Tuesday's Winning Call

Susan called this morning on my Alabama phone and left a delightful message. She was articulate, used reasonable-sized words and her subject-verb agreement was spot on. She gave me a number where I can call her back. The reason for her call, she knows of "several people who might have an interest" in renting my home and for a small bribe fee she would be happy to pass those names along for me to find out for myself. Please call back immediately if I was interested in her list.

Stupid Questions

You may have heard that adage: "There are no stupid questions." I disagree.

And let me tell you, screening tenants brings out the stupid questions.

My favorite on Monday was the woman who e-mailed me and said, "How flexible are you on the rent?"

Mind you, she didn't say, "Hi, I have seen your lovely home and have an interest in renting it in a multi-year lease. I am currently gainfully employed, have no unreasonable debt and own a lawnmower." All she wanted to know--without seeing my home--is will I take less for the rent.

Marty Sunshine suggested I was being a teeny tiny bit judgemental about this woman. I say she has already broadcast she is trouble. Loud and clear.

My response back was the rent wasn't negotiable. But it doesn't matter what she thinks at this point. She has already told me more than enough.

Prequalifying

One of the many handy-dandy things I have learned from Jack is the power of prequalification. In the past when I had a vacant home, I would run an ad in the newspaper and hope for the best.

Generally that netted me endless voice mails from a good portion of Birmingham's soon-to-be-homeless who were willing to divulge their life story for a chance to rent my home. It also took up a lot of my time listening to Birmingham's soon-to-be-homeless.

Jack gave me a great idea the very first time we met: leave a voice mail greeting with all the particulars and tell those whom I have no interest in renting to not leave a message. This cut down on my time and energy, though there are still an optimistic few who seem to be in denial about my whole process. Generally those are the ones who leave me messages saying, "What is the rent and the deposits?" "Do you accept pets?" All of which is clearly outlined on my voicemail.

In fact, my voice mail right now says something like,

"Thank you for calling about my awesomely wonderful home. I think you will love this three bedroom, two and a half bath beauty. It has a fenced back yard, a two car garage and hardwood floors. The rent is this much. The deposits are that much. There is also a credit application of x amount. That is a total of this much money to move in.

If you have had a short sale or a foreclosure recently, please don't let that stop you from applying to rent. I am happy to talk with you. If you have been evicted, just hang up now. That goes double for those of you with pets or those of you who think I want a Section 8 tenant. The address is 123 Main Street. You are welcome to drive by, if then want to set an appointment to see the interior, feel free to leave a message."

I have had wonderful success with this method in the past. But now I am going a step further. My application now includes the following: "Do you own a lawn mower? Do you own a vacuum cleaner? Do you own a screwdriver?"

As I write this, I wonder who will be responding to my request--if anyone. The first week of looking for a tenant is always the best. It is full of joyful hope and anticipation. I always believe the right tenant is out there RIGHT NOW looking for a place to call home and it will be a snap to rent out. However, usually by the fourth week, my voice mail will say, "If you have a pulse, leave a message."

Hopefully I won't need to worry about week four.

Howdy

My general rule about this blog is that topics discussed must in some way be about the following:

• Running an accidental business
• The South
• Investing
• Renting
• Baseball

Though there are times I throw a few other odd topics in (hey! It's my blog I can do that), I like to loosely tie these ends together. Such as: I am running an accidental rental business in the South, which I started with way too little capital and started with way too many investors. To improve our capital position, I don't have time to watch baseball.

See that nicely fits together.

In any case, I haven't had much of a chance to write this blog lately because most of my life doesn't fall into the aforementioned categories or any reasonable tangents thereof.

This past week was so nutty that I can only sum it up with the following phrases:

• runaway backhoe
• coerced electrician
• stolen Porche
• dysfunctional employees scraped from the bottom of the 9 percent unemployment barrel
• secret korma recipes
• Words With Friends withdrawal

Sadly, none of the above has anything to do with baseball or the rest of the first list. However, at this rate, I am going to start a new blog or expand my topics.

And by the way, how is your week going? Please, please tell me!

In other news, Ms. Angie, who has been the proud recipient of new roof, new furnace and new air conditioner in the past few years is also now the proud recipient of a solid gold hot water heater. Though I haven't exactly figured out how it will be paid for just yet. Apparently the only kinds of water heaters installed in Birmingham Alabama are the solid gold variety. Seriously. That's what I asked the plumber when he told me the cost (and to my credit, he broke the cost to me immediately after the runaway backhoe incident, so I thought I was keeping it together nicely).

I am sure there will be more items to blog about next week (if you three readers are still around), as I am running an ad in the Birmingham News for a tenant for my Alabaster house. Tenant screening always brings out the same personality in me that I use when I coerce electricians. Maybe there will be a fun story out of that. Here's hoping.

An Open Letter

Dear People In Alabama,

Arizona doesn't celebrate Daylight Savings. And, we don't understand why you do have your silly custom, but we respect the fact that you do. We would like to ask in return, that you please respect our custom of agreeing to disagree about Daylight Savings.

There is now a two hour time difference between where you are and where I am. I promise there is nothing you need to say to me at 8 a.m. your time that can't wait until 10 a.m. your time. If you have a leaky faucet leaving me 16 messages between 6 a.m. (my time) and 8 a.m. (my time) will not make me find a plumber any faster. If you (heaven forbid!) have a fire. You can wait until 1) the fire is out and 2) a reasonable time to tell me about it. Please understand: I am very grumpy at 6 a.m.

If you are a property manager... well, never mind. You don't call me anyway. But if you did, please remember there is now a two hour difference. If you don't call me at 6 a.m. I promise not to call you at 6 p.m. Deal?

Sincerely,

The Landlord

In the Red

It is tax time. And finally--when Bliz doesn't have any more free weekends to deal with my financials--I have a free second to admire at her miraculous bookkeeping skills.

My 2011 financials are not pretty. What will also not be pretty is the purple blotches on Mr. Partner's face when he sees the financial statements Bliz so lovingly compiled for us.

I was very much aware what I would find. It isn't a big secret Kirby brought us to the brink of financial ruin through his neglect we have had several vacant homes that were harder than expected to rent out. And to be fair, Mr. Partner was aware of these too.

Though this might be hard to believe, I want to see a loss on my financials. And lucky for me. I am seeing just that. A loss is a tax break. A gain is not a tax break.

For my pride's sake, I would prefer my loss wasn't as horrific as it is. But we seemed to have weathered another year and the loss will look nicely on my taxes. However, if it is all the same with you, for 2012, I would prefer to see something a little closer to zero.

For Miss Number 4

I ran across Attorney Jon through a ton a happenstance. I was working with the Rajun Cajun--the world's sleaziest real estate agent--and she had her own closing attorney she liked. I didn't like her closing attorney. I started asking around and found Attorney Jon.

When I talked to him initially and explained my business model, he replied with a guttural "uh huh" (complete with drawl) which I learned through time was his trademark way of saying, "please continue." He completely understood my business model. That was a far cry from the Rajun Cajun and her attorney. They just smiled politely and said, "bless your heart" every time I patiently explained what I was doing. Not Attorney Jon. He asked relevant questions and showed a genuine interest. Through time his seal of approval on anything I was doing became as imperative as a stamp is to the US Postal Service.

Attorney Jon and I had a professionally friendly relationship. He always made himself available to answer my questions. He offered sound, professional advice and he introduced me to some amazing people: Jack; Legal Eagle, Matt the Loan Officer; John the Loan Officer and a few others I am blessed to have met along the way.

I knew all along Attorney Jon was special--though I can't give you a specific reason why. It wasn't just me. Everyone who knew him thought so. It was the way Attorney Jon would remember details and take time to help with the simplest of tasks. It was the extra things he did. For example, one time he called me from his car at 8 p.m. in the parking lot of the local school while waiting for his daughter to finish her basketball practice. In the backseat was his youngest and he vacillated between polishing up a contract I was writing and giving attention to his child. He never billed me for that hour. In fact, he rarely billed me at all. Even when I asked him to.

