Putting it in Perspective

Lest you think my blog is one big complaint--and I think I made it pretty clear this is personal therapy not a major bitch session--I usually like what I do. Even the stuff that hits me hard isn't meant as a big whiny, self-deprecating poor me-fest. Writing releases me from the stress. It is a way to give to God the stuff tormenting me, letting go of what I can't control.

Just maybe writing my experiences as a landlord will be of value to someone else out there. Maybe they will see the Wayward's and Smith's of the world and not make the mistakes I have made.

Yes, there are issues. And, when issues show up they often do it as a tidal wave instead of a trickle. I would prefer to have less negative experiences. But, the challenges of what I face make me a better business woman, better investor and overall better person. Or, at least I hope so.

My company has two components. One section deals with straight rentals. That is the part where I have the majority of challenges. These are the things that tax my good nature, test my sanity and give my two loyal readers the impression I am three sheets to the wind the majority of the time (for the record, I am not). What the hell! This is where the best blog-fodder comes from.

But, a good part of my company's focus is designed to help people who have good character and poor credit own a home. There are tons of folks in this category who need help. They come from all walks of life. They are of every color, nationality and background. Some have made it to the top. Some are still on the first rung of the ladder of success. It doesn't change who they are. Character matters. You can't find a section for character on a credit report.

I mentioned Terry once--a former tenant who still calls me regularly. There is Tina. I went to her wedding last October. She was able to give her three boys a better life by moving into one of my homes located in a better neighborhood and school district. She told me the changes for her family made a difference in their lives. Her middle son was heading for trouble. He found a mentor, the right kinds of friends and has turned his life around.
There is Penny, whose husband of many, many years had emergency surgery and died. This happened right after they bought a new-fangled RV. They were going to spend their golden years touring the country. Instead, when her grief subsided, she gave the RV back to the dealership and moved to Arizona to be closer to her grandchildren. There is a family from South Africa who couldn't buy a home because they hadn't been at their job long enough.

There is a grocery store manager. A single mother who needed to get away from her abusive husband. There is a family where the husband ended up going on disability when they were house-hunting, thus impeding their ability to get a loan. At least three of the families in my program have even owned rental homes. There are other stories too, some even too personal to go write about--even anonymously.

The part of my company that works with these folks is a very specific program. I am not looking to help the people who carelessly run up their credit card buying Fingerhut merchandise. I will go to bat for those who have had something happen--divorce, medical emergencies or death and are ready to bounce back. The banks won't take a chance because they had an event in their life wounding their credit and scarring their future ability for the American Dream. I am not talking about impoverished families. I am talking about hard-working people from all walks of life who had something happen to them. Tragedy doesn't discriminate.

Most of the time, things work out perfectly fine. Sometimes I get Wayward. If someone like Wayward came to me now looking for a home, she would not be the kind of person I would select. Thanks to experiences with people like her, I am much better at what I do. And, it is people like Wayward I have to thank for making me that much wiser. I couldn't buy this kind of education in a college course.

Today I got an e-mail from one of my tenants I never hear from. It simply said, "Thanks for taking a chance on us." That's the kind of people who make this worth my time.

Bee-Where?

I got in touch with Calvin today. Or, I left a message and he actually called me back. He was sweet enough to actually inquire about my health and the weather before getting down to brass tacks.

After a bit of finagling (read: groveling), Calvin has decided not to drop me as a client just yet. I am grateful for one more chance to prove I am not a crazy landlord out to make his life a living hell. Though I don't know if there is much I can do to the contrary. Calvin agreed to finish Wayward's home. He is also willing to take a jaunt out to Leeds to mow my other yard.

Calvin did manage to mention his experience last week has left him paranoid. He is apparently afraid of being stung. And, now, while toiling on some less crazy person's yard, is hearing bees everywhere.

I did assure Calvin the bees are gone. "Yes, Ma'am." He said quietly. "I sure hope you are right."

She Took the Kitchen Sink

Thank God for Former Tenant #2. Carolsue has been helping me out with a variety of Birmingham tasks. Lately it has been all about Wayward's home. Saturday, she had an opportunity to go in and tell me what I was looking at.

But first, armed with her power of attorney, Carolsue filed a police report. On Monday I am filing criminal charges against Wayward. You see, Wayward wasn't very gracious when she left. It wasn't just that she didn't want to pay, she decided to make a big deal of it.

The house isn't really too-too bad. I can think of three homes I have that were much worse when the tenants left. Except, in those cases, the tenants just left, but didn't take their junk. Wayward took this to a new level. She pulled up the flooring, took the air vents, painted the walls navy blue and took the kitchen sink. There are other things too, but you get the idea.

The major difference between my attitude a week ago and now is I no longer have to use my imagination. I now have concrete facts. And, with those facts I can move forward. The waiting really is the toughest part. Waiting wrecks havoc on the imagination. It causes all sorts of unnecessary stress. Usually my imagination is worse than the reality. This time it wasn't the case, but as Carolsue pointed out, it isn't the end of the world. After all, I have two different families clamoring for this house. A month from now, this will be something I will probably laugh about. I hope.

I have insurance. I have the law on my side. My own experiences have thickened my skin and strengthened my stomach lining. I have a business partner who is an experienced landlord and knows stuff like this happens. Even if the courts don't catch up with her, Divine retribution will.


Where the kitchen sink was supposed to be.

A Week in the Life

Neighbor 114

E-mailed me today wanting a dossier on the new tenants moving into Trusted's former home. I am sure he meant well. He was tickled to find out the new tenant comes with their own yard guy.

The Bee Whisperer

The bees are gone. The shrub is gone. The hive was new, the comb was small. Both are good things. And, he didn't need to bee suit. His dignity is intact.

The Smiths

Monday's problem.

Wayward

This one has taxed my good nature beyond belief. As soon as I can find something lighthearted in the whole situation--or if enough time passes that this isn't horrifying--I will write about it. For now, I need prayers for strength.

The Latest Buzz

Well, the yellow jackets aren't. They are bees. And, they are nesting quite nicely at Wayward's former home. I am floored. Wayward has small children. Between the bees and the jungle backyard, it couldn't have been a safe environment for her girls.

The bee dilemma isn't as simple as just getting rid of the things. There are several steps involved beforehand. First, it requires a formal comprehension of the Southern calendar--which I don't have. I still haven't figured out how long "for a spell" happens to be. Such as the exterminator saying, "You sit tight for a spell, and I will get over there in due time."

Then I am required to convey urgency to the soon-to-be-hired-exterminator in a way that I am certain they grasp. It goes like this: the county is fining me for the jungle of a back yard. I can't get the back yard cleaned up until the bees are gone (and I find a new lawn guy).

Oh, it also requires sorting through several know-it-all types to find one competent and reasonably priced person to handle this. You know, just like finding anyone you want working for you. In this case, some of the know-it-all types have been burned by out-of-town landlords before and they haven't forgotten the ones who did them wrong. I am required to listen to their tales of woe before they tell me yes, they will look into my situation. Or, no they won't.

The one thing I can say for certain with my experience in Birmingham, being out of town, many vendors want payment up front or won't work with me at all. I have more than once overnighted a check before the plumber/gas company/title officer will do the work. If they will bill me it is only because I dropped the right name or I have already proven myself.

So, my one hour bee removal research excursion has taken four days. And I still have the bees.

Bee Guy 1: arrives and tells me "Yes ma'am, they are bees." He does tell me it looks like they are aggressive (Calvin may have mentioned this) and there are a lot of them. He informs me the hive is in the eave and behind a very large shrub. This overgrown shrub is impeding #1's ability to get to the bees. Apparently, he needs me to cut the shrub before he can get to them. I explain to him the logistics. I am out of town. I don't have anyone available to cut it down. Can they not work around the shrub or perhaps cut it down themselves? After all, I am not emotionally attached to the shrub. No they can't. Not without a bee suit.

"You are a bee exterminator and you don't have a bee suit?" I ask.

He replied, "No Ma'am, why would I?"

Bee Guy #2: I call and ask if he has bee protective gear. Yes he does. But, he is too busy to get out there for a few weeks. How busy could this guy possibly be? Every single bee is living at MY house. He recommends Bee Guy #3.

Bee Guy #3: Tells me he is a former Marine. And, then tells me he doesn't need a bee suit. Yes, he has one, but his buddies make fun of him when he wears it. I don't get it. I thought Marines were tough enough to handle a little ribbing from their friends. Aren't they put in much more dangerous situations? Did he worry about what his friends said when he wore his Kevlar vest? Are his buddies going to be in my backyard? I tell him there is a big shrub in the way, that doesn't seem to phase him. I explain that I am told the bees are somewhat aggressive, he still is undeterred. He is the Bee Whisperer.

What he does want is keys for the inside to see if the bees perhaps built their comb inside the interior wall. Holy cow! In the wall?! That was a new one to me. Yes, definitely check this out. Thank you very much. Bee guys 1 and 2 didn't mention this. And, they were going to charge more.

Except getting keys is ANOTHER side quest. You see, Mr. H., one of my two process servers, met the lock smith at the house on Monday. Mr. H. was going to give the keys to Former Tenant #2 on Saturday morning. Meanwhile, Mr. H., had surgery Tuesday. Mr. H. doesn't live anywhere near this house. I don't know how this exactly happened but someone close to Mr. H., or Mr. H. himself, did manage to drive all the way back over there to drop off the keys. For all his trouble with this side quest, Mr. H. tells me I owe him a cup of coffee when I see him next.

So, very early Friday morning, former-Marine-turned-Bee-Guy-#3 will be there braving the elements to send the bees to their great reward. Hopefully.

I Can't Make This Stuff Up, Folks

I was recently asked if the stuff I write about is true.

