40 Days

Tomorrow is the first day of Lent. For those of you three readers who were unaware, I am a practicing Catholic. Lent is a time for reflection for the purpose of growth. It isn't really about "giving up candy", but really about preparing for Easter and reflecting on what Easter means to us. (If you would like a more theological explanation, give me a shout). Incidentally, Easter is my all-time favorite holiday.

Given this blog has been kind of depressing lately, as I chronicle the end of our accidental business's life, I thought I would take the next 40 days to reflect on the good stuff. Who knows, maybe I will throw in a few fun stories just for grins. At the moment, I am optimistically hoping our business will be scheduled to close right after Easter, so for me, this is a time to remember what good came out of the last 14 years.

To be honest, I have absolutely no idea if I can come up with 40 positive tid-bits (or at least less depressing tid-bits), much less write about them. But I thought I would give it a try. Attitude is everything, right?

Stay tuned.

The Persistence of Small Town Southern Folks

This guy Joe is getting kind of pesky. He has tracked me down via the internet, sending me an e-mail. Though my e-mail isn't absolutely secret--I do sell real estate after all--it might have been nice if he mentioned how he got it to begin with. I know if I am going to contact a perfect stranger in an ultra-personal kind of way, I might want to suggest how I found them to begin with. But that is just me.

In addition to the e-mail, which basically said he is trying to get in touch with me and call him, ok? He also left me another cryptic e-mail asking me to call him. I would be getting marginally creeped out if I had put in more energy to digest it all than just writing this blog.

Today I got a letter from some law firm in some small town in Alabama. They sent me a quit claim deed for this particular home in Moody Joe mentioned. They told me to sign it and send it back to them immediately. I might have paid a heck of a lot more attention if they had actually used the word, "please" somewhere in their letter. They didn't.

Neither the small town law firm nor Joe has explained why I need to sign a quit claim deed for a home I don't own. Is this the new foreclosure method? Just sign over the title and voila! the home is no longer yours? Until someone can give me a good reason why I need to address this, because so far nobody has bothered to tell me what this is all about, and possibly if they ask nicely, I will just blog about it.

I Only Get about 17 Letters a Day

A few weeks ago, someone called me from Alabama. As anyone who has ever closed a business under uncomfortable circumstances and/or had their credit spiral into the Great Abyss can tell you, the very first action one does in these circumstances is not answer their phone if they don't recognize the phone number. That goes double for me if the caller has a 205 area code these days. So when I got a call from a 205 area code a few weeks ago, that person had to leave a message. He said something like, "Hello. This is Whatevermynameis from SomesmalltowninAlabama. I work for SomethingthatsoundsremotelylikeIsellrealestate, and I want to ask you a question. Please call me back."

Now, I know all of the big real estate sales gurus everywhere say, when leaving a message for a prospect, always say something cryptic, like "I want to ask you a question." Allegedly it will pique the recipient's interest and they will be just bursting with curiosity and immediately call back. Actually it doesn't. If I didn't already get about 54 calls and 325 emails a day, had reasonable credit and wasn't closing an accidental business, I still wouldn't be the least bit curious. But that's just me and everyone else I know.

But back to this...

So, today I got a call from someone named Joe at a 205 area code. His voice sounded like he might have been the same guy who called a few weeks earlier. He said something that sounded like he sells houses for a living and he has a question for me. This time instead of just letting it hang, he added. "I have a title question about a house in Moody," and then asked me to call back.

I no longer have a house in Moody, Alabama. But at one point in my life I did.

Asking a title question under the circumstances would be a reasonable reason to talk to this gentleman. And, it even piqued my interest somewhat, but I didn't call him back. If he has questions about the title of the house, that is probably LegalOwl's department, but I don't want to pay her $300 to find out. I would think somewhere in the title paperwork filed with the county, her name would have been on there. He can pay her $300 instead of me if it is truly important.

Also Alabama has this funny one year rights of redemption policy. That is, within one year of a foreclosure, the former owner has the right to get their home back if they pay the bank what the bank says is owed on the property. By the way, the rights are transferable. As the Late Attorney Jon once explained, rights of redemption can be sold for a case of beer and fishing bait. It is possible this Joe dude could be calling to sweet talk me out of my rights of redemption. But I may never know because I am not going to answer my phone.

