Kerry On

In my humble opinion, it is in bad form to cry at one's future landlord before you have turned in the lease.

I'm just saying...

Kerry is no exception. I approved her for the home in Pinson on Monday. I gave her explicit directions, take the lease and the security deposit to Legal Eagle. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. Do it by Wednesday.

Kerry said the obligatory "yes ma'am" and I got a queasy sense of foreboding.

Tuesday, in order to quell my stomach pains, I called Kerry just to check in. She didn't have the deposit. In fairness to Kerry, she found out two weeks ago her landlord of five years was going into foreclosure and the trustee sale was June 1.

She was being forced to move because her landlord didn't pay the bills. Kerry paid the rent on time. But the landlord didn't see fit to take the rent money and apply it towards the mortgage. Just to add insult to injury, the landlord didn't have Kerry's security deposit either. So, I don't necessarily blame Kerry for this debacle.

I do blame Kerry for sticking this all on me with a sobbing, "what am I to do?" I could think of several answers off the top of my head: Take out a 401k loan. Find a loved one who can loan you the security deposit. Take out a credit card loan. Bring me a reasonable suggestion as to what will work for you--I am not that hard to work with.

I didn't share my solutions with her. All that was running through my head was, "What about next time she has a crisis?" Yes. This is a test. I don't want her thinking I was the one who would be manipulated.

What I told her was I wasn't going to solve this for her. I did suggest sometimes sleeping on a nagging problem will bring new light in the morning. And, while we were at it, let me know what she was planning on doing in the morning. Yes, I think what has happened to her is terrible. I think her landlord is scum. I think Kerry should be angry. But don't ask me to solve her "I don't have the security deposit" dilemma.

I am willing to take less of a security deposit. I would be willing to put the house back on the market. I would be willing to pass this along to the next person waiting in line.

But I didn't tell her any of that. I want her to be creative. I don't want to be the fixer of everything. It isn't healthy. And, I think Kerry, at age 40-something, has enough life experience to find a way not to be homeless.

Wow. Gosh. Thank You For Letting Me Know...

So Monday, I get to the office, wearing my Real Estate Ninja suit and packing a burrito which is supposed to be my lunch, when I get a call from Brandie.

Brandie's timing was pretty amazing. I understand she didn't realize I had a house closing in an hour and I was representing the seller. My dilemma was that the seller's adult children had decided they weren't moving out--even though the house would not belong to dad in a few hours. So, I was a bit busy threatening all sorts of legalities to the seller and cajoling the buyer in hopes of getting this resolved without significant bloodshed.

Brandie called to ask if I own a home in Calera and promptly rattled off the address. Yes, I do happen to be part-owner of that home. But the home isn't in my name. So, anyone who knows I own this home must have inside information. Well, it turned out she did.

Brandie had spent the better part of the day playing junior sleuth, hunting me down. She had called around to the Calera Water Board, who had my name and state. She also apparently knew I was a real estate agent and then spent the better part figuring out how to find me. She was pleased as punch that she had managed to track me down. And she wanted me to know this.

She also wanted me to know that the tenants I had living in the house next door to hers were common trash. She said a lot of other things about them too, finally getting to the gist of her call. The common trash moved out a couple of months ago, leaving behind a huge mess. This is an amazing situation, because the "common trash" tenants actually paid rent for the month of May.

Also, according to Brandie, the power was off, so all the (presumable) food in the refrigerator was now rotting. And, while she was at it, Brandie wanted me to know she has been mowing the lawn. Only the front lawn. The back grass is too high, and she can't manage it.

As I am trying to get a word in edge-wise, uttering things like, "gosh," "wow," and (my personal favorite) "thank you for letting me know. I will let you go so I can take care of this...." several thousand times, Brandie informed me she was pretty sure the blinds were broken, the interior was trashed, the tenants painted the inside walls black and did Brandie mention she single-handedly mowed the grass for me? Only the front grass, mind you.

I also had to listen to what a respectable neighborhood Brandie lived in until "those people" arrived. This elicited the "thank you for letting me know. I will let you go so I can take care of this..." response, yet again.

Meanwhile, I was pretty sure I piqued the curiosity of some of the agents in the office. I was half expecting them, who were only hearing my comments--and had absolutely no idea what was going on--to hold up cue cards saying things like, "wow," and "I appreciate you telling me this," and "that's just aweful," at randomly appropriate intervals.

Once detangled from Brandie, I immediately called Kirby and said something akin to "Holy cow! What on Earth is going on??" Of course, this is news to Kirby too. Even property managers don't have crystal balls (and in this case, I found the tenant, so I can't really condemn Kirby for his choice in people babysitting my home).

And, if that wasn't enough drama. While on the phone with Brandie, I had a voice mail from Krissy. She lives on the same street as Brandie and my home. And would I please call her? She needs to speak with me immediately.

Perhaps if my seller's adult children need a place to live I can accommodate them.

Final Score: Landlord 1, Tommy -17

Tommy called me in a huff Sunday afternoon. He called right as Tony Abreu crossed plate, giving the Diamondbacks a momentary lead. It was the highlight of the game. And, I wasn't happy to miss it.

The reason for Tommy's call is that his fiancee, Tammy, had just seen the house and it was "filthy." Tommy moved on to the condition of the yard and what-exactly-was-I-going-to-do-about-it? minor diatribe, when I cut him off.

"I think you are jumping the gun." I said. "I haven't gotten a complete application from you. And until I do, I don't really wish to discuss anything else."

Tommy--who wasn't terribly articulate the first time I spoke with him--was crystal clear now. With a new conciliatory tone, he "yes ma'amed" me and politely asked what precisely he and Tammy needed to do so they could move into my home.

What I didn't tell Tommy is, at this point, there is absolutely nothing Tommy was going to be able to do to ever be able to move into my home. What I did tell Tommy was that I needed a photo ID from he and Tammy. I also needed verification of income. Tommy swore Tammy was taking care of most of it, and offered to take a picture of his driver's license with his phone and send it to me.

"I need your license faxed to me. I need to submit it to the credit company." I said. I got another yes ma'am as he backed away from the phone, wishing me a lovely day.

Not five minutes later, Tammy called, sweet as can be. She said she gave everything they needed to Carolsue and could Tommy please send me a photo of his driver's license, via cell phone?

She said Tommy is a long-haul trucker and finding a fax machine is difficult. Maybe it is just me, but I am under the impression there are fax machines in every state. By the way, Tammy said nothing about the condition of the home, other than to tell me she really likes it and is ready to get keys as soon as I am ready to hand them over.

I did tell her I was fixing to make a decision in the next couple of days. I hope I gave her the distinct impression she has competition. Because she does.

After Tommy and Tammy, my baseball game careened downhill. So, the next call from Carolsue was a welcome relief. She said Tammy never once complained about the condition of the home when they met earlier Sunday. The home is clean by the way. She said Tammy liked the house. When I told Carolsue about the fit Tommy threw, Carolsue said, "If you rent to them, you will be asking for trouble later." I am pleased I have taught Carolsue well.

I am pretty much seeing a super-clean two bedroom apartment in Tommy and Tammy's immediate future. Fortunately, I have two other applicants. Neither think the house is "filthy." And neither called during the baseball game.

Eeney, Meany, Miney, Moe

Here's the truth. I don't like any of my choices for my Pinson house. I don't dislike them either. I haven't run credit or read too deeply into their applications. But, I have had some levels of personal interaction with each party. Sadly I need to make a decision pretty quickly, as I have a mortgage payment due. At this point, I am ready set up a cork board and start throwing darts.

Tenant 1, Mrs. Brady.

She sent her application first. She filled everything out. She sent me pay stubs. The Brady family has jobs that are not affected by a weak economy. Last week, I divulged to her I was having a medical procedure and would not be available for a day or so. Therefore, I would get back to her by the end of the week. She in turn sent me an e-card full of Bible verses. She signed it, "The Brady Family." It took me two days to figure out who the Brady family was.

And though I appreciate the sentiment, she had no idea if I was having open heart surgery or a root canal. I am confident in my faith, however I don't find it to be an appropriate topic of conversation with perfect strangers. (I know, I know. This is the South. They do find it to be an appropriate topic of conversation under every circumstance).

But most importantly, I have never had a good experience with tenants who make such grand overtures early on. Essentially, she isn't looking at this like the business relationship. I am. If rent is late one month, I am guessing she will think we are friends and it is ok. It isn't. I don't like this level of familiarity. It is a huge red flag.

Red flag number two was that she told Carolsue last week she has a dog, but wouldn't discuss it. When Carolsue pressed her, she would evade the question. When I asked, Mrs. Brady told me she doesn't have a dog. She is only thinking of getting one.

Tenant 2, Tammy and Tommy

Tommy called me last Monday and I could barely understand him with his thick drawl (twice in one week). I finally gleamed he and his very clean fiancee, Tammy, wanted to see the Pinson home. So, I sent him to Carolsue.

Carolsue in turn spoke with Tammy. Tammy sent in an application--the home sight unseen. She was even willing to move in this weekend without seeing the interior. However, she did not send me over pay stubs or photo identification. I need the IDs to run background checks. For three days, Carolsue has been telling Tammy to finish getting me the necessary data. Somehow this seems more difficult than one would expect.

Tammy and Tommy have one dog and jobs that are adveresly affected by a poor economy.

Red flags: they can't follow directions and I will not be able to talk to Tommy. Thier jobs.