Back in 2008, right before the economy tanked, he met with Marty and me, endorsed my new and improved business model and got me an appointment with a major SEC attorney.  Though that didn't pan out (and looking back, it is definitely for the best), the experience was amazing. All because of Attorney Jon.

I only met Attorney Jon out socially twice. The first invitation was extended through Jack. Apparently I was sufficiently charming enough that Mrs. Attorney Jon invited me over for dinner a couple nights later. I had an opportunity to meet four of Attorney Jon's five daughters.  He numbered them when he spoke of them: 1 through 5. Number 4 is Polly's age and the night I visited she melted my heart with her charm and sweetness.

I think about Number 4 now and then. Legal Eagle tells me she watched Number 4 the day of Attorney Jon's funeral, in front of her daddy's casket, her chest heaving, crying inconsolably.  My heart aches for her. She's 11. That's too young to loose a father. She's too young to have do deal with the whys of the world and navigate through the scary. 

Someday, Miss Number 4, you may happen upon this blog and know another piece on how awesome your daddy was. He was a brilliant and generous man.

These past few weeks, I have run across many Attorney Jon items in my life. I got an e-mail from Loan Officer Matt, asking if I knew about Attorney Jon. I found some paperwork Attorney Jon handled for me. I found a pen he gave me with the name of an accounting firm during the time I was working on the SEC business plan. I have found e-mails. And I relayed a story about how my GPS got me lost in Birmingham back in 2007 and Attorney Jon's secretary had to help me find my way. Just silly memories. But lots of them.

Four people I know left this world last year, ranging in age from 21 to 87. Two of those where expected two were not. Attorney Jon was one of the unexpected and his death hit me the hardest. There is nobody to talk with about that fact that I miss someone I had a professionally friendly relationship with. He was a well-respected and admired man by me and by others. But I am on the outside. I am grieving his loss all alone.

It doesn't seem proper to ask Jack--a Southern man through and through--how he is doing with the death of his friend of 30 years. Though I consider Jack a friend, I am under the impression if he wanted to share, he would. When I inquired once about Mrs. Attorney Jon recently, he changed the subject. I hope she is coping. I hope they all are.

Where's The Catch?

My tenants on Waterford Lane have surprised me. Last I heard, they were month to month. I was told they wanted to stay long enough to buy a home. I was also told they needed to move because the home they are in (about 1400 square feet) isn't really big enough to encompass their growing family. Fair enough. They pay their rent on time. They only complain when the air conditioner doesn't work (which, hopefully has been permanently fixed now).

The Waterford Tenants are part of the conglomeration of homes Kirby manages. So, if there is more than the above going on, I just don't know.

However, I got a work order today (one of the "no-reply" e-mails Kirby sends out when there are repairs needed to the property). It said: "CAN SHE PULL UP CARPET & REPLACE WITH LAMINATE FLOORING AT HER EXPENSE?"

This doesn't sound like someone who feels the need to leave in 30 days. This sounds like someone who wishes to make their lives a bit better and their home more comfortable. I am ok with this. More or less.

I did reply to Kirby and to the only other contact I have at Kirby's office with the following:

"Probably. What rooms will the flooring be in? What color laminate? Can we see a picture of the flooring prior to putting it in? Who will be hauling away the carpeting? Who is doing the work? Will it be inspected after completion by a member of your staff?"

Still waiting to hear back. I am all for this. But I would rather have my questions answered first.

The Kitchen Sink is Still There

Great news! Ms. Shirley left. Mr. 114 swears she left the place in moderately decent condition. The carpet is dirty, but not stained. She (apparently) was thinking of painting so she left a painted color swatch on the wall of every single room. However, I am 95 percent sure there is touch up paint at this house.

And lest you been lulled into a sense of relief because the worst item on that list so far is dirty carpet, let me just say--that is probably the best item on that list.

You see, Ms. Shirley took the blinds. Ms. Shirley took every single stinking light bulb. Ms. Shirley took everything that was not nailed down. She also didn't return the keys. She gave me some other keys (possibly to her new home?). 

Ms. Shirley is also MIA and won't return e-mails or phone calls about the keys, so I am guessing I will be rekeying. And there is probably no chance of getting the window coverings back.

I am so over Ms. Shirley. In fact, I find that I am more annoyed about the pettiness of the light bulbs than I am about the window coverings and keys. My priorities are probably screwed up here. I'm ok with that too.

Good-Bye Trouble

You might have heard that quasi-melodious sound coming from the west? No, it wasn't a chorus of off-key angels rejoicing. It is me rejoicing.

Ms. Shirley is leaving my life!!!!!!

Allegedly she is moving out today. Mr. 114 (I adore him) tells me there was a big orange and white do-it-yourself moving truck outside her home yesterday and activity was abuzz. 

Of course she opted to stiff me on rent in the process, but at least she is leaving (let me just add: I really feel there is a special place in hell for tenants who think the security deposit is their personal savings account and they don't need to pay their last month's rent because they give a security deposit. That is stealing. Anyone who does this is a thief. You signed a contract, honor it.). I am banking Ms. Shirley will leave the place moderately clean. At least I hope she will.

I am so burned out on property managers that I decided not to give this home to Mario or Kirby. Neither deserve it. Nor do I feel like finding a third property manager at this time. Mr. 114, who lives right next door, is going to get it move-in ready for me and offered to show it. I am hoping this will result in a tenant Mr. 114 approves of and less of a hassle for me.

Fear the Awesome Power of the Bendy Straw

Tuesday, Marty Sunshine forbid me to discuss Kirby any further while holding a kitchen knife in my hand. I am however, allowed to hold a soda straw in my hand when his name comes up. Apparently Marty doesn't feel any real damage can come from that.

Did you know October was the last time Kirby actually called me back? Now, he has e-mailed me--only when I write things such as, "the courtesy of a response would be greatly appreciated."
Kirby has a distinct voice. He sounds like Randy Travis. On Tuesday I called his office. His secretary told me Kirby wasn't in, but I have to tell you I could hear through the phone one interesting party going on in the background. Apparently Randy Travis was standing nearby talking to someone else.

Marty Sunshine says that Kirby is afraid of me. Marty's reasoning is he has failed me and Kirby knows I am upset. I am a middle-aged overweight woman who lives 1,700 miles away. My only weapon is a plethora of multi-syllable words--especially now that Marty has banned knives. In my book, fear does not seem to be a good enough reason to ignore someone.  Even someone who can wield a mean soda straw.

Begging for Mercy

Dear Bliz,

I am sorta, kinda hoping you don't hate me yet. But, I am truly sorry I have ignored your texts and e-mails. If it makes you feel any better, I am ignoring your texts and e-mails a lot less than I have been ignoring everyone else's.

I think it is Monday. I am pretty sure it is still February. At least I hope so. Last time I checked it was February 11th. I haven't stopped moving since then.

You see, last week alone I managed to work about 95 hours alone and--provided it really is Monday--I will probably clock slightly less than that this week. I do all this to avoid tax season so we we can fix, or at least put a sizable band-aid on, our undercapitalized issues.

I will admit, I took a few hours off on Sunday and joyously dragged Marty Sunshine around the garden center of the large big box retailer. I even managed to plant some of the gladiola bulbs I bought. But, other than that, all I have been good for is promising you things I haven't delivered--like the items you have asked for so that we can get the financials to Diamond Jim. In return, he can do my taxes one last time.

I have one more promise for you that I intend to deliver. So, if you can find it in your heart to forgive me for being a bigger flake than usual in the 25 plus years we have been friends, there will be answers to your very reasonable and well thought out questions as well as toffee in your future.

Sincerely,
The Landlord

It's Just Super

Random SPAM comment I got for this blog:

"Thank you very much for your cool article. After analyzing your contribution I understood the significance of the intention which you was trying to deliver to your subscribers. One more time thank you for this super essay."