It stands to reason, that the best course of action for this guy, if this is a legitimate issue of some sort, would be a letter outlining his reason for calling. It might even include something I am willing to cooperate with. But not likely.

Daddy's Girl

I had breakfast with my 79 year old father yesterday. In a moment of vulnerability, I told him what Brother #1 and #2 have been urging me to tell him for the past 8 months. Our business is dying a slow painful death. Of course, the reason I hadn't told him up until now, is because he reacted the exact way I knew he would.

He scolded me, for I am really 11 years old.

My father--and please don't judge him, he is who he is--began to tell me all the things, in his mind, I had done wrong that caused our downfall. Of course, he knows absolutely nothing about our accidental business. The reason he knows little about it is because he believes to his very core that business owners are the enemy. We are greedy scum only looking out for ourselves. I grew up hearing versions of this. It is ingrained in who he is. I don't believe it. I accept he does.

Owning a business has been a conundrum for him. He is proud of me and he is astonished I would do such a horrible thing as participate in capitalism. So, the business failing in his mind is a relief. And it is also a reason to get on me about all the events I caused in the past fourteen years that brought me to this point. I stopped him twice, reminding him I did not want to hear what he had to say. There is nothing he can possibly add to what is going on in my life that will be the least bit productive. I also reminded him his response is the very reason he has been kept out of the information loop about what is going on with Marty and me.

It took three versions of the above as well as me reminding him I will be the one to pick his nursing home in order for him to stop talking. ("That's what happens when you don't hire a property management company and you have out of state rentals..." "But Dad, I had a property management company..." "Well maybe, but if you had managed them yourself, you wouldn't have had these problems..."--yes, this was really part of what was said). But eventually he allowed me to successfully change the subject and the rest of what he has to say about my mistakes he can relegate on my brothers. They have been warned.

Certifiable

Thursday I wrote and sent three certified letters to the former property management company. I cc'd several people on them, including Diamond Jim, my Arizona Attorney and a couple of guests residing in my home. Not everyone was CC'd on every letter.

Because it was true, each letter started with the phrase:

THIS IS MY THIRD ATTEMPT TO GET THIS RESOLVED

The first two letters explained that the property management company was to release the security deposits to the former tenants immediately. There is a touch of irony here, as I was insisting on a former tenant's security deposit only a month ago. And that set of maddening conversations is ultimately what made them decide they didn't want to manage my homes any more. It also made me decide they were incompetent baboons who knew little about Alabama real estate law or their fiduciary responsibilities. I didn't want them managing my homes, but they beat me to the punch.

The third letter proved to me they knew even less about accounting principals than they knew about real estate. They have made a huge mistake on my 1099, which they submitted to the IRS. For those of you who aren't privy to 1099s, it is basically the document they submit that tells the IRS how much they paid out in rents to me for 2016. Their mistake is a doozy too. I only wish my rents were as high last year as they said they were.

Diamond Jim knows how to fix the situation and square it with the IRS on my end if these nincompoops don't bother to correct it. However, it is in their best interest to do so. Because if they don't, the Internal Revenue Service will flag them anyway. This is not a mistake they should overlook lightly.

Mrs. Fultondale

The guest in the home in Fultondale has finally gotten mad--as she should be. She is about to be homeless.

At first, she was gracious as can be. After all, she isn't paying a dime to me. But now the reality has set in. This week she called the bank to see about buying the house. She didn't go about it through the proper channels, instead she talked to someone who was obviously confused as to who this woman was. As a result, Mrs. Fultondale informed me that I was to immediately give the bank authorization to let her talk with them them about our situation. Of course, she would never have given me authorization to talk to a financial institution about her finances, but she didn't see it that way when I politely declined her request.

What I did tell her was if she wanted to purchase the home, call Kirby. He would walk her through the process before it was too late. My feeling is, it is probably too late.

Next, Mrs. Fultondale or one of the other Fultondales in the house realized something every person in this situation finally realizes. Where has my rent money gone if I am summarily being cast out of a home I am renting? I sent her a string of BS words that I threw together that sound official but have no bearing in reality. Fortunately she didn't ask for further explanation and instead said, "Ok, Gotcha." The true answer is complicated and legal. I would have told her to talk to my attorney, but I wasn't giving my attorney any more authorization to speak with Mrs. Fultondale than I was giving the bank. And frankly, Mrs. Fultondale truly did ask a fair question.

