring, Hitler's No. 2, for whom Mother had little affection) that we had been fattening for weeks in the hope that Father would be home for Christmas. But, some hours before, when it was obvious that Father would not make it, Mother had decided that Hermann should live a few more days, in case Father could get home for New Year's. Now she had changed her mind again: Hermann would serve an immediate, pressing purpose.

While Jim and I helped with the cooking, Robin took care of Harry. He had a bullet through his upper leg, and had almost bled to death. Mother tore a bedsheet into long strips for bandages.

Soon, the tempting smell of roast chicken permeated our room. I was setting the table when once again there came a knock at the door. 

Expecting to find more lost Americans, I opened the door without hesitation. There stood four soldiers, wearing uniforms quite familiar to me after five years of war. They were Wehrmacht! Germans!

I was paralyzed with fear. Although still a child, I knew the harsh law: sheltering enemy soldiers constituted high treason. We could all be shot! Mother was frightened, too. Her face was white, but she stepped outside and said, quietly, "Fröhliche Weihnachten." The soldiers wished her a Merry Christmas, too.

"We have lost our regiment and would like to wait for daylight," explained the corporal. "Can we rest here?"

"Of course," Mother replied, with a calmness born of panic. "You can also have a fine, warm meal and eat till the pot is empty."

The Germans smiled as they sniffed the aroma through the half-open door. "But," Mother added firmly, "we have three other guests, whom you may not consider friends." Now her voice was suddenly sterner than I'd ever heard it before. "This is Christmas Eve, and there will be no shooting here."

"Who's inside?" the corporal demanded. "Amerikaner?"

Mother looked at each frost-chilled face. "Listen," she said slowly. "You could be my sons, and so could those in there. A boy with a gunshot wound, fighting for his life. His two friends lost like you and just as hungry and exhausted as you are. This one night," she turned to the corporal and raised her voice a little, "this Christmas night, let us forget about killing."

The corporal stared at her. There were two or three endless seconds of silence. Then Mother put an end to indecision. "Enough talking!" she ordered and clapped her hands sharply. "Please put your weapons here on the woodpile and hurry up before the others eat the dinner!"

Dazedly, the four soldiers placed their arms on the pile of firewood just inside the door: three carbines, a light machine gun and two bazookas. Meanwhile, Mother was speaking French rapidly to Jim. He said something in English, and to my amazement I saw the American boys, too, turn their weapons over to Mother.

Now, as Germans and Americans tensely rubbed elbows in the small room, Mother was really on her mettle. Never losing her smile, she tried to find a seat for everyone. We had only three chairs, but Mother's bed was big, and on it she placed two of the newcomers side by side with Jim and Robin.

Despite the strained atmosphere, Mother went right on preparing dinner. But Hermann wasn't going to grow any bigger, and now there were four more mouths to feed. "Quick," she whispered to me, "get more potatoes and some oats. These boys are hungry, and a starving man is an angry one."

While foraging in the storage room, I heard Harry moan. When I returned, one of the Germans had put on his glasses to inspect the American's wound. "Do you belong to the medical corps?" Mother asked him. "No," he answered. "But I studied medicine at Heidelberg until a few months ago." Thanks to the cold, he told the Americans in what sounded like fairly good English, Harry's wound hadn't become infected. "He is suffering from a severe loss of blood," he explained to Mother. "What he needs is rest and nourishment."

Relaxation was now beginning to replace suspicion. Even to me, all the soldiers looked very young as we sat there together. Heinz and Willi, both from Cologne, were 16. The German corporal, at 23, was the oldest of them all. From his food bag he drew out a bottle of red wine, and Heinz managed to find a loaf of rye bread. Mother cut that in small pieces to be served with the dinner; half the wine, however, she put away "for the wounded boy."

Then Mother said grace. I noticed that there were tears in her eyes as she said the old, familiar words, "Komm, Herr Jesus. Be our guest." And as I looked around the table, I saw tears, too, in the eyes of the battle-weary soldiers, boys again, some from America, some from Germany, all far from home.

Just before midnight, Mother went to the doorstep and asked us to join her to look up at the Star of Bethlehem. We all stood beside her except Harry, who was sleeping. For all of us during that moment of silence, looking at the brightest star in the heavens, the war was a distant, almost-forgotten thing.

Our private armistice continued next morning. Harry woke in the early hours, and swallowed some broth that Mother fed him. With the dawn, it was apparent that he was becoming stronger. Mother now made him an invigorating drink from our one egg, the rest of the corporal's wine and some sugar. Everyone else had oatmeal. Afterward, two poles and Mother's best tablecloth were fashioned into a stretcher for Harry.

The corporal then advised the Americans how to find their way back to their lines. Looking over Jim's map, the corporal pointed out a stream. "Continue along this creek," he said, "and you will find the 1st Army rebuilding its forces on its upper course." The medical student relayed the information in English.

"Why don't we head for Monschau?" Jim had the student ask. "Nein!" the corporal exclaimed. "We've retaken Monschau."

Now Mother gave them all back their weapons. "Be careful, boys," she said. "I want you to get home someday where you belong. God bless you all!" The German and American soldiers shook hands, and we watched them disappear in opposite directions.

When I returned inside, Mother had brought out the old family Bible. I glanced over her shoulder. The book was open to the Christmas story, the Birth in the Manger and how the Wise Men came from afar bearing their gifts. Her finger was tracing the last line from Matthew 2:12: "...they departed into their own country another way."

Warm and Fuzzy

I got an early Christmas present today. Diamond Jim called me just to wish me a merry Christmas. And, he has decided to be a willing participant in this next years' tax preparation.

The Rest of the Story

Back Story 1: Last year I had a horrible client who went out of his way to be just as nasty as can be. I brought him five offers in 36 hours. This wasn't because I was a rock star real estate agent, it was because of the market conditions at the time. However, three of the offers were over asking price. In return for selling his house (twice--the first buyer walked because he was such a jerk), he belittled me, abused me and made me question whether a true jury of my peers could possibly question my motives. As soon as my commission check came, I slapped it down on a vacation to Uncle Sunshine's island and to visit the MouseHouse in Orlando as a way to celebrate Marty Sunshine's upcoming 50th birthday.

Back Story 2: The day before Thanksgiving, I was attacked by the feral kitten I was rescuing from certain death. As a reward for saving this cat's life, the beast rendered my right thumb unusable for more than two weeks. Even as I type this, there is still a little bit of sting where her fang went straight through to the bone. Stupid cat.

So, I went to visit Uncle Sunshine's island paradise. The major downside of this is that it is 2,300 mile drive from my desert home. In exchange for pleasant company and a little bit of helping out Uncle Sunshine with odd jobs, we had a fabulous beach house to stay in where Marty, the kids and I could just forget 2013 even happened--which was fine by me. So, as we were hanging out one night I got a "welcome to the family" e-mail on my phone which told me Kirby has sold his company to Mario.

Many things happened from that e-mail. First, it put a major damper on my vacation. And, because my texting thumb was incapacitated (stupid cat), I was unable to completely express my displeasure about this arrangement. Not that anyone cared what I thought anyway. But the major issue I faced was my gut tied in about 16 knots and I felt green. The result being that I knew I would rather go back to managing these properties myself than go with Mario.

As I toyed seriously with calling Carolsue, seeing what she had going on for the next 18 months and begging her to please drop everything and let me bug her endlessly until the end of time, Daisy came through with another plan. This plan would bring a bit more sanity to Carolsue. Daisy--who was about to be unemployed--was shopping around for another property management brokerages to work with before her last day with Kirby's now-defunct company. She had a couple of interviews with different property management firms. And, great news! None of those companies are ones I have personally sicked the Alabama Attorney General's office on.

Even though Daisy was changing companies, I wasn't sure I really wanted to follow her either. After all, what if her new company was one of the previous rejects from my already long list of, "I will never do business with in Alabama. Ever."? She eventually found a company she liked. I actually talked to the broker for 30 minutes while waiting for my family to get off Splash Mountain. I asked all sorts of question that either baffled or impressed the new broker.

"Do you have a clause in your tenant agreement that says if the landlord is forced to call a repairman for something stupid you caused, you--Dear Tenant--will pay for it?" Yes they do.

"Do you give keys to random strangers who say they want to see a vacant home and then just expect this person off the street to go view the property, lock the house back up and return the key (without making a copy, stealing the copper or just moving in?" No. They don't.

And of course, there was my essay question as well: "How do all'y'all feel about Section 8 tenants?" He and I were of a like mind on that one.