Jeepers Creepers

When I wrote my post a couple of weeks ago, suggesting Ms. Shirley might be moving, a) I was having a very bad week and b) I was actually thinking of asking Ms. Shirley to go because she can't seem to figure out how to pay her rent on time.

It didn't really matter. Because Ms. Shirley actually e-mailed me about an hour after I posted my blog and told me she was moving.

It has occurred to me on a few occasions that Ms. Shirley might read my blog. She tends to know a bit more about my business than I have told her. And she lets comments slip now and then. Or she might just be some sort of creeper stalking me. If that's the case, I'm glad I am 1700 miles away.
Oddly enough, Ms. Shirley telling me she was moving didn't really put a damper on a very bad week. In fact, it actually brightened my mood. I wish Ms. Shirley well. But I am not sorry to see her and her drama go.

My Third Call Monday Morning

So, I have a tenant with an electrical issue. The tenant has been calling around, looking for an electrician who can fix the electric box. On Monday, it was 20 degrees, and her hope was someone would take care of it right away.

Her dilemma was thus: my normal electrician was taking a world tour, courtesy of Ms. Angie's and Ms. Kathy's homes, and wasn't available until Wednesday. As far as my tenant was concerned, Wednesday was 48 hours away and she could freeze to death by then.

So, being innovative, Mrs. Roebuck opted to call around for another electrician. One perhaps that hadn't already bled me dry and might have time to work sooner than later.

She found Marvin the Electrician.

As she explained to Marvin the Electrician when she called him, I am out of town. I pay my bills. However, I don't just hop over on the first hot air balloon heading to Birmingham to whip out the check book. Marvin has to fax me a bill. Then I pay it.

Marvin clearly understood Mrs. Roebuck, but asked for my phone number as a way to counter this. And then Marvin called me.

I really wasn't expecting Marvin's call. I was still pondering Cassie the Appraiser and what that was about. I wasn't really focusing on smoke in the walls of Mrs. Roebuck's house (which probably was much more urgent but a lot more scary. I wasn't ready for scary Monday morning).

Anyway, Marvin starts our call by telling me Mrs. Roebuck needs electrical work done and he's happy to do it. But to pay him first. Instead of telling me the scope of the project, exactly how much said work would cost or when he would get it done, Marvin tells me about how other "landlords have shafted him in the past" so therefore please hop on the first Birmingham-bound hot air balloon and bring my checkbook.

I am sure Marvin didn't really mean to suggest I was a thief.

Probably.

What I did tell Marvin was there was no need to concern himself with this any further. My normal electrician would be back from spending all of his hard-earned money on my behalf soon enough. I am sure Mrs. Roebuck has plenty of blankets to keep her warm between now and when he returns. So, thanks for calling. Bye-bye now.

For the record, my fourth call Monday was to Mrs. Roebuck. I let her know Marvin and I just couldn't see eye to eye. That was ok by her. Marvin wasn't even free to do the work until Thursday. And as it turns out my normal electrician would be available on Tuesday to deal with her electrical issue.

Fortunately he trusts me enough to fax me over the bill.

My First Call Monday Morning

So... I was woken up Monday morning by Cassie. And damn! Was she ever perky! You see, Cassie was an appraiser. She was "ordered" to do an appraisal on Ms. Shirley's house. And when could she get inside?

"The house isn't for sale." I replied through a sleepy fog.

"Oh, I know it isn't for sale!" Cassie replied with way too much enthusiasm, and acting like we were just the best of friends sharing a funny secret. "But the bank has asked me to do an appraisal anyway. So, when can we make an appointment to get in?"

We can't make an appointment for a myriad of reasons. Now I was awake, I started with the most obvious: "I don't know who you are..."

"I'm Casie the appraiser," she interrupted, like that somehow added a certain amount of credibility to this phone call.

I started over, "I don't know who you are and the house isn't for sale. So, if the bank wants an appraisal, they can call me and tell me they want an appraisal." Cassie started to interrupt with her credentials again, but I stopped her. "So, have the bank call me, tell me why they want an appraisal first, and then we can talk."

Cassie didn't seem to think this was a very good solution, but that's ok. If the bank really wants an appraisal done on my home (which can happen--but usually that only happens when they are calling the note due. I pay on time, so there is no reason to call the note due) the bank is welcome to call me to discuss.

But more to the point, I am not buying this. Something doesn't smell right. Hopefully the bank will get back to me soon. Otherwise, Cassie the Appraiser can just call someone else and be perky with them.

My Second Alabama Call Monday

An actual quote from a tenant at 8:03 a.m. Monday morning, "If it wasn't for the smoke and the burned wires, I wouldn't have bothered you."

A "Bless Your Heart" Might Have Gone Down A Bit Smoother

An acquaintance of mine asked me earlier this week if something was wrong. In fact, there were a lot of things wrong. All were Alabama. My upset caused me to loose 8 pounds in five days (and I am not the kind of person who skips a meal). When I gave this acquaintance the reader's digest version of the events leading up to a blood pressure reading of 140/101 (that was after three aspirin) she began to lecture me on all she saw wrong with my Alabama business and her overall opinion of landlords. She didn't even preclude it with "Bless your heart."

Mind you, she doesn't read my blog. She doesn't have any history with the chain of the events that led to my particular stresses. She doesn't have any context for the information. Nor did I ask her advice. But she asked me at a weak moment what was wrong, and I answered her.

The lesson I took from this was simply not to share. So I haven't written this week. Though I know you readers aren't the type to kick a girl when she is down or ostracize her for decisions years earlier that led to this moment. And thank you for that.

However, I could use some really positive thoughts and a few prayers if you are up to it.

Things have been worse--as I reminded myself. And then I read a few older posts to really remind myself how bad things could be. I will be back next week to tell you the tale of the pit bulls. And possibly Mrs. Green's cryptic drama. And to tell you if Ms. Shirley is going to move involuntarily (she probably will stay). But today I think I will just take up knitting in my garden.

Have a great week!

Destruction

These are a couple of the photos from Monday morning's tornado. I believe these were taken by Mr. Little's and Mrs. Green's home.

By the way, Mrs. Green is safe and sound.

I have heard from Ms. Angie a few times with updates from the area (in addition to Carolsue's updates). Her place of employment was flattened. So, no job for Ms. Angie.

Carolsue tells me my bank branch over by her has one wall left standing.

I Recommend Tossed Salad Tartare

I have to tell you, I am just not feeling the love with this new diva tenant on Fox Circle. The week she moved in, she sent a big long report of all the items Kirby needed to do: including, but not limited to, taking the lock box off the home and stop advertising it. There were other items along this line as well, but they weren't nearly as significant as removing the lock box from the hose bib.

The reason I know about the list is that I get a copy of the "work order" each time she calls.

And then there was the issue with the utilities. The tenant didn't bother to turn on the water and electric in her name until I had them turned off. Classy.

And yesterday. I got another work order from Kirby, telling me the tenant's oven does not work. And because of health issues she has to bake everything she eats. Of course she does! She has to bake her milk. She has to bake her ice cream. She has to bake her salad.

So am I to understand, a tenant who has been in this home three weeks just now realized the oven is not working when she is baking all of her food?

My reply to Kirby was to suggest she make sure she turned on the gas to the house in her name. Maybe then her gas oven would operate correctly and she could go back to baking her food.

Tornados

I awoke on Monday to find a text from Carolsue. Tornadoes had touched down near her. And near Ms. Angie, Ms. Sherwood, Ms. Green and Mr. Little. And probably near a few others from what I have since read.

Ms. Angie was quick to get back to me when I sent her a note asking if she was ok. Yes. Yes she was. And by the way, thanks for the new roof! Mrs. Sherwood took several more minutes. Her home is on a hill, and if nothing else, she would be safe in the basement. And she was.