I also have a fair question for Mrs. Fultondale, who just happens to be one of my worst culprits in recent times of paying rent late. Remember all those times you didn't bother to pay the rent because you had other expenses come up that were more pressing? Like Christmas and birthdays? Remember all those times you thought it was no big deal if you got two or three months behind on the rent? Why should I have cared, right? What bad could possibly come from Mrs. Fultondale not bothering to pay her fair share?

Guess what? This is the bad that happens. It isn't all her fault. I certainly own most of the blame for the stupid choices that got us to this point. But she did help it along.

No Take Backs!

Bliz sagely pointed out that when the property management company realizes they accidentally gave me a deposit they feel they weren't supposed to, they might want it back.

Nope. not happening.

Victory Lap

If I am reading the financial statements correctly, and I believe I am, the bookkeeper at the property management company released the security deposit we were fighting about to me. This was the house with the ruined hardwood floors. This is the house where the tenants didn't mop up the water on the floor when it rained--which is exactly what I was told.

This turn of events is somewhat astonishing, given Flunky's last e-mail where he told me he spoke with "legal counsel" and that I had the "manipulated the circumstances to fulfill my reality" and other crap right before he fired me. However, Flunky, the team player he is, didn't cc his company's bookkeeper. I'm guessing his bookkeeper didn't have the crystal ball plugged in either because Flunky made it 100 percent clear I was wrong and never seeing that money.

Mr. Waterford's Concerns

My guest at Waterford Lane is absolutely befuddled. I have told him to make himself at home. We have no lease.  No money is changing hands. I didn't expect this to be much of an issue, but he just can't wrap his head around this. I have received some sort of communication from him just about every day, with him looking for some sort of inconsistency in my message.

The poor man has asked me to put something "in writing" and settled for an e-mail where I told him the same thing I said over the phone and in text messages. He said he wanted assurances because he just didn't want the police knocking on his door. Fair enough. I am a white, out of state owner of a home in a place where race-tensions tend to be the absolute norm. He doesn't know me. Why should he trust me? Frankly, I am surprised he hasn't asked me to prove I am the owner of the property. That's probably tomorrow's conversation.

He says he will be leaving in a month or so. I can appreciate that too. I know of others who have been in his shoes who find that kind of predicament stressful. Will they be homeless in a week? My guess is his wife is flipping out and he calls me once for every 37 conversations the two of them have. Who can blame them? I am not sure I would want to stay and deal with someone else's crappy karma either.

Hopefully

The camera took 10 pounds off
this mound of paperwork.

I was sitting at the kitchen table, listening to an Ipod rotation of Pink Floyd, Eric Clapton, Toby Keith, Imagine Dragons and Chris Tomlin. To my side, was the mound of paperwork, which will eventually be Phase 1 of my taxes. Diamond Jim, my (hopefully) retiring CPA, has already called and answered a few questions about what I can call a capital improvement and what I can classify as a repair.

As I am doing this I am feeling somewhat nostalgic about the fact this blog started with a general gripe about tax season, and here I am again. Next year's taxes (hopefully) will not be as complicated. And tax season 2019 should be an absolute breeze--unless we buy a bunch of rental homes again somewhere like Racine Wisconsin or Walterboro South Carolina.

We won't. I promise.

Mr. Ex-Partner's E-Mails

Yesterday Mr. Ex-Partner sent two e-mails to me. The first one started with, "NO. I will absolutely..." and I stopped reading. I could already tell his e-mail was counter-intuitive to my quest to simplify my life and find inner peace. Besides, I hadn't sent him anything, so his note wasn't directed at me. However, for whatever reason, he felt whomever had offended him was someone I know and should be involved with. I didn't finish it. Instead, I immediately filed it, took a deep breath and moved on.

About three minutes later, another e-mail came from him. In the subject line he wrote, "When can I expect to see my K-1?" I was certain that e-mail was for me. It did nothing for my inner peace, so I filed that one too. Then I sent a note to Marty telling him to tell Mr. Ex-Partner to stop contacting me. I just wasn't up whatever was going on yesterday.