Tenant 3, Kerry

I have been talking to Kerry for more than week. She was originally my favorite of the three. Kerry and Mr. Kerry need to move next week because their landlord defaulted and the trustee has given them until June 1. They have no pets and jobs that are recession proof.

However, last week she told me she had left messages for Carolsue. Carolsue said she didn't. Mind you, Kerry had called, but never managed to speak with Carolsue's answering machine.

Additionally, Kerry didn't get around to turning in her application until yesterday. And when I got it, I found, she couldn't be bothered to include a few basics: like her current address. Additionally, she put her mother-in-law down as a reference, but only gave me the woman's street number--no city, state and phone number. She sent me her husband's pay stub and forgot to send one for herself.

I am pretty sure she was in a hurry when she sent the application. But it isn't like she didn't have the application for a week. What would an extra 15 minutes to review the vitals have hurt?

Red flag: Doesn't own a calendar and can't follow directions.

My choice was simple. Carolsue will hold it open once again and I will cross my fingers and toes for a better pool of tenants.

Happy Birthday

Twenty-five years ago, an important event took place. The Dairy Queen Blizzard was born. I thought you all should know. The world is much better with Blizzards in them--at least the ice cream kind.

For a special taste-sensation, I reccomend them with with red M&Ms--which were reintroduced in 1986.

A List of Good Things

There are those who have encouraged me to write a landlord book. I have an outline written and have dabbled with a chapter or two. But, haven't really done much since. Part of what I wonder, every time I take a bit of time to work on it, is am I writing an informative how-to book or a horror novel.

I mentioned a week ago how I don't really touch much on the really cool stuff that happens to me on a regular basis, because it doesn't really make for fun reading. But it happens. I sometimes forget about the good stuff as well. It is easier to remember the big ugly events than the sweet little things that don't mean much, but do add up.

This past week has been tough for me for reasons that don't have anything to do with Alabama. In fact, my accidental business has been a major afterthought, as I handle some of life's distractions. Though it still has needed a certain amount of attention, it is fair to say I have been phoning it in. In order to improve my mindset, I opted to write a list of good things related to my accidental business. Here it is.

• My bills are paid. There may not be any money left over at the end of the day, but commerce doesn't stand still. Everyone gets their money.

• I have received two applications on my Pinson home. I haven't picked one yet. I am hoping for at least one more. But if not. I am confident the two applications I have received seem to be solid.

• It appears the home Jack and I own has been rented to a guy who doesn't have credit issues, a criminal background and no pets. In fact his credit score is pretty darn good.

• Out of the blue, I got a really cool note from a former tenant yesterday thanking me for being a great landlord when he and his family rented from me. Not only would I not know my former landlord's name, I never would have thought enough of anyone I have ever rented from to thank them.

• I got a 150 year old, 50 foot oak tree cut down for $1,800. In the event you aren't aware of what a blessing this is, I invite you to call around and see what it costs to remove one. I am still blown away. I am beyond grateful.

• I have Kirby and Carolsue. And though I have done the managing without them for many years prior to this, I am grateful to have them. I feel spoiled.

• I have business partners who are more or less in sync with the goals Marty Sunshine and I have. I didn't always have partners who were on the same wavelength. In fact, both of my partners are great landlords themselves and I have learned tons from them.

• When I talked to Legal Eagle a few weeks ago, she said, "Anything you need. I got your back." I believe she means it. She wasn't just speaking as a lawyer. I feel that way about the business relationships I have developed--everyone from Clay the AC guy to James the Hell's Angel Turned Carpet Installer.

• The 80/20 rule applies for my accidental business. Twenty percent of my homes cause 80 percent of my headaches. I promise Home Jeanne. It isn't that bad.

• I am finding I am not upside down on most of my homes. Yes, there are one or two. But for the most part, I am even or have slight equity position. Psychologically, this is motivating. It makes a difference.

• I feel an overwhelming sense of peace lately in what I am doing. Two summers ago tested my good nature. Last summer tested my resolve. We have worked hard to fix our glitches. Through patience (and a great deal of financial strife) we got rid of our bad tenants. Those tenants going taught me big lessons. Now we have a plan in place to fix our under-capitalized issues.

• I often think stock certificates wouldn't be this exciting. My life would be calmer. But, it wouldn't be emotionally richer. I have enjoyed writing this blog. I am tickled I have a handful of friends and readers, some who have provided me with feedback and taken the time to share their ideas and opinions. Even if you don't comment, thank you all for coming and joining me on my journey.

Could Someone Please Get Me A Babble Fish

Jack showed our home to Harold on Tuesday. Sticking with our good-cop, bad-cop routine, Harold called me so I could get a chance to see what I thought of him.

What I thought is that I need my ears checked. Harold's drawl was so thick, I only caught half of what he said. What I did understand is that he owns a home near the house Ms. Angie lives in. He wants to move because the neighborhood is rough.

I wish I wouldn't have understood that.

When I called Jack later, I explained how inadequate and helpless I felt because of the language barrier. I didn't want to embarrass Harold. It wouldn't have mattered how loud he spoke, or how slowly. As long as he spoke Southern, I was going to have trouble. Hopefully he understood me with my "accent."

Within 20 minutes from the time we spoke, Harold faxed over his application. He dutifully included on his own a pay stub from his employer--which I hadn't asked for. He completely filled out everything, including adding phone numbers where necessary. He included a photo ID and even gave me his girlfriend's name. From what I understand, she won't be living there, but coming in and out.

At least I think that is what he said. Honestly, I am not sure.

On paper, Harold looks great. I hope his credit/background/eviction history are just as charming. And, I hope he has e-mail. Because, until I dust off my Southern drawl-to-English dictionary, it apprears that will be the only way we are going to be able to chat.

One last thing: today's public service is sponsored by the evils of melanoma. There is no shame in being pale. Skin cancer is bad. SPF 50 is good.

Random Bama

The Waterford home is fixed, with the only repair necessary being the ceiling. And, I can pleasantly thank Mr. 114 for his efforts. He came significantly under bid from the person Kirby was planning on using. There is a lot to be said for having my own team in place. Hopefully, now that Mr. 114 and Kirby have met, they can work together again on other properties Kirby happens to manage.

Incidentally, the tenants are pleased at how this was handled. They asked to extend their lease--which expires in November. Below are the "before" pictures of the water leak. It doesn't look too bad. I don't think anyone will be screaming toxic mold.

And a last bit of good news about my Waterford home. Kirby ran comps on this house for me a couple of weeks ago. I am not upside down! This was one of the ones I was most concerned about.





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Note to tenants: if you owe me money, don't post where you work on Linked In. Better yet, please do! It makes me easier to keep an eye on you.
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Ms. Angie called. She has another water leak. And no job. However, her rent check showed up early. I appreciate that. She is also diligently looking for employment. At the moment she has no intentions of moving. I appreciate that too.
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It appears I have a happy problem: I have a lot of interest in my home in Pinson. I have one application, and a promise for a second one tomorrow. The person I really liked on the phone also called and asked me for an application, but didn't give me her e-mail address. Maybe applicant number three? Additionally, Carolsue tells me there is a fourth person she loves more than the other three and swears I will too.

I really like happy problems.

Shooting the Messenger

You might remember last month I wrote about Ronnie, the VP of marketing for the former HVAC company I used? A quick back story: Ronnie with HVAC company says I have a service agreement. I didn't believe it and told him to fax it over so I can see the agreement. Ronnie couldn't seem to operate a fax machine, hence they didn't get any business from me.

Ronnie must have been promoted because now Lilly is calling. On Friday, Lilly called, chipper as can be, with news of a special promotion their company is running. And, when could her company get out to my home and do their magic?

Poor Lilly. Given the state of the Birmingham economy, she is probably happy to be employed. I probably ruined her day. I told her if someone over there couldn't be competent enough to fax over a service agreement I allegedly signed, I certainly didn't trust them with anything as as complicated as an air conditioning unit. And until I had that agreement, we would not be talking about anything else.

She gave me a yes ma'am, and asked for my fax number. I also asked her to give a message to the owner of the company: I bought three AC units last summer. Their company didn't install any of them.

Games People Play

It is truly amazing the quality of inquiries I have gotten for my home in Pinson. My calls generally consist of people who understand the basics of communication. And, as Carolsue observed, for the most part, they can talk using words with multiple syllables. This is such a far cry from the calls I got when I advertised my home in Leeds.

It almost makes me think I might have a few potential tenants to choose from. Oh... do I dare to dream? I can guarantee the one who will get my home will be the person who causes me the least amount of grief.

I already know Tina won't be renting from me. Now, I understand Tina doesn't read my blog. Because if she did, she certainly wouldn't have approached me in such a way that ensured we would get off on the wrong foot.

Tina's first strike is that of the multitudes of those calling, Tina is the only one who leaves a terse message, letting me know she has no desire to make a good impression with the landlord.

Next, when I have returned her calls, I am always greeted with voicemail. Dutifully, I would leave a message. Tina would turn around and return the call via voice mail not three seconds later--every time, thus requiring me to call her again.

I got the distinct impression she was screening her calls. Was Tina hiding from creditors? I don't know. I don't want to find out. But, I am guessing this is a preview of what I could look forward to if I picked her to live in my home.

After I played this game for two days, with my last voice mail to her saying, "There is an open house on Sunday from 1 to 3. Show up then."