As it turns out, the new company sounds acceptable. I negotiated a reasonable rate with them--that's something you can do when your new leasing agent is offering to bring over landlords with a gazillion homes to add to your inventory.

I was able to send one long-ish e-mail with hopefully no typos to Mario on my phone (stupid cat) explaining he was not getting my gazillion homes and please stop sending me endless boilerplate e-mails about what a "great opportunity" this will be for me. To his credit, Mario handled the news with a lot of class and asked if we could "discuss this further." (Note to Mario: No. No we can't.) And Bliz--God bless her--wrote a letter on my behalf cutting my former ties. Apparently my phone/e-mail wouldn't do. It had to be a letter and it was very time sensitive.

Hopefully this new change will be the start of a brighter future.

Everyone Should Know

Happy birthday to Marty Sunshine who just happens to turn 50 today.

Hope it is a wonderful day! 

Coming Up Daisies

I am in week two of my vacation and about as relaxed as a girl can be. Under the circumstances.

Maybe even a little bit more.

To back up, the Friday after Thanksgiving Daisy sent me an e-mail saying my home in Pinson is about to be vacant and she may want to rent it out herself. This was news to me because I had no idea it was about to be vacant. Daisy said she was traveling that weekend and just let her know. What I found out through the course of the next few days is that Daisy's brother was on life support and they were planning on saying good-bye the following Wednesday. That would be the same Wednesday that Mario sent a "welcome to the family" letter to me and all of Kirby's landlords.

I knew about Daisy's situation so I thought I would wait until Thursday to ask her what was going on. However, many landlords who were unaware of her family issue did not know and they called her immediately--while she was in the hospital grieving over her dear brother. And that's how she found out she was going to be unemployed at the end of the year.

Meanwhile, Daisy and I chatted via text, with me hearing from her every so often with a note from her saying, "I will call you in 10 minutes," which she never did. Finally today--the day after the funeral--I called her. Though I wish to be sympathetic to her situation, I still needed to figure out what to do.

It turns out Daisy has been offered another another position with a different company and if I wanted, she would take my homes with her. Apparently her opinion of Mario and mine are about the same with her saying a few more choice adjectives to describe him and his lineage.

Truthfully, I wasn't sure if I wanted her to take all my homes. "Is the company you would be working for the same one I had discussed in length with the Alabama Attorney General's office?" I asked? No. "Is it any of the following companies I immensely dislike?" I asked, listing off about six of them. Apparently not. "Are other landlords going with you too?" Yes they are. "Will you honor the property management agreements I have in place already?" Yes she will. There were a bunch more questions. But you get the gist.

One idea was to let Mario have the other home I have in Calera (he manages one down there already) and my home in Alabaster. These properties are all located near each other and away from my other gazillion homes.  I also offered her a chance too not manage my vacant home in Centerpoint. Mario manages a few homes already on that street and that one seems to be a bit of a challenge. Daisy wanted to keep all of those properties. And all the other ones she takes care of too.

We also talked about my other drama that I was made privy of by Opal last week: My tenant in Fultondale is still behind on the rent. That is something for another blog and not something I want to address this week. Essentially, I want to get through my vacation first.

And yes, for the record, if Daisy wants to rent the home in Pinson, it was hers. But if she is living there it won't be in property management and she needed to fill out all of my applications and lease documents. She said she would let me know over the weekend if it would work for her. Hopefully this will all work out for the best.

Mario's Way or the Highway

Once upon a time, Mario called me up (at Carolsue's recommendation), introduced himself and told me he wanted to manage all my homes. I gave him one to try him out. While we were in the getting-to-know-you phase, Mario called me and asked for directions about the vacancy I had. I told him what I wanted done and without a moment's hesitancy replied, "Why don't you ask your husband what he thinks and get back to me."

Ten minutes after uttering those fateful words, he was on the phone with Marty Sunshine. Mario apparently lamented that perhaps his comment was a bit unseemly and he was pretty sure he lost any chance--ever--to manage all of my homes. Marty was sympathetic and non-committal to poor Mario, but the damage was done.

Though I am great at holding a grudge, it really isn't Mario's (Southern) attitude that kept me from dropping all of my rentals on his lap. It is the fact Mario is expensive. In the past, he has charged me a great deal of money--more than I have ever paid to turn over a vacant home. This has happened twice, with rent being withheld for months at a time. His vendors are pricey. I have worked hard to establish good relationships with my vendors but Mario won't use them unless I am forewarned there is an issue and I absolutely insist (which in the past I have). I can't prove it, but I suspect Mario's company tends to up charge his vendors. For example, if a tenant needs a plumber, he sends the plumber out, the plumber bills Mario's company and Mario's company adds a bit on top and bills me.

And then there is the issue of the useless expenses. One time the tenant had the AC company come out because they didn't change the battery in the thermostat. I fought with Mario's company about the $85 trip charge that I still don't think should have been billed to me for the tenant's laziness. Stupid expenses make me crazy. It isn't their money they are spending, it is mine.

Nor do I care for Mario's staff. I once sent an e-mail to one of Mario's minions asking a quick question. He replied, "go to our web site, log in and watch a video on how to handle this." All I wanted was the form needed to change the bank account number where we were getting our rent disbursement. I still haven't changed the bank account number because I can't figure out the stupid Web site and Mario's entire office insists on practicing tough love instead of customer service.

That said, Mario's folks have gotten the one house they manage of mine rented in record time. Twice. Perhaps it is the house (it is one of my nicest). Perhaps it is the neighborhood. Maybe they have just gotten lucky twice. But for whatever reason it is rented. For that I can't complain.

Kirby on the other hand doesn't nickle and dime me. I can use my own vendors and I have never gotten calls about tenants doing something stupid and me having to pay for it. However, Kirby has decided to sell his company. He has the right to do so. And Mario's company must be a decent fit for this merger. Kirby is big into service, happy owners (or at least happy me). But my houses are definitely vacant longer. And again, the houses Kirby is managing are in different neighborhoods and have a different feel than Mario's home, so I can't exactly conduct a scientific comparison.

I am not excited about this merger. The only certainty I have right now is that I do know I won't be managing these homes myself.

Heath Bell is No Longer a Diamondback and Other News

I was having a great vacation. And, to top it all off, I finally was connected to the internet and discovered Heath Bell had been traded to the Tampa Bay Rays. So, if being on a remote island wasn't great enough, finding out the Diamondbacks had rid themselves of a has-been player who (in my opinion) single-handedly blew the Dbaks first place lead was sheer heaven. Heaven I tell you!

Then I got an e-mail yesterday that changed my entire vacation outlook. Apparently Mario's property management company had acquired Kirby's company. The letter said it was a friendly merger--and it explains why Kirby hadn't bothered to return a few of my messages in the past few weeks. Messages that would have been relevant if he had long-term plans to keep his company--which apparently he did not.

I don't have a reference to know if this is good or bad for my accidental business. I don't like Mario. That's why he only manages one of my homes. I like Kirby. That's why for the next few weeks at least, he manages most of my homes. Mario will have to honor the contracts Kirby and I have in place, which means I won't be able to snatch these homes out of property management and then what? Manage them myself? Give them to another company? What company? I have interviewed pretty much every property management company in Central Alabama. To give you an idea of what I think about them, Mario's company is my second-favorite.

Daisy sent me a text this morning. She had been out all week, she knew I called Monday (not related to the merger). Her note said she needed to talk with me. She said she would call me when she could but right now she was dealing with the "disaster" of her company going away. Disaster was her word, the rest I am paraphrasing. I am guessing as soon as I talk with her I will have a reference on how I need proceed.

Checked Out

2013 has probably been one of the most yucky in my life. Thank God Alabama wasn't as much of a problem as it could have been. I am not sure I could have handled any more drama.

And there is drama. I got an earful I wasn't expecting yesterday when I called from a rest stop off of I-10 and asked an innocent question. I managed to mind my manners as Opal--Kirby's administrative assistant--spilled the beans.

I realized as she gave me an earful there wasn't much I could do about it at that moment. In fact, I am not going to do anything about it for a few days. For now I am here with a panoramic view of paradise on Uncle Sunshine's island. I told Bliz today that I expect to be totally relaxed by Friday. But I don't think she believes me.

Ta Da!

This is Mrs. Sherwood's new floor. Awesome isn't it.

Thanksgiving

So, I stopped by and saw my loan officer friend yesterday. He was introduced to me by Diamond Jim many years ago. As we were talking, he discovered that no, I had never lived in Birmingham. Apparently he assumed that was why I had bought a gazillion homes there. Nope.

