He's On His Own

Well, I would love to tell you all is just peach-keep down Alabama way. Instead, Harold called me repeatedly Wednesday. He left me a variety messages ranging from "Mrs. Landlord, would you please call me," to "Mrs. Landlord, I really need you to call me. Now."

I knew it was pretty urgent, not because he left me 17 messages in a 20 minute time-frame, but because he was articulate. And, I gotta tell you, I was suspicious.

Let me just go on record here. I am so sorry I called him back. You see--according to Harold who is moving out in two weeks--there is a snake nest somewhere on or near the house. I stopped listening at "snake." He also told me Haroldine is refusing to come home until this whole snake-thing is resolved.

Refusing to come home? Good for Haroldine! I am refusing to set foot in Alabama until this "snake thing" is resolved.

Generally, I absolutely hate passing repair issues over to Jack when it comes to our home. He hates taking the lead on such things. It makes him cranky. But here I played the girl card. This baby was his. I will handle wasps, bees, Hell's Angel-turned-diva-carpet-installers, an air conditioner being stolen, a tree falling into rush hour on to passing traffic, being subpoenaed and testifying in front of Your Honor, deadbeats, lawn men being hit by cars, Ms. Shirley's latest snit fit and much more I don't even write about. But not snakes.

God speed Jack. This one is yours.

Today's Shout Out

A few weeks ago, I asked Carolsue to post my for rent sign in Haroldine's yard. That afternoon, I got an e-mail from her, saying not only had she done that, but she had also zipped over to Mrs. Green's home to take a peek. Absolutely nothing scary to report there. It was no bother; after all, she was in the area.

And, just because she was feeling charitable, she swung by Ms. Robin's home to find out she has planted a lovely flower garden in the front yard. And, by the way, Ms. Robin has a dog--just in case Ms. Robin hadn't mentioned it to me.

There is no doubt I sleep better at night and things are more peaceful on the landlord front because of Carolsue. Happy birthday my friend. I am grateful for you.

Ba' Bye

Friday afternoon I did something that has provided me with inner peace. I polietly told Haroldine to move out. Of course, I was planning on telling her. And, I wanted to wait until I got the deposit from our new tenant--Mr. Awesome.

Incidently, Mr. Awesome did not just give me the deposit for the rent. He gave me the first month's rent as well. And, he is moving in May 15!  But, I digress...

What I discovered about asking Haroldine to leave was that I was quickly running out of trouble makers. And, that is fine by me. There are still a few things here and there that make me groan. Ms. Robin is still struggling. Ms. Shirley has her moments, but at least she is paying.

I could really get used to this.

Sitting Back, Collecting My "Un-Earned Paycheck"

I ran across some site that lets people complain about their landlords. Apparently there are "scum bags," "$%$#%**" and "%$^*!*&" out there posing as landlords. Who knew? 

Incidentally, she said the bathroom was "safe," but didn't say where the fan would be when she turned on the water.

If Only I Could Make the Landlords Switch For A Day

Right now I am particularly upset because it's Saturday morning, I don't have to work today, but I haven't been able to sleep since about 5 am because the landlords STILL haven't fixed the refrigerator which has been broken for the last 7 months. It will click as it tries to turn on, sometimes for a few seconds, sometimes for hours on end, it's all random. And it all came together today when the smoke alarm started beeping some time before 5 this morning about once every 17 to 29 clicks of the refrigerator, so 2-4 times per minute. It's impossible not to count them. It's stink'n loud! So there is no sleeping. I lie awake and feel hatred pouring into my body from all the noise until I feel like I am going to explode. So I go into the bathroom, close the door, turn on the fan and the water to escape the noise. It's the only safe place.

I just wish with everything in me that I could switch with the landlords for a night, so they'd understand the situation. If only for two sleepless nights in a row they'd understand and maybe do something instead of sitting in their nice house collecting an un-earned paycheck.

A Happy Day

As a responsible business owner, I probably should be jumping for joy: I have a tenant for Haroldine's home. The tenant in question has a credit rating over sub-par. He has a savings account. He has a decent job.

My next task is to tell Haroldine. I actually have been waiting until I got the rent (supposed to be happening today) to let her know. I wouldn't want to jump the gun and have her decide to use my rent money for something flashy--like a down payment for an apartment somewhere else.

But that piece of news seems to be playing second fiddle to what totally awesome event today is really all about. Today is the first day of the new season of Diamondback's baseball (and let's do something novel this year. Let's make it a winning season boys, shall we?).

I know you felt the excitement in the air too. You were just too polite and refined to say so. That's ok. I will do it for you.

All is right in the world today.

Random Bama

Ok... not to jinx anything, but I just may, possibly, maybe, have a new tenant for Haroldine's home. It was very minimal work on Jack's part (which is good). My biggest concern is that they look awesome on paper and they will probably only stay for a year (which is not good).

__________________________________________________________

Ms. Angie was thinking of me last week. When she phoned on Thursday she was extremely upset. The purpose of her call was to just make sure I was ok. You see, she e-mailed me the week before and I didn't reply (her e-mail just told me her rent was in the mail). She also called me a few days earlier, but I didn't realize there was a voice mail waiting for me. So, when she didn't hear from me, apparently she thought the worst.

Now seriously, how can anyone not like Ms. Angie?

__________________________________________________________

It seems Ms. Angie wasn't the only one with the landlord on the brain. Legal Eagle wrote me Wednesday. It seems she read about some horribly violent crime in Ohio and she said it made her think of me.

I don't wish to sound ungrateful here, but it would be totally ok with me if Legal Eagle would think about me when she sees a butterfly or a rainbow instead.

Nothing But the Truth

A funny thing happened when I e-mailed Mr. 114 about Ms. Shirley's screens. Yes, he will do them. But he also said this:

"(Ms. Shirley's) boyfriend is driving a beautiful brand new truck so don't let her feed you any bs about being broke!"

By the way, Ms. Shirley still hasn't mentioned the boyfriend she has had living there for the past two and a half years.

Sparring with Ms. Shirley

I must tell you, Ms. Shirley's drama is no match for me.

I have a preteen daughter.

For those of you who have lives, here is the quick back story on Ms. Shirley. Ms. Shirley contacted me about a year ago because there was a mysterious roof leak and she was suggesting I needed the 10 year old roof completely replaced. In fact, she had a handy-dandy company that would handle it and it wouldn't cost me anything because I can put a homeowner's insurance claim in.

I wasn't impressed, so Ms. Shirley squawked about this for a few months. However, the roof in question miraculously healed itself when I refused to play along, making it very clear I would not be using the roofing company she was recommending (who also happened to be giving kick-backs to Ms. Shirley for her business).

Last autumn Ms. Shirley started taking advantage of our business relationship and began paying whenever she darn well felt like it. Her justification was that I didn't know what it was like to be poor. The translation was I deserved to wait until she was good and ready to cough up the money she was contractually obligated to pay. That was resolved very quickly when she received a lease termination notice this past January. At that point, our relationship regressed back to a last name basis.

There have been other issues hither and yon. In December of 2009, she asked if I would put screens on the windows.  A reasonable request. However, I asked her to wait and ask again in the spring when she would have open windows. In the spring she was carried away with the roof leak and never got around to the screens.  I forgot too.

A week ago, on a Saturday night, Ms. Shirley e-mailed me. Her air conditioner wasn't working. What exactly was I planning on doing about it? After all, I am to maintain it according to the lease. Yes, that is true. But I am not doing a thing about it on a Saturday night. Because there is a two hour time difference, I told her first thing Monday to call the HVAC company I use and ask them to come out. It would be faster than me calling them Monday when I was up and moving.

Last Monday, when I was up and moving, I did call the HVAC company. I wanted to let them know they had an authorization limit. Anything more than my desired amount and they would need to call me first. I didn't want Ms. Shirley putting a new AC unit on the home on my dime. Not that she would do that.

Probably.

The HVAC company told me they had gotten tons of calls over the weekend and into Monday morning. They were booked solid until the today--March 28th. However, they were taking care of Ms. Shirley's issue first thing that day. 

Ms. Shirley didn't know I called. Otherwise, she probably wouldn't have sent me a snippy e-mail, telling me the HVAC company was booked up until next March 28. And again, what was I going to do about it? Mind you, this same HVAC company had told me an hour earlier they were squeezing in Ms. Shirley's AC issue that day. Ms. Shirley didn't mention that. But, I did when I responded.

As a rebuttal to the awesome customer service she was about to receive, Ms. Shirley's announced how she would really like to open the windows, but suggested that it was just impossible because I hadn't bothered to put on window screens--like she asked about so long ago.

"Well how about that! We got so caught up in the leaking roof last year, I just forgot all about those screens. Thank you so much for reminding me. How's that roof holding up?" I sweetly asked, getting the desired effect: Ms. Shirley managed to figure out a way to stop talking.

Incidentally, the AC issue wasn't a big deal. In fact, there appeared to be more drama in her getting the repair made than the actual issue--which is also typical for preteen girls.

Public Service Announcement

Since Craig's List has finally pulled the fake ads, my Birmingham phone isn't ringing. Today, in vain hope, I got one message.

Sadly, it wasn't for me.

Dear Jackie,

You have an appointment on Monday, March 28, 2011 at 8:15 with the Tuscaloosa Urology Center. Please arrive 15 minutes early and bring your insurance card.