Since that time, she called and not left her name, as if I wouldn't 1) recognize her phone number and 2) recognize her voice. And now, she has resorted to sending me texts. Her latest was to ask for the zip code for Pinson because she wanted to map out the house. The town of Pinson has one zip code. And, if she can use a computer proficiently enough to use Mapquest, she can figure out the zip code without calling sixteen times a day. She has the address.

But, I don't think the text really had anything to do with the zip code. I think she wanted to see if I would communicate back. I am getting the impression, based on her voice messages and behaviors, she likes the attention. And, she likes it on her terms.

I almost wanted to call her just to say don't bother coming to the open house. She hasn't passed my initial screening. Game playing isn't high on my list of things I like to do with tenants. If she is this much of a headache now, I can only imagine what I would be in for if I approved her.

A Landlord Story

May has come in like a lion. I'm crossing my fingers it will go out like a lamb. In the mean time, I haven't had time to write about the fun landlord story about my friends.

This couple have a treasured home they have moved out of when Mr. Landlord was deployed to Arkansas. I have been helping them when necessary, answering questions and the like. They weren't intending to be landlords, and Mrs. Landlord has mentioned more than once they would rather be living in their lovely home than having strangers babysit it. To make matters worse, I recently told them about my blog, which prompted them to sleep with every light in the house on.

My friends have been away a few years now, and have gone through a fair share of renters. Their latest seems to feel entitled to just about everything, including expecting the new flooring. Yes really. They want the landlord to take up the carpet and replace it for laminate wood. When I saw this carpet 18 months ago, I don't recall it being in bad shape. And, if it really-really needs to be replaced now, it isn't from the basic wear and tear. But the real point is, when one rents a home, they get what they get. It isn't the landlord's job to arbitrarily change the flooring because the neutral carpet doesn't match their couch.

The tenants also have taken issue with some of the clauses in the landlord's lease. They had the opportunity to read the lease before they signed. Now that things aren't working out the way they want, they are complaining. It seems to me these things should be negotiated before they are signed, but that's just me.

The tenants' lease is up the end of May. According to the terms the lease, the tenant was required to give a 30 day notice to move or re-sign. The tenant wasn't talking. Mr. Landlord repeatedly asked their tenant were they planning on renewing or moving?

Finally the tenant sent a rude note to the landlord stating he would sign a new 12 month lease as long as it was month-to-month and they got rid of some of the "BS lease clauses" Except he didn't say "BS".

Just so we are clear here, there is no "month-to-month 12 month lease". Month to month, means you are paying as you go. Think hotel room.

I was so proud of Mr. and Mrs. Landlord. They told the tenants they were to move in 30 days. No if, ands or buts. Good bye. Thanks for the memories. The tenant could play by the landlord's rules or move. Plain and simple.

The next day the tenant changed his tune, agreed to sign a lease and promptly went to the local home improvement store and bought new blinds for the kitchen of the home he is renting.

I can guess what happened: Mrs. Tenant got involved.

I figure she told Mr. Tenant after his rude e-mail to the landlord, "Oh no you didn't! Suck it up, kiss and play nice. I am not moving. Not in June in Arizona."

I am guessing she said a few other things, because she got new blinds too. And the tenant signed the lease--with all the Landlord's clauses still intact.

Did I Mention This is Strictly Hypothetical?

I so hate screening tenants. I can handle the after-affects of murder, mayhem, destruction much better than I can handle plugging in my crystal ball and figuring out if the person who seems absolutely delightful on the outside really plans on staying that way.

Jack showed our home on Wednesday to Haroldine. She called me a few hours later. Ms. Haroldine had an application and I gave her specific directions: fill it out completely. Include a photo ID. Include everyone who will be on the lease. Ms. Haroldine's only question was, how much would it cost to move in and when could this happen?

Fast-forward to Thursday morning. After several attempts and half a ream of ruined paper, I got the first page of the application back from her. On the first page--and only page--she only put herself down as the only occupant of this home. She didn't put down a spouse--but she told Jack she had one. Additionally, she put her monthly income as $695/month. The rent alone is significantly more than this.

Haroldine and I played phone tag for a good portion of the morning, with me telling her only the first page and several dozen blank pages of her application came through--about six times. Also, if there is someone who will be living in the home with her, I need thier information (like a spouse), because I will not be happy to pay for running credit twice. So, fix and resend. She would then send the original first page of her application again.

Finally, I called Jack. Haroldine's kill-a-tree fax program was getting a little over the top. I asked Jack if could take point and could she please pester his electronic office devices for a while?

AS Jack and I discussed the fax issue, Jack asked me what my initial reaction was to Haroldine.

"I have to tell you," I said, "She only put herself down on the application and her income doesn't cover the rent." I told him Haroldine's lack of consistency bugged me. I don't like people who can't fill out an application properly. In this case, her lack of fax competency was annoying as well. Perhaps it was where I was at emotionally at the moment, or perhaps it was gut feel. Either way, I wasn't excited.

It turns out Jack was bugged too. In fact, his BS meter had been spinning since they had parted ways the day before. His gut was telling him this was strange. When I asked, he said she only went into half of the home, completely bypassing the master bedroom, the laundry room and garage. Her only question was how much attic space was there. He found that odd but didn't really have a reason why.

I had a theory and I quickly shared it with him. Strictly hypothetically speaking, if someone has more interest in the attic than the master bedroom, it screams "grow house."

So I have heard.

I have also heard this is illegal. And, a grow house tends to bring over friends of tenants who also dabble in illegal things. These friends don't really have a lot of regard for my home. They don't have much regard for the law either. And, if my tenant leaves, it doesn't mean they might not show up again some time and take a look around at what the new tenant happens to own.

There are also other fun things I may or may not have heard about when it comes to grown homes--like the amount of moisture that will set in an attic when one is hypothetically watering hypothetical "herbs." Constant moisture can mildew rafters. To get the mildew off the rafters (after one has evicted the tenants), requires some ready, willing and able body to go up in the attic and scrape. Rafter. By. Rafter.

Strictly hypothetically speaking, I was pretty sure asking one question, and it being about attic space, sounded like a red flag. And, if this wasn't enough of a reason, I told Jack about the federal laws stemming from homes being used to grow illegal substances. If we rented to Haroldine, and this turned out to be an issue, the Feds could seize the home. And, there were probably liabilities that end up on us, that we probably didn't want to know about.

"I don't think that would be a good idea." Jack muttered.

Me either.

Thinking out loud, Jack told me of a few other of Haroldine's behaviors that coincided my strictly hypothetical suggestion. Perhaps she wasn't really eccentric after all? "Yea, I think we should pass on her," he finally said.

I already did.

Neighborhood Watch

Last we left the Springs, they had a broken window courtesy of the neighbor kid. Mrs. Redneck (and I mean that in the nicest, most accurate way) paid for the window. But she didn't promise it wouldn't happen again. In fact, she sort of hinted she would like it to happen again.

Since then, all heck has broken out in this seemingly quiet neighborhood. Mr. and Mrs. Redneck have declared they have lived on this street for 15 years, and therefore their children can go into anyone else's home (when the residents aren't there), trample through yards and take whatever they want without permission from the neighbors.

I would like to point out to these yahoos, there are still laws in place. Even in Leeds Alabama. I would also like to point out, I have little patience for idiots. Especially in Leeds Alabama.

If my threat doesn't carry any weight, I am pleased to see Mr. and Mrs. Spring have decided to fight back. They are rallying around some of their saner neighbors and are willing to do what it takes to take back their neighborhood.

When I heard about the latest shenanigans Sunday, I was momentarily paralyzed the Springs would pack up and leave. Instead, they want to put up a perimeter fence around the front of the home and line it with pointy shrubs. And, they would like to get a home alarm system installed sometime in the near future. They don't plan on leaving. They plan on doing what it takes to send someone to jail. I am all for that, and will do what it takes as well.

I personally spoke with the Leeds police department Sunday afternoon, they were fully aware of the situation. I asked them to continue to provide additional patrols to the area. The desk officer told me what it would take for Mrs. Spring to file a warrant (starting with gathering evidence). But, the policed are now on high-alert. In fact, they know the neighbor's name, as this isn't the first time the neighbors have made the gossip around the water cooler since I have owned the home.

The Rednecks may have owned their home 15 years now, but that doesn't mean they can't find better accommodations somewhere else.

The Rented House That Wasn't

I was moderately unfazed when I got Franny's e-mail Monday morning. She and her pastor boy-friend have decided this isn't the house for them. She "hoped it would be ok" with me.

I suppose, it is not ok. We could have been advertising the home, screening potential renters instead of dealing with the flakes like this. I have to tell you though, I was always leery of the whole pastor thing.

No. This is not a commentary on pastors or religion. I can tell you my experience with those in the South professing a calling to preach about the Almighty has not been pleasant. Or even what I would refer to as no-brainer "Christian." I am sure there are some quality folks out there who practice what they, um... preach, but I haven't rented to them.

As much as I am trying to muster up the energy to be annoyed about Franny backing out, I simply just can't. I would rather have the vacant home under the circumstances. Franny didn't ask for her security deposit back, though I am sure she will. In the mean-time, it can just hang out in my bank account while Jack and I look for someone else to rent our home.

Tenant Training

I am pleased to say I have trained Ms. Kathy. After months of cajoling and threats from Carolsue, Ms. Kathy is paying on time.

She is so pleased at her accomplishments, for the past several months, Ms. Kathy texts me at some horrid hour to tell me she has slapped a stamp on the envelope and is sending it my way. Apparently she is looking for attaboys for her competence

I have to tell you, never in my life has Countrywide called me, pleased as punch that they received my mortgage payment on time. I don't get special dispensation from Chase Mortgage because they got their money. In fact, last I checked, it was my legal obligation to adhere to my end of the bargain.

