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.

Just Saying...

There is nothing so humiliating and depressing as being blown off by every legal person in Birmingham, including someone as pleasant sounding as "Honey Jo." 

Update on The Great Lawyer Hunt

I have left another voice mail and e-mail for Attorney Flip. I didn't expect him to respond to either, but at least I can use this as part of the information it appears I will be turning into the Alabama BAR.

My complaint is simple: I paid for services. I am not getting services, nor have I gotten services. In fact, all I have gotten is a bill and silence. Flip could fire me as a client if he didn't want to assist me. But he hasn't. Therefore, he is on the hook at the moment for giving me an explanation as to what is going on with my issue (though I can pretty much answer that: he is doing nothing about it).

The extremely unhelpful person at the Alabama BAR Association did tell me she couldn't do anything but direct me to their Web site where I can file a complaint. The only issue with filing a complaint is that it doesn't get me closer to getting my situation resolved. However, it may very well cause Flip to get off his caseload and give me an update on what has been done. I can take that information to a new attorney. Which is all I really expect at this point.

Meanwhile I have been attorney hunting. Kirby gave me the name of two people. One of whom I know is very familiar with the Late Attorney Jon. So, I am going to pass on that one.

The other name Kirby gave me is an attorney who specializes in "the hood." I am not sure if this is what I need for a small administrative matter, but I am running out of options. When I called the Hood Lawyer, I was told he is out of town for a week. When I asked if that meant until Monday or next Wednesday, I was informed through an extremely thick drawl that I could barely understand, "August 5." Last time I checked, that would be more than a week. The assistant didn't offer to take a message for me either. I think.

Oh yes, and just to summarize how the Great Lawyer Hunt is shaping up: I also left a message for someone named--and I am not making this up--"Honey Jo."

Baseball or Grammar?

I have two posts written neither are ready to be posted. Sorry.

I do have some news. For those of you familiar with the Marty Sunshine employment saga, he has been offered a lateral position with his company. This job should be lay-off proof and keep him employed for the long haul. This is a heavy burden that has been lifted from the Sunshine household.

The following is the best I have today. I realize I may be the only person in the world who loves grammar humor. You had your choice of this or a rant about how the Diamondbacks are no longer in first place--which is not "all right".

Why? Because I Prefer Not To Think About It

I managed to miss the pow-wow with Mr. Partner today. Fate stepped in and decided to make my air conditioner die this morning. So, darn! I had to wait for the AC guy instead of rehashing the same tired conversations between the Sunshines and the Partners once again.

This time, Mr. Partner threw in a new one. He wanted to know why I don't tell him right away when we have repairs. Even as I write this, I am looking dumbfounded at the sentence above. Mr. Partner is supposed to be a silent partner--one who only gets information on a quarterly basis. Granted, it is more of a quarterly-ish basis, but still!

When I get a call from Ms. Angie at 6 a.m. telling me a widget fell off the thingy and it needs to be fixed by the local tradesman in the next hour or the house will flood/catch fire/implode, I am not thinking "Hm... should I wake up Mr. Partner and ask his permission to call a plumber, electrician, shaman?"

What I am thinking "Why does this stuff always happen at horrid hours of the morning and more importantly why does Ms. Angie only speak with perfect diction when she has a crisis at her home?" I have been doing this routine for 10 years. The plumber/electrician/shaman's phone numbers are all programmed into my phone. They know me. They send me post cards from exotic locales. They send me thank you cards for financing their yachts. We have a system.

It isn't that I am purposely ignoring Mr. Partner. But, I have to tell you, once the said tradesman is contacted, the issue is resolved and I can no longer understand Ms. Angie, I put the entire scenario out of my head until the bill comes.

Silence

One of the most annoying lessons I have learned from this whole landlord-thingy is to interpret silence.

When I don't hear from stable, long term tenants it means everything is ok.

When I don't hear from needy, drama-driven tenants is means everything is not ok. I will be in for a sob story about how rent is late because the rent money was conveniently stashed in their pocket while they dutifully were walking to the post office to mail me the rent and they got mugged by a gang of preschoolers who wanted the loot so they could buy cookies and chocolate milk.

When I don't hear from lawyers it means I am being blown off.

When I don't hear from Mario the property manager it means he has nothing to say (which works for me).

When I don't hear from Kirby it means he doesn't have time to respond to my 176 texts, e-mails and phone calls from me, all asking what is going on with my vacant home and the other pressing issue I threw his way.

Guess who was supposed to get in touch with me a week ago?

Feeling Rowdy

At some point in my recent past, one of my three readers sweetly suggested that when she reads my posts she just naturally assumes I tie on on every chance I get. I can see where she got that impression. And for the record. I don't. I am a sip of Communion wine every Sunday and half a beer once a week kind of party animal.

And if I am really rowdy, I might just drink a whole beer once a week. Maybe.

However, much more of this Great Lawyer Hunt and I may have reason check myself into Betty Ford.