Yep. it really is.

I really did have my former real estate agent tell off my tenant.

I really did have a tenant never move in because she found out the day she got the keys she had cancer (she is fine now, but living somewhere else).

I really did have an air conditioning unit catch fire.

I really did have a tenant--unbenownst to me--try to get the house rezoned for horses.

I really did have a potential renter go into a catatonic state because she didn't have the deposit money.

I really did have a well-meaning neighbor get into a nasty argument with a potential renter.

I really have gone through several handymen.

I really do hate tax season.

My bookkeeper really is that patient.

And, there is tons more.

Welcome to reality blogging. Writing is my therapy. Writing keeps me sane helps put things in perspective. And, it is cheaper than amaretto.

I Really Do Feel For Them

With the exception of Wayward, I hate kicking people out. It never gets easier. I don't care how much they owe me. They are still people.

I once evicted a mother and her three week old baby. There is probably a special place in hell for me for putting a newborn on the street. Even though I know intellectually it had to happen, it still bothers me. I am sure that mother found a place for her family. I hope they are somewhere happier now, and life is better. Living for free is stealing--and I understand the business side of this. But, forcibly removing someone from their home always pains me a bit.

Mr. Smith is still negotiating. Actually, he doesn't have an audience. I am reminded of the footage of Saddam Hussein going to his execution, saying something along the lines of, "Wait, wait. You have this all wrong." I am not making light of any man's demise. But, there is an interesting dynamic when someone is backed into a corner, what lengths they will go to in their final moments, out of self preservation. Mr. Smith is no exception.

I have gotten extremely pitiful e-mails from him in this past two weeks. He was told by my attorney not to contact me. That hasn't stopped him. I don't know if I were in his shoes, if it would have stopped me. I have not responded to him for a variety of reasons. First, I cannot seem to communicate with him without loosing my dignity. Second, there really is nothing left to say. Pay or move.

His last e-mail--which offered a payment plan, got me thinking about letting him stay. The more I thought about it though, the more I realized it would never work. if he hasn't paid thus far, why would a payment plan be any different. And, it would just prolong the inevitable.

Mr. Smith used some unusual tactics in this last note. Aside from the unrealistic payment plan, he pointed out that I don't like vacant homes. I don't, but he is unaware that I have become used to them. Besides vacant homes leave promise for paying renters. He also made a point to say some very flattering things right out of the play book.

And, he even told me about all the great things he has done for me. This little gem in particular caught my eye: "You know how protective I have been over you. I did not tell some people about (your program) because I did not think they would pay." Very kind of him. But, even if he did tell these folks about my company, I probably would have figured out they were bums all by myself.

Please understand, I am not dogging Mr. Smith. (I only do that when I talk to him because he drives me bonkers.) I feel for him. I feel for his family. I can't imagine how aweful this is for he and his wife. He is about to lose his home. All the e-mails and phone calls in the world won't change this at this point. The level of stress in his marriage must be beyond compare. His young children must feel the angst. This kind of heartburn affects everything. It saddens me. It really does.

I don't wish any ill will on the poor guy. And, I hope by getting him out of my home, perhaps he can find a less expensive alternative. Maybe he will learn about money management. Maybe this experience will strengthen his resolve. I really do wish these things for the man. But, it is best if he learns these lessons soon and learns them elsewhere.

Wayward Update

So, how is Wayward? Wayward is gone. The sheriff arrived today and put her stuff on the curb. Actually, I suspect she beelined out of there this past weekend. I know she was there until at least last Wednesday.

This week the fun begins. I hear she painted a couple of walls black. I hear the carpet needs to be cleaned. I hear she wasn't very tidy. And, of course there is that whole yellow jacket mess in the back yard. Which reminds me, I need to find a new lawn guy. But, Wayward's mess is nothing compared to what others have done. Wayward has nothing on former tenants when it comes to terrible housekeeping and being totally angry with me, the landlord. Nah, Wayward is an amateur on that end.

The good news is Wayward wasn't running a meth lab. She didn't take the toilets and other home essentials with her. There is a judgement against her and I know where she works. So, now it is Mr. D's turn for fun.

Oh yes, I have a potential tenant all lined up.

Can You Really Blame Him?

About a year ago--when life was simple and I only had one vacant home--I met Calvin. Calvin owns a lawn service and he happened to be down the street from said empty property. I needed the lawn taken of. He had a lawn mower. It was the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

In the course of the past year, I have called with random jobs, all related to yard maintenance. And Calvin would sweetly follow through, fax me his bill and then call to make sure I did indeedy get the invoice.

Calvin is a one-man mowing service. He has a wife and young children. He makes enough to support his family. He charges reasonable rates, at least compared to what I find in Phoenix. I didn't really thoroughly shop around Birmingham for lawn care, other than to call some landscaping services and see they are much more pricey.

Last month I asked Calvin to please take a pilgrimage over to my house in Leeds to take care of the yard. I was aware it was a bit of a drive. I had no idea the condition of the yard. Calvin called me to let me know the yard was pretty awful. By the time I got there, I found the yard in pristine condition.

Sadly, not only was the yard a challenge for Calvin, but so were the neighbors--who didn't seem to realize the Civil War ended years ago. The rednecks in that neighborhood quickly came out of their rat holes and called the police on the guy for trespassing. Calvin didn't complain. I was mortified. In fact, I found out about poor Calvin's humiliation from the Leed's police. (And, for the record, the police knew the neighbors were trouble and Calvin was gold).

Yesterday I found out there was a notice from the county at Wayward's home telling me I had 24 hours to clean up the yard. Of course this was news to me, as Wayward neglected to share this tidbit. So, I called Calvin and asked for a miracle. What I got was confirmation the weeds were six feet high (the person who found that note at Wayward's house, while checking on Wayward the Deadbeat, had told me about the weeds yesterday). And, bless him, he gave me a volume discount.

Now being the desert girl that I am, when I hear six feet weeds, I don't think critters. I think weeds. Dirt. Annoyance. And, maybe a little accidental xeriscape shade. However, poor Calvin got a swarm of yellow jackets. And, while running away from them, he tore through the front yard, into the street and ran into a car. The driver--thank God--was going slowly.

Calvin is ok. Nothing broken. However, it turns out Calvin is allergic to yellow jacket stings. Turns out, he isn't litigious. Turns out he fired me. "Ma'am," he said, with a polite Southern drawl, "you have crazy houses."

Don't Sweat the Small Stuff

This has been a yawn week. That doesn't mean there isn't anything going on. It just hasn't been newsworthy. Or, if it has been somewhat newsworthy, I have written it before.

For example. Mr. Smith is still renegotiating. My attorney asked about him calling my bluff. I am not bluffing. He is paying or going. I am clear on this and not feeling any more angst. Though, I have gotten to the point where I feel sorry for him. I would like to feel sorry for him while he is living somewhere else. All seriousness folks, this guy and his family could use a few prayers if you are feeling generous. I have been asking Him for guidance and direction for this family. I can only imagine the stress in that house and how it must be affecting all of them. It can't be peaceful.

My tenant who just won't leave. Still won't leave. The sheriff should be there next week. I hope.

My tenant I have been working with, I am still working with. We are dancing around deadlines. The usual. I have all my reinforcements in place, waiting for me to make the next call.

You know, yawn stuff.

I used to find the mundane issues I am seeing this week as annoying as the big-ticket items I am currently dealing with. Things like, "My rent will be late" (I gathered). "Your grass needs to be cut." (yep). "I sent you an invoice" (it has been forwarded to my bookkeeper). Now I find them to be a relief from the more intense and more bizarre.

Sitting Pretty

Whatever happened to Wayward? Well, she is still there. Living comfortably in MY home. She is babysitting the copper plumbing and the air conditioning unit. I have a variety of people checking on her every week.

Someday, somehow, some way, Wayward will find another landlord to mooch from. Actually from what I understand we are currently waiting on the sheriff's office to do their job. This particular assignment was given to them on July 8. You see, the sheriff's department has two teams of folks who go out to the homes of people like Wayward. They bring a couple of inmates and a few trash bags and empty out the place.

So far, Wayward hasn't had the pleasure of meeting the sheriff's deadbeat patrol. They are currently two week's backlogged with friends of Wayward. And, I hear Wayward's turn to meet these nice folks might happen in my life time. I have called around to see if I can hire my own posse to take care of this, but no. It has to be someone from the Sheriff's office. They have to use their own Hefty bags. I am sure there are less legal ways to pursuade her to leave. But, that really isn't my style.

There is a woman who calls me every Monday to see if this house is vacant. She hasn't seen the inside but she wants first dibs. Now, if I could only get Wayward to cooperate.

Games People Play

There are so many varieties to the game Mr. Smith is playing. What pains me the most is that Mr. Smith thinks I don't know what he is doing. I realize I am up against the smartest man in the world and matching wits against Mr. Smith taxes my meager intellect. But, here I am. Sadly, Mr. Smith isn't the only one who does this. He is the most blatant. And, I really do believe he thinks I am simple-minded.

The game dynamics are always the same. No matter who I am up against. These people didn't invent this game. Neither did I. The play book has been around for ages. To make my life easier, I picked up my own leather-bound copy at a second-hand bookstore. Here is the way the game works.

1. I call, They promise. Nothing happens.

2. I call. They don't take my calls/e-mails/smoke signals.

3. I follow up following the with the rules of our contract. Generally this involves a process server. This gets their attention. They call with excuses as to why this situation happened to begin with. It isn't their fault. They ask for special concessions. They promise reasonable things. I agree.

4. When it is time to deliver on their promise. They renegotiate because something came up. It isn't their fault. According to the play book, my role is to recognize they are trying to do right. So, I am supposed to go along with this new plan.