Thank you,

The Landlord

They All Sound Alike

Sandy called me earlier this week about Haroldine's home. At the time, she gave me minimal answers (yes and no) and didn't volunteer much more about herself. And, as we all know, the most information a landlord is ever going to get about a tenant is before they sign the lease. Talking to someone interested in my home should be a conversation. Not an inquisition. Needless to say, I wasn't terribly impressed by Sandy.

However, she gave me enough one-word answers that I passed her on to Jack. Jack (who is injured and can barely walk, let alone drive) was going to meet Sandy at Haroldine's Wednesday morning. Much to Jack's and my relief, Sandy changed her mind.  All along, Jack was luke warm on her; I was about the same.

Wednesday, Sandy called me in fits. You see, she changed her mind and called Jack back. Now she wants to see the home. And, she wants to move in this weekend. Jack wouldn't accommodate. "He's prejudice!" she exclaimed.

"Why, are you from Auburn? He is more of an Alabama fan." I replied.

Ok, I really didn't say this.

There really is no answer to someone claiming bigotry. I certainly didn't know she was black. She speaks incoherent Southern as far as I was concerned. Jack never met her either, so he didn't know what color she is. But more likely she was being wishy washy, and that was enough to send up a red flag for Jack.

If Jack hadn't been bothered by this, I would have been. And more to the point, anyone insulting Jack's integrity is enough for me to turn them away. Sandy has told me far more about her in a quick accusation than she had in the previous phone calls. I am done.

Meanwhile

But first, a quick shout out to Busy Mommy, who finished her second round of chemo yesterday. Honey, you make defeating cancer look easy. And, you are totally beautiful even without your long blond hair (it will grow back!).  I really admire your strenght and spirit. Feel better my friend. It will be over soon.

I have Haroldine's home for rent. Additionally, there is some weirdo from Africa also advertising this very same home on Craig's List  for $500 less than my rent. Though this seems cut and dry to me, I am astounded that Craig's List isn't seeing my point and pulling this guy's ad. I thought it would be a piece of cake.

Meanwhile, my Birmingham voice mail is filling up with indignant folks wanting to know why there is a $500 price difference in two different ads. I talked to one lady Tuesday who left her Southern hospitality at home. With that tone of voice, I wouldn't have rented to her anyway.

Meanwhile, on the happy front, there is one really nice lady who took upon herself to play junior sleuth. She called me on Monday to alert me to this guy's ad. Apparently, she then e-mailed this guy on my behalf to see what was going on. On Tuesday she called me back to give me all the information he was passing along (the same e-mail I got when I contacted him and told him to pull the ad). When I innocently approached her to see if she had an interested in actually renting my home, she said no--unless she can have the lower price. However, she thought it looked really nice from the pictures.

And also meanwhile, poor Haroldine has perfect strangers--who think my home is vacant and for rent for some ridiculous price--walking up to her front door, expecting to be let in. That makes me uncomfortable. I can only imagine how Haroldine must feel.

Meanwhile, Jack injured himself a couple of weeks ago and can't drive to show the home anyway. Not that we have any serious lookers. Our pool of potential tenants right now are budget conscious and confused.

This stuff used to keep me up at night, with me thinking of a "Plan B." Now, not so much.

Hopefully Haroldine will just come through with the rent this month without too much drama. I've had my quota.

Scammed

Monday afternoon, I got a phone call from someone about the home Haroldine is living in. It seems she wanted to know why there are two Craig's List ads--$500 apart for the same home. Apparently someone else was advertising my home, with the same pictures.

After a bit of investigating, it turns out, the powers that be do not take lightly this kind of thing. The first order of business was contacting Haroldine. I told her that under no circumstances was anyone to enter her home without Jack. No exceptions. It turns out she saw the ad in Craig's List too. After that was settled, I spent an enormous amount of time contacting anyone who might remotely care about this guy who was advertising my home. Hopefully he will just take down the ad and scurry away.

It is All Perspective

So, Kirby e-mailed me on Friday morning. There was this teensy-tiny problem at the house in Leeds. You see, the gas line had been cut. The situation was going to require the gas company, building permits and some inspector-type from some sort of Leeds Municipal Department to be involved. But, no problem! Kirby was on it.

Before we go any further, let me just say this: I have always wondered why the Springs (the former tenants) were so anxious to leave in such a hurry. They cleaned the place. They let me keep the dishwasher. They offered to let me keep the security deposit (and have not given me a way to contact them to return said deposit). They kept paying the rent when they left until the end of their lease. And, they kissed my hiney on the way out the door. Could it possibly be because Mrs. Spring, a gardener by trade, had accidentally cut the gas line when she was digging up the plants in the yard? Because given the location and proximity to some plants... well, you get the idea.

Don't mind me. I'm just thinking out loud here.

Anyway, back to Kirby. Kirby called me Friday afternoon to throw a curve ball into this. As the master of understatement, he told me he cost for said repair was going to cost "slightly more" than he anticipated. Was that a problem?

Let's see... The cost of fixing a gas leak or the cost of the house exploding? Yep, I'm good.

Strangely, I am at total peace about this situation. I sorta mentally played out this scenario if Kirby hadn't been at the helm. I would have had the exact same issue. With a lot more drama. And, I would have probably been out a lot more money and had a lot more stress.

And, I probably would have written something like this through a wine-induced haze: "It turns out the idiot across the street and his felon daughter were no match for Carolsue, who had been off nicotine for three hours because she was babysitting the gas leak at the Leeds home."

Yea, I'm thinking this isn't too bad.

Today's Awesome Landlord Tip

If you ever find yourself in a position to advertise a home for rent, please be sure to include the correct address.

I'm just saying...

Beware of the Company You Keep

So, Vera called me Tuesday. Actually, she had been calling my Birmingham cell for the past few days, but she never left a message. Finally, she called my Arizona cell. This time I answered it.

You see, Vera wants a place to live. She heard I was the lady with the rental homes and took the time to reach out. I told her about one I have available (Haroldine's) and a few more I am pretty sure are coming available in a few months. The one Haroldine lives in was marginally of interest. You see, Vera' sister lives on that street. Small world.

However, what Vera really wanted was for me to go out and buy a place for her to live. In a particular neighborhood and school district. I explained--in an ever so nice way--that wasn't happening. Even if I screen Vera and decided to take a chance, felt motivated and had the resources, banks aren't lending. This isn't happening.

As we were wrapping up our chat, I asked her how she heard about me. "A friend gave me your number," she innocently said.

When I inquired "Who might that be?" Vera immediately began stammering and finally threw out that she just wasn't sure. I pressed a bit longer just to hear Vera tell me she had my number for a while. She knows lots of people and it could have been anybody. And, my personal favorite, "You know, Birmingham is a big place. I just don't keep track of what people tell me."

Good enough for me. I know everything I want to know.

Tax Day

Today is tax day. Yes, really. If you have a corporation, Uncle Sam wants to see your tax return by March 15.

I would like to tell you that this is a simple process, involving Bliz, Diamond Jim and myself. And, if all parties do their job, this does seem to work. Except when it doesn't.

Several weeks ago Bliz sadistically sent me e-mails, financial documents and this funny report called "Gobbledygood Blah Blah Transaction Somethingorother." She politely and professionally asked me to look it over and answer a few questions.

And I ignored it. Ok, not exactly "ingnore;" I just didn't know what to do with it. So, a few days later I asked Bliz. She repeated her directive, again patiently explaining what she needed from me.

Last Saturday, I felt unparalyzed enough to check out this one more time and came to the conclusion: I needed to call Diamond Jim and confess all: I was holding up the process. I didn't know what I was supposed to be looking for. Please help me CPA; you are my only hope.
Sadly, the IRS really doesn't care if I put this off until 96 hours before it needs to be filed--as long as they get what they want out of the whole deal. However, Diamond Jim did. He sorta told me in a kindly, guilt-induced way so Saturday afternoon. I swear, his disapproval hurt worse than whatever the IRS could possibly have done to me.

A Bonafied Craig's List Scam

I work in a real estate office with this delightful couple. Part of their duties is to handle the showings for my office's property management division. Hence, they bring in a renter for property management's vacant homes.

Additionally, these vacant rental homes are on the greater Phoenix multiple listing service, complete with pictures and lovely descriptions consisting of "neutral colored tile," "spacious bedrooms" and "move-in ready." Any agent who belongs to the multiple listing service can show these properties, but most don't unless they are desperate, crazy, totally professional and don't mind spending six hours of their Saturday with someone with less than optimal circumstances trying to find the landlord willing to rent to the folks who have three rottweilers... But, I digress...

And, to top this all off, rental homes right now in the East Valley (a part of Metro Phoenix) right now are going fast. Like sight unseen fast. Currently I am desperate, crazy, totally professional enough to be working with two sets of tenants (one has a guinea pig). Every rental home we see already has an application on it. Both sets of clients know any application they put in will be a back-up application. That's how crazy the rental market is out here.

But, back to this delightful couple. Last Saturday the Delights got a frantic call from the tenants they had placed in a rental home. The tenants had just pulled the moving van into the driveway of their new home just in time for another moving truck and another tenant to pull into the drive way right behind them.

Apparently both couples thought they were moving in. Both had a lease to prove it. In the case of the correct couple--my colleague's folks--it was theirs to rent. Enjoy. Move in. Make yourselves at home!