The Great Lawyer Hunt should not be taken lightly. Last week I talked to Mr. Abbot. He was the lawyer recommended in a letter from Flip--the attorney who was allegedly helping me. Mr. Abbot sent me an e-mail after business hours Friday telling me to make Flip finish the job. That's all well and good, but Flip isn't returning my calls, e-mails or smoke signals. And I am almost out of carrier pigeons.

In a feeble effort not to employ another attorney, I did call Flip today and leave a message. I sounded a lot more chipper than I felt. I didn't tell him that he came highly recommended and everyone I spoke with had the distinct impression he was the greatest guy around. And, as a side note, when you are rejected by the greatest guy around, it really wrecks havoc on the ego. Nobody loves me enough to fix my small administrative issue.

What I did say when I reached Flip's voice mail today was that I employed him to resolve this and I would greatly appreciate an update from him or one of his lackeys associates. After all, it has been a damn year bless his heart. I wished him well, repeated my phone number and e-mail address (both of which I know he has) and made a note on my calendar to call him later in the week.

And I will call.

Meanwhile, I am hesitant to call back the three or four other attorneys I have names for. Flip has been paid for his "services"--whatever that may be (because I still have no idea what he has done). I don't want to incur future bills. I just want my situation fixed before I reach for a whole beer.

I Double-Dog Dare Him

Last week I sent Mr. Partner the first quarter books and a long note with what is going on. Essentially we had vacancies--which happens when you have a gazillion rentals. We had potties back up. We had a this. And a that.

The books for the first quarter show a sizable profit. Simply put, the property management company collected the rent for the month, holds it, and because of the way the banking system involve works, the rents hit my bank account the beginning of the next month. So, rents look a month behind.

However in March, Kirby had his A game on and March's rents showed up in my bank account on March 30 instead of April 1. Therefore, on the financial statement, it showed December's, January's, February's and March's rent. Essentially it looked like we have lots of extra money. If you take the rents over any random six month period, it will even out. It always does.

I explained this to Mr. Partner. The financial statement he was looking at was a snapshot in time. That's all. It isn't a reflection of the bank account, as most of that money is taken out for mortgages (which aren't paid until April 4th or so).

Mr. Partner in turn didn't fully grasp this. He never does. We have had this conversation many times before. In my report to Mr. Partner, I pointed out we (Marty and I) had footed the bill for some repairs at one of our vacancies. We also have home owner's insurance due this month. When could we expect his contribution? This is also nothing new. We have home owner's insurance due every July.

In fact, the scenario outlined above is nothing new for the past several years. The way we operate, we pay home owner's insurance out of pocket. We always have. Also, because of several vacancies we didn't have the cash in the bank account to cover the repairs at one of our homes and the home owner's insurance. This happens too. Welcome to owning a gazillion properties that were purchased when the market was fabulous and before unemployment was 18 percent in Birmingham.

What Mr. Partner did do was ignore me and write directly to Marty Sunshine. He told Marty he didn't want to "upset" me. My real guess is he didn't want me to go into serious bitch-mode when he said what he wanted to say. Sadly for Marty, I did--but only at Marty. I am biting my tongue with Mr. Partner.

Mr. Partner has decided to "audit" us. He is going to bring in his own team of experts--ones who hopefully can read competently financial statements. Mind you, Diamond Jim--a licensed CPA--has to put his stamp of approval on everything sent to the IRS. But, whatever. Apparently Mr. Partner feels money is somehow being funneled somewhere and it isn't the company.

It is obvious isn't it by our extravagant lifestyle and wild European vacations? My trips to Birmingham to check things out, talk to lawyers and inspect homes are generally on Marty's and my dime. We live as modestly as we can, knowing that every July we have home owner's insurance due and every December we have property taxes due.

I welcome Mr. Partner's audit. In fact, I will be happy to tell him the above and more when he gets hold of the books. And, if he finds more money it will be reimbursed to me first.

The Great Lawyer Hunt

I am currently looking for an attorney who will help me with this mess the Late Attorney Jon left me in. Last year I hired Flip to do this. I paid him. Called him regularly. E-mailed him as well. Flip, in turn ignored me.

Early on, I saw the flaw with this game plan: Hope doesn't get e-mails read or phone calls answered. I happen to know letters to the Alabama BAR or the Alabama Attorney Generals' office are much more effective. But I was trying not to burn any bridges. And besides, I choose to label my issue a small administrative matter which just needs a wee bit of attention. I would eventually get around to fixing it. Which is now.

A couple of weeks ago Flip sent me a letter telling me to call him to discuss a lawyer named Mr. Abbot who may have an interest in helping me. Flip said he wasn't sure he would take my case. But I was to call Flip and he would explain everything. So, I ramped up my call/e-mail/smoke signal campaign and got nowhere faster.

The underlying message in Flip's letter was that he wasn't going to touch my small administrative matter, probably because there are other consequences--like he is a personal friend to Late Attorney Jon's family and my teensy tiny administrative matter could easily be construed as a one-way ticket to a sinkhole landing in Birmingham Society hell. (But really, I prefer to consider this a simple administrative matter). If it is indeed a one-way ticket, it could get awkward next time Flip's wife and Mrs. Late Attorney Jon are seen socially. So, essentially to me it looks like Flip is rescuing himself. Though he hasn't exactly told me that.