5. It is now time to deliver on their new promise. See #4.

6. More time goes by, they don't hear from me (because according to the play book I am fat, dumb and happy with the status quo. After all, they have outsmarted me. Or, at the very least, they think they have bought time). Sometimes they will even throw me another bone. Like a check, partial payment or a sweet letter telling me how wonderful I am and they will do what they promised at some later obscure date.

But, there is still that pesky contract. And, contracts are there for when things go wrong--never when they go right. So, I am not calling them. I am calling the professionals who handle these types of things. And, I no longer work with the game-players. They get to leave. They get their wages garnished. They will pay.

There are variations to this cat and mouse game. Such as ignoring the lawyer's letter and contacting me directly, like nothing is wrong. Sending me notes, telling me they are surprised I never received thier payments (they apparently have forgotten we have already gone through steps 1 through 6). There are even tactics like forgetting to sign or date the check. Sometimes I do play along, but generally it is only to suit my purposes.

I recognize the way the game is played. I can generally catch it in the early stages--not that I can do anything about it until we hit the non-payment stage. But, at least I have a bit of head's up so I can dust off my play book.

There Are Good Things Too

Although I write about the bizarre, weird and annoying, there really are good things that happen with my accidental business. The good experiences aren't always interesting and often it is too personal to write about. But, here are some examples of the good stuff.

1. I have met an incredible number of terrific people along the way. I have one former tenant who has been keeping in touch since he left my home more than two years earlier. He has been known to run odd jobs for me. And, sometimes he will just e-mail me to say hello. Sometimes he just sends me a note just to discuss baseball.

2. I have heard some pretty powerful personal success stories. Take Terry for example. She called me once to tell me she opened her first checking account. Everything up until that point in her 42 years had been paid by cash. And, it had never occurred to her to open a checking account until I had mentioned it a year earlier. The first person she called to tell about this milestone was me, her landlord. When Terry later bought her house from me she said, "I never thought I could own a home, now I know I can do anything."

3. I have learned a lot about human nature. Good and bad. I have had a crash course. I prefer the good, but the bad stories (and there are a few) help make me a better business woman, better landlord and overall better person. I am continuing to learn and grow from the lives of others. And, I certainly see things very differently than I did even a year earlier. My moral compass knows where to point.

4. I have learned the South doesn't deserve a good portion of their stereotypes. I have yet to meet an inbred, single-tooth yokel. What I have met are some fascinating folks, with fascinating lives. People in the South are proud, outspoken and (for the most part) know right from wrong. They are instinctive and will do business with a handshake if they believe in you. Growing up in the city, I find all of this is strange to me. But, I have been given many opportunities from those who have believed in me. And, hopefully I haven't let them down.

5. I have gotten uplifting encouragement from unusual places. I have had people offer to pray for me, I have been sent bible verses. I even had one tenant read my fortune with tarot cards! The kindness from the folks I have met is absolutely amazing. Last week, in the midst of some craziness. I heard from one of my tenants. She wrote me to say thank you and offered a few other personal words that just blew me away. What did I do? I answered an e-mail, giving her advice she sought out from me--a virtual stranger. I would have given this same advice to anyone else who had asked. But, she took the time to write and thank me.

I am floored by the genuine sincerity of the people I have met in the past few years--not just in Birmingham, but all over. I have been sent first communion invitations and baby pictures. My rewards may not be financial (at the moment). But I have been given some pretty wonderful gifts.

D.F.W.L.Y., Attorneys at Law

D.F.W.L.Y., Attorneys at Law, doesn't bother with putting the names of partners in their title. Instead, they just tell it like it is: D.F.W.L.Y., stands for Don't Fool With Lawyers Y'all. They are an exceptional firm, located in a stately building in Central Birmingham. And, one of these lawyers handles my evictions.

To give you and idea of what I pay, D.F.W.L.Y. has annual billable hours equivalent to a small oil-rich Middle Eastern country's gross domestic product.

A few months ago, my bookkeeper and I were talking over the phone. I was mindlessly opening bills, reporting them to her. All of the sudden the sound of a strangled cat left my throat.

"Are you there?" She asks.

I whimper.

Realization hits her. Emphatically, she accuses, "You opened D.F.W.L.Y. didn't you."

I whimper again.

Exasperated, she starts in, "You have no business reading that bill! Were you wearing asbestos gloves? Did you at least have on eye protection?" The questions are rhetorical, because she and I both know she owns the flack jacket. Panic sets in, "Listen to me, and listen good. You put that bill back in the envelope and step away. Do you hear me? Walk away."

Ok, that wasn't exactly how it went. I whimpered a bit more than I let on here. I may have shed a tear or two. And, at her suggestion, my bookkeeper does get the bills with the envelope intact these days. I can say to her out of the clear blue, "How much was it?" and she will know I am talking about D.F.W.L.Y.

So, why do I use them? I happen to like my attorney and her delightful paralegal quite a bit. They are both good at what they do. That kind of competency is painfully pricey. But, financing my attorney's son's college fund isn't the only reason I stay. I have called around to other firms to see what I could find.

I spoke with one lawyer who summed it up. After telling him who I use he said, "Even I can't afford D.F.W.L.Y.!" Then, when I explained what I needed from him, he was quiet a moment and then said, "Wow. You have a lot going on. The reputation of the lawyer you are using is a good one. You better stick with her."

The Right Stuff

So, I get this call from Mr. Wright today. He loved my vacant home. He thought it would be the perfect place for he and his family and would I please consider lowering the rent $100?

He then went on to tell me how great the house looked and how he couldn't wait to move in. In his next breath, he informed me the house was "absolutely filthy." Would they be responsible for cleaning it? And, more importantly, would I be willing to deduct money from the deposits for them to cover all his trouble? After a bit of probing, he told me "absolutely filthy" meant one wall still hadn't been painted (Former Tenant #2 told me she hadn't finished it yet) and the laundry room had dirt on it where the washer and dryer were living until yesterday. I confirmed this was his idea of "absolutely filthy" and told him NO, I would not deduct hundreds off the deposit.

Mr. Wright then verified that he loved the neighborhood. But, expressed concern about safety, because he has two daughters and the neighborhood doesn't "feel" safe. The example he provide was about a home at the beginning of the subdivision (about a half mile away) that looked seedy. I suggested, I, as a parent, could appreciate his concerns and encouraged him to check out the crime statistics for the area just to make sure this would be a safe place to live.

At this point, I suggested this might not be the perfect place for Mr. and Mrs. Wright, and I would certainly understand if they opted not to put an application in. After all, they didn't seem all that impressed.

Mr. Wright assured me they really did "just love" the house. But, would I be willing to consider giving him a break on the rent for him doing some unnamed odd jobs, which he assures me he is more than qualified to do. He listed about six things at this home that he could do to make it more appealing.

Appealing to whom? The next potential renter? Because Mr. Wright is definitely Mr. Wrong.

I Just Can't Shut Up

Poor Mr. D. He just brings out the bossy big sister in me. He is such a nice guy. And, I am sure he is one wildly-competent attorney too. But, none of that matters, because I can't seem to stop telling him what to do.

I have gotten to the point where I am afraid to call him, for fear my mouth will open, give marching orders and he--like the good Southern man that he is--will politely listen. He will then hang up and make a note to bill me for another hour for having to endure me for ten minutes.

He is currently working to find two past deadbeats who owe me money. So, ignoring all of the skip-tracing technology at his fingertips, as well as all of the database search services he has available to him, I suggest him maybe he ought to call the churches of these deadbeats and ask for a current phone number of their biggest deadbeat congregation member. I can even provide him with these churches, because most everyone I speak to in Alabama is very proud of their church affiliation--and they tell me.

I do realize how stupid my suggestion sounds. Mr. D. realizes it too. But, his mother raised him right. Instead, he says, "That's a great idea. I'll get right on that." With that, he hangs up and upps his billable hours.

He Must Go

Mr. Smith brings out the ugly in me. Today was my third conversation with him in a week. And, the third time I lost my temper talking to him. Yelling isn't dignified, but for some reason, I turn into a raving lunatic every time he calls me.

What it really boils down to is I expect him to do what he says. Which is amusing because he never does what he says. And, I know this. I am like Charlie Brown, waiting for Lucy to hold the football still.

Much to my delight, I called the lawyer and started the inevitable process. I should have done this months ago. Mr. Smith can go annoy someone else for a while.

Master of the House

So, you want someone to rent your house? Tenants pick the landlord just like they pick the house. They want a landlord who is going to provide a clean, functioning home. As a landlord, you have rights and responsibilities. I actually consider myself a foremost expert on this topic. And, heaven knows I have made my share of mistakes. Here is what I have learned the hard way.

1. You, the landlord and owner of your home, are in charge. This is the essence of being an effective landlord. They are beholden to you. Don't forget this and, more importantly, don't let them forget this. You owe them a place to stay. They aren't doing you the favor. Your tenants don't have to like you, but they have to respect your role.

2. Treat the people who rent from you with dignity. Most people don't rent for tbe best of reasons. They may have come on hard times through divorce, death, a bad hand dealt by life or their own sheer stupidity. The fact of the matter is, most renters aren't doing it by choice. They, like everyone else, are working for their betterment.

3. Pay your bills. You have a contract with the bank. It is your obligation to pay your mortgage. I have sadly talked to four different families this weekend alone who are having to move because their landlords are in foreclosure. One of these tenants told me she will expect to see evidence the landlord is paying the mortgage before she agrees to sign a lease. Don't be a deadbeat, it makes all of us look bad.