The second couple was a bit more disappointed. You see, they answered an ad in Craig's List. Someone (presumably claiming to be a real estate agent) met them at this particular home, showed them the home and gave them the application. These people returned the application, paid the first month's rent and the security deposit (all in a cashier's check) and were told the house was theirs. Enjoy. Move In. Make yourselves at home! Sadly they were scammed.

Hopefully it won't take too long to find this couple a home again--if they don't have a rottweiler. And lately,  that seems for us agents who are handling rentals, is half the battle.

Astonished

Marty Sunshine came home for lunch the other day with a suspect envelope. Though I hadn't asked him, he had swung by the post office box on his way home.

"What is that?" I asked, eyeing the envelope sitting on my counter, like it was a scorpion covered in slime.

"It looks like a rent check from Ms. Kathy." He said in such a way that he considers this a typical every month occurrence.

I held my breath as I opened it, knowing for sure there would be some sort of letter, explaining why she only sent me a partial rent payment. Instead, I found a full rent payment and no excuses.

Is it too early to suggest--with a track record of five months of perfect behavior (out of 26 months) that Ms. Kathy is off my Problem Tenant list?

Show Me Some Skin

Though she has a few months left, I have agreed if she keeps the place clean and lets me advertise it, I am willing to let Haroldine out of her lease. And, just to prove I am totally swell with this idea, I have started advertising this lovely home for rent.

This is the house Jack and I own together. Therefore, Kirby isn't involved in tenant placement. This is good and bad. It is good because I am not paying a property manager. It is bad because Jack simply hates property management. As an example: I am 1,700 miles from this house. Jack is in the same city. I am the one dealing with Haroldine. Jack, however, will be expected to show the home once we find someone worthy, but that is about as far as that goes.

This past week I ran a quick ad on Craig's List for this home. One of the big annoyances about Craig's List's ads is the lack of ability to qualify the people interested in possibly renting. If they call, I can chat with them, find out their life story. I can find out if they plan on using the home as a breeding ground for king cobras or if they intend to have 17 children residing with them.

In an e-mail, I am pretty much stuck with a few basics. The actual qualifying takes place after they see the house. This is a huge waste of time for me, but it works well for potential tenants. They have no skin in the game. 

This past week I got an e-mail from Char. Her e-mail came from (presumably) her employer's domain. Her e-mail was polite. She wrote in complete sentences and had decent subject-verb agreement. A dream come true. She asked intelligent questions. How big is the house? Does it have gas? And, when could she see it?

I answered as I do under these circumstances. "I am currently out of town, but please contact my business partner Jack to see it." Generally this isn't a problem. Char seemed to think otherwise.

Apparently Char is concerned about "scams" and felt my answers lessened my credibility. In fact, she was willing to wait until I got back into town before she went any further.

My first inclination was to give Char my credentials, explaining this wasn't a scam and I really am a landlord. But, on further reflection, there is no reason to lay everything on the line. I know nothing about Char either. I did tell her how Marty Sunshine, Jack and I own the home and clarified about our geographic locations. I gave her my cell if she wanted to call. And, I gave her Attorney Jon's number to verify all is what I say it is. I haven't heard back.

In a landlord-tenant relationship, there is a contract to protect both parties' interests. But aside from that, there needs to be a certain amount of trust. So far, Char doesn't trust me. She has made that clear. And, when I think about it, I am not entirely sure I wish to move forward with someone I have to work so hard to win over--long before I have qualified her. After all, I have no skin in the game either.

Leeding The Way

Kirby found out more about The Mom With The Job. First, her boyfriend (who will be going on the lease) has a job. Second, her four kids range in age from marginally little to middle-sized. I can't decide which would bother me more: teenagers or middle-sized kids. In any case, I wasn't enchanted.

The truth is, nobody who lives here will enchant me. I have had six tenants in this home through the course of time. None of them were anyone I ever want to meet again. With the exception of Mrs. Spring, none of them were very tidy. Most of them were obnoxious. And, to top it off, I am pretty much convinced that anyone who willingly wants to live in this super-cute home in Leeds Alabama isn't really going to be the kind of person I want to rent to in the first place.

Yes, I know, location, location, location. But I don't have a wayback machine to fix this and incidentally, when there is a paying tenant in place, this house cashflows. I just don't like the emotional baggage that seems to follow anyone willing to live in Leeds.

I explained to Kirby on Monday that I had some reservations about four kids living in this home. I have to tell you, my reservations are courtesy of the last tenant (seriously? she didn't think to clean off the peanut butter on the walls?). I also told him that I am not sure anyone really will really make me happy. I secretly believe Kirby had already came to that conclusion but was too polite to say so.

What we did decide, was to write the lease with an inspection clause. Someone--whether Kirby or Carolsue--will go over and inspect the property from time to time. Even if I never exercise this, I want the tenant on notice. Peanut butter is for sandwiches only. (By the way, I happen to have this clause in my personal lease as well).

Kirby seemed to think this was reasonable solution and said he could see my point. After all, he said he is used to dealing with crazies. "I am sure the tenants must drive you nuts sometimes too." I replied.

He Had Me At "Bank Account"

In a perfect world, the home in Leeds would be rented with low-maintenance, quiet tenants who just pay when they are supposed to. But instead, I am once again looking for someone who marginally fits this bill.

Kirby, who understands my quest, has been tasked with finding someone qualified. And, I have to tell you my standards are low. I more or less want breathing and employed. Thankfully Kirby seems to have found someone to meet the minimum.

The latest potential renter to come our way is The Mom With A Job. The Mom With A Job is some sort of manager. She has been at her job for years. She has income and child support.  In fact, child support alone should cover a good portion of the rent. Additionally nobody in her home smokes and there are no pets.

The Mom With A Job apparently has just recently gone through a messy divorce. Her house was one of the casualties to this, as well as her credit. However, she has been current on her bills.

The only pressing issue right now is that The Mom With A Job has four kids. I am not sure that is something I want to take on again. I need more information before I decide about this. The last time more than two children resided in this home there was peanut butter and black marker on every wall. I am not sure I am up for that just yet.

However, just to sweeten the pot, Kirby did give me a another tid-bit to make her attractive. According to Kirby, she has a bank account. "Do they allow people with bank accounts to live in Leeds?" I asked.

"I won't tell if you won't." Kirby replied.

The Mom With A Job also has a live-in boyfriend. "Does he work too?" I asked.

"I don't think so. I think he is on disability. He is missing an arm." Kirby answered soberly. I respectfully bit my tongue--I am sure he is quite lovely. (I am not making fun of this man's plight, but really! Is it wise for one armed men to live in Leeds? Just imagine the cliche's alone.)

The Mom With A Job liked the house--even before the carpets were cleaned. I can't tell if this is a sign of desperation or a lack of standards on her part. The house really is cute--when the floors are clean. And if her kids are super-cute (and I am hoping I am not violating some federal fair housing law here), I might be willing to go forward.

An Easy Solution

Back in the olden days when I was writing proposals, I would get into philosophical debates with my colleagues about this particularly tired phrase: "We provide customized solutions to fit your needs."

As much as I disliked that phrase a gazillion years ago, I really disdain it now. And worse, it appears my colleagues have all now moved to prominent New York advertising agencies, because that cliche' is just about everywhere.

As a landlord, I don't want to provide customized solutions. I want to provide a home. My solution is for my tenant to pay the rent and leave me alone. As some of you might remember, I once had a tenant who asked me how she was supposed to pay the rent if she had the pay the electric bill. She was  seriously looking to me to solve her problem. My solution was for her to move.

This past week Haroldine and I have gone around in circles, with me totally understanding her situation. But it doesn't change the reality: Haroldine can't afford the home she lives in. I just don't have the patience to play along any more.

The Haroldine drama came to a head this past week, with me loosing my cool on her twice. It was warranted. She knew it. I knew it. I get it. Times are tough. And frankly, she isn't making it easier on anyone by staying. In fact, when she lamented on Thursday, that she couldn't "count on anyone." I pointed out I could sympathize--I was right then and there experiencing that exact same issue.


But I did offer her a solution: she needed to move. In fact, I was feeling so magnanimous, that I offered to put the house up for rent and let her continue renting until a suitable replacement tenant could be found. At that point, Haroldine could move and the replacement could move in. And, if we went this route, Haroldine was only responsible for the rent up through when the new tenant moved in.

This is definitely a solution customized to fit my needs.

Incurring the Wrath

Now, in the event I haven't exactly explained this fully, sweet Ms. Angie has a super-thick Southern drawl. And, when she is upset, she tends to speed up that drawl and throw in colloquialisms to the point where I am totally sure she has something important to say. But, I never exactly know what it is, with me only catching the all important words: "rent check." As she is doing this, I am left half-wondering if her angst is directed at me and if I should be cowering in fear.

On Monday, it was one of those Ms. Angie is upset days. You see, her rent check hadn't arrived. I knew this on Saturday. But, Saturday I was way too preoccupied with hugging my family and unpacking my socks to care much. My intention was to take care of it Monday.

Ms. Angie beat me to it. Of course, Ms. Angie (as much as I adore her--and I do), like most of my tenants hasn't quite grasped the concept of time zones. So, the call came at an hour advantageous to her. Couple that with the aforementioned speech challenges and you can have a mental picture of me in my jammies repeatedly muttering "yes ma'am" to something I am not quite sure I am understanding.