However, last Tuesday--while I was recovering from my sucker punch--I realized Ms. Kathy hadn't texted me. Already in a bad space, I started to fret. I left messages for Ms. Kathy but didn't get a response. Oh no, I thought. Not now. Not after Mrs. C.

Marty banned me from checking my frequent flyer stash. Carolsue made some sort of mumbly comment--ending with the phrase, "bless your heart"--about how she didn't want to see my face next week on her side of the Mississippi and everything would work out ok. Between the stuff I can't write about, my new vacant home, the Sherwoods and my imagination running wild with Ms. Kathy, I was hyperventilating.

But I shouldn't have fretted too much. Wednesday at a reasonable hour I got an e-mail telling me Ms. Kathy's cell phone wasn't working. She wanted me to know she sent her rent check on time. She would be buying a new cell phone later, when it fit in the budget. For now rent would be arriving on time.

Sigh... and yes, I gave her an attaboy.

A Boring Blog

I think it is fair to say, good stuff in Alabama happens with wonderful regularity. It is small items like a care package on Saturday of generic Alabama legal forms from Jack, who thought I might find some future value with them. Or, a text from Legal Eagle last Tuesday at 8:30 at night my time to tell me she heard a news story that might interest me.

Good stuff feeds my soul. If I lived solely surrounded about what I write, I would be a mess. Good stuff tends to be very personal. It isn't dramatic. It is intrinsic. It gives me purpose, reminding me to focus on my blessings when I am staring at obstacles. Good stuff can take up three minutes of my day, yet it will resonate for months.

And, let's face it, it makes for extremely dull blog fodder.

Last week I talked to Matt, the investment-mortgage-guy-briefly-turned-handyman. He called to tell me he was outraged over Mrs. C's behavior. He wanted to personally apologize for keeping this secret from me. It turns out he knew they were buying a home because the C's went to him--of all people--for their loan. When Matt asked, he was told by the C's he wasn't to discuss this with me.

Of course, if I had known the C's were moving out, I couldn't have done much about it. Except maybe budget accordingly. That alone would have been huge. For example, I would have waited longer to have Bob the Tree Guy do his magic, ensuring I wouldn't have to scrape together the mortgage payment. What a difference that would have made with just a couple of weeks' notice.

There are confidentiality laws to protect the Cs. Matt knew this. So, he called Attorney Jon, our mutual wonderful guy, and asked what loopholes were available so I could be informed about the C's crummy behavior. I am told Attorney Jon actually looked into this and, in his ultra-legal opinion, was disgusted because there wasn't anything that could be done to alert me short of charades or psychic vibes. The C's were legally entitled to privacy.

Matt did tell me he charged them a considerable amount for the loan, even making money on the front end in fees and the back end of the interest rate. That made me feel better. It also made me feel good to reaffirm what I guessed all along: Matt and Jon are men of their word. That is also huge.

Knowing Matt and Attorney Jon went to any trouble to prevent me financial hardship may be boring to read about. But, it tells me volumes about the kind of people I have on my side.

Putting on the Bad-Ass Boots Again

I adore Mrs. Sherwood. I know this is in bad form, because as a landlord, I need to have an unbiased opinion of my tenants. But, I met her and I adore her.

The Sherwoods have been struggling for months. But, before that they were paying on time and never called about anything. I hear they painted. I hear they had some repairs done. Never did they ask me for reimbursement.

The Sherwoods are empty nesters, probably in their early 50s. They have had their share of trials in the past few years. Like most of us, the recession hit them, causing financial distress and hardship. I have worked with the Sherwoods as much as I could. Truthfully, they were paying less than their mortgage/tax/insurance payment every month just so I could keep them.

Finally I readjusted their rent. Truth be told, if they asked, I might have given them an extension. Since their rent has been put back to where I like it, the Sherwoods have had difficulty with deadlines. Rent is due on the 15th. Last week, long after the 15, I hadn't heard from them. I sent Mrs. Sherwood a note. I called her too. The next day I heard from Mr. Sherwood.

Here is a tip. If your landlord has been willing to work with you and has made it plainly clear they wish to keep you. And, if your landlord has bent over backwards, it is best not to be a complete ass when you call them. A sense of entitlement and a I-don't-give-a-golly-darn about your arbitrary rent due date, is not going to sit well. I'm not asking him to treat me any different than he would his next door neighbor, provided he is civilized to his next door neighbor. Simple common courtesy goes a long way.

My cyber-friend Lori passed along this gem recently: "Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible." - the Dalai Lama

She also gave me this pearl a while ago: You can't bank good will.

However, you can loose good will, as Mr. Sherwood proceeded to do.

When Mr. Sherwood and I talked, he made lots of excuses about the rent being late--which is silly because I know of their struggles and I told him I understood the last few months have been tough. He said the check would be in the mail this week (three weeks late). Take it or leave it.

During the course of our conversation, I reminded him May rent is also due on the 15th. He said he would be sure to keep that in mind. When I pointed out that didn't mean he would pay on time, or close to on time, he got defensive. He also got snarky. He also got rude. And worse, he refused to commit to paying on time or in a reasonable amount of time. He also refused to commit to calling or e-mail to tell me when rent would be on its way.

When we hung up, I was disgusted. I truly believe Mrs. Sherwood would be mortified at her husband's behavior. He wasted my good faith.

I am not a villain. But, if he chooses to treat me like one, I can certainly act the part. Even if I currently adore Mrs. Sherwood.

Something to Smile About

I posted the home in Pinson available for rent and not three minutes later I had an e-mail from someone. Half an hour after that, I had a voicemail on my Birmingham cell. Two hours later, another e-mail. I am pleased I am getting calls, especially because I raised the rent a little bit.

This might be ok after all. Here's a picture of the home. It is on an acre in the mountains. I think it is super-cute.

A Canopy of Competence

Last Monday, Mr. 114 went over to look at the sad 200 year old tree that was precariously leaning towards my rental home. Branches had fallen off into oncoming traffic days before. Sadly, branches had fallen off on to cars at some point in the past too. Nobody had been hurt in either case. But, it put me on alert.

When I had gotten quotes about this tree in the past, they ranged from $1,500 to $5,000 to take care of it. And though $1,500 to $5,000 to trim a tree sounds absolutely outrageous, most of the quotes were closer to the high end of that range. They are called tree surgeons for a reason.

Mr. 114 was my first choice for my tree problem, as I have worked with him in the past. On Monday, Mr. 114 carefully assessed the situation. He called the electric company (the tree hangs over the power lines). He called the police department to see if they would block off the street for a while so he could work. He checked into permits. He checked into renting a bucket truck for cutting way up high. Then, he sent me an e-mail saying he was working on getting everything together and would be in touch. But, he didn't give me a price.

Meanwhile, Carolsue the paragon of efficiency and an all-around wonderful human being, called up a tree guy who had done some work for some work for her son-in-law. Bob came over, looked up, said, "Yep. That needs to come down. When can I start?"

In Bob's world, there are no permits. There is no permission from the power company. There are no calls to the city to block the road. Bob has a guy who will wear an orange vest and hold up a flag. Bob's price: $1,800 only because it was a referral. If Carolsue had just called him out of the blue it would have been $2,500. You gotta love how work is done in the South.

Feeling rather loyal to Mr. 114, I called him and said, "Hey! I wanted to see about where you are in starting this process. And, I have another quote. Can you match this?"

Mr. 114 told me he was only planning on trimming the dying tree--not cutting it down. That would be too "expensive." Currently, he was still gathering what he needed for his quote. He said the bucket truck alone that he was planning on renting for the tree trim will cost him $1,200. Carting off the dead wood to the dump he said would be around $1,000 for all the dump runs he would need to make (ok, I am all for not littering, but couldn't oak wood just be put back in the forest?). As he estimated at that time, to trim the dying tree back so it doesn't fall on to the house, it will set me back around $4,500. When I gave him the other guy's quote he flat-out told me he couldn't match it.

Keeping Mr. 114 around is also important to me. He does a lot of handyman work in a pinch. He and I have similar values about business. But, I am not shelling out an additional $2,700 for good will.

I am pleased to say Mr. 114 and I parted friends, with the promise of more work for him in the future. I personally think he was relieved. If he needs to hire equipment Bob the Tree Guy already has, then Mr 114 was not a good fit. Mr. 114 and I will do more work in the future. But Bob is now my tree guy.

Today's Therapy

There has been a lot of condemnation in my world of late. I don't really have much room for it, as I find when I get on my high-horse, I just slip off the back into whatever I might find in the ground behind Old Paint. As annoyed as I am with Mrs. C.,--and trust me, I am not pleased--I am having some trouble mustering up the energy to be totally pissed.

With a little self control, I have made it through the five stages of grieving in twenty-four hours. And, I even did it without vegging out in front of a baseball game. I am pleased to say I managed to get through anger with a considerable amount of work. Now, I have thankfully made a bee-line for acceptance. Hopefully I will stay there.

But I am not promising anything, especially after I found out Tuesday night the reason for their "sudden" move. They bought a home--which was another sucker punch I did not need. And yes, it seems they could have found time to let me know sooner than later--but I am really working on keeping my mindset in acceptance. Work with me here, it keeps me from jetting back into anger (though I can't say, as I write this, I am doing a good job of hanging out in acceptance).