After giving him the Reader's Digest version of how we ended up investing there and explaining I was frantically working on a Wayback Machine so I could go warn my 2002 self what I was in for, he said, "You are probably the only property investor I know who owns more than five rental homes and still has them since the collapse. Do you know how extraordinary you are to have made every mortgage payment?"

Extraordinary? I don't feel extraordinary. I feel exhausted. The extraordinary hat really doesn't seem to fit.

Yes. we have made all of our payments--sometimes at the expense of our personal grocery budget. We have made every payment on time too. I know there are investors out there who for one reason or another did not survive. I know what they went through. I don't think they gave up or took the easy way out. If we hadn't gone halfsies with Mr. Partner on our expenses we would be one of those folks. The odds were against us in 2008 and 2009. In fact, the only reason we survived in 2008 is someone bought one of our rentals. The money we made gave us enough cash to carry us through the summer of our seven simultaneous vacancies and one tenant bankruptcy.

I don't talk much about my faith. But if you know me personally, you know it is an important part of who I am. About 2009 Marty Sunshine and I started a family prayer routine with our kids. I believe in my heart it has been the cornerstone of what has kept us going with our accidental business. There have been many prayers for Alabama. For Mr. Partner. For the rest of the folks we work with in Alabama and beyond who have helped us along the way. We have prayed endlessly for our tenants. We still pray for a few past tenants--wherever they might be. And, we thank God for His continued blessings, the courage to embrace hard work and to recognize opportunities to fix our undercapitalized issues. Because we aren't truly extraordinary. We have just been blessed.

A Small Price To Pay

Other than undercapitalized issues, two vacancies and a third tenant who is thisclose to eviction (according to my sources), the only other Alabama drama going on right now is Mrs. Sherwood's flooring. You see, she has this carpeting in her kitchen that was installed in the early 1960s. It looks like--and I am not making this up--brown chain links on a dingy mustard background. Except the brown is more of a garish dried blood brown. At any rate, it is ugly. And old. And because it has 50+ years of spills, splatters and who knows what else landing on it, it is pretty gross.

When I went to visit earlier this year, Mrs. Sherwood and I chatted about her kitchen floor and she asked if she could have something newer and more attractive installed. Given Mrs. Sherwood has lived in this house since 2007, rarely pays late and handles all the minor fixes herself, this is a small request. After all, I have been expecting her to give notice any day for the past three years.

Also, I happen to know if she shopped around she would find out she is paying 2007 rental prices in a 2013 rental market (rents in general have dropped about 20 percent). So, if Mrs. Sherwood wants new flooring, I think I can find a way to accommodate that. Or at least I felt that way back in March when she asked. And besides, when she eventually moves out, I will have to have it replaced it anyway.

Fast forwarding eight months, when Mrs. Sherwood brought to my attention last month that I had agreed to new flooring, I was dealing with a bad-ass sinus infection threatening to turn into pneumonia and had a myriad of personal issues swarming around me. In addition, if you back up to last summer, on the Alabama front as you may (or may not recall), I had been dealing with attorneys, vacancies and Alabama Power. So, Mrs. Sherwood's kitchen floor was pretty far from the front of my to-do list.

Frankly, I had completely forgotten about the flooring until she brought it up again last month.

Though I remembered discussing this last March, what I wasn't certain about is what kind of deal we made. And finally, I had to admit this to Mrs. Sherwood. I hated to loose the upper hand, because for all I know I could have agreed to hardwoods throughout the house last spring. Turns out it was just the kitchen. And Mrs. Sherwood said that I had agreed to buy the materials and she would handle the rest. To her credit, she shopped around a bit, decided on a dark laminate and found a great deal for me. She tells me Howie the Handyman will be installing the flooring this week--just in time for Thanksgiving.

Hopefully the $600 I spent on flooring will keep Mrs. Sherwood happy for another several years.

Chalkville is Lovely This Time of Year

So I got a text from Daisy yesterday. Did I have any vacant upcoming homes in the new year? She was looking for herself. I would like to point out Daisy works for a property management company which manages about 250 homes. With an average industry turnover of five percent that company is looking at 12 to 13 homes per month coming vacant. So, she doesn't necessarily need one of mine to rent.

However, as it happens, I currently have two properties that might interest her. Daisy is intimately familiar with these homes, as I contact her about once a week to say, "It's rented now, right?" At which point Daisy takes a play from Kirby's book and ignores me--but thus answers my question anyway. I presume I would hear a choir of angels rejoicing moments before I got a call from Daisy saying, "I've got a tenant."

I threw both vacant houses at her at got a varied response of, "that one is a bit too far," (which I suspect means the same thing as, "that house is a half mile from Kirby's place") for the one in Chalkville to the very diplomatic-not-a-violation-of-any-federal-fair-housing-law-whatsoever response of, "I am not sure I am a good fit for the neighborhood," for my home in Centerpoint. Truthfully, unless she is a drug lord, murderer or has gang ties, I suspect she isn't a good fit either.

I was baffled by Daisy's request to rent one of my properties and wondered exactly what kinds of homes she sees every day in her job that makes mine so attractive. Not that mine are all that bad. They mostly aren't. No matter, if I can get rid of some of my dead wood tenants, that was fine with me. I have a Section 8 tenant whom I am not excited about. Her lease is up December 31st. I told Daisy to tour the house, if she liked it, give a 30 day notice to the tenant. I would love to replace the Section 8 tenant with someone different (one of these days I really should write about this tenant).

The tenants in house in Fultondale pay late every month. They give Kirby and Daisy fits. The tenants are in continual violation of their lease. I told Daisy if she wanted that house, go ahead and do the same there too.

In both cases I am serious. But I will let Kirby decide if this can happen. Otherwise, I have a lovely home in Chalkville that might be of interest if she needs to move sooner than later.

Changes

It was too easy. That's what I told myself today as I left my now-former broker's office. After 10+ years with the same company (the ones with the gold sport coats), I decided to go hang my license with a smaller brokerage.

The decision wasn't spontaneous. I had been thinking about it for some time. And, when I decided this is what I wanted to do, the particular company I am now working for was not high on my list. The broker--who now happens to be my new boss--got into the business at the same time I did. A former used car salesman, he was my mentor the first year I was in the biz. Over the course of time he got his broker's license. He bought a property management company and that is now what he is doing. Just like Kirby and Mario.

When I told my now-former broker I was leaving. She didn't react the way I expected her to, though I am not sure what I expected really. Crying and hysterics? A fist-pump along with a good riddance? I didn't expect she would take it so... so.. well.

At the very least, I expected her to tell me that being affiliated with a national company was worth something. Here's a hint for those of you who aren't in the know: the national company doesn't do a thing for agents. Agents still have to find their own leads. They still have to pay for their own advertising. All agents--no matter what size company they are affiliated with--have access to the same web sites, multiple listing information and the like. The difference is if one is affiliated with a national name, they pay more in fees.

And, in case it matters, if you need the services of a quality agent, the best place to look is one of those mom and pop companies. Why? Because no broker of a small company is going to hire a part-time or green agent. The liability is too great. The small boutique brokerages pay more for better agents because those agents don't have to be trained and there is a smaller chance of a lawsuit. When I negotiated my new pay structure I threw that at my new broker and he agreed--which will help my bottom line. But it is true. The new agents go to the mega-companies because the smaller brokerages won't take the risk.

But I digress...

When I told my now-former broker where I was going (something I was dreading her asking--given this was her top agent who left years ago and I am told by my sources there was some bad blood at the time) she said she had never heard of my new company. I figured it would take her about three nano-seconds after I walked out the door for it to dawn on her. Then she would either hate me or ask me to come back with a better offer.

For the record, she came back with a better offer. But money isn't the only reason I am moving on. And also for the record, it really is unproductive to entice someone to come back by throwing more money at them. If they want to leave, they will do it anyway--either now or later. And by keeping them just a teensy bit longer, all you have done is buy their loyalty for the short-term. This is true in business and in rental homes. Let them go.

The irony of it all is that I am working for a company that pretty much mirrors Kirby's brokerage. Both companies have about the same number of homes. This new company has a Kirby, a Daisy and an Opal. And now they have a me. I am excited. I am still a sales agent. And I won't be doing leasing exclusively (because my opinion of leasing homes hasn't changed). However, in the short-term, this is part of the deal. Which is fine given my under-capitalized issues being what they are and all. In the six hours I have been with my new company, I have already leased a home. I can't complain.The decision was right. It was time.