So, I have spent the last ten days looking for looking for another attorney to handle this small administrative matter. My main criteria was that I wanted someone who worked out of Shelby County--the county where this house in question happens to reside. It also meant I would have a better chance of finding a lawyer who's wife didn't have regularly active social functions with the delightful Mrs. Late Attorney Jon. One doesn't need awkward ostracizing at tennis matches because someone's feathers are ruffled over what the Late Attorney Jon was or was not supposed to do.

Doing what I always do when I am looking for something in the Birmingham area, I sent out e-mails explaining I want an attorney who RESIDES in Shelby County--and under no circumstances were they to have a law practice office in the suburbs of Vestavia and Mountain Brook.

I thought that was pretty simple. Mario was the first to respond. I asked him personally because (though he doesn't know it), it is the house on Hysteria Lane that he manages that is tied to this small administrative matter. If he knew about my issue, he would not be pleased. And, he probably would--and should--fire me immediately. (that's for another blog).

Mario sent me the name of someone who happens to live two blocks North of Vestavia Hills, a swanky suburb where many of Mrs. Late Attorney Jon's friends reside. When I mentioned this to Mario (who was pleased I asked, as he is really trying to stay on my good side), I pointed out that this particular attorney was not Shelby County.

Mario's response was priceless: He said: "If he is in Jefferson County, he barely is. He is about 25 minutes closer to the Shelby County Courthouse than any other real estate attorneys I know."
Bless his heart. That is so Southern of him to purposely misunderstand what I meant.

Mr. Wonderful Former Tenant also sent me a name of a lawyer he knew. She was very nice. I spoke on speaker phone to her and her colleague who wanted me to understand in no uncertain terms that "My small administrative matter" was going to be small. In fact, it sounds like a colossal nightmare for me that would not going away in an easy fashion. And, to do this would cost at least my first born and probably a few years of indentured servitude to get resolved. But all was not lost. She had a friend who was located off Highway 280 in Mountain Brook who could probably help me. And good luck. I will need it!

Carolsue talked to Ron. Ron gave Carolsue the name of someone who would give me a referral. This gentleman took my call instantly. He was nice enough. He lives and works in Jefferson County (where most of metro Birmingham is located). He didn't know the Late Attorney Jon. But he couldn't help me anyway. He asked me if I needed a pea shooter lawyer or a Sherman tank lawyer. I explained my situation, including what I think is a reasonable course of action that could quickly resolve this. The guy agreed with my reasonable course of action but then urged me to call the Sherman tank lawyer. When I asked for the name of the pea shooter attorney, he said no. That wouldn't help at all. He also promised me the Sherman Tank would not be part of the Mountain Brook cocktail party crowd under any circumstances.

In fits desperation, I looked over the letter Flip sent me. He mentioned Mr. Abbot who might be willing to take my case--but he said this guy hadn't agreed to it yet. Figuring I had nothing to loose, and figuring he already knows what is going on (and because he came from Flip, he probably hangs out with the Late Attorney Jon's family, but whatever).

It took two tries to get in touch with this guy. (I left messages saying Flip gave me his name. The receptionist seemed to be pleased to hear such wonderful words while she ruminated about the character of Mr. Flip. This isn't exactly lying. I never said I got a referral from Flip. Just that I had a name of someone Flip mentioned.).

That not-exactly a lie got me a call from Matt the paralegal. He was familiar with the Late Attorney Jon cases and some of the challenges Jon's clients are facing right now (which always blows me away when people just sort of assume you know all the ins and outs of a tragedy and don't hold back on the gossip).

Matt was kind enough to ask me to repeat my issue and admitted he didn't have any particular experience with Alabama Real Estate Law. But from everything I told him, it sounded like a small administrative matter. How hard could it be? Matt needs to talk with Mr. Abbot. I will know more later this week.

If Mr. Abbot doesn't work out, I will also go to plan C. Kirby gave me the name of a lawyer in the "hood" (Kirby's words). Yep, I am guessing he doesn't spend a lot of time at the Mountain Brook Country Club.

I also have a plan D: A lawyer I found from another former tenant that resides in Columbiana, Alabama.

Plan E is another attorney who happens to reside in Aniston, Alabama.
 

Out of the Quiet

Yes, yes, yes. I am here. My quiet it over. I am too co-dependent on my therapeutic blog.  I am the first to admit I am needy.

It wasn't really my fault I am blogging. Last month, Kirby sent me a sweet, soothing e-mail telling me that there had been a storm near one of my vacant homes. And, wouldn't you know, a tree limb fell down, taking out the pole that strung the electric lines to the house.

Incidentally, Alabama Power is going to replace the pole and the lines running to this house. They told Kirby to "Sit tight" they will get there in "a spell."  Hopefully I can translate that to the house will have electricity this week.

Seriously? What sane person can read this and not feel their head ready to explode?