The Cs, have left me in a bit of a financial bind. I am slightly panicked, because this was not the house I was expecting to be vacant this summer. I am practicing taking the anger and condemnation I am feeling for them leaving with NO notice and channeling it into more productive pursuits.

The rumor going around is the house is in good condition with some necessary adjustments needed to the back lawn. Carolsue will be holding the house open this weekend, in hopes of finding a future renter. I am looking at long-term solutions for this property. It doesn't look like I will be able to sell for much more than I bought it for, but it is a home in a good school district. The house is as cute as can be. Anything can be rentable.

I have no idea what the future holds for me renting this house. But I would rather go forward with hope than frustration.

Sucker Punch

I got hit when I wasn't looking. I didn't see it coming. I am kicking myself. What signs did I miss? Would it have made a difference if I saw this coming? Was there was anything to see? I am still not sure.

After 5 years of renting from me, Mr. and Mrs. C. moved out. They told me Monday that they left over the weekend. And, where should they mail the keys?

Oh, she also added this sentiment: "I know it doesn't mean much, but I do appreciate all you have done for us."

Five years and I get an e-mail. I suppose that is better than no notice. But I am having trouble counting my blessings on this one.

Carolsue and Baseball Guy are heading over in the morning to check out the house. Mrs. C didn't leave keys, but I am quite certain Baseball Guy can figure out a way to get inside.

The Cs are older, in their 60s. Most likely there isn't much in the house to see or fix. Mrs. C. told me the microwave stopped working last week. She also told me about some of the great things she did to the home. She added a circular driveway. She power washed the exterior. She added a fence at some point. All these little extras. More blessings. I think.

Jack ran comps on the property. It turns out I am not upside down. Another blessing. But, I don't have a lot of equity with the state of the housing market. So, it is going to be a rental again.

Hopefully it will rent fast. I haven't decided if I am going to give it to Kirby or manage it myself. I will make that decision once I evaluate the rent rates.

But first I need to catch my breath and find a way to count my blessings.

Landlord Math

Artie and Candy pay late every month. They always pay. There are always late fees. But after a while, it gets old.

When I talked to Candy on Saturday about this, I mentioned I was growing tired of this game. In all fairness, they weren't the ones that tuckered me out. Mr. Sherwood and I had it out earlier in the week. But, that is for another blog.

Artie and Candy split the rent and send me one check. But the reason rent is late, is that Candy gets paid once a month. Artie gets paid twice a month, with the second pay date falling around the 25th. So, rent will never come on time. It blows me away they didn't say anything when they first moved in. I would have been happy to change the the rent due date and save the aggravation had I known up front.

During our conversation Saturday, I asked Candy if they planned on renewing the lease this summer. She didn't know. Money was tight. I suggested moving can be expensive too. I pointed out I could save them $50 a month right away by changing their due date if they wanted to stay. As much as I like the late fees, I would prefer happy tenants. They are worth much more than a few dollars.

What I didn't tell them is the home will probably go to Kirby if they leave. Kirby charges 10 percent of the rent to manage the home. I would rather keep Artie and Candy and take a reduction--if they ask--than start all over and take an additional 10 percent cut.

I figured it out. If Artie and Candy leave, between the vacant home, any repairs and/or refurbishments to make the home move-in ready as well as Kirby's fee, I will loose about $3,500 over the next year. And, that is if the home is vacant for one month only.

These figures don't doesn't include the liability of a vacant home (vandals, etc). Nor does it account for the phenomenon I have seen. Homes in property management in Birmingham seem take longer to rent. Additionally, my rents tend to be slightly higher than market to begin with. So, I have no idea if I would get my existing rent amount. My figure is based on my current monthly rental amount.

If I have to give Artie and Candy a rent reduction and they stay, I will loose somewhere between $600 and $1,350 in the next year from a reduced rent. I will have my home baby-sat by people who have put down roots and are established in the neighborhood. And, that is only if I have to reduce the rent.

I am motivated to work with them. But first, I will wait and see how motivated they are to stay.

Out on a Limb

So, I have this gigantic tree in the front yard of my home on the busy-ish street. Last week during rush hour, a limb fell off. To put it in perspective, I hear the limb in question was large enough that when it fell it downed the telephone wires across the street.

Mr. 114 was kind enough to drop what he was doing Friday long enough to sympathize about my situation. He then was kind enough to call me on Saturday to ask something along the lines of how much money I am intending to spend.

My answer was pretty simple: enough to make sure no other branches fall down. And, I am willing to spend the money before the next tornado warning (storms scheduled for Monday). The way I see it, I am willing to spend a lot less money on Mr. 114 than I would if a branch fell on to the house or on to a person. Essentially, whether I intended to or not, I have given Mr. 114 a blank check.

I don't believe Mr. 114 is taking advantage. He and I have a history and I am confident everything he has done for me up to this point has been with integrity. He knows I am in a bind. But, there are permits to get. Apparently the police need to block the street long enough for Mr. 114 to do his magic. Mr. 114 also needs to coordinate with the power company and others to make sure everyone is aware there will be hacking and sawing taking place.

Mr. 114 wasn't quite sure how much of the tree he would be taking down, or if he would be taking the entire tree down. He was leaving that to his discretion. I told him do what needed to be done, keeping in mind I did not need a wrongful death suit on my hands.

If A Tree Falls In The Middle of Rush Hour Traffic...

I have a house that is on a busy-ish street. Yes, I know about the whole, location, location, location thing. I didn't know it was a busy street when I bought it. I didn't know a lot about this house. The agent lied. She tells everyone she meets she is a "Christian." I have come to the conclusion--given her belief system--she can answer for it later. Meanwhile, I have a home on a busy-ish street.

The house has two giant trees in the front yard. One tree has decided to shed limbs, and did so into the street during rush hour on Friday. Here is what the aftermath looked like:





I am pleased to say nobody and no car was hurt. I am also pleased to say Mr. 114 moonlights as a tree surgeon. Hopefully he will take care of this before anything else happens. Will you all join me as I knock on wood.

How To Not Rent A Home

There are days I want to scream from the rooftops: if you want to rent a home, act the part.

Ok, I have that out of my system... thank you.

My friend's home is still for rent. It won't be for long. But the no pets requirement seem to have stupified many. Yes, "no pets" means the three pound dustmop dog can't live in the house or even outside in the back yard. Really. Please don't argue about it. She won't change her mind. She doesn't have to. It is her house.

And, if you casually joke about how you plan on telling the landlord you don't have pets because, "they will never know," think again. The landlord hired me to work in her best intersts. I won't keep your secret.

Aside from the pets thing, there are the weirdos. Like the guy who was dumbfounded the landlord wouldn't hold the house for him for five weeks until he was reaedy to move in. For ten minutes, the guy gave me the, "The house has been advertised for two weeks now. There is something wrong with it. Yes. They will hold it for me. And who do you think you are to tell me otherwise?" And so it went, with me shooting every ounce of outrage I had through my pores as I seethed in a voice that Marty swore sounded a bit nicer than I felt, "Look, if you don't believe me, call the landlord yourself." Which the guy did. The answer didn't change.

The clownfest on Wednesday was from an agent who sent me a cryptic e-mail from her phone. I don't know her name or her phone number. The message said her tenant could only afford the rent, not the additional $22.50 in sales tax the owner was asking for. What should they (the tenant) do?

The landlord came to the same conclusion I did: if this potential tenant can't scrape together an additional $22.50 a month, then this isn't the house for them.

The agent, undeterred by my response to her of, "the landlord has had a lot of interest in the property and is not interested in making a reduction at this time," sent me a second e-mail, this time asking for a reduction in the deposits. The agent still didn't sign her name or give me a phone number.

When I e-mailed the agent back, I pointed out how I wanted this to be a mutually pleasing transaction. For that reason, I was hesitant to suggest to the landlord that the future tenant couldn't pay a bit extra for the deposits when she had already told us the additional $22.50 was a hassle. It certainly wouldn't put her client in the best light. I did suggest, before she sent me any more questions, perhaps the tenant in question could view the home and fill out an application if they were truly interested.

I haven't heard back.

For Sale--$9,500

Jack sends me home listings that he thinks might be of interest. In his defense, he put in a series of criteria and whatever crops up, is automatically sent to me. If he had been screening his e-mails, I would have missed out on this 3 bedroom, 2 bath manufactured home gem.



The caption reads: "This home has burned completely. Seller understands property conditions and will negotiate. Verify all information to your own satisfaction."

Franny

Jack sent Franny to me as a potential tenant. Franny worked hard at good first impression. She followed up with me (thinking I was Jack) via e-mail to confirm the meeting time. She sent me the entire application, being sure to fill in everything right the first time. She sent me a picture of her bulldog at my request, because the latest euphemism for pit bull is "American Bulldog."

Franny did everything asked with a cheerful heart. She even followed up to make sure we were on the same page. Her doing so made her inappropriate job solicitation a bit more palatable. I even overlooked the fact her significant other was a pastor. I have never had good experiences with pastors in Birmingham.

Then I ran Franny's credit.

Right now everyone renting from me is low maintenance. I like that. And, I really wish to keep this as the case. But I have seen Franny's profile so many times before. The ultra-professional who wants to make a good impression but makes a terrible imprint on paper.

Jack and I discussed the situation in great length. Was she and her pastor boyfriend worth the risk? The pastor looked good on paper. He has a decent day job that will cover the rent if Franny has a hangnail and needs the money to have it surgically removed. They don't have much debt, with Franny's outstanding balances totaling less than six month's rent--which makes me wonder: why let your credit score plummet for such a small amount of debt?