Modern Technology

Last week during my marathon real estate days, I talked to Daisy and explained that I wasn't going to be near a computer for a good long while and please text me if she needed anything.

Ten minutes later she did. I replied with, "It was actually a trap. Now I have your cell number."

Daisy, who instantly realized it was not a good scenario for a landlord to have her private cell number (I didn't actually expect she would text me), probably swore up and down and then wrote me back with a few other choice words.

At any rate, now Daisy texts me things like, "The house in Moody is rented." And I am happy.

I can also ask her about the house in Centerpoint and the house in Chalkville.  I did notice when I asked about these two properties today she somehow didn't feel the need to get back to me right away. That's ok. Because I have Kirby's cell number too.

One Down, Two to Go

Today was the second day in a row I have left my home at 7 a.m. in search of remedying our undercapitalized issues. However today I did not make it home until 7:30 p.m. At one point, I jotted over to my office to check my e-mail. In it was a lovely note from Daisy. She had rented my home if I was willing to take "those folks."

Though I greatly appreciated her e-mail, I had no idea which home or who "those folks" happen to be. When I called her I got a better scope of the situation. It turns out Daisy is sick and shouldn't be at work, let alone writing e-mails to desperate landlords. However, I am glad she did. I like reading the words, "rented."

The house in question happens to be the one in Moody. She told me it was a nice couple with ties to the area. I froze in terror. Two of the last three sets of tenants were also "nice" with ties to the area. I quickly made sure we weren't looking at Mr. Smith moving back in (as a refresher, you may recall the unemployed Mr. Smith lives across the street with his wife, his 49 offspring and his ultra-proud father-in-law--who is supporting his daughter, her children and her dead-beat husband).

I also sweetly inquired if half of the "nice couple" Daisy mentioned happened to include Ms. Kathy, the other deadbeat former tenant whose sister happens to live next door. Before she answered me, she let out a string of Dayquil-induced profanities, indicating this house had a lot of hidden baggage and either she did not need to know this, or perhaps it was best I told her prior to her showing it to the "nice couple."

And then, still not answering my question, she put the phone down and I heard her say, "Hey Kirby, did you know about the house in Moody and the former tenants who live next door and across the street?" I am guessing based on her next litany of cuss words, she found out Kirby did know. At any rate, it doesn't appear the "nice couple" includes Ms. Kathy either. That's a relief.

The couple in question have been approved by me and are moving in this weekend. The home was vacant for less than a month.

For those of you counting, that is one down, and two to go. 

On a Brighter Note

It turns out the folks in Fultondale decided they don't want to be evicted and have straightened out at least for now. I can handle "for now."

I don't know all the details to why Kirby and Daisy felt they needed to be evicted. But that is fine. I don't need that added stress.

The Tale Of The Two Text Messengers

Yesterday I sent Ms. Angie a text that basically said, "Let me know rent is coming on time and for the love of all that is good and just you aren't in jail again." Ok, I only sent the first clause, but the second part of that sentence was implied.

And then I heard nothing.

This morning I sent a text saying, "I didn't hear from you yesterday and that is not a good sign. I am not in the mood for surprises. Please tell me rent will be on time." And yes, I sent that one in its entirety.

To her credit, Ms. Angie did reply. Apparently she is not in jail. She let me know rent was coming. On time.

Mrs. Sherwood also sent me a text today telling me she wants to collect on the offer I made with her months earlier when our accidental business looked a bit brighter. She wants new flooring in the kitchen. I had agreed to pay half of the new flooring costs.

I certainly can't blame her for wanting this change. Her current kitchen flooring is from another era. And it is rather ugly yellow and brown patterned carpet that has no business in the kitchen. Even casino carpeting is more attractive.

Mrs. Sherwood has also been in my home since 2007 and doesn't seem to be interested in leaving any time soon. That's a good thing, because I will take a $300 rent reduction if I have to lease this place out again. Besides, she takes great care of the house. I am happy to hold up my end of the bargain once I get rid of these crazy vacancies.

Request

Daisy, Kirby's assistant, sent me an e-mail today telling me that she has showings lined up for all three vacancies. It doesn't mean they are rented, but just that people are interested. She ended her e-mail to me with the following: "Pray!"

I have to tell you, I pray every day. Lately I have added prayers that these homes will be rented with quality folks. If you are the praying type, I am asking for help. Please pray with me.

Thanks.

Cutting Kirby Some Slack

As you may recall, I would rather give birth to 20 pound triplets without any form of pain relief than work rentals. But, to give you an idea of how desperate undercapitalized we are at the moment, I called my buddies at not one, but two, property management companies begging to work rentals for them this weekend. In both cases, I was happily given a litany of homes from both agencies and I promptly put them on craigslist.

It is now Saturday around 3:30 and yet the phone hasn't rung even once. No e-mails from a crazy person asking if they and their 47 live wildebeests can rent a home in some posh Scottsdale neighborhood. And will the landlord take a $1,500 a month rent reduction? And--in case it comes up--Mr. Wildebeest just happens to be a convicted serial ax murderer with a 506 FICO score. Will that be an issue?

I am guessing if the rental market is this quiet in the US's fifth largest metropolitan area, Birmingham can't be any better. But I am hoping it is. 

Moody

It appears we won't be refinancing the home in Moody. Though we would have a lower interest rate, the difference in payment is negligible.

If it matters, I am cranky.

Nobody Has To Read This

It is an understatement to say October, 2013 has been one of my toughest. I don't wish to whine about my personal life. But come on, 2013 as a whole has kind of sucked. It isn't just the Alabama accidental business either. But I have to tell you, that alone is playing a larger than necessary role in my already totally crappy October.

There was a time a few years back when we were faced with tough times in our accidental business and I would actively look for solutions. Then we used up those solutions. Then other tough times happened and we managed to endure. Then things went well for a very long stretch. In fact I even thought--dare I say it--the worst was over.

Then we had a vacant home that will never be rented. Then Ms. Angie went to jail twice. Then we had a tenant skip out. Then Mrs. Green needed to move. And then this past week Daisy, Kirby's assistant, sent me an email yesterday saying the people in Fultondale need to be evicted. NOW.

The house in Fultondale happens to be one of the three Marty Sunshine and I own without a partner. So for those of you keeping track: we have the one in Grayson Valley that Jack bailed on us, the vacant one that Mrs. Green lived in (and is currently vacant) and the one in Fultondale.

In the past three weeks (on top of the utterly other rotten things going on) Marty and I have done some serious financial maneuvering to figure out if we can hold on. We changed our personal budget to accommodate our issues over there, including dropping a lot of extras in our lives and changing Marty's retirement holdings. We are looking at refinancing a couple of homes--which never goes well, given banks don't to like to refinance for landlords who have more than four properties. So, I am not certain we will be refinancing.

I don't have the money to pay the property taxes. Nor do I have the money to pay November's mortgages if Ms. Angie goes to jail again. If Kirby doesn't get these places rented, I will definitely not have December's mortgage money either. That's a big concern. It used to be this made me anxious. Now I am just embittered.

Yesterday Kirby gave me numbers for potential outcomes if I sell the home in Moody. It is doable--if indeed anyone will quickly buy the home. It doesn't do me well to let the property sit vacant for four months waiting for a buyer. So, we are looking into that. It is also one of the homes Marty is speaking with the bank about refinancing.

Marty Sunshine tells me this blog post is "incredibly negative." What if it is? This is where I'm at right now. It ain't pretty, but it is the best I can do.

Public Service Announcement

For the love of all things, if you want to rent a home be sure you clean up your social media accounts. Landlords don't like finding XXX Twitter sites for potential tenants. Just saying...

The Way To An Attorney's Heart

When one can't pay the mortgages, one certainly can't pay the attorney who handled a small administrative matter. So, I have been sorta sitting by, letting Attorney Flip's extra-large bill gather dust. Once in a while I will look at it, groan and then shove it out of sight only to repeat the process a week or so later.

Fortunately (for Flip), Mr. Partner brought in an infuse of cash that he owed recently. The mortgages are covered and we have enough left over to give Attorney Flip a nugget or two. In preparation for this monumental event, and because I got another "past due" bill from him today, I sent him an e-mail telling him I was making a payment. I thanked him for his patience.

In a strange turn, Attorney Flip--the same man who would not return my e-mails and phone calls for the past year--actually responded in about 10 minutes flat with a "no problem, hope all is well," e-mail.

If you are counting, that is two times in the past year I have heard from him. Perhaps a new record.