4. A rental home is a business. Keep it that way. Do not invite your tenants over. Do not visit them socially. Things down the road might get ugly. And, it is easier to sort out the ugliness when there is little emotional attachment. If things don't get ugly and they move out, you can then invite them over for the summer barbecue.

5. If you give them a break, only do it to suite your purposes. And, if you give them a break, do it only once. Giving someone a break because you feel sorry for them will shift the dynamic of your relationship. You are in charge. Always.

6. Fix what is broken. Do it immediately. And, fix it correctly.

7. It is your responsibility to your community, neighbors and property values to find quality tenants.

8. When you find good tenants keep them happy. You want them to sign another lease; they want grass in the back yard. Do you want to spend two months with a vacant house? Good tenants are worth it.

9. Not everything a tenant wants should be done. I had a tenant who asked if they could rip out the carpet and install hardwood floors. No. If the renovation didn't go right, or they started but didn't finish the job, I was responsible in the long run. And, I certainly didn't want to pay for hardwoods in a blue-collar lower end home. Conversely, if I have fabulous tenants who want to stay four more years, would I consider hardwoods in that same house? You bet.

10. Abide by the four corners rule. If it is between the four corners of a piece of paper, it is legitimate. So, get it in writing. For example, if you say you will consider a rent reduction in exchange for them handling pool maintenance, write down exactly what you want them to do.

11. Bad tenants aren't worth the trouble. If they don't have the money for rent, invite them to leave. Don't mess with this. Get rid of them immediately. And, don't take their calls once you decide to do this. This isn't like a normal headache. This is like a knitting needle poking you in the eyeball. Move on and don't look back. I have learned is I always get better tenants each time I turn over a home.

12. Keep your word. Always.

Don't Give Me a Reason To Write About You

I write a lot about the bad tenants I run into. But, the majority of the folks I rent to are actually good tenants. Or, they start out as good tenants, and then they give me minor heart failure and fodder for my blog. At any rate, good tenants don’t make for drama. They are primarily ignored except for once a month when I am holding their rent check thinking, Oh yea… that person does rent the house on Elm Street…

So, if you are looking to rent a home, here are a few pointers as to how to make your landlord happy. A happy landlord is more willing to cut you a break now and then and not raise your rent when your lease is up. A happy landlord is more willing to fix a broken widget—even if you are the one who broke it and they know it.

1. Pay on time. This will absolve a multitude of sins in the landlord’s eyes. You can keep your grass longer and maybe sneak a roommate in without the landlord paying too close attention if they are getting the rent on time. A place to live is pretty much a basic need. If for some reason you can't pay on time. Tell your landlord prior to the rent due date. Give a quick, and legitimate reason why (such as rent is due on Thursday, and you get paid on Friday) and then suck it up and pay the late fees. You caused the rent to be late, pay what you owe.

2. You cannot withhold rent because you are mad at your landlord. Whatever you are upset about probably doesn't cost a month's rent. And, in most states, judges frown on this type of thing. If you want to look legitimate go through the same process as everyone else.

3. Fix your own problems. If a towel bar falls off, put it back. There is no reason to call the landlord for the minor things. If you broke it just fix it. Leave the big-ticket items for us. You handle the loose door knob.

4. Unless the house has caught fire, call the landlord during business hours. Every potential non-landlord I have run into, talks about the same cliche'd dreaded call at 2 a.m. because the toilet overflowed. This is what stops them from investing. The middle of the night plumbing SOS has never happened to me. It has never happened to any landlord I have ever met. That said, we would appreciate if you would wait to tell us about the leaky faucet until at least 8 a.m. There really isn't much we can do before that anyway.

5. Clean up your own mess when you move out. We didn't ask you to bring all that stuff with you. Cart it out when you go. And, know if we are called for a future housing reference, we will gladly tell your potential landlords about this.

6. You are responsible for your pets and guests.

7. Get along with the neighbors. Here's a secret. I have probably met your neighbors. And, they will call.

8. Don't assume. You want a ceiling fan in your bedroom. Ask first. Most likely it won't be a problem. But, we don't take it well when we are handed a receipt for something in our home we may or may not have wanted. Or, we might have had a less expensive solution for the same outcome.

9. If your lease is for twelve months, don't decide to buy a home after six months. You have a contract. You are responsible for that contract. It isn't that expensive for a landlord to enforce it. Collections attorneys work on a contingency basis. We will get our money.

10. Stay in touch. If we have a way to contact you, we are happy. We sometimes need to pass along vital information. Give us a way to do it. So, if your e-mail stopped working, if you suddenly don't have a cell phone and your home phone doesn't have an answering machine, we won't go to a lot of effort to help you when you have a problem if we have had to jump through hoops to find you.

So, you see, quiet tenants aren’t necessarily good tenants. The key is abiding by the lease agreement and communication when something needs to be fixed. Landlords understand things happen. We are human. We are more willing to work with you if you give us a reason to do so.

Do You Have What it Takes?

It seems finding quality tenants is a universal problem. And, I do mean universal. I am sure there is a frustrated landlord somewhere on Planet Zapwax who is just groaning as they show their house to another set of deadbeats, wondering if great renters can really be found. They can. I promise.

I am currently working in my other job, helping two different families find tenants for their home. In both cases, the families are calling with tons of questions, wanting to extol on my wisdom. And, in one one of these cases, I am the one screening the calls from would-be tenants.

So, today's column is about being a good prospective tenant. Please note, being a good tenant is a whole different yet-to-be-written column. This just covers getting the lease. After all, you may not even want the house. But, I guarantee, if you follow these simple tips, the landlord might just call you back and ask you to rent their home. And, for the record, I have called potential tenants back and asked what it would take for them to rent from me. I have never regretted this.

1. When you call about my home, leave your name and phone number. This shows some basics: like you have acceptable communication skills. I never return a call where the caller doesn't leave a name. I am the landlord. I am in charge. I won't get in a power struggle now over telephone etiquette just to have it escalate if something goes wrong once you move in.

2. When you call, remember your manners. I once told a man I spoke with for 30 seconds I would not rent to him. He roared, "that's discrimination! I'll sue you." I explained, "I don't know what religion you are, where you are from, what color your skin is. I don't know if you have a disability. But, I do know you are one of the rudest people I have ever met, and I won't subject myself to this once a month when the rent is due." Life is too short.

3. When viewing the home, arrive on time. Don't waste my time. Don't make excuses for being late. Don't expect the landlord won't notice. Your ability to comprehend deadlines now says a lot when the rent comes due. If someone else is showing the home instead of the landlord, they are probably doing it as a major favor. So, assume they have something better to be doing and don't keep them waiting.

4. How you treat your kids and your car is a good indicator of how you will treat my home.

5. How your kids act in my home, will tell me how they will treat my home. As a parent, my children know they are to wipe their feet before entering, stay with me unless given permission otherwise and they better have their best manners on at all times. They can--and do--act like crazed monkeys on their own time. Do your kids know this? Do you enforce this? If not, please don't think I will rent to you.

6. Dress for success. This isn't something you necessarily need to wear a coat and tie to do. Nice jeans are absolutely acceptable. Be clean, neat, hide your piercings and keep your tattoos covered.

7. The most information I will ever get from you will be in the time you turn in your application to the time I approve you for the lease. Yes, I want to know factual and relevant data, the names and ages of your kids, what kinds of cars you drive or what type of dog fluffy happens to be (and, if you say poodle on your application and six weeks later I see a pit bull that answers to fluffy, expect all hell will break loose because my lease covers this and it is grounds for eviction). Your life story is very important to me and speaks volumes you aren't aware you are communicating. A long-drawn out saga about how you lost your job six months ago, why you and your spouse are separating or how you need an extra room because sometimes you and your boyfriend have swing parties tells me what I have already guessed about you. You aren't for me. I am pleased if you tell me this, because it makes my job easier.

8. Part 1: Financial issues for you, are financial issues for me. And, I am going to run a credit check and a background check. So, disclose. I understand things happen. There are reasons people file bankruptcy. Homes are foreclosed upon because situations happen. And, I won't necessarily hold it against you. But, if I find out from your credit report and not from you, I will wonder what else you might have neglected to mention. Keep in mind, as a landlord, I understand you still need a place to live even though the bank has taken your home. So, if you can show me probable reasons to rent to you (such as income, references and additional credit history), I might be able to overlook a foreclosure.

9. Part 2: Financial issues for you, are financial issues for me. If you are late on your car payment, credit cards and other consumer debt and you don't have a good reason (and going on vacation isn't a good reason), I won't rent to you. How you manage your monthly expenses speaks volumes to me.

10. Ever been evicted? You won't be renting from me. Period. This is different from a foreclosure--which may or may not elict sympathy from me--because with an eviction, there is a landlord somewhere you have already burned. And, if you do it once, it is easier the second time.

11. Never mention needing the deposits broken down over a month or two. What you are asking is for us to start out on unequal footing. I am looking for quality tenants the way you are looking for a quality landlord. You aren't it.

12. If I can't read the application, I am not renting to you. I have arthritis in my fingers. I know when it is flaring up I have terrible handwriting. But, it is much better than my husband's chicken scratch. So, if I want something to look neat and legible, I go slower. You too can find a solution to filling out an application so I can read it.

13. If you manage to overlook a good chunk of the application, I will assume I can expect this type of flakiness once a month. Go bug someone else. I would rather keep my home vacant a week or two more than start down this road.

14. If you are turned down for the lease, I may not tell you why. It could be as simple as I rented the house to someone else just like you and they turned their application in first. It could be because I found out you are an ax murderer. My reasons are my own.

So, if you really want my home, show me what it takes.