It turns out Mr. Partner's first e-mail was to Flunky. For whatever reason, Flunky sent him a message demanding Mr. Ex-Partner's social security number Of course, Flunky et. al., never managed Mr. Ex-Partner's homes, so why would he need this? I have my suspicions, and those suspicions are based on the weird and wildly inaccurate 1099 I received this past week from them that I had to ask to be redone (and it probably won't be). Truly, the only reason I finally bothered to read this e-mail hours later was Marty Sunshine described it as Mr. Ex-Partner giving Flunky the verbal finger. It was nice to see it wasn't me having to react to something they screwed up this time.

Embolden by Mr. Ex-Partner's first message, I opted to read the second one. Unfortunately, this one was addressed to me. Where was his K-1 statement? After all, it is February 1 and, according to him, it should be done by now. Mr. Partner even magnanimously offered to pay for Diamond Jim's tax bill this season for these returns, which is pretty darn funny, because the dissolution agreement requires him to pay it. There's no reason not to let him feel charitable.

I did remind Mr. Ex-Partner we need the mortgage interest statements from him for his properties--homes that were in our joint LLC until June 30, 2016. This did not sit well with Mr. Ex., and for a moment, I kind of knew how Flunky must have felt reading these e-mails. When he calmed down ("that is personal and confidential..."). I quickly and reminded him, if we don't see those mortgage interest statements from him, he doesn't get his K1. I am in no hurry to file, so whenever he feels up to giving us what we need, we will take care of it.

After all that was done, I then once again reminded Marty I am out of the accidental business business.

Quiet

Ollie, who always wants to play "rope".

I am sitting in quiet today. Even Ollie has grown bored of my solitude, and that's pretty tough for a co-dependent emotional abyss of a dog. I spent yesterday staring into space, in some sort of numb trance, trying to figure out what to do next.

For the first time in my marriage, I don't have anything to do. Well, that's not entirely true. I have domestic pursuits as well as mothering to do. But that will be in an hour from now when the school bus arrives and Marty makes it home. There will be homework, dinner and karate. Right now, nobody needs me. I am not used to that.

There is some small satisfaction in knowing I will never have to receive another e-mail from Flunky. No tenant will call me with some stupid excuse as to why buying birthday presents for their grandchild is more important than rent. I hated those calls. Why is a birthday present and rent mutually exclusive? Sometimes I would laugh them off. Sometimes I would tell the tenant to act like a damn grown up and figure it out or move out of my home.

There won't be any 2 a.m. "the toilet overflowed" calls either. In all fairness, I have never once received a 2 a.m. toilet overflowed call. I don't know any landlord who has. I did receive a 4:30 a.m. "The air conditioner is on fire" call once. ("Call 911, When the fire department is done, call me back."). And Flunky once texted me at 5 a.m. with "an emergency" which turned out to be nothing.

The official party line is I am on hiatus from work. That's part of the grand design of the accidental business downfall. We are to reduce my income, useful income that kept us afloat during the last ten years or so when all hell broke loose. That same income that will be used now to rebuild our future once I can change the official party line. Actually I have a slight reprieve, called "showing rentals," which is the real estate agent's equivalent of purgatory.

Now that our storm is coming to an end I am restless looking for something to fill that gap. The clouds are still in the sky. There is no rainbow or sunbeam. There is still a chill in the air. We aren't done. But I am told we will be soon. I don't know when "soon" is. My best guess is summer, but I don't dare to dream it will be that quick.

I am sure there will be more weird stories before this is done. I am old enough to know the saga doesn't end doesn't end just because my role as landlord stopped. I am reminded of one time when Buckaroo asked me how did the zebras not get eaten by the lions once the ark landed and the animals departed. I explained that Noah probably didn't let all of the animals go at once for that very reason. Buckaroo thought about it a moment and then announced that the mud had to dry before the zebras got off, otherwise, they would have been stuck, and hence, lion food. Even Noah had drama once the rain ended.

It would be swell to tell you that there are no regrets. And perhaps someday I will be able to say that. Right now I am just enjoying today's quiet.