When the dust settled and she and I were communicating properly, it turns out she wanted to know if I had received her rent. She had noticed the check hadn't been cashed.

You see, it turns out she and the postman had a scrape recently and none of her bills are getting to their respective parties. Me included. Ms. Angie (apparently) is none-too-pleased about this particular situation.

So, she was going to mosey on down to the post office and have a word with the postmaster. If I were the postmaster, I would be afraid.

How's the Weather?

But first... sending out love to Busy Mommy, who starts chemo today.

In some ways, this Alabama trip was a bit more unnerving than previous visits.

Last Thursday night I experienced my first tornado (we don't have these "tornado things" in Arizona). The wind sounded light a freight train rumbling through the sky. I was on the top floor of the hotel and I was almost certain at one point the roof was going to come off. I could feel the walls shaking and in the distance I heard the tornado sirens. At one point I bravely looked out the window to see debris swirling and then went back to bed, a bit more disturbed than I expected, and hid under the blankets until sleep set in sometime much later.

One of the absolute bright spots to come out of this trip was getting squared away with Kirby. The house in Leeds is done (sans the coffee-ground carpet) and now needs to get a tenant. I actually like this moment in the landlord business. It is the moment of hope.

When I saw Kirby briefly Thursday night I had a quick, and yet frank discussion with him. For my part, I explained I don't do well to have really, really important issues glossed over--like him telling me the former Leeds tenants left "a few housekeeping things" that needed to be taken care of. Tell it like it is!

So he did. Kirby looked towards the sky, as we stood in the hotel parking lot that evening, and commented that it looked like tornado weather. And I know he didn't gloss over anything with that statement.

Westward Home

I'm sitting at the Birmingham International Airport at some horrid hour waiting for my flight. It is the only non-stop to Phoenix today. In fact, this flight--any day of the week--is the only non-stop. So, no matter which day I had picked, I would be here way too early to be civilized.

This trip was productive, in the sense I got the main things accomplished that I wanted to get done. I saw Attorney Jon, which was absolutely imperative. I hadn't realized how much the scary-legal thing Attorney Jon is handling had been weighing on me. His visit alone was absolutely worth this trip.

I also got to sit in a very hard, wooden chair Friday for longer than I was anticipating, all the while answering repetitive questions. I don't know if I will ever be able to blog about the trial. It is still going on. There is a young child involved and the judge suggested it was in my best interest not to discuss it. So, unless your name is the same as Legal Eagle's, I would prefer not to go back to the courthouse. And, more importantly, I would prefer not to visit the detention center next door, thankyouverymuch.

My first ever courtroom experience wasn't the concise 60 minute episode one sees on Perry Mason or LA Law. John Grisham never wrote about these kind of courtroom antics--it reminded me of a pre-teen slumber party where some girl's feelings get hurt and the ensuing drama that follows. Think four different parties: all PMSy women lawyers with Southern drawls and one male judge who seemed to be on his last nerve. And, let's not forget one furious former tenant who would not look me in the eye--even though I stared right at her.

Soon I will be on my plane, heading home to Marty Sunshine, Polly and Buckaroo. And though this may not make much sense to you dear readers, please let me tell you this anyway: me saying Polly coming into this world was a true miracle and Buckaroo is a kind and generous soul is not ultra-personal information about my life. No matter if some lawyer with really hurt feelings suggests it is.

Surviving

Have you ever seen those shows on the sweaty macho cable channels with the guy who is trying to survive in the wilderness? To my knowledge, there are two such programs. One guy goes out into these relatively plausible scenarios: places where it is possible for someone to get lost and survives for seven days without human contact. He films everything himself and talks about real dangers that might exist in the given circumstances.

When he did his show on the Arizona desert, his posted location was about 30 miles north of Phoenix, near the Gila or Verde river and the show was filmed in February. One of his "dangers" was the desert gets down to 40 degrees. He also kept referring to the wild "peccories" (we know them as javalinas--and they are pretty darn harmless).

The other guy takes a location and talks about survival skills for a given scenario. He has a film crew, a catering staff and sleeps in a production trailer at night. On one of his shows he also spent time in the Arizona desert and managed to show footage of him being chased by rattlesnake. The only rattlesnake in existence that actually followed someone for any great distance.

What I really would like to see is a survival show for business travelers. These two guys could have a field day talking about what to do when trapped at the airport with cranky toddlers and weather delays. They could bring up survival situations on how to throw a meal together with leftover Zaxby's chicken wings, an orange and an Otis Spunkmeir oatmeal cookie from the hotel lobby.

If they needed more drama, they could explain how to get out of awkward situations, when at the hotel fitness center, the creepy guy on the treadmill next to yours thinks you are checking him out, when all you are doing is glancing at the clock over his head. And of course, they certainly would want to do a segment on how to wash out the stain on the once cream-colored shirt using a combination of the hotel shampoo and soap.

Most people don't get lost in the Golbi desert, or out to sea, or in the jungles of Borneo. More often than not, they get stuck at some hotel, away from their loved ones and very lonely, wishing they could be home.

That is real survival.

A Tale of Two Aries

The purpose of my Alabama visit, as anyone who reads this blog on a quasi-regular basis knows, is that I was given an engraved invitation, courtesy of the Alabama courts. I have every intention to write about this once it is all over.

I am not teasing, though I have to tell you, I am not sure how much I will be able to disclose. This is a sensitive matter and the results of this case might bring more trouble down the line for the people in question. I will tell you this: it is a civil case. It involves a former tenant.

At 10 a.m., Wednesday, I had gotten a phone call I had been expecting since I arrived. It was a lovely woman with a Southern drawl asking telling me to show up by 11:30 at the courthouse and share what I knew with the Honorable Judge and the merry band of lawyers. And by the way, this particular courthouse and the detention center next door are in a neighborhood of Birmingham that makes the war-torn sections of the Middle East look like Disneyland.

And, let me just preface the rest of my day right here. Have I ever mentioned everything in the South takes longer? If not, let me just say this: on Wednesday, I talked with Kirby three times. That is three times more than I talk with him in a month. I had nothing better to do.

Very hard and very wooden bench

I got to the courthouse and a few minutes later Carolsue breezed by as well. You see, she had also received a subpoena. But, the witness in front of us was taking a bit longer than necessary (like seven hours longer). So, they sent Carolsue to a cute little conference room and they put me out on the hard wooden bench in the waiting room.

When the lawyers broke for lunch, Carolsue got the very tasty-looking salad. I got the e-coli laden chicken sandwich that is still haunting me. And nobody brought us a drink. At some point much later, Carolsue managed to find the lady with the secret key to the vending machine. Carolsue got the soda she wanted. They were out of bottled water I wanted.

After lunch, I made the executive decision that I wasn't hanging out on the bench when there was a cute little conference room with a Carolsue.

The 8 x 8 conference room had two wooden chairs and a table. Additionally, we added two AARP magazines (dated from 2007 and 2008) a Birmingham phone book with a missing cover, a St. Louis Cardnials' coffee table book (that I read in 30 minutes) and my suduku puzzle book.

As as the hours dragged by, and Carolsue was short on nicotine, I noticed the conference room beginning to shrink. By the time I was texting Baseball Guy and telling him Carolsue was ready to get a foot in her rear, the room was no longer cute. But is sure was little.

Meanwhile, I had a seriously pissed off former tenant who would have charred us if her super-power had been fire breathing. On Wednesday, my super-power had more to do with the bad stomach cramps, from my chicken sandwich.

So there we were, me with undigested poisoned chicken, nothing to drink and Carolsue jonesing for another cigarette. And, I will also tell you, every so often, I would make suggestions as to how she could improve her karma--just because it took my mind off my poor tummy. She in turn would bite my head off and we would go back to our respective AARP magazines for another five minutes.

Carolsue was called in as a witness at 5:08 p.m. I believe she sprinted into the courtroom in record time--just to get away from me. Though most courts end around 4:30ish, this one was not. She was there an hour, giving me ample time to walk the halls, deal with my food posioning and repeatedly text Bliz and Legal Eagle.

All along I was maintaining (and Carolsue and Marty can confirm), that I am not going to testify. Denial is powerful, yet totally useless. But here I was--since 10 a.m., and I hadn't taken the stand. After Carolsue there was a surprise witness and then the judge called it a night. I didn't testify. But I did sit with Crabbysue for six hours. That is a trial untoitself.

My court appearance is now scheduled for Friday. First thing. This time I am bringing a bottle of water, a book and my own snacks. Though I am still into denial I will be testifying.

A Day From Leeds

This morning started off with me swinging to take a look at a few of my homes on my way to pick up Carolsue. Together, we made our way, winding past Ms. Kathy's house (and seeing a pet carrier on the front steps and a dog house on the back deck...) towards my least favorite destination in the entire South: Leeds Alabama.

I would like to tell you a few good things about my house in Leeds right now.

1. It appears the head of the Red Neck Mafia has moved out. Or passed on. Either way is good for me. I am pleased to say that his yard was cleaned up and the only signs of life at his house was a black man who pulled up in a construction pick-up. So, I guarantee this neighbor is now a former neighbor.