When I talked with Franny, I got a story that seems plausible. She spent more than she made while in college. She made bad choices. She is working and paying off her bills. Here she is.

Franny has since found that the best things in life aren't things and surrounding yourself with stuff doesn't buy happiness. To her credit, she volunteered that she owes the money for her debts and has opted not to file bankruptcy, instead is paying them off.

All that said, when Franny and I talked, I explained nothing comes before rent. Not a hangnail. Not an overdue Verizon bill. Nothing. I did not want to be inconvenienced because she had a bad day. Rent or move. There would be no other option. I am the first bill she pays. Always.

Marty Sunshine, who at first was very against approving Franny, finally pointed out that we have had better-looking tenants on paper who turned out to be extraordinarily awful. We have taken chances on tenants with worse credit scores who turned out to be great.

So true. In the years I have done this, I have reached the conclusion: A credit score is just a number. It is character that matters.

Someone Get That Poor Girl A Map

A potential tenant sent me an e-mail about her fabulous company today. Her employer is a promotional gadgets-type company (anything with a logo). Though I didn't ask anything about her occupation other than the basics, unsolicited, she sent me the following e-mail:

We are booming! We have hit all the Northern States as far as Texas so be prepared 'cause this fad is spreading like wildfire and coming your way!

She also mentioned they are looking for sales reps, so if I wanted to make some extra cash, just let her know.

It Won't Be Vacant Long

Coming next week, I will have a vacant home. Much to Marty Sunshine's astonishment, I am bizarrely at peace. Jack, however, seems to be getting antsy.

Last week he showed our home to a couple. Jack told me they were from Argentina and had been in the states for about 15 years. He said they were well-groomed and well-mannered. He said they didn't have social security numbers, though he was sure they were self employed, with at least the wife taking cash under the table. After he showed the home, he asked me if I would give them a call and qualify them and answer any questions they might have.

I noticed Jack didn't ask if I had any questions. Before I could get a chance to see what Jack found so special about these folks, or more likely, turn them down based on Jack's description, the family decided they didn't want the home anyway.

And--just in case you ever find this blog, Jack--please understand, this sounds like trouble with a capital T. You can't garnish wages for people who don't have social security numbers or jobs. You can thank me later.

Over this past weekend, I was out in the boondocks, bonding with the cub scouts. I came home to Birmingham e-mails and voice mails. The first of several calls were from folks who didn't leave their names or couldn't do the basic necessities. Essentially, act in a way that will get me to call you back.

The calls got significantly better by the end of the messages--which made me think there might be an antidote for Jack's anxiety. As for me, I am still eerily taking this in stride. We have May's mortgage covered. I don't think this home will be vacant long. And, I suspect I can find someone who has a social security number and a regular job to rent from us.

The Waterlogged Waterford Home

Kirby, my property manager who handles my two homes in Calera e-mailed me this past Wednesday. There was some sort of air conditioning mishap at the Waterford home. The air conditioning gizmo-thingamabob leaked and now the the baby's room is flooded. There is rotted drywall and a mildewy carpet.

He said the air conditioner was fixed and the he would send me pictures. I have to say, the pictures look like rotted dry wall and the picture with the bucket of water on the floor suggests there might be a water leak.

My first thought is: how did the tenants not know there was an issue until it got to the point where the floor was saturated? Come on! The house is seven years old. The roof doesn't leak. Surely they went into the baby's room in a 12-hour time frame and might have noticed an issue. The husband is a plumber. The wife sells real estate. They know a few things about homes.

Kirby has sent me follow-up e-mails to this since then. Most of the time he was tentative, with an overall scenario of: mildewy carpet, wet drywall. He did suggest I might want to file an insurance claim. He also has brought up every single time he e-mails me that he would hate for something to happen to the baby down the road because of a mold issue.

It took me until Thursday night before I finally figured out the subtext: Kirby was assuming I wasn't going to fix the problem. He--as a property manager who probably deals with grumpy landlords on a regular basis--is used to landlords blowing a gasket when they get news like this. As a property owner, I can see where he is coming from. Personally, I don't want to replace the carpet for that room. I don't want to spend tons of money replacing drywall--and I don't know if I need to.

Friday I called Kirby. In my message I told him I am committed to getting this fixed properly. I don't know what that looks like just yet, but I won't have moldy carpet. I won't have a non-working air conditioner. And, I am committed to having satisfied tenants. Hopefully those things can be achieved without a humongous expense.

Hardened Criminal

While cleaning off my desk Wednesday, I found a love note from the IRS. Apparently I owe them $9.18 in penalties and $0.27 in interest. Their letter stated I did not owe any principle nor did I have an unpaid balance. Just the interest and penalty.

Oh, they wanted their money yesterday. Seriously, it was due on April 20.

When I looked over the paperwork, I couldn't find any reason why I owed them $9.45. Diamond Jim is out of town playing with his grandchildren this week, so I couldn't call him. And even if I could, I really wasn't up to paying $50 an hour for him to research what was bugging the IRS. I opted to call myself, but decided for the hour and a half of research that might still produce the same outcome, my time might be better spent writing a check and cutting my (alleged) losses.

Of course the irony is that the check is late, so I will end up writing a second check for $0.27 again in a couple of weeks.

Gives a Whole New Meaning to "Roll Tide"

I found this story the other day.

Crimson Tide fans welcome their new son, Crimson Tide
By Matt Hinton

Alabama fans show their unique and undying obsession with the Crimson Tide in many creative ways: Detailed reproductions of cherished moments, carefully worded stays of justice in trials, elaborate full-body tattoos, Bear Bryant-based reinterpretations of Shakespeare, offering infants to be autographed, etc. And, though they can't pass on their love via DNA (yet; the state's best gene therapists are working around the clock), they can brand their offspring with 'Bama-themed names, as the Witts of Hartselle, Ala., did with both of their boys, Tyde and Saban, in 2005 and 2007.

Not to be outdone in their devotion, J.L. and Jackie Redd of Tallassee, Ala., took the next step in January by introducing their son, Crimson Tide Redd, to the world:

The young couple made an agreement before their son's birth that J.L. could be in charge of naming the baby, wanting to use his last name, Redd, as inspiration.

"His family was extremely excited (about the name choice)," Jackie said.

"Her family couldn't understand why we'd name our child after a football team," J.L. said.

(Her family's choice? Deacon Blues.)

The new mother admits young Crimson "does already have a lot of Alabama stuff," but lest you get the idea he's destined to become the Todd Marinovich of lunatic fandom, the parents entertain no such intentions or fears. They're going to call the boy "Ty," and J.L. insists he isn't going to push his son to Tuscaloosa when Ty inevitably grows up to become a highly sought Division I prospect: "If (Auburn) offers him a scholarship, then I'll be happy for him to go there. We don't have plans to tell him who to be a fan of."

Well, obviously not. That's what the birth certificate is for. And the crimson wallpaper, and the houndstooth bedsheets, and the Jay Barker nightlight, and the "Rammer Jammer" jack-in-the-box with Mark Ingram as the clown ...

Here's the link.

Landlords R Us

I am in an interesting role of late. First, I am helping a friend find a tenant for her rental. She has certain reasonable standards. For example: no pets. Which is a great rule as far as I am concerned. In her case, she has a specific reason for this rule. But it shouldn't matter why she says no pets. It is her house. She's the boss.

She is also pretty particular about who is renting. Someone who hasn't paid their mortgage in 16 months and then feels they can somehow cough up enough every month to pay the rent doesn't exactly make a great first impression. A couple of poker buddies who need a place to crash, yet don't know each other's last names, don't sound like good long-term renters.

Monday I got a call about her home from someone who didn't impress me in the least. First, he referred to himself as "Mr. Jones." This guy was younger than me and we don't live in a culture where we refer to each other by surname. I gave him the "landlord won't rent to someone who has pets and anyone who has had an eviction" spiel and he said, "say what?!" When he passed the rest of my preliminary screening process, I had nothing left to do but pass him on to my friend, the landlord.

As a licensed agent, I can't discriminate on her behalf. I can only facilitate. Legally I can't even give her my opinion. Nor can I tell her to discriminate with bozos who use the phrase, "say what?!" She, however, can turn down the guy for a myriad of reasons. If I were the landlord I would turn him down just for his lack of manners alone.

In addition to my friend, Jack and I are working on renting out our home. Of course, we have it for sale too, but as we haven't had a lot of bites (though I hear Mr. Cummings still has some interest--so I can only pray we will get it rented before he gets around to making an offer).

Our tenant pool hasn't been real promising. Felicity called me wanting to know if we took Section 8 and was huffy when I told her no. Wanda was none-too-happy I told her I didn't take renters who have had felony convictions. Today, Jack is showing the home to two separate parties. According to him both parties fall somewhere between marginally promising to slightly appealing. Last I heard, we aren't taking pets either.

Spring is in the Air

So, Mr. Klan's son was playing ball in the street in front of the Leeds home, when the ball got away from him and landed smack into the front window of Mrs. Spring's home.

Might you remember, this is the second window Mr. Klan has broken. (The story about the first can be found here).

Mrs. Spring does what she always does when she has a crisis with her rental home. She bypasses me--the decision maker--and goes straight to Carolsue--the messenger. When Carolsue called me Saturday night I was on the phone with the Powers That Be about that thing I can't write about that is eroding my stomach lining on a logarithmic scale. So, I didn't get Carolsue's message until long after the damage was done.