You've Now Read It All

So Ms. Angie went to jail again. For those of you keeping track, that was twice in 30 days. I would raise a skeptical eyebrow and say, "uh huh" but it really wouldn't change the realities here.

What I do know is that Ms. Angie's September rent hasn't shown up. I did receive most of August's rent (late) and I have no reason not to believe her. Let's face it, Ms. Angie (nor anyone else) has ever used the excuse, "I was in jail and I needed the rent money to bail me out." Twice. Ever. And I promise you, I have heard some very interesting excuses.

I find her story somewhat plausible because both times this happened in Leeds. And, as a matter of interest, I almost got arrested in Leeds once for taking a picture on the public sidewalk. I was told later by someone (Jack I think, but it might have been Carolsue) that if I hadn't been white I probably would have been arrested. Now, I am not saying Leeds is a bigoted backwater 1940s, Southern town, but let the inferences land where they may.

And as another matter of interest, it would be best not to have an African American rent the home I have in Leeds (if it were available). That is, if an African American actually wanted to rent my home in Leeds. So far no one has jumped at that opportunity. But I digress...

Anyway, Ms. Angie was arrested again on (what she tells me) an outstanding traffic warrant. I told her to please stay out of Leeds. Leeds doesn't like her. And, because I currently have two vacancies in this particular LLC and if I were to let her go I would take an immediate reduction in rent--barring I got the place rented prior to January--I am working with her again this month. Besides, other than the last two months, she has been a really good tenant.

When I spoke with her today I made her cry. I think if I had gotten angry and nasty, she would have felt better. But I was already weary with this week's drama on actually paying the mortgages. So, I wasn't up to yelling at her.

I believe in my heart this will be straightened up. She will pay off her debt to me (I expect to see some money in a week or so). In the mean time, it would be best if Ms. Angie just stayed out of jail.

I Should Open a Thrift Store

I don't really understand this. And before I became a landlord I wouldn't have believed it. But my first tenant in Phoenix did this. I thought it was just her. Now I realize it happens often. Tenants just leave their stuff behind. It used to blow me away. Now I just accept it.

But really, if you could cart it into your home, why can't you cart it out of your home? And for that matter, if you didn't want it when you moved out, why did you want it when you moved in? 

The Rest of the Story

In addition to the two vacancies with the LLC with Mr. Partner, I asked Mr. and Mrs. Green to move this past summer. They finally left last month. So, though Mr. Partner has two vacancies, Marty Sunshine and I have three.

A quick background on the Greens. I loved them. I adored them. They would actually Fed Ex me the rent if it was a day late. They were my tenants for five years. Then Mrs. Green lost her job with no notice this past New Year's Day. I let her limp along for a month or two, with the idea that I would look them in the eye during my trip last spring and ask them to leave.

Except within that LLC I had another vacancy that needed a lot of time and attention. This particular LLC does ok with one vacant home, but two empty houses is a bit out of my budget. And the house in question was "managed" by my former-partner Jack. Jack neglected to mention the house needed flooring, roof repair, a hot water heater and significant outdoor drainage reconstruction when he begged out, leaving these issues for Marty and I to fend for ourselves. So essentially when I got to Birmingham, Mr. and Mrs. Green won the landlord lottery.

I believe in my heart the Greens were trying as hard as they could to make things right in their life. I also believe she didn't want to move. She would tell me about job interviews. I knew she was borrowing money from her son who is stationed somewhere where he is eligible for combat pay--and this was even with the reduction in rent. Somewhere around July, I did ask them to leave. I told her if she stayed current and kept the place clean, I would refund her security deposit.

Mrs. Green didn't leave until the second week of September and by then she was in for two month's of rent. So, the security deposit is mine. She also left the place clean except she left half of her worldly possessions behind, leaving Kirby to figure out where to donate them.

 Right now I am juggling these three vacancies, and wondering what needs to happen. I know I have done this before, but all I remember is the stress, not the solutions. At this moment, I have no answers.

Welcome Back to 2008

I'm Not Falling Apart, is the name of a fun little ditty by Maroon 5. And it pretty much sums up my day.

I would like to tell you that all is hunky dory in my accidental business, but we ended up with some hiccups last month when it came to mortgage payments. And, for the first time in 10 years we bounced some payments. Like a lot of payments.

A lot.

Some of this had to do with Ms. Angie going to jail. But most of it had to do with Kirby billing me for a ton of repairs he had done on our properties and not telling me upfront he was going to do that. And, when I found out this happened--two days after the first NSF--he sheepishly informed me that most of the repairs were completed, except for a teensy one that would show up in September's statement that needed to happen in our Section 8 house so that we could get the rent. And by the way, that was only $1500.

So, already being under-capitalized and having a vacant home in the LLC we have with Mr. Partner, we ran into some struggles in September. And then I had enough NSFs to balance the National Debt to round out that stretch of 30 days. But that was last month. 

Except now we are in October. And the work on the Section 8 home needed to be paid. And apparently my tenants in Moody, after making a huge stink about me replacing the bathroom floor--which I did--snuck out in the middle of the night and haven't left a forwarding address. I found this little gem out about four hours ago.

When I did the calculations, it looks like we are going to be short again this month. Mr. Partner has been informed of this. I don't know if he cares right now. He might care October 16 when mortgages are officially late.

I lived through this type of drama once before and it took its toll on my health, well-being and sanity. I am not in the mood for it again. And Marty Sunshine is certainly not in the mood for me to fall apart.

Farewell to a Dear Friend

I had breakfast with Diamond Jim today. Actually Polly, Buckaroo and I met Diamond Jim for breakfast.

I didn't know it last night, but Buckaroo went to bed fully dressed, including his sneakers and got up at 5:30 a.m. announcing he was joining me. Ten minutes later, Polly flounced downstairs (Polly always flounces) and seemed shocked I was not as receptive to the idea as they expected me to be. But no matter, Diamond Jim isn't my own personal accounting buddy. He belongs to the world. So, the kids came too.

Our breakfast was as normal as they all tend to be. If one were to replay all of our breakfasts over the years, this one would be about average. We discussed baseball (Boo Dodgers!). We discussed books. Sigh... We are just going to have to agree to disagree on The Catcher in the Rye--unless somewhere there is a better version written, perhaps about baseball catchers. That book would be much better.

We discussed children, mine and his grandsons, Timmy and Ricky. For that matter we talked about his son and daughter too. But they are my age. He shared a story about flying here one February in the 1980s from sub-zero weather on a propeller plane. All the while I just kept wondering if there was something else we could talk about to keep the conversation going just a little bit longer.

This is Diamond Jim's last tax hurrah. He is boarding a plane in a couple of days and heading to some remote town in Eastern Oregon to retire with Mrs. Diamond Jim. I knew this day was coming, but even so, I was not fully is prepared. I am not sure if he was conscience it was our last breakfast. If he was, he didn't let on.

I know Diamond Jim would probably still do my taxes if I asked. But, he has been a CPA for more than 40 years. He has earned his retirement. In that respect, seems like a bigger kindness to just let him go. 

I noticed when he hugged me and kids at the end of our visit he didn't say good bye. Neither did I. I hope someday I will get a chance to see him again. Maybe before that I will even pick up The Catcher in the Rye and see if it gets any better so I can tell him how much I love the book.

Sit, Roll Over, Stop Calling

I have dear friends who now live in another state and rent out their home here. I have written about them before. Recently, their tenants bailed, leaving them in sudden need of new renters. They have contracted me in my professional capacity to help them find a qualified tenant for their home.

And I am banging my head.

As we all know, there is nothing more desperate in this world than a landlord with a vacant home. The second-most desperate person on Earth is the one who is contracted to find a viable tenant for the landlord. This isn't just a client, it is a friend in need. I don't mind helping them out. I just mind disappointing them or finding the wrong tenants. And in all fairness, they read this blog.

For the past week, I have gotten calls that remind me clearly of why I have Kirby and Mario. The people calling--who really should be making an effort to provide a good first impression--lack basic telephone etiquette. For example, when is it acceptable to leave a message for someone inquiring about anything and not leave one's name? 

When I got these kinds of calls for my own properties, I wouldn't call back out of general principal. If a person is that obnoxious when they want something from me--a chance to view their potential future home--what kind of fresh hell will I be living with if I agree to rent to them? (And in case you want to know, feel free to dig through the annals of this blog.) In this case, I don't have the luxury of ignoring these people. It isn't my decision to make. So, I am calling them back and offering them a second chance to prove they were raised right. However, I am not getting very far. I am getting questions asking such things including how many bedrooms does this home have (it is in the ad they called about), what is the rent (ditto) and is there a pool (yes. THERE IS A PICTURE OF IT IN THE AD)?