2. The idiot across the street and his felon daughter were nowhere to be seen. I'm good with that. However, I think they may have broken in and stolen the kitchen light. At least they were kind enough to cap the ends of the electrical wires.

3. The house I own in Leeds on a very quiet street really is super-cute when it is cleaned up. I so very much want to find someone who will love this house. I really do. And, they must pay the rent. Without drama. Is that really asking too much?

What I did find when Carolsue and I arrived was a cleaned up version of the pictures Kirby showed me from when the tenants first moved out. In a moment of multi-tasking, as I was looking at crayon and peanut butter walls, I called Kirby while I also dealt with a mild stroke. Kirby--who now manages more than 100 properties--dropped everything and hurried on over (a total customer service professional!). Of course, then I got to see the "before" pictures he had for me. So, the cleaned up version was much, much better.

In one of the before pictures there is obviously a light fixture in the kitchen. There is also a picture of the kitchen where the previous tenants left a cooked chicken on the kitchen counter in their haste to scurry out the door. They also left behind a few toys and other personal belongings as well. And coffee grounds. Did I mention the coffee grounds on the carpet?

I gotta tell you. Every carpet must be cleaned and every wall needs some level of paint on it--most of it is just touch-up. But still! I have successfully managed to keep my kids from writing on the walls with Sharpies for ten years. These folks only lived here for seven weeks.

As we were walking out, Carolsue made friends with an elderly neighbor. The neighbor in question (who just loved Carolsue), has a friend of a sister of a cousin's hairdresser who needs a place to live. I didn't understand much of it, but she now has Kirby's phone number and Carolsue is going to be invited back for Easter dinner.

While Carolsue and her new friend were chatting it gave me time to cover the one burning question Kirby had on his mind. Why did Carolsue keep referring to him as "Kirby?" You see, Kirby is not Kirby's real name. As with most of the names on this blog, Kirby is a pseudonym. So, I explained the whole blog thing to him. He took it in stride. And thankfully didn't ask to read this.

Random Bama--The Travel Edition

My first order of business Monday night, after texting Marty Sunshine that my plane had landed and getting my luggage, was finding a Zaxby's. This came even before calling Carolsue to tell her I was alive and had made it to Birmingham. I love Zaxby's about six months after I eat it and fondly remember it from that point forward. But from the time it digests to month 5.99, not so much.

___________________________________________

Today's order of business is to swing by and pick up Carolsue. Then we are going to swing by and find out where the courthouse happens to be. So I can show up at my appointed time.

We are also going to check out the house in Leeds sometime this week. Just to make sure it is still standing.
__________________________________________

I am pretty much playing this trip fast and loose. This is a far cry from my usual plan-everything-and account for every moment type of trip. I need to see people. Some of them attorney-types about attorney-type business.

I think Kirby warrants a visit. I am sure he will be totally excited to find out I'm in town with little warning.  I just sent him an e-mail. I wonder if he will reply before I show up on his doorstep.

And, possibly I will see Jack too. However, he hasn't been feeling too hot, so I am going to lay low and definitely play that one by ear.
__________________________________________


I am also going to take a look-see at some of my rentals. And perhaps pay a visit to Haroldine. I'll call first. It is only proper.

Can't We All Just Get Along?

I am on my way to Birmingham today to take care of a few errands.

But first, from the "I am soooo not making this up" file. In a place where manners are the cornerstone of society, we have this AP story. 

Thousands mourn historic trees in rally at Auburn
 By JOHN ZENOR, AP Sports Writer John Zenor, Ap Sports Writer – Sat Feb 19, 8:34 pm ET

AUBURN, Ala. – A steady stream of people began to arrive early Saturday morning to mourn the poisoning of oak trees at Toomer's Corner, where Auburn fans have long celebrated wins.

The heartfelt demonstration continued well into the afternoon.

Fans took pictures and left gifts and tributes, including rolls of toilet paper that surrounded the two 130-year-old oaks located on the fringes of campus.

The rally reflected the depth of pain and frustration engulfing this small community.

"Toomer's Tree Hug" was about proud tradition; it was about college football — two things residents in this state are rabidly, unapologetically passionate about.

And it was an Alabama fan — Harvey Updyke Jr., 62 — who apparently let his passion spiral out of control. Updyke has been charged with first-degree criminal mischief for allegedly using a tree-destroying herbicide to poison the oaks after Auburn beat the Crimson Tide in November. He was released from the Lee County Detention Facility on bond Friday night.

The heinous act has put the special rivalry in the national spotlight, even in the offseason.

In this state you're either an Alabama or Auburn fan — and declarations of neutrality can draw a disbelieving sneer. Once a year everything nearly comes to a complete stop when Alabama and Auburn lock horns in the Iron Bowl. And after the game ends, people talk about it the rest of the year, oftentimes while sipping sweet tea and eating barbecue.

For generations of Auburn fans, Toomer's Corner has been the spot to revel in those games.

It's not a big place, basically a nondescript intersection of College and Magnolia streets separating campus and downtown a quick walk from Jordan-Hare Stadium. But the small strip of land with the stately trees is considered sacred ground.

Retired Auburn athletic director David Housel tried to put its significance in terms people outside Southeastern Conference country can understand.

"In New York, Times Square is considered the crossroads of the world," Housel said. "In our world, Toomer's Corner is the crossroads of Auburn."

Harming the oaks was a low blow for a rivalry marked by memorable clashes and perpetually nursed grudges. But it's not the first time the rivalry has turned violent.

A Mobile man was charged with stabbing three Auburn fraternity members after apparently triggering a fight by yelling "Roll Tide" before the 2005 Iron Bowl. A judge eventually declared a mistrial after a key witness refused to testify.

Longtime Auburn fan Bill Jones of Scottsboro, who drove down for the rally, remembers a Toomer's oak being set on fire after the 1993 Iron Bowl, when Auburn completed an 11-0 season with a win.

"I was just standing right there and the guy set it on fire," Jones said. "The fire trucks couldn't even get in here hardly because there were 10,000 people here. If you've never been here after a ball game, you can't imagine it. It's shoulder to shoulder.

"It's gotten so it's a hatred rivalry."

Yes, it's a bitter, state-encompassing affair — one where a lack of professional sports and two schools dominating the sports landscape make it different than other storied sports rivalries like North Carolina-Duke, Ohio State-Michigan, Red Sox-Yankees or Lakers-Celtics.

"I grew up in North Carolina and I experienced the North Carolina-Duke basketball rivalry," Jones said. "It's nothing compared to this, and it's the best basketball rivalry. Nothing compared to the hatred that's in this state. It's a shame, too, really.

"In North Carolina, you do have four major universities, (including) Wake Forest and (North Carolina) State. It's a heated rivalry but not a hated rivalry. The state up there is not divided down the middle. Here it's divided down the middle."

But this ugly act seems to have momentarily united the divided camps in Alabama.

One crimson-and-white group has started raising money for replacements for the oaks. Auburn coach Gene Chizik and Alabama's Nick Saban — who have split the last two national football titles — even issued a joint statement saying this was "an isolated incident by one individual that is not representative of what the greatest rivalry in college football is all about."

Alabama student Sean Phillips, wearing a jersey of Tide Heisman Trophy winner Mark Ingram, said Saturday it is "a really sad day for Alabama as a whole." Phillips made the two-hour drive from home in Birmingham "to support a tradition that will soon be lost here."

"The guy that did this was crazy," Phillips said. "There might be animosity between the schools, but there's always that connection because we're all from Alabama. We're all in this together."

The Toomer's traditions — including the famously sweet lemonade at Toomer's Drugs across the street — are ingrained in the state's culture, like Alabama and Bear Bryant.

Auburn people have used Toomer's Corner as a meeting place since the school was established in 1856. Housel said it morphed into what it is today in 1972.

"They were No. 2 and (Auburn star) Terry Henley said we're going to go beat the No. 2 out of Alabama," Housel said. "Auburn won the game 17-16 and everybody went out to Toomer's Corner and rolled it in toilet paper."

Longtime Auburn fans are having a difficult time coping with the apparent demise of the trees.

F.O. Ferguson, of Sylacauga, Ala., came to his first Auburn game in 1934, said Toomer's Corner is a landmark that means a lot to Auburn people.

"I don't understand why anybody would just maliciously ... a tree that's not bothering anybody." Ferguson said, shaking his head. "I don't know. We've got some crazies in this world."

Joyce Parker, an 86-year-old Auburn alum and football season ticker holder, was not about to miss the rally, driving a few hours from her home in Gadsden.

"We love Auburn," Parker said. "We love the school and we love the town. And we love the trees."

Pondering

I sometimes wonder if investing in Alabama was worth it. But then I think if I had spent the same amount of money in the metro Phoenix area during the same time period, I would have fewer homes and they would all be worth significantly less than I paid for them. If we had even gotten that far.

Given the foreclosure rate in Arizona, I can't guarantee I wouldn't have been a casualty. Two homes I had at the time the market was hot went to foreclosure after I sold them to other buyers. If I had held on to them, I am not sure what would have happened. With that fact alone, I am definitely glad I wasn't investing in Phoenix at the time we were heavily buying homes.

But, it isn't as if I did tons of research before I landed in Birmingham. At the time, Marty Sunshine and I had been bandying about investing in other areas of the country but hadn't really done much about it. When we were presented with Birmingham it was one of those, "Here is an opportunity, what do you think?"