The Go-To Girl

In the past month the following has happened:

1. While I was in Alabama, I got a call about Trusted's house. After talking to Tiffany for a few minutes, I told her it would not be a good idea to rent it. Yes, Tiffany could afford the rent. But, Tiffany could not afford the rent, utilities and the overall upkeep costs that comes with a larger home. What Tiffany needed was a smaller, modest place until she finished college. As much as I would be happy to help her out, I wanted to see her succeed.

Twenty minutes later, Tiffany called me back to ask me for advice on money management. She lamented that she knows many women who look for the easy way, such as government hand-outs, instead of earning a living for her and her children. She was angry, because she was working and going to school and wanted to make her life better. She wanted a better neighborhood and all of the goodies that come with hard work or government handouts. As we talked she confided that what she was really looking for was someone else to resolve her situation.

In reality, her situation was fine. It would take time. She was studying to be a nurse. She had a decent paying job. She budgeted and saved. She was raising her daughters in a way she could be proud of, instead of caving and going on welfare--which was an option if she quit her job. She had choices. We all have choices. I told her this, and she agreed.

2. Jack, my agent, called me a few weeks ago looking for a good air conditioning repair service. As Jack grew up in Birmingham, has been in the real estate market for twenty years AND has a fifty year old home, I was surprised he didn't know anyone.

3. My attorney e-mailed Jack last week wondering if I had any homes for rent, as he knew a guy who knew a guy who needed a place to live. Sadly, it didn't work out. Because anyone Jon knows or knows a guy who knows a guy, is most likely quality.

4. Yesterday I got a call from Angela. Apparently, her best friend's cousin rents a home from me. Angela rents her own home from someone else. She called because she wanted advice from a landlord's perspective. And, what did I think? And, what should the landlord do in her situation?

I would like to say this is unusual, but I could fill up volumes with stories of this nature. I have been called by tenants looking for ways to clean up their credit report. I have been asked advice on everything from starting a business to domestic violence. I have even been sought about matters of the heart. And, I even got a call from one tenant who wanted to know if I knew how to get to Colombiana, AL, a small town of 1,000 thirty miles south of Birmingham. Not only did I know where it was, I knew how to get there.

All these from folks I really don't know and don't know me. I don't know why someone in Arizona is top of mind for questions of these nature. But, apparently for some, I am the go-to girl.

Mr. D is a Quick Study

During my last visit to Alabama, I met with a collections attorney. The first thing that struck me was how young he was. If I had passed him on the street, I would not have figured he had been out of law school for six years with his own practice, but instead was just getting his driving permit.

Mr. D. was very nice and he and I hit it off immediately. Of course he asked me the standard question, "why Alabama." And, I gave him the much longer version of my pat answer, "Why indeed." The longer version includes boring things like the cost of the house to rent ratio and some other inane things of that nature.

Somewhere in our chat, Mr. D. then started telling me about his 1950s home he is remodeling. He is quite proud of his house. He bought low, in a great area. He has upgraded and remodeled. And, he naively declares, he will live there until the day he dies.

I didn't politely hold my tongue. I didn't even titter. No, I belted out laughter like I was in the audience of a Bill Engvall show (and in my defense, this was the day after I had run into Teresa and my tact hadn't returned).

"You aren't married are you?" I asked his puzzled face.

"No, why?"

I just smiled knowingly. "You won't be living there until the day you die." I then went on to explain how this will not be the case, unless he manages to hit the jackpot and his adoring future wife really doesn't mind the home he picked--without her--he can pretty much expect to be changing residences sometime in the first few years after he gets married. And, he will never hear the end of it until he does.

He considers this for a moment. "Well, I will make sure to let her decorate it any way she wants, that should make up for it." I just smiled, watching his expression change as he finally realized what he had just said. No, this would not be the only home he ever owns.

"Well," he finally said, "I am paying my house off early, so I will have a large down payment for the place she picks."

Their Lucky Day

I caved. Actually, it was a "sound business decision" according to my dear husband. But, it really boiled down to this: half a loaf of bread is better than nothing. And, as far as I was concerned, I already have enough major priorities this month. They can wait until August.

So, I made a deal with the Smiths. It required me to waste a good portion of my monthly allocation of cell minutes and two hours of my life I will never get back hearing the long drawn out saga. That boiled down to: come Tuesday, there will be a check for half of what they owe me on my doorstep. If not, I will just kick them out anyway.

But, here's the secret: I wouldn't have moved forward with foreclosing any sooner than Tuesday anyway.

Living in a Tent with a 60" High-Def TV Seems Pointless

I find tenants who become friendly with me might as well put up a billboard telling me they will eventually fail. They want me to get to know them, like them and be willing to overlook minor transgressions. Early on, I did.

And, I would say 99 percent of the time getting to know a tenant ends ugly. Even ones where they have the best of intentions, ultimately, playing the friendly card ends in me asking them to leave. There are exceptions to this. In fact, right now I am working with a woman who I would like to see break this pattern. But, I know better and I am prepared for the worst.

A couple of years ago I met the Smiths. Mr. Smith chatted away about how great they were, how he could sing and how they so wanted a chance to be in my program. He barraged me with extraneous information about his family, sent me pictures of his kids and talked me up every chance he got.

Though this kind of attention was sweet, I have to admit, I have always kind of regarded him as a pesky little brother who I wish wouldn't call me. I dreaded hearing from him because I knew it was for some sort of bad news wound around a long-running saga. In fact, I would have traded all the photos of his family for one check arriving without drama. I am sure he has the best of intentions. I am equally sure he has a short term memory deficit when it comes to executing those intentions. He was my handyman for a short time--which if you keep up with this, know how that ended.

I knew I would be going down the foreclosure road with them several months ago. Miraculously they pulled it out. But before pulling it out I got long drawn-out stories that really break down to this: circumstances in his life changed. Yada yada.

Yawn. Everyone's circumstances change.

He paid his mortgage for a reasonably longer period of time too but then fell behind. Finally, after working to get caught up they just stopped. I would feel worse for them if they didn't have a Neptune washer and dryer, a nicer electronic equipment than my husband's and their furniture wasn't top of the line. I am not ridiculing them for their possessions, but I don't see how stuff can be more important than a place to live.

Personally, I would rather hang my wet clothes up outside (and recently did for several weeks) than miss a mortgage payment. I would rather sit on the floor instead of a couch than give my children memories of loosing a home. Who knows, maybe they bought that stuff in a happier time. Maybe their things were gifts. Who am I to judge?

I knew the end was near when they started telling me they sent their payment in, but I never received it. When I would mention I didn't get it, they wouldn't seem the least bit phased. "Oh... my payment didn't make it and the money is in limbo? That's so sad..."

When I think of the sane people in my life, NOBODY I know would sit back and not wonder what happened to a large chunk of cash. They would be stopping payment and raising hell to find out where their money went. When it gets to this point, I know I can foreclose.

The foreclosure process is different than the rental eviction and takes longer. I have to wait longer to serve the deadbeats and there are other legal factors. But, it happens.

Tomorrow, thankfully, the Smiths will answer their door to my process server who will hand them their walking papers. This will start the legalities and I will probably have to wait several more weeks to get everything accomplished. But at least I won't have to hear any more yada yadas.

The Unshowable Home

It has always been somewhat of a challenge to get my homes showed. It has something to do with the fact I am 1700 miles from them.

Because this home is at the far end of the metro Birmingham area, I had been reluctant to ask one of the two former tenants to show this place. Trusted threw out an idea for me recently, why not just have one of his fabulous former neighbors show it? After all, they told me when I was there, if I needed anything to please just let them know. So, Trusted enlisted their help and the rest should have been a cake walk.

If it only could have been so simple! Neighbor 116 was supposed to show it on Saturday, but got into a bit of a row with a prospective tenant. He told me all the details and I really couldn't do much other than let it go and make a mental note that he would not be showing the home for me again. In all fairness, he probably saved me grief down the road--whether from a feud breaking out between the 116's and the McCoy's or from just trying to hunt down these folks when the rent was due.

At any rate, I won't be asking 116 to show it again. But, then again, he is on vacation starting today. He sweetly passed the keys over to neighbor 114. I haven't spoken to 114 about showing the place, however, apparently 116 did.

I met 114 while I was there earlier this month. 114 is a nice family man with one of those perfectly manicured yards. The inside of his home is also perfect--which blows me away because he has two toddlers. Anyway 114 told me (and also independently told 116 and Trusted) he is very concerned about who moves in next to him. I gather this means someone who doesn't own a lawn mower will be trouble.

Do I want 114 to show it? Probably not. I am envisioning 114 introducing himself to a prospective tenant, explaining about how everyone takes care of the yard and homes. Then goes and sizes up these folks on his behalf and tells them no the landlord will not rent to them because they had scuffed shoes.

Me: "114 why did you tell them they couldn't rent the house?"
114: "The husband had dirty fingernails."
Me: "He is a mechanic and just came from work!"

I bit the bullet yesterday and called Former Tenant #2. A delightful person, she and her family came over from South Africa a few years ago. I got involved with her because they could not get a loan for a home until her husband had been at his job for 12 months. He was on month 10, but they had found a home. They were fabulous renters, terrific mortgagees and have now refinanced. They don't owe me money. They never defaulted and I have a great amount of trust in her.

I sent her keys this morning along with a detailed note about how to show this home. In my instructions I wrote:

"Neighbors 116 and 114 may pop their heads over and say hello. It would be ideal if they did not do this when someone is looking at the home, but I understand you cannot control this. If this happens, please just be gracious and we will all hope for the best."

Coated in Confidence

"Surround yourself with people you wish to become." This advice came to me from Dan, 20 years ago, during a deeply-rooted philosophical conversation over a college drinking game of quarters.