In the meantime, Carolsue went on point and worked with Mrs. Spring to find a few reasonable and expedient solutions. The first one that came to Carolsue's mind was to have Mr. and Mrs. Klan pay for the damage. They said absolutely not.

Now, I know that if Buckaroo is playing baseball in the street and he accidentally breaks a neighbor's window, I am ultimately responsible for it. But the Klans didn't see it that way. Of course, the Klans aren't exactly people with common manners and tend to have marginal parenting skills, so I wasn't surprised.

Finally, Mr. Spring opted to fix the window himself. He will collect the necessary parts and send me a receipt. It probably would be faster than finding anyone there to handle the work over there, because we all know how fast things happen in the South. Even Carolsue said she could do it if she could find someone to cut the glass for her. So, with all due respect to Carolsue, it can't be that difficult.

There is a funny little catch to this entire incident. It turns out, Mrs. Spring and Mrs. Klan went to high school together in some obscure small Alabama town. Mrs. Spring apparently didn't run the wild circles as Mrs. Klan, but they know each other's families.

So, under normal circumstances, I might never see a penny for the broken window. However in the South, there are some unwritten rules. One of them is not to embarrass your family--even if your family runs with the wild circles in an obscure small Alabama town. And a phone call from Mrs. Spring to her mother might get back to Granny Klan, which ultimately would get back to Mrs. Klan.

In the South, there are few less dreaded things than getting a phone call from your mamma because she apparently didn't raise you right--even if you are in your mid-50s. Because it will never be a private conversation between Granny Klan and Mrs. Spring's mother. As Miranda Lambert once wisely crooned, "Everyone dies famous in a small town."

Some time over the course of Saturday evening, it occurred to Mrs. Klan what she was in for if she skirted this responsibility. I am told that is why she had the decency to come across the street knock on Mrs. Spring's door, apologize for Klan Jr. and offer to pay for the window.

Maybe It Is Gaylord, Melvin or Dumbass

I found out on Wednesday that I had a voicemail from Monday. An unnamed caller asking me about the home Jack and I have and demanded I return his message as soon as possible. I called the guy back as soon as I found out.

After I introduced myself and the reason for my call, the guy started asking me all sorts of questions such as, "which house was it you were selling?" I responded by saying, "I am sorry, I didn't catch your name." He answered with, "Mr. Cummings."

Really, it doesn't matter what his first name happens to be, I would have called him Mr. Cummings anyway. I have done enough business in the South to know my manners. But I was put off by Mr. Cummings reluctance to actually give me his first name. If that wasn't enough, every time he asked me a question, he would cut me off in mid-sentence and ask another. Finally, about four minutes into the call, he cut me off again and asked me to call him back in 30 minutes.

Two hours later I did call back and listened to Mr. Cummings repeatedly call me by my first name. His other hot point was that he continually harped on how he called me more than a week ago and hadn't heard from me--which wasn't true. I ignored it. There was no point in correcting him, bullies don't tend to listen to the truth anyway.

When we got to the crux of the call, it turns out Mr. Cummings might or might now be interested in the home Jack and I have for sale. Overall, the guy was a bit snarky, in an arrogant, obnoxious way. Truth be told, if Jack wasn't involved in this one, I would have passed on this guy.

Eventually, I sent him to Jack to let him deal with him. But first I called Jack and left a message letting him know Mr. Cummings might call and he has a strange perception of time. It took me 36 hours to call him back, not a week. And, by the way, the guy might have an interest in our home.

In the event Mr. Cummings likes the place, and we want him, I will know his first name. And you know what? I will take every opportunity I can to call him by his first name.

Brandie

So I got an e-mail from Brandie. I would have completely ignored the e-mail if I wasn't busy being a real estate agent and the subject line hadn't grabbed me. A possible lead for my Arizona business? Nope.

Her e-mail said: Graduation time is right around the corner and what do I have available in Hoover or Calera? Because the only "Hoover" and "Calera" I know of are in the greater Birmingham metro area, I pretty much figured out what they needed.

I found it interesting Brandie picked these two areas. Yahoo maps suggests Calera is 24 miles south of Hoover--and there is a bit of city in between. Very interesting choices. So, if her criteria of where she wants to live is that loose, I figured it wouldn't hurt to send her the home Jack and I own. Which is also 24 miles north of Hoover.

I have no idea who Brandie is. I couldn't find any evidence in my e-mail I had spoken with her at any time in the past. But, I certainly hope she likes the house Jack and I own.

Diamond Jim

I brought dinner to Diamond Jim Tuesday night. He had been burning the midnight and early morning oil for weeks and figured he wouldn't come up for air. I was right. Just for good measure, I threw in a half a box of Thin Mints to consume at his leisure. Being male, I am sure it will take him six months to eat the cookies.

Sigh... men really don't know how to effectively stress eat. And yet statistically women live longer. Conincidence? I don't think so.

Diamond Jim had two of my LLC tax returns done. My other two will be done before midnight April 15. They always are. With my blessing, my personal returns will be done some time in May--with the appropriate extensions filed.

Someday Diamond Jim is going to retire. He has been trying to do so for years. He sold his business a few years ago to a CPA firm who had such horrible service that his client base sought him out. Diamond Jim told me he got 90 percent of his clients back that same tax season. Last I heard, the CPA firm is still making payments to him for the "business" they bought.

On Friday Jim tells me he is sleeping in. Then on Saturday he is flying to visit his daughter and grandchildren. When he gets back he plans on starting on the taxes of those of us who filed extensions.

No... I am not ready for him to retire.

Ego Validation

Two unrelated and yet really cool things happened last week.

Mr. Partner sent me a card. He actually went to the store and spent money on a card for me. The effort alone is touching.

In the card he put a sweet note, thanking me for my role in our accidental business. It is his handwriting.

I am thinking of having this card bronzed.

Additionally, Bliz gave me the profit and loss statement for my S. corp this past week. I made a very, very small profit. My first profit! (insert happy dance here)

I even checked again later. Just in case I read it incorrectly the first 11 times. Diamond Jim tells me he needs to modify the financial statement a bit so it doesn't show any profit. But, whatever! I know the truth. I have witnesses.

I made a PROFIT!

The Cost of Doing Business

I had a long talk with Legal Eagle Monday morning. I wish we were talking about fun, friend-type things. But, we weren't. Instead I bought an hour of her time.

Among the more mundane topics we discussed was the property management company I hired and fired a month later and I are not seeing eye-to-eye. I had a long talk with the Alabama Real Estate Commission recently who gave me their opinion. On the record: there is nothing they can do. The property management company didn't break any laws--which is what the commission regulates. Off the record: the property management company are sleaze balls who have breached their fiduciary duties and I should go after them civilly. And seriously off the record: who the heck does a final walk-through with a tenant AND LETS THEM STAY IN THE HOUSE?? This property management company should be strung up and horse whipped.

Ok... I made up the strung up part. Instead, the guy at the Real Estate Commission just gave me a, "bless your heart," to encompass all of his feelings for the hell I went through. But I speak Southern well enough now that I know what he meant: strung up and horse whipped.

When Legal Eagle and I discussed, it really came to a few points. I probably would win, but it would cost me as much or more to fight them than I would recoup. It would be a hollow victory. Essentially, I would be suing on the principle of the matter. Never sue on principle. Instead, I am going to begrudgingly let Karma take care of this one.

Sadly, I was Actually Awake and Working

Ms. Kathy texted me on Tuesday at 5:41 a.m. She wanted to let me know she forgot to mail the rent check, so she was putting it in the mail today. She would overnight it.

There are so many things wrong with the paragraph above. First is the obvious 5:41 a.m. This is not an hour of the day I want to hear bad news. For that matter, it isn't a time I want to hear any news. I no longer bother with explaining time zones to tenants, as I figure if they have something to tell me, it is better that they just get it out of the way. But in this case, what would another hour or three hurt?

Of course the major faux pas with her message was that the rent wasn't in the mail. What I really didn't understand and mumbled to my phone as I read her note again, was how she could "forget" to mail the rent check? After I have given her a million breaks and changed her rent-due date? Was she just so used to having me hound her month after month she wasn't able to remember on her own? At any rate, kudos to Ms. Kathy for being proactive and contacting me first.

The last problem with her text might be harder to comprehend. Though this doesn't seem to be that much of an issue anywhere else, the post offices in the greater Phoenix metropolitan area tend to be crowded with those desperate to receive mail via inept government employees. Therefore, the lines tend to be long. An hour long.

Additionally there is a very nasty postal employee who works there. She derives a thrill from arbitrarily sending people to the back of the line when they haven't done her bidding. (You know, it is really too bad Seinfeld went off the air. This would have made a great episode.) If the long lines weren't enough to make me beg Ms. Kathy not to overnight her check to me, this woman's sinister bureaucratic methods (causing me to sleep with the night light) is enough for me to be willing to wait a few extra days.

Figuring the back story might give Ms. Kathy waaaayyy too much ammo, I just texted her back, relaying a simple: "Just put it in the regular mail. I will get it in a couple of days."

What I see here are the classic Mr. Richards syndrome. That being, ask for an inch but take a mile. Then, to make nice, torture me by sending the rent overnight. Mr. Richards seemed to think it would resolve a lot of ills to pop the rent in the overnight mail. Instead it just annoyed me further. Mr. Richards finally was asked to leave--just because I wasn't up to dealing with his shenanigans any more.

Don't go there Ms. Kathy.