My clients have a lovely home. They aren't accepting pets. Frankly, I don't blame them. When I speak to potential tenants I am very careful to explain the owners are not accepting pets. It is also clearly stated in my ad and on MLS. One man actually said to me--and I am not making this up--"But it is a small golden retriever." It really doesn't matter if it is or not, it is still a dog.

Another man said to me that each roommate had a dog and they (the pets) all "got along." For grins, I inquired how many roommates we were talking about here and he said there were six men and nine dogs. 

The home is in a great area and I suspect it will attract a quality family. Hopefully fairly soon. In the mean-time I am saying a prayer all these people with pets stop calling.

She's Alive

Ms. Angie is a dear, dear tenant. And yes, she did get back in touch with me at 5 a.m. Saturday morning. She sent me a text with a wild story that involves the town of Leeds and a guy named, "Your Honor". She also told me on the way home from her unpleasant experience she had a blowout on the interstate.

To Ms. Angie's credit, she has not regaled me with these kinds of antics in the four years she has been my tenant. Which is why I believe her.

However, the subtext is that rent isn't happening. She didn't exactly say this, but that was seriously implied. I haven't written her back just yet. I may wait the weekend and see if she comes up with a solution all on her own. That would be best.

Here's my thoughts: she is a great tenant. She takes care of the house. Even before Kirby's property management cut, I will never (ever) get what I am getting for rent from anyone else if I kick her out. It doesn't make sense to start the move-out process over this. Hopefully Ms. Angie will find a solution so she and I don't have to go meet another guy named Your Honor.

Strangely Silent

Today is the end of the month. I realized this on Thursday, around 11 p.m., after I had just sacrificed an exorbitant amount of cell minutes talking down my seller from the precipice she was on. While on the call, the my client mentioned August was almost over. That reminded me of two of my sisters in laws whose birthdays are both late August. One turned 40 yesterday. The other would have been 39 today if she were still with us. 

Month end also means my mortgages are due. And, wouldn't you know it, all three tenants I personally manage: (Mrs. Sherwood Forest, Ms. Angie and Mrs. Green) had not sent in the rent. At 11 p.m. Thursday night, I found this freakishly alarming and odd and--forgetting my pet peeve about time zones--texted them all immediately inquiring politely about where the hell rent money happened to be.

Actually, I had texted Mrs. Green earlier in the week, asking if she was moving out, and did not receive a response. I sent her the exact same text a second time on Thursday night, which she still hasn't acknowledged. That whole thing is grounds for another blog and I might be motivated to write about this weekend.

Mrs. Sherwood Forest was gracious enough to text me around 10 a.m. her time on Friday. She followed up two minutes later with a phone call and an explanation. Twenty minutes after that she was at the bank. I was never worried about Mrs. Sherwood Forest. In fact, I have never worried about any of these three.

Until now.

Ms. Angie, who has been my wonderful tenant for years and years, has not responded to my first inquiry. Nor did she respond to a second text. This is totally bizarre.

Ms. Angie started calling me years before she ever moved in. She wanted to rent from me in the worst way. Though flattering, I never completely understood this. I don't know where she got my phone number, primarily because I have a hard time understanding her drawl. Over the course of years, she looked at a few of my homes before she decided on the one she is in now.

She has been a loyal tenant for a long time. She is the first tenant to call me when she is going to be a day late (I finally told her she didn't need to do that--now I wish I hadn't). Last month she was slightly short on rent. In the entire time she has rented from me, she has never once been short. Ever. So, I let it slide. I am hoping it isn't a sign of things to come.

I am so flabbergasted by Ms. Angie's silence, that I asked Carolsue if she could swing by this weekend and just make sure Ms Angie is alive. If Carolsue is too busy to go (which may be, I recall something about a trip out of state to a family reunion--or she may just have a life of her own), I may have to go with a process server giving her an eviction notice to get her to respond to me. And that just makes me sad.

I genuinely like Ms. Angie and don't think she is stiffing me on the rent (though I won't rule that out because I have lived it before). I am just hoping she was away for a couple of days of well-earned vacation and she will call me today to tell me something I will probably not understand. Hopefully the gist will be she has the rent.

National Bliz Day

When God was passing out friends, He gave me an extra-special one. Happy Birthday dear Bliz. I would say how long we have been friends, but I don't want to frighten you.

I hope you have a wonderful day. And here's some orange candy for you--your favorite I am sure. 

The Administrative Matter (Part 3)

Mrs. C. had left my house without notice in 2010. At the time I was furious she didn't tell me. A friend advised me to always leave everything on good terms with everyone I meet because you never know when you will need a favor. I had remembered that advice at the time and now I am glad I did.

Mrs. C. signed a new quit claim deed last August. She e-mailed me when she heard from Flip's people and asked what was going on. We had a lovely chat. Mr. C. had passed on. She was doing fine. Her grandkids were being homeschooled. And she would take care of this silly little administrative matter immediately. Which she did.

The Cox's weren't as easy to find. They had moved. Then Flip stopped answering phone calls and e-mails. Looking back, I have to wonder if he had just thought we were done with this particular issue and didn't give it more thought--even though he still got bi monthly e-mails from me asking for an update. I do know my issue with Attorney Jon was very minor compared to others I have heard about.

Last April, Flip sent me a letter suggesting I talk with another attorney about any fees I may have incurred. He told me to call him (Flip) to discuss my options. I called. I e-mailed. I whined. I didn't hear back.

The fees aside, I really cared about getting this house back in my name. Panic started setting in around May. What if this was a bigger deal than I thought and Flip was just protecting the Late Mrs. Attorney Jon (they are long-time friends)? What if, because of Jack (my now former business partner), I have been blacklisted somehow? Was I being ignored because I no longer have "connections" in the South? That's how things work down there. What if Flip knew something more about this and didn't want to commit to a lawsuit? What if Flip didn't want his name associated with this mess? Was their a lien on the property I didn't know about? Did Mr. Cox take his truck in a drunken rage and run it into a shopping mall and now their is a lawsuit?

In an effort to get this resolved, I started shopping around for a new lawyer. I wanted someone who was not friendly with Flip--which turned out is pretty much nobody. I wanted someone who did not know about the Late Attorney Jon. When I would talk with lawyers, I would hear variations of, "Bless your heart," which meant, "You are so screwed. There is no way in hell's half acre I am touching this mess."

I spoke with both Mario and Kirby about lawyer referrals. This house happens to be managed by Mario but Kirby had managed it at one time. Because Kirby and I are friendly, I told him this whole sorted tale. "I managed a home you didn't own!?" he yelped. "Do you know how illegal that is?" I pointed out that he doesn't manage it now, Mario does. And please don't tell Mario. Kirby said something along the lines of, "I'm backing away and we never discussed this," which was fine with me. 

One lawyer asked me how could he know I didn't forge these documents and did I have some sort of vendetta against the Cox's? I told him I have evidence that late Attorney Jon had recorded other deeds for me before and I could bring in former tenant-owners (though where I would find them I did not know) to testify. I had e-mails between Jon and I. And, though--I don't remember doing this, but thank God I did--I had scanned a copy of the original signed quit claim deed from the Cox's before I mailed it to Jon back in 2009.

Another lawyer gave a low whistle when I said the Late Attorney Jon was my lawyer at one time. "Don't you know about him?" he asked. I replied that he was a very nice man who loved his wife and daughters. Even I know that is a stalemate in the South.

In the month of July, I spoke with about 18 lawyers. Many left me in tears. Some passed me on to other attorneys. I left messages for more lawyers than that. Most said what I wanted would cost a lot of money and I might loose, so thanks anyway. When I countered this was a small administrative matter and all we had to do was find the Cox's--I have their social security numbers--and have them sign a quit claim deed again, I was given more scenarios about how badly this could go.

I didn't sleep much last month.

I did talk to a few attorneys who knew Flip. Each one asked me why Flip did not finish this. I always replied that I thought this was a small matter and Flip was too busy. One told me I should make him. I was too humiliated to tell him Flip wouldn't take my calls.

Finally, though sheer clairvoyance or perhaps enough of the lawyers I talked to called Flip, I got a response to an e-mail I sent him in early June. He said they found the Cox's in a Northern state and he would be in touch. That was it.