What I wonder is about the people. I can honestly say, good and bad, I have met some interesting folks who have made a significant impact on my life in a way that I cannot compare to my life in here in Mesa. And, I have had some lulus for tenants.  Many of them came from choices I made early on. They were my crash college courses in landlording. They taught me everything I know and then some.

However, at the time I made those choices it was with the information I had on hand. I was led to believe X about a tenant only to find out that the person recommending them (in this case, it would be my former agent, the Rajun Cajun) wasn't exactly telling the truth. So, if I had the real facts in front of me, I would like to think I would have made different decisions. And, I never would have rented to Wayward. Ever.

Also, had the Rajun Cajun told the truth, I wouldn't have ended up with two one-bathroom homes. (one bathroom homes are somewhat more common over there). Then again, I also wouldn't have had as many homes as I do. I am not sure if that is a good thing right now. But, it isn't the end of the world either. Once upon a time, we were actually profitable. I bet there are a lot of landlords who said that who don't have homes now. So, maybe we are ahead of the game.

The jury is still out on whether this adventure was worth it. Marty Sunshine says it is. Learning for the sake of knowledge is always worth it. I have certainly learned a lot I can take into the next phase of my life--whatever that happens to look like.

What's in a Name?

Recently I was talking to Polly's engaging BFF about her arch nemesis: Katie. Katie, it seems, is one of those "dumb stuck-up" 10 year old types. And, Katie's father is some sort of big-wig in some company. Every chance Katie gets, she talks endlessly about her father's wonderful job. BFF mildly commented that she couldn't compete with that.

"Sure you can! Just tell her you personally know--and have stayed the night at the home of--the CEO of a corporation." Then I explained I was CEO of a corporation and Marty Sunshine was CFO (or CIO--I really don't remember which).

Polly's BFF was genuinely impressed. But, I wish she wasn't. It really isn't as glamorous as it sounds.

Just ask Katie's father.

Training the Nontrainable

Last October, I was dithering about what to do about Ms. Kathy. You see, her lease was going to be up Feb. 3, 2011. She lives in a really cute, but really small home in the very desirable community of Moody. But, because her home is so small and it has one bathroom, it isn't as easy to rent out as most.

And, there is this pesky issue of Mr. Smith--the former tenant and Alabama's biggest deadbeat--living across the street at his father in law's home.

What I was ruminating about last October was did I want to give Ms. Kathy her walking papers or did I want to allow our dysfunctional relationship to fester until the the sun burned out. Ms. Kathy at the time was making this a no-brainer.

Ms. Kathy, since she moved in, has been a difficult tenant in the sense that she doesn't pay on time and has tons of excuses. That is what one gets when one puts in a tenant with iffy credit. Which I did--two years ago. And, I knew it at the time.

To her credit, although more of a drama queen than I prefer, Ms. Kathy is clean and keeps the house up. She grew up in the neighborhood. And, her sister moved into the home right next door. So, she has a vested interest in where she lives.

If she paid, I wouldn't think twice about her. And, all of Ms. Kathy's fine attributes didn't stop her from once writing me and explaining the reason she wasn't paying the rent that month was because her brother was in jail for some sort of really bad thing and she needed the money to bail him out. After all, he didn't deserve to be punished for his his really bad thing.

Last autumn, I was at the end of my rope with her. I was fantasizing about not being under-capitalized and finding someone to add another bathroom to that home. I was thinking about what it would be like to just have two consecutive months of someone living in this home who actually paid the rent and didn't give me continual grief.

Then one day, Ms. Kathy wrote me about some dilemma or other she was having and would it be ok to make an exception this one time about the whole rent thing?? Of course, she never calls to ask. Though Ms. Kathy is clean and likes her neighborhood, she is not courageous when it comes to talking to me, adult-to-adult. What she didn't realize is that in person I am relatively shy, tend to talk too fast and slur my words when I am flustered. Ms. Kathy flusters me. Essentially, I am a lot more effective as communicator when I am typing than when I am speaking.

But, she chose to write me. So, I let her have it.

Somewhere floating in cyberspace is some sort of eloquent Pulitzer Prize-winning guilt trip I laid on her. I either said it outright, or I inferred enough (without telling her I was looking forward to her moving soon) that I managed to finally get my point across. And, I meant every word of it.

What I got back was two consecutive e-mails with apologies.

And, ever since then rent has come in on time. Without hassles. And, without drama.

A Stain on One of My Good Days*

I would like to go on record here: I agreed more than a year ago to go to court and testify. Through the speedy justice system, this case has been moved about, hither and yon, to where we are finally. A date etched in er... sand stone.

What I didn't expect was a $&!*^% subpoena (a word I didn't even know how to spell until recently). To me, my willingness to help out was just made mandatory. And somehow this seems like a major affront. I am sure somewhere in the judicial playbook 101 all witnesses are subpoenaed--even those who have already been cooperative all along.

I liken this to a well trained dog, living in a back yard with an eight foot fence. The dog is content to hang out in the yard. It isn't going anywhere. But, just to be sure there is no room for escape, the owner chains the dog to a tree anyway.

That's how I feel. I already have my plane ticket weeks before my subpoena came (I expect never to have one of these things again, so I am going to write "subpoena" often for now to get as much mileage out of the darn word as I can--its a word geek thing). I already came to grips with the fact that I will be unceremoniously felt up by some TSA agent with a rubber glove. I already made arrangements for my homeschooled kids, begged family and friends to help and explained to my clients and fellow real estate professionals--please don't do anything while I am gone that will cause me to have an aneurysm. Just save that drama for my return.

So, to me, a subpoena seems like overkill. At one point I was going because I thought it was the right thing to do. Now I am going because I am being forced to. Or, more to the point: the subpoena doesn't give me the warm fuzzies. It isn't how I have been led to believe things are done in the South. Even if it is procedure.

*My apologies to Rob Thomas and Matchbox 20 for paraphrasing what is one of his best lyrics.

Where is the Love?

In case you have never run across one of these thingys, this is what I subpoena looks like. I now know.

Market Research

So, I checked out a book from the library on how to be an awesome landlord. Don't judge me. If I knew the secret, I would have my own book, or I would be rolling in my millions (which--according to Bliz and Diamond Jim--I am not).

However, what I found out in this case, is I am approaching the whole landlord thing incorrectly. And, more to the point, I really should write a book. The book I checked out was chock-full of eye-bleeding cliches and mind-numbing writing. I was astonished to find out the book in question is not self-published, but instead a big-named publishing house actually put their name on it.

Here's a few paraphrased excerpts:

• Don't ever advertise a vacant rental where a requirement for renting is sexual favors. According to the author, that is "discrimination."
• Deadbeats are bad. And deadbeat tenants are smarter than landlords.
• Run credit checks.
• Rent to rich people with money.
• Use a good smelling soap when cleaning your vacant rental.
• Keep the living room carpet clean (presumably while the rental is vacant).
• Don't let the tenant paint without the landlord's permission (Though the author didn't really cover how a landlord is supposed to stop this from happening.).

In Chapter 12, the author also says he is "frequently asked", "How can I be assured that when I buy, own and manage my investment property that there will be sufficient income from the rent to cover the costs of operation, maintenance, repair, insurance, taxes and of course the mortgage payment?"

The answer was something along the lines of, if you do it right, the costs will be covered and the property will pretty much manage itself. Good to know.

Catch Phrase

On Friday, I managed to end four e-mails in two hours with, "thank you in advance for your cooperation and assistance." Of course, this is a really nice way of saying to at least one recipient, "Bless your heart. Are you just too stupid to live or just too incompetent to do your job?" The rest of them got that message because I was on a roll.

The last person to receive my new catch phrase was Kirby. I asked my weekly question: what is going on with Leeds, ending it with "thank you in advance....yada yada." Lo and behold! He wrote me back in record time! I seriously didn't expect a response until Sunday or Monday. But no, Kirby was channeling the awesomeness that brought me to him in the first place and got back to me right away.

Kirby's news wasn't as exciting as I had hoped. The folks in Leeds are still there (surprise!). But they were served this past week. If you are counting, that would be four weeks from the time I asked for this to happen. Perhaps I should have used my new phrase on the process server. Maybe then those yahoos would have been served sooner.

State of the Business

On Wednesday, Mr. Partner and Marty Sunshine sat down for a pow-wow I purposely opted out of. No big deal. There were about 27 things I would rather have been doing (including, but not limited to, sitting on a beach somewhere with an iced tea and no cell service) than lunch at this particular pow-wow.

Now, before you get the wrong idea, I didn't feel slighted. You see, when I am at these every so often pow-wows, I have to answer the same questions over and over again: why is the business going "this" direction. And, of course "this direction" doesn't really have much do do with the reality. The real answer to the "this direction" question is we bought homes when it was cheap to get loans. Then the housing market tanked, leaving us floating amid a sea of foreclosures.

Hence, we don't have 20 percent equity positions in most of our properties. We are undercapitalized. This isn't a new revelation. At least not to me or Marty Sunshine. In the case of this pow-wow, I was perfectly happy to let Marty Sunshine answer these questions. After all, I left out "answering repetitive questions about our investments" in our marriage vows.