Kirby happens to live in the area hard hit, and I got in touch with him, in time for him to tell me he was fine (also, proving he CAN get back to me within 24 hours--I will keep that in mind for the future, but today isn't the day to ponder Kirby's skills).

I haven't heard from Ms. Green or Mr. Little. From what I can tell, they were really close to the epicenter of the whole mess. If you feel inclined, please say a prayer, light a candle or just send some positive vibes to them. Hopefully they will get in touch with me soon.

Update: Mr. Little got back to me. He said there is "signifcant damage" about a mile north--which is exactly where Mrs. Green lives. No word from her yet.

The Top Five in What?

This past week, I have tried to get the water turned off at the Fox property, as my tenant has moved in. This brings up a couple of burning questions:

1) Why hasn't the tenants gotten the water turned on to their name immediately?
2) The water was on at this house? I never got a bill.

The first issue is one for Kirby to deal with (and trust me, he has heard plenty about it).

The second one was a bit more unnerving. You see, I do not recall turning on the water at this house. I remember turning on the electricity. I remember Marty Sunshine turning on the gas. But I do not recollect ever spending an hour of my life to make sure there was water on at this house.

But no matter, I want it turned off anyway. So, I did what any reasonable person would do who wants utilities cut off: I call called the company responsible. In this case, the Birmingham Water Works.

The Birmingham Water Works boasts they are "one of the top five water companies in the country." The top five in what, I don't know. Neither did the woman I spoke with on Tuesday of this week when I specifically questioned why "one of the top five water companies in the country" cannot handle my simple request.

You see, when I called to turn off the water, I was asked to verify I really indeed was the account holder, and not some manipulative witch trying to wreck havoc on the poor person living in this home. And, for the record, oddly enough, the last time I went to the Leeds Water Board, I almost had the leader of the redneck mafia's water turned off accidentally and nobody at the Leeds Water Board blinked. And they aren't even in the top 10 water companies in the country.

But, I digress. Back to the Birmingham Water Board...

This particular incident has been going on a week. With me giving the name the account is under but not being able to provide the correct sequence of numbers that coincide with the name on the account. According to the customer service advocate at one of the top five water companies in the country, the number on the account is not the last four digits of my social security number, nor Marty Sunshine's, nor any of the four tax ID numbers in my possession. So, they refused to turn off the water.

"Is it possible somebody made a mistake on your end and entered the information incorrectly in your system and that what I am telling you is correct?" I asked, utterly exasperated. The customer service advocate sort of grunted. Apparently they teach grunting in the charm school offered for all employees of Birmingham Water Works.

After the 10 minutes of the, "It is really me, now turn off the *%$#^&%! water" and her answering me with a, "Not unless you know the social security number or tax ID number on the account," I gave in. As a parting question the customer service advocate asked me if there was something else she could do for me. I chose to answer with only, "Turn off the water." Which she didn't do.

Nor did she recognize the sarcasm.

Somehow Kirby did get the water turned off this week. However, I am still waiting for a call back from the supervisor of the Birmingham Water Board. Perhaps she will be interested in taking a page from one of the country's top four water companies on customer service. But I am not holding my breath.

Two Down

It appears Mario AND Kirby have managed to rent my houses. Or at least most of them. Currently Kirby is also in heated negotiations with "nice folks" who want to rent my home in Pinson. Hopefully these nice folks will work out.

Geez! Its Not Like It Was Baseball

When I saw Diamond Jim Monday evening, he had the big BCS college football bowl game on. Apparently if Alabama won, it would do detrimental things in the college football standings to his Oregon Ducks. Diamond Jim and I agreed to disagree on who should win, as it is better for me to keep my pseudo allegiance to Alabama whole.

Around 9:30 Monday night, I found out Alabama had won the big game. I found out because I received two texts from two separate parties in Birmingham about that time. One just said, "roll tide!!!!!!!!" The other went into greater detail about fireworks being set off and lots of partying in the streets. Apparently a happy crowd over yonder.

Good for them.

You Know the Words

Today is the big BCS college bowl championship big game. Alabama is playing Louisiana. For those of you who really need a team to cheer for, let me give you a tip: "Roll Tide" flows off the tongue much easier than, "Go Louisiana."

I will not be watching the game for one simple reason: it isn't Diamondbacks baseball. But please don't tell the gang in Birmingham. They would be so hurt.
I am guessing there is probably no reason to call anyone in Alabama today. They are all getting ready for tonight's game and no business will get done over there anyway. There is probably no reason to call anyone tomorrow either. If Alabama wins, the folks in Birmingham will be celebrating through the week. If they loose, everyone will be in mourning.

How I Spent My Weekend

Friday, I hit the ground running. I managed to fold six loads of laundry, other household chores, feed children and handle the meager home schooling lesson I had planned, with me directing the kids to figure out how to split subatomic particles on their own, with only youtube instructions. Meanwhile, I managed to spend an enormous amount of time on the phone, between real estate clients and agents, trying to get two contracts ironed out.

Friday was also the onset of Girl Scout Cookie season (if you want cookies, let me know and Polly will call you), and I am one of the two people in charge of said cookies and that required a bit of handling too. Additionally, I am running next Thursday's Girl Scout meeting, so I was researching easy recipes to teach 11 girls ranging in age from 5 to 12. Oh yes! I just found out we can't use the stove in Girl Scout meeting place. So "cooking" is now going to look a lot like fruit salad and finger sandwiches and a lot less like the homemade pretzels we were going to make.

All the while, I was waiting impatiently for either Marty Sunshine to return home for lunch or the dirt we payed to have delivered to show up. As soon as Marty was home, I was out the door, racing to my client's office 20 miles away to give her what I had: a bunch of papers for her to sign. I got back in time to find 14.5 tons of dirt in front of my home, blocking the sidewalk and part of the street. Incidentally, 14.5 tons of dirt is about 20 feet in circumference and 10 feet high--just in case you are curious.

Marty Sunshine worked from home Friday afternoon, so I started shoveling 14.5 tons of dirt onto our front yard for the next hour. Polly and Buckaroo helped, by sliding down the dirt hill and bringing me the wagon to fill.

My dirt shift ended around 2:30, and I went in to start my y'all job. After my y'all job, I went to Home Depot with Marty, bought a wheelbarrow and together we went back to shoveling, raking and moving the 14.5 tons of dirt the house elves hadn't bothered to touch in our absence. We stopped long after dark, with me crawling into bed to get ready for my next y'all shift mere hours later.

Saturday, my day started at 4 a.m. I worked for y'all. I showed homes and I shoveled dirt (Marty Sunshine asked me to add, that he shoveled dirt all day Saturday and did the majority of the shoveling work, not that anyone for an instant thought otherwise).

At 2 p.m. I washed off the dirt stuck to me, and once again went back out again, to negotiate a contract. An hour and a half later, I was on the phone, explaining to the agent, my clients agreed to the terms and conditions set forth by the contract, but if she could give me until 5:30 to fax her the contract instead of 5 p.m., it would afford me the opportunity to actually attend church with my family this evening. Was that a possibility?

And with her blessing, and me asking her her not to take the backup offer she has in place, I managed to scoot my buns into the pew in time to see Buckaroo the Altar Boy, carry the crucifix down the aisle as mass started.

I also managed to get home by 5:27 and get the contract faxed back over. Marty and the kids went out for dinner, I stayed home and moved dirt, with them arriving around 8 p.m. for a nice family game of Clue.

Today I am working on taxes. And in the event you are also curious, the pile of paperwork for several LLCs, and corporation, self employment and other ancillaries are about 20 feet in circumference and 10 feet high.

That's How He Rolls

I heard from Mario on Tuesday. It looks like he has an application for my house on Hysteria Lane. He managed to get it rented in less than two months, and in December--the worst month for finding a renter.

Oh yea. He totally rocks.

In Other News...