A week later another e-mail came from Flip. A letter, quit claim and a check for $50 was being sent to the Cox's for their trouble. They knew nothing of this ahead of time and would be finding a Fed Ex on their doorstep sometime the next day.  A copy of the letter was sent to me. It was wordy, filled with "henceforths," and "wherewithals" and other legal speak. He also referenced the abandonment and default clauses Jon and I wordsmithed the night of our phone call all those years earlier.

I have to tell you, if I didn't know the ins and outs of this situation, I would have had to read the letter about six times to get the gist. I am sure the "avoiding a lawsuit" verbiage, the $50 check and the "sign right here" post it note was all they were looking at.

Yesterday Flip e-mailed me. He started the letter with "Booyah" and attached a copy of the new signed quit claim deed. It is being filed with Shelby County this week.

I saw Mr. Partner Wednesday and told him the news. Then Marty Sunshine jumped in and explained what an ordeal this was. I think he wanted Mr. Partner to appreciate my nightmare.

Because of the Dodd-Frank Law, as well as my own personal experiences, I will not be doing owner financing again any time soon. However, a friend of mine is now in a funny situation where she is considering owner financing for a tenant of hers. I have shared this story with her, and hopefully she will think long and hard before doing so. I have also offered her a copy of the contract the Late Attorney Jon helped me write. Just in case.

The Administrative Matter (Part 2)

When someone goes through the process of ending their life--someone who boasts of being married to the "light of his life" and leaves behind five daughters who are everything to him--one can assume the person in question has a few things going on. No matter how wonderful one thinks the person happens to be.

I will always think the world of the Late Attorney Jon. Always. Suicides are never easy to process, especially when it isn't up to me to absorb everything and figure out the whys. I was merely a client of his who happened to live 1,700 miles away. And for that matter, he rarely charged me for anything he did for me. I remember one time, when our business was in much better shape, I absolutely insisted he bill me. He sent me a bill for $25 for about 20 hours of work. I paid him $50.

What I came to find out was the Late Attorney Jon was disorganized. I also found out he had a few demons--but that is not something I wish to dwell on. I heard this and that from various sources and was able to fill in the pieces. There is nothing like telling someone, "Well, I've heard rumors" and the other person (in this case it was from Attorney Flip and Jack) voluntarily filled in the blanks. Neither asked what I knew--which wasn't nearly as much as they independently shared with me. The bigger picture of Attorney Jon doesn't make the man I knew any less likeable. It just made him human.

He will always be that guy at 10 p.m. one Friday night who had two giggling daughters in his car, crawling all over him, reading through my contract, giving me pointers, while waiting for his eldest child to finish basketball practice. We talked business on the phone that night for an hour and a half. That phone call years ago saved my hide this past month.

That said, the Late Attorney Jon left me a mess. He did not take care of those two deeds. We were vulnerable. If Mrs. C. was involved and responsible for some sort of major car accident, the victims in question would be able to go after all of Mrs. C's assets--including a home where I was paying the mortgage and the taxes. It would not matter one bit if I had a loan on the house. The house belonged to Mrs. C. If Mr. and Mrs. Cox didn't pay their income taxes, their would be a lien on the property I own.

And, to add to this, I was told by more than one attorney though the contracts we had with these people clearly stated the house would be ours if they defaulted, if the Cox's or Mrs. C wanted to reclaim the properties and pay us the back payments, they could then go after us for the rent we received. And, getting this resolved would probably involve lawsuits, judges and a lot of expense. One lawyer actually said to me, yes, it is nice and everything on paper but the Late Attorney Jon was your lawyer and judges aren't going to be excited about any contract he was involved in.

Yay us.

After Jon died, I asked Legal Eagle if she would take care of this. She said no she wasn't touching it. It was too messy for the amount of time and attention it deserved. I countered with it was a small administrative issue and she repeated the potential consequences at stake. I knew this of course, but I was going with the optimist best-case scenario.

After a year, I found out that the Alabama BAR had assigned Flip to Late Attorney Jon's affairs. When I met with him last summer, I found out how disorganized Jon was. In the conference room, stacked top to bottom, were box after box of the Jon's files. And, those were only the recent ones. There were plenty more boxes in storage. When I spoke with Flip, I assured him I had seen the quit claim deed for the Cox's six months before Jon died. Flip went through ever single file Jon had in the course of time and found many things related to me. But that deed has never been found.

To be continued

The Administrative Matter (Part 1)

I slept better last night than I had in years. This morning I woke up refreshed. And grateful! I can't forget grateful.

Years ago, our business model was to purchase a home, allow the tenant to purchase it from us with owner financing. The tenant would essentially own the home and we were the mortgage company. This model worked fabulously in Arizona. It was 100 percent successful.

When we started buying rental homes in Birmingham, we didn't want to be landlords. So, we offered the same terms: rent for a year then buy, then refinance us out in three to five years. This did not work fabulously. In fact, it was very unfabulous. Only one Birmingham tenant fulfilled this contract. Because the model failed, we became landlords and the rest you can read about in the archives of this blog. Hence, we have an accidental business.

Part of the reason for this failure has to do with what happened in 2008. As you may remember, the housing market tanked. And then the economy. Or vice-versa. It doesn't really matter. They both went out in a fiery death, leaving me with a gazillion homes that were now underwater.

In 2008, one family, the Cox's, filed Chapter 11 bankruptcy. Chapter 11 means they were reorganizing their debt. As a mortgagor, they missed a payment and repaid me in increments based on the terms of the bankruptcy. Essentially, they wanted to keep the house.

In 2009 Mr. Cox lost his job of 18 years when his company closed down. He called me to tell me this was the case, but assured me all was good. Two weeks later they filed Chapter 7 bankruptcy and included the house. This wasn't a reorganization, but a cut ties and start anew.

When I got word of the bankruptcy, there was a lot of mayhem and panic on my end. I could not find a lawyer to help me (it was out of Legal Eagle's scope of reference) and I wasn't sure what I could do anyway. They have a right to file. They can also walk away from the home--which I later found out they were doing.

This wasn't really an issue. Because, as part of my owner financing, I have a clause that says if the property is abandoned it goes back to me. And, to solidify this point, I made every tenant who is buying the house from me and using our company as their mortgage company sign a quit claim deed up front. If the tenant doesn't perform, the quit claim deed is recorded and the home becomes mine again.

The late Attorney Jon was my lawyer for this. In my early years he helped me fine-tune my contract. Jon told me once my quit claim deed idea was clever. And, he also added an addendum when the tenant-owner signed my contract saying they knew they were signing a quit claim deed. They also had to initial this and the clause about default in my contract. So, there was 100 percent transparency. Everyone knew what was going on. Everyone agreed.

Because the owner financing business model tanked so badly around this time, the late Attorney Jon filed a lot of quit claim deeds with the county recorder for me from 2008 to 2010. However, he missed two. One belonged to the Cox's. The other belonged to Mrs. C. I was aware these two were pending. The Late Attorney Jon was also aware. There were slight issues with both--easily resolved at the time with a phone call or two. I contacted the Late Attorney Jon on a regular basis to gently remind him to get this done. Without these deeds recorded both tenants still owned the home.

Though we were paying our mortgages, insurance and taxes, all while collecting rent, we had no legal claim to the property. And, if either the Cox's or Mrs. C had a creditor come after them, the creditor could slap a lien on the property. Or worse, what if one of them was involved in some sort of criminal act or a car accident. The property would be collateral for either of them if there was a lawsuit. And, there was nothing I could do.

I discussed all this with the Late Attorney Jon when I went to visit him in February 2011. Our visit was for the sole purpose of getting the nitty-gritty details done. He showed me the actual original quit claim deed he had with the Cox's and said he would get it filed. No worries. He would get with Mrs. C. and take care of that issue. An easy fix he assured me. He hugged me as I walked out after our lovely visit. That was the last time I saw him.

The Late Attorney Jon took his life July 18, 2011. 

To be continued

Flipping Estatic

The e-mail today from Attorney Flip started with "Booyah!" and I darn near lost it.

The stress from this particular issue--and there has been a bit--released as the adrenaline flushed from my body, leaving behind a peace in its wake. A peace I haven't felt in a long time.

My minor administrative issue is officially resolved. I will write about it later. I am still processing how grateful I am. And trust me, I am grateful. 

Fingers and Toes Crossed

I got a very thick envelope from Flip on Saturday. I was terrified to open it, as thick envelopes from lawyers tend to include words like "billable hours" and "pay in full."

However, in this case it wasn't. It was a copy of a letter sent to a former tenant. Apparently Flip found my tenant, sent them a Fed Ex with a letter explaining how we needed their help to resolve this ultra-minor administrative matter. All it will take is a signature from them.