Looking back 20 years later, I think I am starting to master this. In some ways, this has been the most challenging aspect of what I do. I have known for a long time, I cannot work with people who aren't assertive. If I do, I run over them. I need those who can not only give me useful guidance, but tell me when I am dead wrong. I have a strong personality, and I tend to scare those who confuse my opinions as correct instead of as just my opinions.

I don't want yes-men. I want reality-check men.

For example, my agent is selling one of our homes. I had my optimistic seller hat on. The hat controlled my vocal chords, saying things like, "it is a great house. Let's go ahead and raise the price $10,000 more." My agent ripped off my optimistic seller hat and pointed out the obvious. "It isn't worth $10,000 more." He knows what he is talking about. He knows how to bring me back to Earth--even if it is to fine-tune my line of thinking.

On a more menial level (but just as valuable), I have someone over in Birmingham now handling some of what Trusted did. And, she doesn't need to be empowered. She is already driving around, checking into my two deadbeats. She is taking down license plate numbers of cars parked in the parking lot, taking pictures of how the homes look today and reporting back. She even cleaned up the house in Leeds, and staged with a bit of wall decorations and furniture. She is the first to tell me she is loving this. Handling the general clean-up and some landlord duties I am not there to do is really is up her alley. She told me the other day she is now trying to figure out ways to take what I have hired her to do and make it a full-time business. How's that for empowering?

I am surrounding myself with people who aren't afraid of what they are doing. They are confident. That is what I want to achieve.

The Non-Tenant

I had Trusted Tenant. Trusted was my eyes, ears and delivery service in Birmingham. The everyday tasks of my business ran much smoother to some degree because of Trusted. For that, I am truly grateful.

Trusted picked the house we bought for him to rent. He liked it and the place suited his personality. He liked the location, the high walls, to proudly display his stuffed deer heads, the layout of the home, which gave him a sitting room and a studio. His achievements were proudly hung on walls. He loved the jet tub, and he was nuts about fireplace, where I watched him a time or two sitting in front of, reading his Bible. As far as he--and we--were concerned, the house belonged to him.

Several months ago, Trusted's life got way too complicated. And, he finally needed to move out. I predicted this in April. I even told Trusted he probably needed to think about moving. Not because I was forcing him out, but because it would be in his best interest. Trusted disagreed, held on and finally came to the same conclusion.

One of the really nice things about Trusted is his sense of honor and loyalty. He left before I had to ask. And, before the courts insisted. He also left the place clean--including cleaning the carpets. He even continued showing the house until today. Showing the house became too much, as he moved 90 miles north of where he was. He called me today apologizing that he just wasn't in a place where he could do that any more. The fact he lasted as long as he did was a minor miracle in itself. I am grateful he was able to do it at all.

So, now I have an unrented house. Fortunately, it is in a nice neighborhood. But the rent is higher than most of my properties. Which helps keep out the undesirables. I hope.

While I was in Alabama two weeks ago, I met some of the neighbors. Today, I spoke with one who offered to show the house for me. Another is willing to take care of the lawn. So, there are options to getting this place rented. Hopefully rented soon. And, more importantly, rented to someone of Trusted's caliber.

As far as Trusted goes, he is currently hiding in his man-cave and has come up for air on two occasions to talk to me. Both times were about the house. I suspect I won't be hearing from Trusted about life in general for a while. He needs time to get his life back in order. I told him to call or write when he can.

In one of my brief conversations, with my husband's blessing, I told Trusted I wouldn't sell the house. Instead I would rent it out for a year and see where his life was at that time. Maybe he will be in a place to take his house back.

Trusted's home.

Ernie and Julie

So, I have this tenant who is waaaay too comfortable in MY home. She doesn't seem to think paying rent or leaving are options for her. So, for now, she is hanging loose and guarding my copper piping and air conditioner.

And, because of some sort of mishap from the Honorable Judge Somebodyorother, she doesn't have to leave for another few weeks. But, she WILL go. Last week, the news came from my eviction attorney who told me--for $200 an hour-- to "sit tight." And--I swear I am not making this up--"it will happen in due time."

As if I can do much else at this point! But, I can sit tight with my two friends who keep me company in times like this: Earnest and Julio, the makers of some fabulous adult refreshments.

The latest e-mail exchange with my attorney went something like this:

Me: I am afraid to go on e-bay and see my hot water heater and kitchen cabinets being auctioned off.
Her: That would be theft--criminal charges would apply (and then she added the smiley face icon).

I know she means well, but a smiley face icon and the lure of hiring another lawyer to handle a criminal case to go after Wayward isn't really working. After all, Wayward hasn't really cared up until now, has she? At this point, maybe Earnie and Julie can give me some better insight.

The Drunk Monkey

"Your mind is not a tool for success," was the the best nugget of wisdom I have received in ages.

This gem came from Matthew Ferry, success coach at the local real estate rah-rah session my broker forced me to attend this past week. As selling real estate is my other vocation when I am not wrapped up in the drama of the Alabama business, it is sometimes prudent to indulge my broker. And, as it is necessary to keep my current vocation for now, indulging my broker is infinitely easier than pounding the pavement looking for some job requiring me to wear panty hose every day.

With all the "if you see it, you can be it," motivation given by other guest speakers at other rah-rah rallies, Ferry's comment came as a major shock. What's more, I completely get it. Think about what your brain really tells you. You are fat, lazy or incompetent (surly my brain isn't the only one giving me this type of feedback??). And, think of some of the ideas you have considered. Ever have your brain say, "that will never work."?

Ferry called this kind of talk, the "drunk monkey." Meaning, that the drunk monkey will give you all sorts of feedback that makes no sense to the average thinking person--but you can relate to--and do. Illogical advice you wouldn't give or take from a friend, you would take from the all-knowing drunk monkey ("What do you think you are doing?"). Your drunk monkey has been acting as more of an ally than you might realize. It is easier to listen to the drunk monkey, because the drunk monkey doesn't want you to try anything new.

The drunk monkey's--your brain--main function is survival. New concepts, challenges and ideas challenge that survival. So, where something new or different comes along, your brain is busy telling you all the bad stuff related to that new or different concept. Your brain acts like every other organ in your body. It does what it wants, when it wants. Do you plan when you want to use the restroom or does it just happen? Do you plan when you are going to vomit? Every organ and biological function does what it is supposed to do on it's own schedule. Your brain is supposed to keep you safe. And, it does that by reminding you why risk is bad.

I started paying attention to how often my drunk monkey reminds me how difficult what I am do is. It constantly tells me that if I don't have tenant du jur pay me on the prescribed day, we can be in serious trouble. It reminds me of all the bad stuff going on in Alabama. And, it reminds me of this often.

Then I started ignoring my drunk monkey and paying attention to the facts. I started looking at things like I would present to my partner. We have money in the bank. A good portion of our tenants DO pay. We aren't teetering on the verge of failure this week if someone pays late. All of those logical, factual things the drunk monkey often neglects.

This week, I started a mental exercise: stop acknowledging the drunk monkey. It has been liberating. And, even though things aren't perfect. We aren't on the brink of disaster. More importantly, I am finding peace.

Due Dates

Somewhere East of the Mississippi River and South of the Mason-Dixon line the Roman calendar is something of an unknown. The locals whisper among themselves at night while sitting on their front porch rockers about those of us in the City who know about such things, like calendars, clocks, deadlines and due dates. They have heard stories, passed down from generation to generation, like scary campfire tales, meant to make your skin crawl. But, deep down, they know in their hearts, it is only a legend. Surly the world cannot possibly be that rigid.

For Christmas one year, I got every one of my tenants an Arizona Highways wall calendar (I didn't have as many tenants at the time). Keeping in true Southern form, they all thanked me profusely, admired the fabulous pictures and made some idle comment about how facinating Arizona must be. It never occurred to me at the time, that none of these people had probably ever seen a calendar before, let alone know how to use one. There is only one time in the South: Due Time.

"Due time" is the Southern phrase for someday-I-give-you-my-word-as-a-Southerner-that-I-will-take-care-of-this-now-just-sit-tight-and-I-will-call-you-when-I-am-ready. This used to drive me batty. Now I just find it mildly annoying that due time exists at all. Tenants live on due time when the rent is due. Process servers only exist on due time. Attornies bill thier hours by due time. Resturants serve in due time. Traffic flows in due time. Everything in the South is on due time.

For example: On April 30, I sent my file for my wayward tenant to my attorney so she could serve Wayward on May 2. Wayward got served on May 17. The process server got to it. Eventually. Wayward is still living there as I write this. I figured the sheriff would be escorting her out by now. But no, because of a grand FUBAR with the courts she is living comfortably as a deadbeat in my home.

I know she is still there, because on Monday I called one of the two process servers I use and asked him to check on Wayward. He got to it on Wednesday. It doesn't work well for a city girl who abides by the Roman calendar. But, it IS how things are done. In due time.

Getting Over Myself

Nothing helps me recover from Self Pity Fest 2008 more than action. I suspect this is why my husband lets me have my crazy way more often than he should. Why deal with me and my angst when he can schlep me to the airport, shove me on a plane and tell me to go spend the next five days doing whatever it is will make me feel better (preferably as long as it isn't underfoot making the rest of the family crazy dealing with me).

I am the first to admit I am difficult. And, as I get older, my control issues have become an inch shy of OCD. Ok, maybe not that bad. Maybe.

So, I went to Bama to get an idea of what I was imagining from 1,700 miles away. What I found wasn't terrible. Wasn't great either. It was a mixture of drama coupled with a dose of reality. Because I was pretty dead-on in a lot of my assessments, and I only had a limited Alabama window to handle this in, I was in action.