And, in all fairness, when Mr. Partner is reminded of our realities (because apparently he has a life outside of this accidental business and he doesn't keep on top of this on a daily basis), he seems to catch on. "Oh yea... I remember now... When aliens landed on our home in Centerpoint last year, they took the roof... I guess it was reasonable for the tenant to want a new roof. And I suppose we are paying for that..."

I would also like to point out for all interested parities, our losses this year weren't that bad--if you wish to classify a loss as "good" this might be the occasion. We still have put less than 20 percent into every home and we are still standing. But, our losses this past year aren't related to trashed homes, legal fees or poor tenant choices from years gone past. I am even going out on a limb here, I believe the worst is over. I hope.

We aren't cash flowing the mega bucks we were early on in our Alabama business, but we aren't bleeding to death either. We have a lot of work in front of us, to make up for the mistakes of years past, but I prefer productive growth (even in the form of "a lot of work") to running around conducting rental home triage.

In truth, about twice a year, the Sunshines and the Partners get together and write a check for home owner's insurance and property taxes on our gazillion properties. This money would probably be in our business bank account if it wasn't for alien abducted roofs, melted furnaces or 150 year old trees that fall into rush hour traffic. And, we get a tax write off which is usually put back into the business every year. So, even though things tend to be tight once in a while, all bills get paid.

Always.

In my local real estate practice, I work with investors on a regular basis who have to short sell their homes or have let their rental properties go into foreclosure because of market factors and personal decisions. We haven't gone there. And, at the rate we are going, I am confident we won't.

Cultural Differences

The other day, my cyber friend Lori and I were in a digital chat. Lori wanted super-inexpensive storage ideas. I suggested Lori spray paint a few boxes and voila! easy storage solutions.

Lori, however, lives somewhere blizardish wasn't able to spray paint. Me, a desert dweller, didn't exactly understand (until Lori pointed it out) that blizzards and spray painting don't go hand in hand. A cultural difference.

Of course, there are other cultural differences I encounter on a regular basis. Most of these I have absorbed through the course of running my accidental business. Many of them I don't even notice anymore.

Last week Mr. Partner was making noises like he does every quarter or so about the state of affairs in Alabama. I grumbled to Marty Sunshine that if Mr. Partner felt he could do a better job managing this, I was willing to retire. And, Godspeed.

Marty pointed out that Mr. Partner couldn't handle the cultural differences. Though Mr. Partner totally rocks at being a landlord. And, he brings thrifty to a level only surpassed by Ebenezer Scrooge. Doing business in the South takes a bit more than understanding when to write the check and whom to write it to.

In the South, people expect--and only respect--those who are polite. There is a time window in any conversation where small talk is required. The weather, the state of affairs or any other issue deemed appropriate in polite society is required to be covered thoroughly before getting to the crux of the matter at hand.

I am sure there have been 911 calls that start, "Hello. How y'all doing? Can you believe this weather we are having here? By the way, Timmy has fallen into the well..."

By which the 911 operator would answer, "Oh, bless his heart..."

Urgency in the South is not the same as the rest of the world. Kirby taking four days to return my e-mail (which he did) may be overly maddening to me, but to him--and most everyone else over there--this is a politely acceptable time frame to respond to an e-mail. Mr. Partner would not find this acceptable. Frankly, I don't either, but I understand Southerners do.

When I go to Birmingham, I am somewhat expected to have face time with those I do business with. Though this is an acceptable business practice everywhere, in the South, these aren't business meetings. They are social calls--and are to be treated as such. In the South, business is done with those people trust. Trust comes with a price and responsibility.

These aren't just basic MBA business practices, but time honored rituals rich in tradition and cultural heritage. Southerners in general don't particularly trust outsiders. Outsiders have to work to earn the trust. Not the other way around.

Just like for Lori and her near Arctic conditions, in the South, what I am calling "cultural differences" are really just a way of life. And though I fantasize about Mr. Partner taking over, I am not sure he would take the time to learn these differences. And if Mr. Partner doesn't master the cultural mores, that alone could make or break what we do.

No News On Leeds

Kirby got back to me with my "Hey my request to you is four days old and I really do want to know what is happening in Leeds" type of note. The first draft of my second e-mail was much more full of snark. I toned it down to the basic facts: "Hey Kirby, I'm still waiting to hear from you."

Of course, now that I have my copy of the Kirby to English dictionary, I am understanding a few things. No reply from Kirby means he has no information. I am under the impression this is a perfectly acceptable answer for him.

Not that it matters much, I am here. The house in Leeds is there. And there isn't much I can do at this moment. (And, I would like to point out this is a big step for anyone who might be a tad high strung with control issues.)

Kirby's answer of course won't do for me. Not only do I need more information, I need results. But, for now, I am going to sit back and trust that Kirby is doing his job. According to Kirby, he expects to have a better update sometime this week. And, bless his heart, he will keep me posted.

Dilemmas

Do I show up on Kirby's doorstep next time I am in Birmingham and give him the evil eye until he firmly grasps that I really, truly am seeking information when I e-mail him and not sending random cryptic messages when I ask, say, "What the heck is going on with the house in Leeds?" Or, do I just show him this blog.

I really can't decide.

Haroldine

Haroldine didn't quite follow along with the guidelines she and I discussed in December. I don't really know what to make of it. I sort of believe her situation. She was a human resources manager for 19 years for a very large employer who was bought by a larger company. The larger company closed the Birmingham office and Haroldine was forced into retirement.

Currently, Haroldine is working part time at the outlet mall--the only place where she has been able to find employment for the past six months--while frantically looking for additional employment. I am guessing there are also other forms of income from a retirement and Harold as well.

But, none of that really matters. Haroldine is not on the lease for the home Jack and I own. Harold purposely wanted it that way. At the time, Harold said Haroldine was not living with him, but would be visiting occasionally. Somehow this has transitioned into Haroldine being my contact and her feeling responsible for the rent.

Though I am no psychologist, I would venture a guess here: this is a fancier home than Harold owns (because he has a house that he supposedly rents out in a different neighborhood). Haroldine moved in and is living some sort of fantasy whereby the two of them will live happily ever after. Except Harold doesn't want to play. He is perfectly fine moving back home and saying the heck with playing house. He doesn't have to buy the cow. So to speak.

So, Haroldine has been scrambling every month to make this fantasy work out, in spite of the fact that she really is killing herself doing so. But, it seems at this point, her entire perspective of their relationship is based on where she lives. I wouldn't care so much about this, but the stress of the location of her rent payment is eats at my stomach lining every month.

When Jack and I discussed Haroldine last Thursday morning at #$%$& 7:14 a.m., I asked him what he wanted to do: ask her to politely leave, find someone to help her move or let this situation fester along a bit longer.

I was astonished when he really encouraged me to play along. According to Jack, homes just aren't renting. The economy is so bad in Birmingham nobody is moving. Of course, that was my experience with the Leeds home, but I thought that was just because it was, well, Leeds. But, according to Jack, this is going on everywhere.

When I talked with Haroldine last week, I asked her what was going on. Obviously, she doesn't read this blog because her first reaction was to break into tears. After I insisted she call me back, she actually came up with a solution, that made me pleased when her follow through this week resulted in a rent payment.

One of the reasons I am willing to work with Haroldine is that she does call me back. She does answer my texts. She plays along--though I am not sure how happy I am to be playing along too. Something has to give. I am hoping it will be the Birmingham economy. Because I am not sure how much more I can take of the Haroldine drama.

Gratitude

Once upon a time--about five or six years ago actually--Ms. Angie called me. Her Southern drawl was so thick and rich that I only caught about one out of every 27 words. The reason she called me was she heard from someone I was the lady who had houses for rent. Could I help her?

At the time I couldn't. But that didn't stop her from calling every six months or so. In fact, unbeknownst to me, it turns out she was resigning a six month lease with her landlord so that if I did have something that came available, she would be ready.

But, not only was Ms. Angie calling about renting from me, she also called for other items. For whatever reason, she decided I was the foremost expert on Birmingham real estate and Alabama landlord-tenant law. Mind you, when she called I would listen with everything I had to make sure I half way understood her. It wasn't like we were buddies.

And, she seemed sweet enough, but every time she called, I didn't really have anything that suited her. Or, if I did, something came up in her life (like emergency surgery) and she didn't feel like she could, "do me right" by signing a lease at that time. In fact, I believe it was about this time I was familiar enough with her I actually started understanding her most of what she said.

A couple of years ago, I ended up with a trashed vacant home. Mr. Richards had been beamed up by aliens at an earlier date, and left me with quite a mess. Though he had evaporated into thin air, he had left all his worldly possessions, plus a few other hassles behind. And, it was just when I was reeling from this headache that Ms. Angie called again.

Ms. Angie needed to move. But, I warned her the home wasn't ready to show. So, if she could wait a few weeks, I would let her have first dibs. I did offer to give her the address and let her drive by. Which she did.

She also ran into Carolsue that day working diligently and cussing Mr. Richards' mother for not raising him properly. Carolsue, wasn't able to hold Ms. Angie back (nor did she probably try) as Ms. Angie marched into the house and looked around at the mess. Somewhere around the basement, hip deep in leftover Mr. Richards' droppings, Ms. Angie called me, "I want this house. When can I move in?" she asked.

Ms. Angie has been renting from me ever since. For the past year and a half, Ms. Angie has dutifully sent the rent on time every month. She will e-mail the day she sends it and call me two days later to make sure I received it. None of my other tenants have ever done this. Ever.