From what I can tell, he didn't call them ahead of time to tell them it was coming. So, my former tenants got a long-winded letter explaining the Late Attorney Jon didn't do everything he was supposed to do. And, could my former tenants be totally awesome and do what the needed to do so a lawsuit wouldn't be filed? In consideration for their time enclosed was a check for $50.

Attorney Flip had e-mailed me last week and told me he was doing this. But now it seems real. When he did this last year (there were two issues), the former tenant e-mailed me immediately and asked about it. I was sort of hoping this tenant would do the same. So far, nothing.

Hopefully this will be resolved with no drama and hopefully the next time I get a letter from Flip it will be a very thin envelope.

Mario Party

Sadly it appears my relationship with Mario's company is tenuous at best. It isn't that I dislike these people on a personal level, though they are working really hard for me to do so. Simply, they they have spent the summer grating on my last nerve.

For example, after a repair was made without my authorization, everyone seemed to get on the same page. In fact a few days later, the tenant made another request for repair. This time for a ceiling fan. This time the work order was sent to me for authorization.

The work order was forwarded to two people before it was sent to me. In the "special notes" section of the work order it stated: "Fiona Landlord." I swear I am not paranoid by nature. However I got the distinct impression that was code for "She's a complete pain in the ass."

Because of the ongoing issue Flip is taking care of, I asked for a copy of the lease on this house. I did receive it. I also received a long dissertation from Mario's minion on the correct procedure for getting a copy of the lease for my house. That's nice. However, when time is of the essence, I am not interested in figuring out my login to some Web site, having my password reset and then spending an hour and a half combing through this and that to find the lease. When I ask Kirby's folks for this kind of thing, I actually get it without any sass.

And finally, if I wasn't through enough with these clowns, they have a new employee: Danny. Danny e-mailed me last Friday and relayed a request from the tenant. His request was polite, professional and referred to me as "Mrs. Landlord." In his request, he told me the tenant has a 6 year old, 15 pound dog that was currently living in foster care. Would I allow her pet?

I am not a fan of dogs in a rental property, but I don't have a problem with a crate trained, housebroken adult dog. In this case, the tenant has a two year lease and I am probably changing out the carpet anyway when she moves out.

I told Danny that was fine, she could have the dog (with correct deposits, etc.). I also mentioned as a rule I wasn't excited about pets in rentals. In his reply, he greeted me with "Hey Ma'am" instead of Dear Mrs. Landlord--which is the level of familiarity we were on.

There is no, "Hey Ma'am"! That is not my name. I don't "hey ma'am" anyone I am on a professionally-named basis with.

Anyway, Danny wrote back saying, "Hey Ma'am..." and suggested I "sleep on my decision." What??!! I already said yes to the dog. I again told him it was fine, I didn't want to put more thought into it and by the way, next time I am in town I will probably want to tour this house. I haven't done so in years.

Danny wrote me back Sunday morning. He was back to Mrs. Landlord. However, he told me I'd better give him 48 hour notice before I show up.

Yes. I will do that. That would be common courtesy. But beforehand it would be really awesome if he he and his colleagues stopped bossing me around.

A Simple Courtesy

The house Mario manages for me came vacant June 1. I had heard it would be vacant but there had been no follow up until I e-mailed them and asked about 15 days later. In truth, I didn't care if it was vacant. In the recesses of my brain, I was hoping it would be.

My contract with Mario stipulates if I have a vacant home for 30 days I can fire him. I was thinking of doing so. Part of me likes having two property managers. If something goes wrong with one company, or if one property manager can't rent out the house (Kirby had this one vacant for months), I can give it to the other property manager. And though I prefer Kirby on a personal level, I know Mario is working hard to keep my business, because he knows I have other homes that could be his.

And actually, I would have preferred to give him my Waterford home and my home in Alabaster, as they are geographically close and it would have made sense to split up the houses in property management that way. However Mario is expensive. The little tiff he and I got into (where he told me to go have my husband explain something to me so I would understand it--a comment I have heard he regrets and one I haven't forgotten) was about his company taking liberties I did not authorize.

Granted, the work needed to be done. It was probably for the best, but it came out of a dried up bucket of money. If I had been told upfront he was going to make those repairs, we could have made arrangements and not been scrambling for months later to get those bills paid.

Mario's folks got the house rented in record time: June 29. I was pleased. They got a good rental price and the tenant sounds like she is stable. I suspect they were pleased too up until the point where one of Mario's minion sent me an e-mail last week: saying they did a bunch of work I did not authorize.

And now nobody is happy. Marty Sunshine countered that the repair in question (the air conditioner) needed to be done and the price wasn't terrible. That didn't stop me from discussing this with everyone over there who would listen--and a few who wouldn't. And yes, I understand this is what a property management company does--they fix these types of problems so I don't have to. There is a certain amount of peace that goes with that.

My point is, if I can be sent an e-mail after the fact, why can't I be told prior to the repairs being made? It is a simple courtesy that will help me make informed decisions.

Possibly Flipping Forward

I proclaimed to Marty Sunshine at 7:30 a.m. that Attorney Flip was my second-favorite living attorney. I bizarre honor I am certain, but one he earned by e-mailing me on a Saturday morning.

Flip e-mailed me to ask me a quick question regarding how the wording of the deed for one of our homes should actually read. His e-mail was a suggestion that perhaps my small administrative matter was being handled and would be over soon.

I am hoping things are looking up. Because I need this resolved. It has been looming too long. 

I am Not Crazy

I swear Mr. Partner is toying with my sanity. Last week, he sent an e-mail to Marty Sunshine (because he won't write me). Mr. Partner just wanted our LLC's Web site. He said he lost the URL. Could he have it please?

"We don't have a Web site." I told Marty, quickly racking my brain, just to make sure I am right.

I then did that thing that makes me sound unstable or angry. I said, "Why would we have a Web site? What purpose would it serve? When would I have made a Web site and why would I have done it?" I was really just processing this in my head, because all of the sudden, I wasn't sure.

In the end, I looked up everything related to the LLC the Partners and the Sunshines own just to make absolutely, 100 percent sure I was right. Nope. No Web site and 45 minutes of my life I can't get back.

I am sure Mr. Partner had the purest of intentions, but I already have enough crazy in my life.

Well, What Do You Know?

In a bizarre turn of events, Attorney Flip wrote me early this morning. He had an update--as in he (or a member of his staff) had done actual work on this file. Hmmm... I wonder how many lawyers in Birmingham called him and asked about this particular case. Or, maybe he reads this blog? (Hello Flip!--Just in case.)

Not that it matters. It looks like there has been some significant headway. I suspect the "headway" was done in the past few days, but whatever! I am just glad there was action. There may possibly, maybe, be a light at the end of this long, dark tunnel. Here's hoping to a happy ending sooner than later.

Boarding the Hope Train

In my real estate life, I have listed a home about a mile away from my house. So, every morning or so, I go for my walk and I walk by my listing. The house is vacant. The owners are out of state. It isn't my job as a real estate agent to maintain the house or check on it, but it doesn't hurt to have an extra set of eyes on the place. Not that it does me any good. Because I have now been over there twice only to discover at 6:30 a.m. that something was stolen.

So, there I was Friday morning at 6:30 a.m. grumbling about why someone would steal something stupid out of the padlocked back yard, when my phone rang. It was from a 205 area code. Normally when my phone rings with a 205 area code at some horrid hour of the day, it is usually Ms. Angie in a panic because a thingy is broken/on fire/flooding. She saves the rent will be late for a reasonable hour.

But not Friday's call! It was Hope with a Southern draw.

Honey Jo's boss was on the other end of the phone! Sadly, this attorney knew all the players. When I told him the Late Attorney Jon was my former lawyer he said "oh." Not the kind of "oh" one uses to fill in a pause in a conversation or inquire politely about the weather, but as in the long syllabled type of "oh" that usually has a four letter word after it for affect.

When I brought up Attorney Flip, he started telling me what a wonderful guy Flip is and a darn good lawyer too. And why don't I just make Attorney Flip finish the job? I didn't point out the obvious Flip hasn't even bothered to have an intern return one of my calls. Either he isn't as wonderful as people think, or it is me. And I haven't ruled that out--I just don't want to go there.

The gist of my conversation with Honey Jo's boss was that he would look at my paperwork (which I sent him) and he will get back to me. He might even give Attorney Flip a call. Oh goody.

Right now I am riding the Hope Train that Honey Jo's boss will call me back soon with good news.