Along with Ms. Shirley, on Monday, I sent a rare text to Ms. Angie asking where my rent happened to be. It isn't rare to text Ms. Angie, as I prefer communicating with her this way. I actually understand what she is saying. It is rare Ms. Angie is late on the rent.

What I got back was a text from Ms. Angie, telling me rent was going to be late because she had used part of it to buy Christmas presents for her grandchildren. My reply was, "What a coincidence! I was going to use that same money to pay the mortgage on your home."

In no less than 47 seconds after I sent the text I received a frantic call from Ms. Angie. I believe she was apologizing and explaining I would see rent this week, but I can't be sure. She said something about being sorry but the rest was lost in the translation. I just cannot decipher Southern black woman when Ms. Angie is upset.

When things seemed to be square between us, Ms. Angie then started talking very quickly again with her thick drawl. She did this for another 15 minutes or so, with the only words I completely and utterly understood were "drive-by shooting" and "next door."

Yep. No mistaking that.

I am certain she told me nobody was hurt and the folks were caught. Or at least relatively certain. I might text her later just to be sure.

The Games Ms. Shirley Plays

As far as tenants go, Ms. Shirley is acceptable. She keeps the place in good shape. She doesn't have pets. My biggest complaint about her is the once a month game of getting my rent check. I half-wonder if she gets some sort of satisfaction out of me calling and hunting down what is legally owed. 

Ms. Shirley is one of those who knows more than she lets on. Once in a while, she will say something out of the blue about one of my homes--actually mentioning the location by the street name, giving me the distinct impression she is stalking me. Or, she would be if I was living closer. However, I have often wondered if she has found this blog. It wouldn't surprise me, given some of the things she has let slip over the course of several years and her slight fascination with my business.

So, if Ms. Shirley is reading this today, this one's for you. Or, it is about whomever now has your phone number--the same phone number you have had for four years.

I sent a text out to Ms. Shirley today asking when I can expect December's rent. It isn't as if this is a new concept to her: I ask every month because she can't be bothered pay on time or volunteer the information on a regular basis. However, this time I got a reply back asking who wanted to know. When I replied, "the landlord" I got another text feigning registering confusion. My reply was, "I'm not in the mood for this today."

Now then, if I hadn't spent several hours prior paying bills and coming up with creative ways to make Kirby pay for his inability to rent out my homes, I might have been in a better frame of mind. But I did spend the morning juggling around this and that to make sure property taxes were covered. And, I did spend the morning googling how to make this (for Kirby). And I really, really wasn't in the mood for games.

I would be willing to give Ms. Shirley the benefit of the doubt, that perhaps she had changed her phone number, if the person who texted me back had identified themselves as NOT Ms. Shirley. Or, if the person who has the number I have always associated with Ms. Shirley hadn't called five times in a row immediately after I sent my text.

Or, if I hadn't gotten an e-mail from Ms. Shirley telling me when rent was coming less than three minutes after I had received five phone hang-ups in a row.

That's not an odd coincidence is it?

A Funny Thing Happened On My Way to the Zen Garden

I haven't written of late, because I have been focused on other things that are not in Alabama. Some of it is real estate. Some of it is life itself. And then there is the fact Sue Grafton's latest novel hit the book stores (it was awesome by the way).

And of course, there has been nothing new worth writing about. All is status quo. More or less, with the more irritating items on my Alabama agenda sending me into a frenzy and then to my happy place to chill out for a bit before I can rejoin civilization.

This past week I found out that Kirby has known for a month that he needed the gas turned on for an inspection at the home he supposedly found a renter for. So, there is no renter at this time. And, the inspection still hasn't happened. The first he mentioned it to me was two days ago. Actually, he mentioned it to Marty Sunshine, completely bypassing me. I think this is because he might find me to be a tad bit of a loose cannon when he tells me he dropped the ball.

In all fairness to Kirby, I didn't yell at him. I left a politely bitchy message explaining that I was confused he was now bringing this to our attention--after knowing about this for the past four weeks and don't we have a property management company that is supposed to turn on the gas for us? And could he please clarify my confusion. Because there are nothing left to tend to in my zen garden/happy place and I am on the brink of a stresss-induced aneurysm.

And for those who are wondering why Kirby is still employed by me, it is simply because Mario hasn't proven himself any better--though, he does talk a better talk. Mario does return phone calls. Mario gives feedback. But Mario hasn't rented out my home on Hysteria Lane up to this point. Of course, it could be the time of year. But essentially, Mario hasn't earned the rest of my business.

For the past two days, Marty Sunshine has been calling the gas company and can't seem to get a live person on the phone. It looks like the gas won't be turned on until at least next week. And soon thereafter will be asking Mario to earn his keep and rent out Hysteria Lane so I can transfer everything else over to him and head back to my happy place.

Magic Words

So... I was working my "y'all" job Saturday--the job where I get yelled at by folks with poor planning skills who need trucks right now but didn't think to call in weeks ahead of time when they first found out they would be moving speak with people from all over the country, helping them reserve white and orange moving trucks.

That job.

Anyway, a woman from Alabama called. She was brisk and borderline snotty. And, she certainly wasn't in the mood for me to run through my script--even though I do it anyway because I am addicted to a paycheck. When she told me she was from Tuscaloosa, I automatically said, "roll tide."

She responded in same and the conversation went from snarky caller to a woman who wanted to invite me over for Sunday dinner. And yes, she reserved a truck.

Does Hallmark Make A Card For This?

Ms. Angie graduates from college today. Ms. Angie will also be celebrating Christmas in a few weeks. After that, she will watch her favorite football team (presumably) win the BSC College championship (roll tide!). After that she will celebrate her birthday, her children and grand children will also celebrate birthdays. Then there will be Christmas all over again.

And my gift to her, for all those events and many more to come is a new roof.

To Be Fair, If She Had Just Texted, "Roll Tide" I Wouldn't Have Raised an Suspicious Eyebrow

I got Ms. Kathy's rent check on Tuesday. I skeptically looked it over, wondering what could possibly be wrong with it. It was a cashier check--something I have forced her to resort to years ago. It was for the right amount. But it didn't stop me from muttering, "What is wrong with this?"

Apparently nothing.
I guess she really wanted to say Merry Christmas after all.

Roll Tide

I would like to tell you this is an exaggeration.

But it isn't.

Why am I Suspicious?

Remember Ms. Kathy?

For those of you who are new here to Sage Business, Ms, Kathy is my tenant who has been living in my home for three or four years now (I don't remember which). She only calls on the Friday of a three day weekend to tell me about some pending disaster which will immediately need a plumber or electrician to handle.

For a very long time, she would send me e-mails, long after the rent was due, making up some sorry excuse as to why she didn't have the money she owed me. One such excuse involved using her rent money to bail her brother out of jail. After several months of me cursing her name and Carolsue cursing her face, I got sick of the whole thing and let her have it. I used big words and essentially got it through her brain I was done with her shenanigans.

Since then, she has more or less behaved herself. I think there was an occasion last summer where she gave me heart palpitations for a week or so, but for the most part, Ms. Kathy and I have managed to co-exist with her paying the rent more or less on time and me being happy about it. We don't talk, chat or e-mail. Rent comes with some regularity and I cash the check. Its a very peaceful, low maintenance and high-functioning relationship as far as I am concerned.

So then, imagine my surprise when I got a text from her Saturday. She just wanted to wish me a Merry Christmas and tell me she mailed off the rent.

That was it. No broken faucet. No electrical fire. No crazed former tenant was breaking in wanting to come come in and pine for his former home.

No nothing.

Just Merry Christmas.

Accurate and Utterly Useless

There is some old joke about a man in a hot air balloon asking for directions. He frantically calls down to someone on the ground, asking where he is, and the guy on the ground replies with something like, "You are in a hot air balloon." A completely accurate and utterly useless answer.