Update

You know it will be a long day when the local Fox news shows up with a camera at your tenant's doorstep asking questions. If your tenant tells them to get the @!~%$* away from their home, all the reporter has to do is sweet talk the next door neighbor into letting them on to their property to film whatever it is they wish to film.

I know this first-hand. I also know what the "@!~%$*" stood for first-hand. In fact, I thought it was such a great sentiment I said the same thing when I found out the media had shown up.

This particular issue is playing a primary role in my life at the moment. It consumes too much of my time, cell minutes and stomach lining. And now I am relegated to sitting back helplessly and waiting. In the words of my friend Freedom, "I hate waiting."

The VP of Marketing

The former air conditioning company has been calling me. Often.

They keep telling me I have a service agreement with them. And, it is time for my home's annual air conditioning tune-up. They are right on one account: it is time for my home's annual tune-up.

Ronnie seems to be my new contact over there. He tells me he works in the "marketing department" of this air conditioning company. Maybe it is a Southern thing, but I know of no HVAC company here with a "marketing department." But then again, HVAC companies out here don't really need one. And, with all due respect to Ronnie, he has led me to believe that his stellar accomplishment of completing the fifth grade in three years was the highlight of his life.

Ronnie calls me once every few days to remind me of my service agreement and tune-up. What disturbs me more than anything is that Ronnie doesn't seem to remember he and I have had the same conversation for the past five months.

Our conversation usually goes like this:

Ronnie: "Y'all got a service agreement with us. It is time for your annual air conditioning maintenance."

Me: "I believe you are mistaken. I don't have a service agreement with you."

Ronnie: "Yes ma'am. I am holding it in my hand as we speak."

Me: "I don't have a copy of this. Would you fax it over?"

We then go through this, "Yes ma'am. What is your fax number" type thing--which amazes me, because I have given him the number about 12 times. Ronnie will then tell me he is faxing it. I will hang up, because experience tells me otherwise he will put me on hold for 23 minutes, wasting my cell minutes and my patience. When he calls back we start up again.

Ronnie: "I think we got cut off."

Me: "No I hung up. Are you going to be faxing me the agreement?"

Ronnie: (with--I swear--mock surprise): "Y'all haven't gotten it? I just faxed it. I have the confirmation slip in my hand."

Me: "Nope. I am sitting right here next to the fax machine. Nothing has come through."

Ronnie: "Do you want to check again?"

Me: "I am sitting right next to the fax machine. I can turn my head and see there is nothing on it. Besides, the line hasn't rung."

Ronnie (who at this point pauses for a bit of drama, I think he is expecting to come across as confused): "Well, I will send it again. Can you hold?"

We then part ways, and, next time I choose to answer the phone, we will do it all over again.

Neither Ronnie and I have yet to figure out which home Ronnie is referring to. Like most of our chats, everything seems to fall on the esoteric side of the fence. I have asked which home many times before, but he always threatens to put me on hold if I really want any concrete answers.

Last time Ronnie called, I told him if he was having such problems faxing my service agreement to me, perhaps he could just stick it in the mail? Frankly, Ronnie seemed relieved with that idea, but didn't ask me for an address. So far, nothing has shown up. Or, maybe he sent it to a random rental home--in which case, I may never see it.

That said, if I discover I did pay for a service agreement, I will be getting my money back. But I doubt I did. I suspect this is just a way to get out to any random rental home and find something wrong with my AC unit.

For now, I find the entire incident amusing. But, if Ronnie annoys me too much, I may just tell him the sad truth: I ended up buying three air conditioning units last summer. Ronnie's company didn't install any of them.

That Whole Burning the Candle At Both Ends Thing Is Getting a Tad Out of Hand

It is no secret I have gone back to working full time. And, yes, I still homeschool. I miss my friends, my free time and my sanity. But thanks to the likes of some bad decisions early on--not to mention Mr. Richards, Wayward and Mr. Smith, we are pretty much out of capital. I am not complaining. I chose these decisions. And, what does not kill me... yada yada.

But a few things are falling through the cracks. Like depositing rents. Last week the bank sweetly told me I bounced four mortgage payments. Not because we didn't have the money, but because it slipped my mind to transfer it to the right account. My bad. (And might I say, Gina at my bank totally rocks! She saved me from having to send Mr. Partner an embarrassing e-mail.)

Last Friday it occurred to me that it was April. Tax season is here. I hadn't heard from Diamond Jim, my totally awesome CPA, in a month. And Mr. Partner has been uncharacteristically quiet about wanting his K-1 statement. So, I completely forgot about it until the other day when Jim called. I have to say, being preoccupied has made the waiting easier.

Unsurprising to anyone, my desk threw up recently. When I cleaned it I found a bill that wasn't due just yet. But I paid it anyway--just to be ahead of the game. And, just because I was afraid I would forget later, I sat down right there and then and sent Bliz a note, telling her it was paid. Early. Efficiency is a bit easier when there is no spare time.

I haven't had a lot of time to deal with Jack selling our home. I checked Craig's list the other day and didn't see it posted, so I went ahead and just did it. Normally I would have called him and asked if I missed it, not to micro-manage, but to make sure I wasn't duplicating his efforts. But this time I figured if I missed the ad, it wouldn't hurt for another ad to run. And if he didn't do it, he would never know I knew.

I certainly don't have room in my life for run-of-the-mill tenant drama at this moment. Which comes in handy when I don't have the energy to feel sorry for anyone who is coming up short on the rent. But it seems the forces of nature have been paying attention. They haven't really granted me any minor tenant drama in a while. And I appreciate my tenants behaving.

Of course, I haven't really been handling the laundry much either...

My Day Off

Today is the first day of the 2010 baseball season. First pitch is at 2:10. My brother and I will be there to watch Danny Haren do what he does best. Marty Sunshine has graciously agreed to come home from work early and watch the kids so I can make this happen.

If anything weird with my rental homes happens in Alabama today, I am off the clock.

Besides, what could possibly happen?

The Seller In Me

Jack sent me a note. We have had no activity on our home. There is a sign in the front yard. Jack is doing all the real estate agent-y things.

And now I am doing all the seller-y things. I am questioning. Second guessing. Wondering. However, I am not doing these to Jack. I am doing these internally.

Marty Sunshine recently reminded me that everything happens when it is supposed to happen. Which is really nice to hear when you don't have your seller hat on. It is fluffy bunk when you do.

I did ask Jack what he thinks the next steps are. Do we lower the price? Switch automatically to making this a rental again? Or, do we stay the course?

Jack said stay the course.

I trust his judgement. I trust him.

The How-To-Be-A-Landlord Books Don't Seem to Touch Upon This

Today's public service announcement is for those of you who own rental properties where the Powers-That-Be think the person who lived there before your current tenant may be involved in shady activities with seedy outcomes.

Now, I should preface, in my situation, I did have some notice that the Powers-That-Be had an interest in my home. Because of this, I was able to give this some thought ahead of time to what actions might be necssary. I have also have enough public relations experience to have a decent idea of how this could pan out if there is an undesirable outcome (which is inconclusive at this moment and probably won't be completed for a few more weeks).

But just like the nuclear bomb drills in the 1950s, it just isn't the same as actually having to live through last weekend's ordeal while it is happening. In this case, the notice gave me time to warn those who needed to be warned, but did little else. Nor did the fair warning really have the appropriate impact living through the actual event happening would have.

At any rate, in the event you somehow manage to find yourself in this situation (which I certainly don't wish upon you), here are a few things that might come in handy.

1. Have a Legal Eagle. Give her a prepared statement of "the owners have no comment to make" or something equally innocuous. In my case my "prepared statement" was a quick comment last I spoke with her. She can fill in the blanks if it ever comes up.

2. If you have a Mr. Partner in your life, be sure to tell him about his early on. Especially if the home is in his name. Remind him not to talk to anyone. Remind him to give Legal Eagle's phone number to anyone who may ask.

3. Be prepared to smooth over any wrinkles with your current tenant. Because, I assure you first hand, the tenant will be none-too-happy. I promise. The tenant doesn't have to cooperate with the Powers-That-Be. But, it is nice if they do. Because if they don't, the Powers-That-Be can get a warrant and do what they want anyway.

4. Assume the tenant will talk to the neighbors. There is nothing you can do about it. Just wishing your tenant won't be chatty will do you no good. Begging your tenant not to discuss this won't work either. It is a given fact everyone on your block will know about this. If/when your tenant moves out, your future tenants will know about this too.

5. Realize the Powers-That-Be might be digging a 5 foot deep hole in your back yard. Hopefully the Powers-That-Be will also be willing to put the dirt back when they are done. Hopefully, but it isn't a given. You may be stuck with a 5 foot deep hole and maybe even yellow tape around it.

6. Assume if something is discovered by the Powers-That-Be the press might be interested. If so, see Numbers 1, 2, and 4. So far I haven't had to worry about this one.

7. If the case is high-profile, there might be well meaning people who might want to stop by and drop off teddy bears and flowers in your tenant's front yard, thinking it is some sort of shrine. Be prepared. Though I have to tell you, I haven't mentioned that part to my tenant.

8. Don't expect to feel wonderful about the experience. Helping someone find the answers about a loved one doesn't necessarily have the same altruistic wonderful glow of say, walking a grandmother across the street or saving an orphan from a burning building. In fact, I can say it is more of a feeling of profound sadness coupled by a sickly feeling growing in the pit of my stomach each day that even a fabulous vacation or a winning baseball season just won't fix.