First there was the house in Leeds that recently became vacant. Bobby the locksmith took two hours to change TWO locks. He knew everything, his opinion was right and he was cheap. But, not two hours cheap. The house was not in great condition, but I have experienced worse. My biggest challenge is--and I mean this in the nicest way--redneck neighbors who are giving my hired help a hard time. And, these same neighbors stole the refrigerator from the back patio one afternoon.

I met with a second locksmith who did not take two hours to change five locks. He did it in record time: 20 minutes. He did spend another 20 giving me his opinion of the current presidential race.

There are also a couple of problem tenants who will soon be someone else's concern. But, I am sure they will come up in a later post.

There were my meetings with two property managers, where I summarily decided I have too many control issues and am too cheap to pay for a property manager. I still might need one. My partner isn't crazy about that solution either. It still may be something to explore.

I did hire former Tenant #2 to handle the clean-up. She has a great decorative eye for things and is already taking charge, Fen Shui-ing the home (Oh the pink wall is bringing in bad energy and have you thought about adding some window boxes with red flowers to the front of the house to make the energy flow better?).

I also hired #1 for several other odd jobs that suit her talents. ("Thanks a stack!" she sweetly said.)

I had lunch with one attorney and her para-legal. I don't think we talked business over our California Pizza Kitchen salads. It was a total girl-friend lunch, and I loved it. It was a perfect stress releiver. I also had a meeting where I ended up giving unsolicited love-life advice to another attorney. Young guy--who I swear wasn't old enough to shave yet. But, he is interested in handling collections. And, I am interested in letting him.

And, I had my dinner date--my only other half-way social event. A great dinner of cheese quesidilla at a little Birmingham pub. This was about 10 minutes after I met with Teresa and I was ready for a wine IV drip. This was with my agent, who has led a facinating life and is just fun to talk to.

The last major item was Operation Mrs. Kravitz--aptly named after the nosey neighbor on the 1970s Bewitched. Mrs. Kravitz always knew what was going on with all the neighbors and that is what I want for a neighbor for any rental. So, like I usually do, I walked around the neighborhood of my latest soon-to-be vacant home, introducing myself, gathering names and numbers of caring neighbors who don't want anyone from Leeds moving in. (For my own safety, I did not do this in the Leeds neighborhood. They weren't terribly friendly there.)

When I got back, I sent a five-page review to my partner, giving him the state of the company. I included all the trivia I gained while on my trip (but I did neglect to mention Teresa the somewhat unusal non-tenant). Let his brain have a bit of information overload for awhile.

I am feeling better.

Lunatic Fringe

This particular trip came with a variety of twists. One of which was Wednesday night. I had planned to meet Teresa at her place of employment to go over her new lease. Originally, she was planning on moving in this weekend, but because of money reasons we settled for next weekend. She had already given me a non-refundable money-order deposit to hold the place. And, I happen to know, that at least as of Monday, we were clear on the amount of money she needed to rent out the house.

So, I go to meet her. She pops in my car, and we park in the rain. Niceties follow, with her telling me how much she loves the house. She drives by at least twice a day. She has already picked out the flowers for the front yard. And the raving goes on.

We go over the lease. A relatively standard lease with standard clauses, such as the number of people located in the house. What she would be responsible for. What I, as the landlord, am responsible for. You get the idea. But, Teresa is having trouble focusing from page one. I ask her to initial the number of residents. She blanks. I ask her again she complies. We get to the part where she has to pay to have a roof over her head and she hesitates, but eventually moves through it with gusto. Then, we get to the part where she is to actually sign the lease. She pauses for a moment or two, then signs.

Then she gets weird. It turns out she doesn't have the move-in money. You see, because she was so excited to actually have a place to live (she is living with her brother and he is getting married in a week and she needs to be gone by then), she bought a brand-new super-cool washer and dryer. So, she is a bit short.

She tells me this in a rush. Then she then starts humming to herself and rocking back and forth in the passenger seat. (and to think I had suggested we do this in the lobby of her place of employment. Perhaps it really was better this route). But, she really loves the house and can't wait to move in.

All tact and decorum leave me and I say in the stupidest voice possible, "so, are you going to take the house or what?" In my defense, I wasn't exactly sure what was going on. She could have been having an seizure for all I knew. But, she then scratches out her signature and tells me she will take the place in two weeks, not one.

News flash: I am not going to be back in two weeks for her to sign a lease. It isn't that we couldn't change this lease to say June 28. But, why cross out the signature when we could very well cross out the date.

We end this encounter with her telling me she will get back to me by Friday with a decision and for me not to rent out the house to anyone else. Next news flash: I am not waiting for her.

Yesterday Teresa calls me and tells me her brother is very motivated for her to leave, so he gave her the funds she was short. And, when could we sign the lease? Apparently, she wasn't cognizant of the fact she wigged out on me and I was unimpressed.

Here's how I look at it, if you want something from someone--such as a house or a job--you put your best foot forward. You act like you have it together. You don't mention you bought a new-fangled washing machine instead of a craig's list used one.

So, still annoyed about the whole car episode, I say to her something along the lines of I don't want trouble. I don't want to find out she hasn't managed her money accordingly on the date rent is due. Because the one thing that makes me angry is when tenants decide new-fangled appliances are more important than keeping a roof over their head. Ok, I didn't add the new-fangled appliances. But, it was along those lines.

She then tells me it won't be an issue and she will always have the rent money. Then, in the same sentence maybe her brother didn't give her the money after all and could she wait two weeks to move in. She wants the house but thinks she should get an apartment. And, would I hold the place for her until the 28th and when can she get her deposit back? I couldn't follow her. I would have preferred the humming. But, I latched on to the deposit being returned and told her I would get it back (Even though it was non-refundable. She didn't strike me as completely grasping this and I felt it was best to let go). I thought we were finally on the same page when she parted with, "I will talk to you in two weeks. Don't rent out my house." Um, nope, not even the same library.

Fast forward to today. I had had enough of Teresa yesterday. I am usually very patient, even with those who have bizarre personalities. But, this was a bit much. This morning, thrilled she was out of my life, I popped the money orders into the mail with a note wishing her luck (my public relations gene had gotten back from a two-day sabbatical). That means she and I are done right?

Teresa has called no less than 12 times. TWELVE TIMES. In all fairness, I didn't return her call right away, but you think she would at least let me get a chance to get back to her. Also, because I had already taken care of this, I stupidly figured it was done and there really was no reason to talk to her. And, because I stupidly figured this, I got a doozy of a call. I am still laughing about it.

Somewhere around two p.m., I got a call from a blocked number. This woman left a message, telling me she was an attorney and if I did not give the (non-refundable) deposit back she would seek legal action. And, I was to call this person immediately. This brings me to several points:

1. If you really are a lawyer, it is best to leave a name and contact number. It makes you sound more legitimate and not like a friend maquarading as an attorney.
2. Would a lawyer really go after an out-of-state landlord (who only has a published PO Box) for $500?
3. If Teresa really was this worried, why not just cancel the money orders? Geeze.
4. Does anyone out there know what non-refundable means?

I finally did call Teresa back and leave a quick voice mail. Feigning ignorant to the zillions of calls, I said something about having popped the deposits it in the mail that morning. I even said I had been busy and "I haven't checked my voice mail yet, but undoubtedly you have called." I actually feel pretty bad for making her worry about her deposit. Even if she is a bit odd.

Incidentally, I think I rented out the house again today. I told them there would be a non-refundable deposit to hold the place. She replied, "I expected that. No problem."

Dante had it Right

I am firmly convinced one of Dante's Seven Rings of Hell has just got to be airline travel.

Why else would anyone purposely subject themselves to this type of torture. After crawling out of bed at 3 a.m., I caught my unholy hour flight to Houston. The airline cleverly booked my flight thusly, I arrive in Houston at 10:45, I leave Houston for Birmingham at 11 a.m. Isn't that sweet!

It didn't matter really, because I did make the connection. I then sat on the tarmac for six weeks waiting for the arriving planes to stop using the departing runway so we could take off. But, unbenownst to me, my plane wasn't going to Birmingham. Well, it was... it was taking a side detour to New Orleans. NOWHERE IN MY ITINERARY DID IT SAY WE WERE TAKING THE SCENIC ROUTE TO BIRMINGHAM! I am the first to admit I have control issues. But, that is beside the point.

Finally, after admiring Lake Pontchartrain from the runway, we headed North to Birmingham. We arrived six weeks late. And then, it was time to wait two hours (no exaggeration) for my %%$%#%^ luggage which Southwest would not take off the plane. Something about lightening and not letting the crew on the runway to unload the planes. Wimps.

I am here. I am yearning for Zaxby's--which always sounds much better than it tastes. One slight glitch. Um... the lightening storm has moved its way south and is now overhead. So, I am waiting until it passes before I head out.

A little later...

Zaxby's was good, but not that good. Gotta remember that for next time.

Lacing up My Boots

I have been up since some unholy hour this morning getting ready to kick some serious Alabama ass tomorrow. Thus far today, I have appointments set up with:

2 attornies
3 property managers
1 new tenant for move-in
1 agent
2 prospective tenants (for two different houses)
1 cleaning lady
1 locksmith
2 former tenants who were aforementioned in another posting.
1 tentative dinner date

I also have a surprise visit set up for a soon to be former tenant who doesn't know they are soon-to-be. And, there are a few other items on the agenda as well.

On top of that, one of my two process servers called today to offer to go with me--free of charge--to a supposedly vacant home where there is some question now of whether or not the people are living there or if they are just using the house as an over-grown closet. As I explained to my process server, I know I have the law on my side, I just don't want to find out the (former?) tenant has the trigger side of a shotgun on his side.