This past week, Ms. Angie had a roof leak. I don't have a roofing person. Carolsue, my Alabama go-to girl, doesn't have a roofing person. Mr. 114 doesn't live very close, and hasn't answered my call for help just yet (hopefully he will). But, in the mean-time I asked Kirby if he had a roofing person who could help us out.

His reply, "yes, give me the address and I will send him out to the house."

All accurate, and utterly useless. I would actually like to speak to this person, get an idea of his rates, coordinate a time for Ms. Angie to meet him there to take care of this. I don't want him showing up without my tenant knowing. My fault for not clearly explaining: do you have a roofing person I can speak with and coordinate an inspection with?

I'd ask Kirby again, but it is probably more expeditious to just wait for Mr. 114 to call me back.

I've Heard It All Before

If I had to give a list of top three least favorite tenants, Mr. Smith would be on there. Depending upon my mood and my criteria for the day, he vacillates between the ranks, but usually ends up third--only because he is the only one of the three who probably didn't commit a felony in my home.

Just for the record, I am not saying the other two did commit felonies. We are clear on that. Right???

However, Mr. Smith is the one I absolutely liked the least. Mr. Smith annoyed me to no end. He would call me on a regular basis to tell me I'm great, offer me building supplies and construction services I didn't want or need, and in general ran up my cell minutes with me trying to get him off the phone. This happened about once a month, whether I wanted to hear from him or not.

Mr. Smith could talk a good talk. And I suspect he always had the best of intentions. But he is one of those people who has big plans and bigger excuses. The only consistent thing about Mr. Smith was that he promised what he wasn't able to deliver. I was thrilled to get him out of my life--even if he did just move across the street. Unfortunately he made me go to court to do it.

And, when I went to court that fateful day I told the judge what he owed me and it is now a matter of public record. Where ever Mr. Smith goes, that will follow. And from what I understand, it is following.

Thursday night, I was checking my e-mail found a friendly note from Mr. Smith. He inquired about mine and my family's well-being and then he slipped in that he wants to make good on his judgement. And oh yes! He misses his Ms. Kathy's house. And by the way, he reproduced again. Another boy.

I sent the letter directly to Legal Eagle for her amusement, because that is all it will be. I am guessing if he has a job, a garnishment is possible. But I doubt he will 1) follow through with the job and 2) follow through with the garnishment. 

Today's Bittersweet Gem

Diamond Jim called me out of the blue last week to invite me to breakfast. I knew something was up.

You see, Diamond Jim and I go to breakfast about once a month anyway, but never by way of a formal invite. I usually end up calling him because I have gotten some obscure letter from the Alabama Department of Revenue (I so wish they would stop sending me random letters. Yes! I pay my taxes! No! I don't owe them.) or I bump into him at his office because I am there using his landlord's scanner. Our conversations go like this:

DJ: "Are you going to be hungry next week?"
Me: "I think I could be hungry on Tuesday.
DJ: "Better make it Wednesday. I am up to my neck in letter writing with the Alabama Department of Revenue.

So, Diamond Jim actually calling with a formal invitation was a bit unnerving.

I must say, however, I am really glad I have reached a point in my life where I can have friends the same age as my parents. Friends who are cool. And I am glad Diamond Jim can have friends the same age as his daughter--and those friends aren't 11 years old in his eyes. Because of him I can even stomach longish talks about college football.

Sort of.

But, back to our breakfast. Diamond Jim announced he is doing the inevitable. He is retiring after next tax season. Actually he tried to retire a few years ago, but it didn't turn out the way he planned. This time he is really, really, and for true retiring. In fact, he is even selling his house this time and moving out of state.

Though I will miss my dear friend, I know it is time for him to do this. But Diamond Jim is ready to enjoy his golden years, free of tax loopholes and the incompetency of the Alabama Department of Revenue.  I wish him all the best.

Holding My Breath

Now I don't want to jinx anything here, but there is a chance I might have gotten one of my three vacant properties rented.

Please cross your fingers and toes.

Today's Helpful Tip

If you are ever in the market to buy an investment property, be sure to ask for the prorated rents and non-refundable deposits in your purchase agreement (if the home in question is already rented).

Because if you don't--and especially if I am the selling agent--I am not going to just give them to you after the fact. No matter how many names you might call me and even if you threaten to call the Department of Real Estate.

Tornadoes and Bankruptcy

Apparently tornadoes have been running rampant in the South again. Of course, this is odd, given the time of year. Leeds and Moody--where two of my homes are currently (hopefully) sitting were affected. So far no word on either of my tenants.

And a special thanks to Carolsue for once again keeping me posted.

One little tid-bit I found out on vacation was that Jefferson County declared bankruptcy. Birmingham is in Jefferson County. I wasn't surprised, as Jeff County was in trouble for years for mis-managing their revenues. I am curious what the outcome of this will look like. Probably higher taxes for me. Probably a lower quality of life for my tenants.

Somehow this seems scarier than a tornado.

Random Bama

Apparently word didn't get out that I was here for a week or two (give or take several days at the over-merchandised Florida theme parks):

And while I was gone, lots of fun-fun things happened.

Mario called me to pow-wow the home on Hysteria Lane. This is the home that has been vacant since June, Kirby swore couldn't be rented for any less than $400 lower than the rent I had been getting on it for several years. Kirby also swore the place was immaculate.

Kirby was right. The place is immaculate. However, Kirby did miss the Winney the Pool wall paper the last tenants had plastered on the wall and the dings and dents that needed attention. During my Mario pow-wow, he told me these needed to be handled to make the place attractive. When I asked him for a rental price, he told me what I had been asking for rent on this house for the past seven years was right in line with market.

____________________________________________________________

Speaking of Kirby (and I am trying to keep my attitude in check here), the two other homes I have entrusted in with are not rented. I will pause here while you all collect yourselves, because I know you are absolutely astonished at this news. Take your time...

The reason I haven't given Mario these two homes is that Mario hasn't proven himself yet either. It is one thing to tell me the kiddie wall paper must go, it is another to find me a renter.

____________________________________________________________

And also speaking of Kirby, the tenant on Waterford lane needs a new furnace. Oh yay me. Kirby sweetly gave me three choices: Option 1: pricey band-aid; Option 2: pricier but what probably needs to happen and Option 3: the HVAC guy has a great time in Paris for New Year's, courtesy of me.

____________________________________________________________

And speaking of HVAC systems, apparently Mr. Little got a new one while we were gone. I knew he was supposed to. He lives in the house Jack and I own together, but nobody has mentioned anything to me if it happened. And, because Mr. Little hasn't sent me a screaming e-mail saying he is freezing, I will assume it has been finished until I hear otherwise. I have to wonder though, how did this unit break? Was it a parting gift from Haroldine on her way out the door? The house isn't that old and the four previous tenants I have had there never said a word about the system not working.

____________________________________________________________

And speaking of previous tenants, while I was gone one of my former tenants sent me an odd letter. She told me to stop "harassing her." She said she admits she owes me money, but I am not to contact her any more. This was surprising to me, as I have never contacted her and never planned on it. My guess is someone in a legal aide type position told her to write letters to her creditors. As I am not pursuing her, I found this to be a bit odd she took the time and energy to do this.

____________________________________________________________

And finally, I received the loan modification docs from the bank. Marty signed them and they were sent out today.

Off the Clock

Leave it to Ms. Shirley, on a Saturday night, on the eve of my vacation, to be in semi-desperate need of a plumber.

I suggested Draino--which she could pick up right down the road at the Home Depot on Highway 31. And though I did not think it really needed any explanation, I did have to tell her anyway that I am not right down the road on Highway 31 to pick it up for her.

Awesomeness

Awesome is running rampant today. Just thought I would share.

1. I talked briefly to Uncle Sunshine, who lifted my spirits just because he is wonderful. I can't wait to see him. I don't know if I mentioned this, but I am going on vacation soon. 

2. My sinus infection is on the mend. I am so grateful for the massive antibiotic and steroid I am on. I can almost breathe again. I am crossing my fingers I can sleep somewhere other than the couch tonight. Do I dare dream?