However, in January funds were a bit tight and she asked if she could pay late. I obliged, not the least bit worried she would take advantage (are you listening Ms. Shirley???). On Tuesday, Ms. Angie called me and left a message. She didn't want to mail the rent, as it was the first of the month and she knew my mortgage payment was due. Instead, could she please have my account number and deposit the money directly into my bank? Not a problem.

And, just like her, she called back a few hours later. I figured she was calling to let me know the money was there. Nope. Ms. Angie just called to thank me for letting her pay late. And, not to worry, she promised not to make a habit of this.

This is What I am Talking About!

Last Thursday I hadn't received two rent payments: Mrs. Green's and Mrs. Sherwood's. I called Mrs. Green, who immediately sprang into action, calling her bank and texting me to tell me the check hadn't been cashed. Please keep me posted. On Friday I hadn't called her back, but she was back with another message, had the check come in yet??? Please let her know. She was stressed about the check missing. Did she need to stop payment. Should she fly out personally and hand me cash? What needed to happen.

I received her rent check on Saturday.

I also sent a quick text on Thursday to Mrs. Sherwood. She is harder to get in touch with. Essentially, when did she mail out the money? Her reply: a few days earlier.

Speaking of which, on Monday I realized I still hadn't received Mrs. Sherwood's money and sent her another quick text. In my defense, I hadn't thought much about it over the weekend.

When Mrs. Sherwood called me back, she was in such a tizzy that I am pretty sure she would have brought Carolsue to tears. Why had I not called her sooner? What was I thinking letting this much money float around without any regard to where it might be?  All I could do was sit there and humbly "yes ma'am" my way through the call.

When she finished, she let me know she had already taken proactive steps. She said she had already called her bank and stopped payment. So, now she was on her way to my bank to deposit the rent--before the end of the month. And what was my account number?

And next time, I darn well better let her know sooner. Because she doesn't take lightly to missing money.

Pearls Before Swine

Really, that is the name of the comic strip. This was Saturday's edition.

I had another blog ready to go. But frankly, my January has been horrible. I would rather leave my next blog for February. So, feel free to pick the tenant this most resembles. I can't decide.

Details, Details, Details

I e-mailed Kirby on Wednesday asking for an update. I specifically gave him a list of all I wanted to know, making sure to highlight the parts that were important to me and my stomach lining. And, just to sweeten the pot, I told him if he answers I promise to stop pestering him. At least for today.

Lo and behold! Kirby responded within an hour. His answers were concise, but contained more information in them than he had relayed in the past week. One of the really great parts, was he shared with me how totally awesome the woman in Fultondale is--now that she paid. And, the check is in the mail.

Kirby also told me he is starting the eviction for Leeds tomorrow. In the event you are astonished that it took Kirby a week to get this going, I'm not. Nothing, and I mean nothing, ever happens according to the Roman calendar in the South.

Except college football games. Don't be late. And be sure to chant, "Roll Tide!" or watch the game at your own risk. Consider yourself warned.

Making sure to give praise where it was due, I thanked Kirby for getting back with me with his augmented explanations that left no room for additional questions from me. I even promised not to bug him until Friday. And, just to hopefully promote further goodwill, I said, "Have a good weekend if I forget to call you Friday."

Yes, You Do Need A Sweater!

I sure do like Kirby. Except he has this annoying habit of spoon feeding me information. One might deem his responses to to my questions as utterly useless. But, I am sure to him they are filled with meaning that should not be questioned.

For example:

Me: "Kirby, I am going outside. Do I need to wear a sweater today."

Kirby: "The sun is up."

Of course, this is done with me leaving a voice mail and him responding much later in the day with an e-mail, so these particular conversations drag on for longer than necessary, with me getting more testy with each passing voice/e-mail.

On Monday, after a maddening few days of getting (what I consider) half responses to relevant questions, I was done. My mind was spinning with all sorts of scenarios that probably weren't true. I left him a message telling him this mode of communication wasn't working for me, and reiterated my questions.

Kudos to Kirby for looking for a "working" solution and thinking outside the box. Kirby sent me two e-mails, breaking down the topics I repeatedly called about and sort of answering my questions, but not by enough so that I was satisfied.

Tuesday I called him, leaving him a much more terse message, telling him he was to call me back. I think I forgot to say please.

One of the really great things I like about Kirby is his ability to pick up the subtleties of a bitchy woman. He didn't disappoint there. And this time he called back, acting like nothing was wrong.

I started our chat with: "You aren't hanging up until I am done with this conversation because you are impossible to get in touch with."

He dutifully responded with a, "Yes ma'am," and I suspect he muttered "bless your heart" under his breath.

What I wanted to know was some details about what is happening with the home in Leeds. Did they pay? Do we have a security deposit? Are they moving out? Do we need an attorney? Do you have an attorney who is volumes cheaper than Legal Eagle? Have you started the process of evicting or are you waiting for me to give the go-ahead (and I sure hope not, because I gave the go-ahead LAST WEEK).

When that was covered (no, sorta, he doesn't know, yes, yes he does and not yet), we moved on to my home in Fultondale. Where was the rent? It was due on the 1st. This particular tenant was in a bad car accident a few months ago. I have been more lenient about this because she had been communicating with Kirby. It turns out she is now back at work (news to both Kirby and I) and rent was on its way. Kirby and I discussed a strategy to get her back on track. And more importantly, when I could see the rent payment for January. Last I checked it was the 25. The mortgage was due in six days.

Being the quasi-consummate professional I pretend to think I am, I didn't really go into my levels of disappoint with him. I will save that for another time. Hopefully, it will never come up. I would like to think maybe he got the message: answer my questions and I will stop calling over and over.

Last year I found out Kirby is managing about as many homes as I own plus a few more. And, I gave him two more this fall. That really is a lot for one Kirby to manage. I know this first hand. I have four off my plate and I am feeling much better. I have since found out he is considerably larger, buying out another property management competitor.

So, his new inventory right now is a handful--especially with a deadbeat grandma to deal with and a persnickety landlord with credible control issues. My long term goal is to give Kirby all my homes. But for now, I am waiting to see some better results with the ones I gave him. Or, at least hear better responses.

Must Gos

When I was little, my mother would often serve "must-gos." It was the 1970s, there was a recession going on. My father worked construction--when he had a job. In my childhood, a luxury item consisted of new shoelaces for the handmedown sneakers some family friend had passed my way.

Must-gos were combined foods: spaghetti, English muffins and peas that all were on the end of their life cycle. They were combined in a variety of ways to form our daily cuisine. Mom came up with this clever name to disguise what they really were: leftovers on the edge.

I have some must-go tenants right now. They are also leftovers on the edge. They should have been long gone, but I put up with them a smattering longer than necessary just because they wanted to play. These are the Haroldines, Ms. Kathy and Ms. Shirleys of the world. I think of them as a bean soup. Add another can of broth and the soup can go on indefinitely. They augmented their shelf life, getting a bit more time by adding preservatives (in this case rent) to my bank account. However, they still give me stomach ache when I have to deal with them.

The other must-go are the tenants who should never have been allowed in the first place--the Grandmother and her five grandchildren in Leeds. Yes, two weeks into their lease and they violated the basic rules: pay the rent. So, now I am having to clean out the pantry again. I am in the process of sanitizing and deodorizing, all because they were beyond salvageable before they even moved in.  I am doing this all in hopes that we can get someone in there that is truly palatable.

Prudence

I'm working on taxes today. And the washing machine died a painful, watery death today. There is a glass of wine calling my name when I get to a stopping point.

The kids are cowering somewhere else. Marty Sunshine is staying far away and pops his head into the office every so often to say things like, "would you like some chocolate?"

I am cursing Diamond Jim's name. He hasn't written me back with the answer to "can I write off my purchases to Goodwill Industrustries?" Speaking of writing back, Bliz has about 27 e-mails sitting in her in box from me with expenses I found that need to be accounted for.

Well now... Seeing as this is a family blog, it is probably best if we just meet up tomorrow. K?

If you are looking for something to read, the next installment of The House Hunter was posted today. The link is to the right.

Random Bama--The Communication Edition

Ms. Angie's frantic call last Wednesday was to tell me that she walked in and could smell the waft of an electrical smell flooding through the home and the heat was out again.

And what should she do?

"Call 911" I said with as much patience as I could muster under the given circumstances.

"You know what?" she drawled. "Let me call my next door neighbor and ring you back." And with that she hung up to talk to her next door neighbor the (I hope) fire fighter.

Because I was at the end of my rope, Marty Sunshine immediately called her back to find out that it wasn't an ozone smell, but a natural gas smell. The neighbor figured it was the pilot light of her brand-new furnace went out.

I sure hope that was the case. But, I haven't called her yet to find out.

________________________________________________

Ms. Shirley came through.

I got a brisk and to the point e-mail last week. "Mrs. Landlord, I deposited my rent in your bank account. Sincerely, Ms. Shirley"

Now, Ms. Shirley, wasn't that simple? Imagine how much nicer life could have been for you if you had just done this on time for the past several months.

________________________________________________

I spoke with Haroldine on Thursday. About half way through our conversation she said to me with an exasperated tone: "I really can't understand you with your thick accent."

Funny, I was thinking the exact same thing.

Haroldine and I finally got our conversation out of the way, via text.