Being in action burns a lot more calories than wallowing in chocolate flavored self-pity.

It Could Be Worse

In the past three days, I have spoken to several people who are willing to take on my property management issues. Now it is a matter of figuring out what I want. As part of my exploring, I have two former tenants who have come forward.

Former Tenant #1: Never owed me money. Always was responsible. Showed a strong fiduciary responsibility to me when she was my tenant. She doesn't work and has lots of free time. But, doesn't understand real estate investing. Good worker bee. Needs lots of guidance.

Former Tenant #2: Doesn't owe me money. Tells it like it is. Beyond smart. Knows about real estate investing. Knows everyone under the sun and has contacts like nobody I have ever met--with the exception of my attorney. She shows initiative can handle handymen and can pour out the Southern Hospitality better than any contestant in a Little Miss Rice Patch pageant. But, she works a full time job. So, things would not happen as fast as I would like. Probably won't need any guidance.

I like them both for different reasons. #2 will never be able to get along with #1. So, putting them together will probably result in a stupid cat-fight. But, this is a better problem to have than the ones of last week. And, there are other property management companies I haven't explored just yet.

There is hope.

Hitting the Fan

It is official a good portion of my life has gone to Yuma in a handbasket. It isn't one specific thing or another. It just so happens, that the past two weeks has created new level of challenges.

It was only that my internet went down and I could not sufficiently get it repaired by the date promised by the new company (rendering several aspects of my professional life useless), nor the treadmill blowing up and leaving a stench of electrical smoke and my laptop coming down with a horrible virus. No, those events just mirrored the disasters going on with the business.

The business stuff consists of a sheriff-led eviction, someone who left in the middle of the night, another tenant leaving, a late paying tenant who keeps promising to pay (and in all fairness, did pay today), a lack of adequate property mangement, additional costs and a few other suprises I am just not ready to deal with.

My emotional state got so bad the other day, I just broke down and bawled. Two days later, my dear and usually very supportive husband suggested I get it together and get over myself. I am not there yet, but I will be. Eventually.

I am heading to Alabama on Tuesday to take care of a bunch of stuff. Or, at the least get over myself.

A Week in Review

I just spent a week in Birmingham, putting out fires, looking at homes and talking to lawyers. A typical visit. However, I thought this visit I would have plenty of down-time, a luxury I have yet to experience in Birmingham. This trip, like all the others was one big treadmill run.

I did have some free time Friday night around 8 p.m. to find Zaxby's Chicken--the South's answer to Kentucky Fried Chicken. Except better. Actually, I have an infinity for their wings and mushrooms.

My time was taken up by two main activities: looking for a home to buy and fixing up my vacant home.

Shopping for homes with my agent is always an interesting experience. Jack is also a business partner. He likes to look at everything. Even those I have dismissed from the get-go. And, he (and I) feel that anything is worth buying at the right price. That is kind of a dangerous, as there isn't always a voice of reason between the two of us. Once there was one house that really piqued our interest. It was missing just about everything, had serious termite damage and a dangerous mold issue worse than I had ever seen. But, they only wanted $40,000. How bad could it be? Eventually sanity won out, or there was an offer from someone stupider than us. I forget which. This time we found two that met our basic criteria. Nothing has been done with either property just yet.

My other big activity was taking care of the house I kicked the woman out of last month. Sometimes there is money to handle these things. Sometimes there is time. This time money lost. The house was in reasonable condition considering the woman who lived there was adverse to cleaning. There was junk left behind, and we (my trusted tenant/property manager and I) brought over a rake one day to gather up the bits of Battleship pieces, trash and a variety of miscellaneous odds and ends that people probably don't really need but can be found in every home. Then there was the five dozen eggs left in the refrigerator...

Sadly, there was also magic marker on the walls and with the 15 foot walls, it was a bit of maneuvering to get this done. We left the nautical blue bathroom. And we left the lemon yellow hallway. But the laundry room had to be painted. We had more lemon yellow paint than anything else, so the laundry room is a lovely lemony color now. The master bedroom, which had the brunt of the magic marker, is now the color of chocolate milk. Only because after the laundry room, we didn't have any more yellow. We had Ovaltine brown.

We finished the house in what I calculate to be 30 man-hours. Which is amazing because we did it in 2 and a half days. There were other appointments scattered in there. I met with two attorneys. Took care of an insanely stupid issue at the Alabaster Alabama post office, met with an agent who might be willing to help me out with renting the vacant house with the yellow laundry room, went house hunting with Jack and, and, and....


As an interesting cultural notation, being from Arizona I noticed a few things. I heard "Sweet Home Alabama" EVERY day I was there. And, it wasn't on the same radio station. I heard a tornado warning for the first time in my life. Missed the tornado though. Also, I drove in rain so dense I couldn't see past the hood of my car. And, I got to see a beautiful green spring time--something I don't see living in the desert.



The latest rental house, now picked up and ready for a tidy tenant who is willing to pay rent on time.



The sitting room of the Ovaltine bedroom.

It's Not What You Know

It is no secret that those who have my back are some of the best and brightest. I am blessed to have them on my side. My company is small--but they treat what I do as something valuable. And, for that, I am grateful. Those I work with have become friends. They mostly came through networking, until I found the right ones. I am grateful I can call on them. I am even more grateful they answer when I call.

My primary attorney came from a former loan officer, who told me he was the best in the business. He is. He also knows just about everyone in Birmingham. Or, if he doesn't know them, they know him. Everything he touches makes my company a little bit better.

My secondary attorney was a referral from the primary attorney. She and I have developed a nice rapport. She understands landlord-tenant law. Her advice isn't cheap. But, I have looked around Birmingham, and I cannot find anyone better versed in what she does.

My current loan officer came from my primary attorney. He is a straight-shooter. He works well with my agent and more than once he has found better deals for me, without letting me know he was shopping.

My agent came from... you guess it! I couldn't ask for a more savvy person to work with. He understands business growth. He understands the big picture of what I am looking to accomplish. And, he has told me wants to help me grow it.

I have a trusted tenant who runs errands, gets my rent and takes care of miscellaneous tasks I would do I if I lived there. But, he is also a friend who will--and has--gone to bat for me.

My CPA came from my former bookkeeper (the former bookkeeper had a few moral issues, like she didn't have any morals). This man is one of the most genuinely wonderful people I have had the pleasure of knowing. He has become a great ally when things are tough.

But, holding me together, helping with my sanity and acting as my sounding block--all while reading my mind, deciphering my circular zen e-mails with the patience of a patron saint and balancing my books--is my bookkeeper. She and I have been friends 20 years and she still tolerates me. She is great at keeping me in reality--especially when I would rather cave. I can leave her to her own devices and she will have it all done. I can throw extra projects on her and she never complains. I have the utmost respect for how she handles her company and especially how she lives her life. I could replace the rest of the people above--after all, there are always other attorneys out there... But, I cannot replace her.

Behind the Scenes

When people pay late, I often wonder about the conversations that happen around paying their bills. And, I wonder how they come to the decisions the come to when it comes to paying their bills. Do they sit around counting their dollars, and just figure they have enough for the water, electric, food, etc. and figure they should pay those instead? Do they save their pennies or cross their fingers until the next paycheck comes in and then send their payment in, hoping I won't notice? Or, do they not care?

I am no stranger to financial strain. My financial strain is different now. But, I have had in my life occasions where we were barley making it. There were times we were at the end of our rope. We traded some of our nice wedding gifts, for child care, so I could work. I remember balancing our need for groceries versus our need for diapers. And, I remember being relieved that I did, indeed, have enough to cover the diapers (and that was after scraping the bottom of the purse, looking inbetween the couch cushions and under the seats in our 13 year old Subaru)--barring no minor emergencies. My husband and I have had our share. But, we have always managed to keep the roof over our head a priority.

I don't feel a judgement about the people in my program. Whatever reason they got into the situation they are in, they are there. Money troubles doesn't make someone bad. They are by no means their credit score. Just like someone with a 790 FICO can still be obnoxious.

What I often think about is the stress in the families where there is money troubles. I think about the frightening prospect of having to loose thier home. A home is a security blanket. One tenant told me, "a man isn't a man, unless he is providing for his family." To loose that stability has to be emotionally debilitating. And, even if I don't particularly like the tenant, I still want them to succeed. It looks to me as a vicious cycle. "If cannot pay for a home for my family, I fail." That can't be good for the family dynamic.

It's Business

The person I kicked out, left. More or less. She and her kids vacated the property two days after she received notice. However, she left a portion of her belongings in the house. She also e-mailed me saying she wanted to get them two weeks ago. Her things are still there.

I don't regret my decision to kick her out. Only that I had to make it. Truthfully, I should have done it months earlier. But, I kept waiting with stale optimism for her to want to fix the problem.

It is sad, but I can now recognize the "you are going to be kicked out of your home" pattern. The calm before the storm starts with calls/e-mails being returned to me, with promises from the tenant to get caught up by a certain date. Then, the dates pass with a simple, yet feasible sounding excuse. An excuse that makes a tremendous amount of sense or plays on my parental nature--like a child being sick. Then there is the second promise, followed by another due-date. If that due date passes, the payment is usually late by a week or so, or it is completely ignored. Then the phone calls and e-mails stop completely.

There are three families who have broken this pattern. One is still teetering. Another is scraping by--but pays and stays in touch. She always comes through and does what she says she will do. And for that alone, I give her more chances. The last one calls before I find out from the bank there is a problem. The jury is still out on these folks, though I think they have the right intentions.

My new formula is gone in 60 days. A harsh change from my former bleeding heart. But, it is business. These people have to pay for water, electric, food, etc. It is time they took it seriously about paying for the roof over their head.