3. Kirby took loosing the house on Hysteria Lane like a man. And, he tells me he rented my home in Futondale--quick back story: tenant didn't pay; tenant got kicked out. Be happy you missed the drama. Because Kirby doesn't keep in touch like he should, I missed the drama too.

4. I got word on Friday that my loan modification is being approved. I haven't seen it yet. Nor, have I ever heard of anyone who has gotten a loan modification approved. But, that is what I am told. So, this is a first. And a relief.

5. And finally, a special shout-out to Bliz and Baseball Guy (who sent me a celebratory text) for their Saint Louis Cardinals--the World Series champs.

Why Yes, I am a Total Pain in the Neck

In one of life's crueler ironies, I have a bad-ass sinus infection and I am scheduled to be on an airplane in mere days. In case you haven't heard, I am going here:

Provided I can breathe well enough to board the plane.

This sinus infection has kept me up nights, with me propped up on the couch. At 2 a.m., there really isn't much to do but think and decide. So, in the wee hours Wednesday morning, I made two decisions: 1) It was time to break down, see a doctor and get an antibiotic; and 2) It was time to take away at least Hysteria Lane from Kirby.

It is actually probably time to take away more than just the house on Hysteria Lane from Kirby, but I am not sure about my new guy, Mario, just yet. So, I am beta-testing him to see what he can do with one home before I go gung-ho.

This morning I wrote Kirby and told him Hysteria Lane wasn't his concern any more. Hopefully he just says, "ok" and recognizes he still is in charge of many more of my homes. Or he can say, "I need a 30 day notice," and then proceed to lose the rest of my homes (in 30 days). Or he can say, "You are a total pain in the neck, here are the rest of your properties. Go away!" I am comfortable with any of the above, though the second choice has more drama and I would prefer not to have drama.

I did put a blatant veiled threat in my e-mail. It said something like, "I will be out of town soon. It would be great to hear that the rest of our homes are rented by then."

In typical Kirby fashion, I haven't heard back just yet. I will give him a few hours, and then this time, I will take Kirby's silence as consent.

Let the Cliche's Begin

After all these years, I am finally working with a vender named, "Bubba."

It Was a Rhetorical Question

I don't work on Monday--which means I get to sleep in past 4 a.m. Unfortunately, Milt at some pest control company in Birmingham didn't get that memo.

When I answered my phone at some heinous hour, he only managed to get out "Good morning Mrs. Landlord, this is Milt at some pest control company in Birmingham, how are you today?"

"Milt," I growled, "It is some heinous hour of the morning. Why are you calling? Is my home on fire?"

Milt gasped, "Oh no ma'am. Your home isn't on fire. You know what, I'll just call back later today."

Note to Milt: it is ok not to call back.

Securing a Loan Modification

There is nothing so humbling as doing a loan modification. The one I am working on is no exception.

Last July we contacted the bank, asked if there was something they would be willing to do for our situation. You see, we had a balloon payment due August 1 on a second mortgage. We were happy to continue paying on a regular basis, but we just didn't have the money in reserves at that time to pay a huge chunk. So, would they be willing to work with us.

Part of the initial process was to write a letter, explaining our circumstances. The bank responded in kind asking for substantial paperwork, akin to a small Bavarian forest.

And just to make life interesting, they communicated what they were looking for using their super-secure method that made me tear my hair out. The password had to be at least 10 characters, use capital letters, lower case letters, non-alpha numeric characters and a number. Not in that order.
 
My password was something like !3thisBiTez. Once I opened up the super-secure messages, I would have only a set amount of time to handle the task on hand. That would be great if I had the endless amounts of time available. But in July, you might remember, I went to two funerals, mourned three friends and worked one full-time job and another part-time job (along with rearing children and other such necessities). I also found out, if I let the e-mails sit until I had a moment or three to read them, they would still expire, leaving me to beg the very nice person at the bank and ask them to send those tasks again, via their super-secure methodology.

Just to be fair, I did ask them if we could act like reasonable people and bypass the super-secure method of communicating--and, I know I am going out on a limb here--talk via e-mail or phone. I was told no. But, that didn't stop me from being passive aggressive and ignoring their process.

By the way, in case it ever comes up, it is never a good idea to be passive aggressive and ignore the super-secure method of communicating when you are dealing with a bank who is offering to do a loan modification with you. I'm just saying...

A typical loan modification requires tax forms, w2s, a letter of explanation and a few ancillaries. A loan modification for an investment home requires all of the above and a few other ancillaries. A loan modification in an LLC, owned by four people requires all of the above, financial statements, bank statements (from every bank account we have) and several other documents. When I was done with the initial paperwork, I had 84 sheets of paper. And no, that is not an exaggeration. I counted.
 
In order to get the bank their paperwork, they required I play by their rules (see above mentioned passive-aggressive failure). Everything had to be scanned. I will not bore you with my scanner issues, only to say I am married to a computer geek who does all sorts of computery thingys in his job. I own a scanner. However, it hasn't worked since the last presidential administration.

"My" scanner has been my real estate office, which was just down the road. In July, my real estate office relocated 20 miles from my home. The UPS store across the street charges $1 a page to scan. I did find sympathy and a scanner to use in Diamond Jim's office. And at this point, I am there so often, I am shocked nobody in Diamond Jim's office is charging me rent.

The bank has been just great--that is, in a asking politely for me to give them more and more answers to questions I can't believe they thought of. However, every time I turn in one item, they ask for three others. Most recently, they asked for updated financial statements, requiring Bliz and Diamond Jim to both sign and return using their super-secure methodologies. They are also asking for explanations for things that happened two years ago. I don't remember two days ago, much less two years ago. But luckily I can BS with the best of them.

The ugly truth is, if they don't approve the second mortgage refinance, we are going to be in a world of hurt. And actually, so will the bank, because they also own the first mortgage on the property. It truly is in their best interest to grant a modification. If they don't they may just end up with a foreclosed property on their books--sent to them in a super-secure method.

An Analogy

There is this TV show that us in the Sunshine homestead watch with great anticipation and regularity. It is a cross between a game show and a cooking show.

In it, four professional chefs (or anyone who managed to pass the screen test for Food Network) have a set time to whip together four mystery ingredients into something palatable. The winner gets a cash prize. The ingredients are never anything like vanilla, eggs, milk and flour. Instead, they are given items such as squid ink, fava beans, buffalo tongue and kumquat juice and told they have 30 minutes to make an original meal.

Then there is the judging section. Three pretentious asses judges scrutinize each meal, saying things like, "I find your use of fried duck feet to be uninspiring," or "I was hoping there would be more crunch in your tomato puree," or (I hear this often) "I was sorely disappointed because your dessert was sweet."

The contestants, in turn respond in one of two ways. Those who have never watched a single episode of this show, are offended by the judges disregard for their culinary creation. Those who apparently have watched the show once or twice just smile politely as they are told by the alpha pretentious ass judge that his or her dish needed salt. Those who smile politely live to see another round and compete for the prize. Those who don't talk smack into the camera as they make the walk out the door, thus ending their participation in the show.

And just to let you know, getting a loan modification is a lot like this game show.

Solutions, Not Problems

I will spare you the ugly details of the past couple months, instead giving your the Reader's Digest version. But first, let me just say this: My vacation is weeks away. I am thisclose to:

  

We have vacant homes. This has caused a tremendous financial hardship. And even "tremendous financial hardship" does not seem to really drive the point home enough. Kirby is still currently our property manager. However, Kirby doesn't seem to really grasp the enormity of the situation, even though it has been explained to him, using one syllable words and 8  x 10 color glossy photos.

Kirby also doesn't understand that he isn't the only game in town. Well, he might get that now, given his conversation with Marty Sunshine Monday. You see, I am no longer able to speak civilly to Kirby. So, that leaves Marty Sunshine to filter what I am thinking to a more pleasant and professional demeanor.

And Monday, Marty Sunshine told Kirby we were going to pull a couple of homes and give them to the other property manager we have courting. The new guy, Mario, is offering up everything from promising to call us back to "great customer service" in order to get our business. He had me at calling me back.

When Marty conveyed this to Kirby, Kirby was floored. Don't ask me why. It seems obvious to me that having three homes vacant, one for four months, is something akin to not doing his job. But, that's just me. Kirby is asking for "a little while longer," whatever that means. Marty is handling this and I am doing my level best to stay away from it, as a string of profanity seems to escape my mouth when the topic comes up.

But, I did get Marty to agree to one particular item: If  Kirby doesn't have a tenant for our Calera home by Thursday, he can just go ahead and get a key to Legal Eagle. Then he and Mario can both look for tenants. Whoever finds a tenant first can rent and manage it. And, once we have handled that, we will start working on giving Mario the next vacant house.

Still Here

Nothing, I repeat, nothing, about our situation in Alabama has changed. There are still vacancies. There is still a deadbeat. And yes, it depresses the heck out of me. Writing about it makes it feel more real. And more scary.

I realized today, with vacation inching upon us, that I have been relying heavily from inspiration from Marty's Uncle Sunshine. He always is a source of inspiration when I see him. But that doesn't mean that I should 1) wait to see him to elicit change and 2) expect him to be my catalyst.

Change is coming one way or another. I am just hoping it is going to be in the right direction.

$44.29 Billion*

Ms. Kathy lives in a cute little house--more like a cottage--in a cute little community called Moody, in the outskirts of Birmingham. Though abutted to Leeds Alabama, for whatever reason, people flock to Moody as a bedroom community (or, they are running from Leeds, take your pick).  Ms. Kathy is no exception. She was raised in the neighborhood. She actually knew most of the neighbors long before she moved in, having grown up with the children of the long-time residents.

On Friday Ms. Kathy, in an utter tizzy, sent me four texts in 14 seconds. You see, in conjunction with all the weird electric issues she was having last week, she also had a representative from the local power company coincidentally show up on her doorstep and politely asked to check the meter.

Ms. Kathy, made sure he said he was who he said was, but still walked with him around the home to the meter. The Power Company Guy then pulled off the meter only to find something melted on the inside and a humongous glob of fused wires and stuck thingamabobbers. I wasn't there, but from what I understand Ms. Kathy--who is a bit electric phobic--almost fainted on the spot.

According to Ms. Kathy, the power company guy told Ms. Kathy to "stick it to the landlord" and make me pay for all of the damage. She then dutifully reported that she would do no such thing. And Power Company Guy offered to fix whatever was melted and horrible for free.

"Was this just random?" I asked. "Did he just show up on your door, or did he do this to every home in the neighborhood?" Ms. Kathy wasn't quite sure. But, she said the Power Company Guy said this should help her electric bills. Then, Ms. Kathy dropped this bombshell on me: Her monthly electric bills are consistently equivalent to the gross domestic product of Tunisia. 

I live in Arizona. I have two air conditioners on my home. I know what pricey electric bills can look like. Ms. Kathy's home is cozy--that's a buzz word for small. She has a living room, kitchen, three bedrooms and a bathroom. There is no reason her electric bills should be higher than mine.

I used to work for the local electric company. At the time I worked there, when someone had consistently high bills--especially living in a cozy cottage like Ms. Kathy's--certain assumptions were sometimes reached. Like was the house in question a grow house? Is it possible someone at the Moody Power Company reached similar conclusions?

So, I said without thinking, "Why so high? Do you have a grow house or something?"

Ms. Kathy had no idea what a grow house was. So then I had to explain it. Which sent Ms. Kathy into another tizzy. And then I apologized. And for the record, I never, ever thought she had a grow house. Honest.

But I do want to know what prompted the Power Company Guy to show up on her door. And I really want to know why her electric bills are super-high. That needs to be remedied. And I really want to know why some gizmo melted on her meter.

*Estimated for 2010--According to the CIA World Factbook

Hopefully The House Won't Burn Down

Tuesday I got a phone call from Ms. Kathy. There was no point for niceties, but we went through them anyway. It was storming at her house and sunny at mine. Her kids are fine. As are mine. Her new job is going well, thanks for asking. All of this was quite unnecessary, as I happen to know any time Ms. Kathy calls there is some sort of extraordinary crisis. 

Frankly, I go into cardiac arrest every time Ms. Kathy calls me. She won't call me to tell me rent will be late. She won't tell me if the septic is stopped up until 5:01 p.m. the Friday of a holiday weekend (and did). But, she will call me if there is an electrical issue. Apparently "electrical issues" are the 9-1-1 of landlord calls in Ms. Kathy's vernacular.

I gave Ms. Kathy the electrician's number and suggested she find a time convenient for both of them to get this resolved. I guess I was a bit more lackadaisical about it than she was anticipating--though I am not sure what she was expecting me to do from here. Hop the first plane to Birmingham with my volt meter and a Phillip's screwdriver? I recommended, under the circumstances, just not using the light socket until the electrician has had a chance to take a peek.

Ms. Kathy has been renting from me for just shy of three years. She reminded me there was the same electrical issue years ago. I don't remember. But I will take her word for it. I do remember something about a loose wire and Ms. Kathy having some sort of fear of the house burning down. But, that's about it. Hopefully my electrician remembers better than I do. And hopefully he has a Phillip's screwdriver.

Only In Alabama

I got an e-mail from the bank I am working with in Alabama today. My representative included this as part of her signature.

Personally, I don't have any problem with this whatsoever. And I am glad that Freedom of Speech is running rampant. You don't see this from bigger, more corporate banks.

Sincerely,

Ms. Prunella Bank Officer

Some Heroes Wear Capes Mine Wear Combat Boots

In GOD We Trust

High Expectations

I got an e-mail about my Calera home the other day. My Calera home is probably my nicest home. It was built a few years ago and is an upscale area. This person sent the following e-mail:

"We r very interested in this home. Our credit is really bad right now, but we will be able to buy in a few years. Do u want to sell? Will u take $600 a month?"

I am pretty sure you can't rent a cardboard box just about any metropolitan city for $600 a month, much less in Calera.

Nah.... He Doesn't Have Time to Read

Kirby knows I have a blog. But, I have never given him the address. So, unless he has found it by other means (and hello if you have), he has no idea that I have been writing about how I am a tad frustrated this past week.

However, Kirby has taken the last day or so to answer my e-mails in a timely manner. Of course, the first one Monday said something like "Hey Dude! I have now asked you this simple yes or no question three times in the past week. What gives?"

The answer to that question happens to be the deadbeat is still living in Fultondale and she refused to come to the door when Kirby showed up.

In Tuesday's e-mail exchange, we discussed the potential tenant who has my home number. She has called Kirby about 17 times. Apparently she isn't interested in my home in Centerpoint. It isn't "modern" enough for her. I am not sure what she was expecting, given the homes in that area were built in the late 1970s.

She might be interested in the home in Calera, but Kirby is making her fill out an application before he hauls her around anywhere else. So far she hasn't gotten back to him. I won't cry if she doesn't. I don't need her calling me every month throughout the duration of her lease.

Kirby also hit me with this bombshell: he hired another person to do what he does. This person will take half of his load. But, he assured me he kept me as one of his landlords and passed on others to the new person. Personally, I am guessing he did it because he didn't want to scare her on her second week.

Take Your Baggage Elsewhere

My Y'all job has come in handy with dealing with jerks. There is nothing so satisfying as being ultra polite to some jackass who is flying off the handle because he is inconvenienced by having to drive an extra half mile to pick up his truck, only because his desired location still has a collapsed roof after Hurricane Irene.

This particular life skill came in handy on Monday when I sorted through the litany of soon-to-be homeless callers who left articulate messages asking me to call them back. And might I say, this week's crop was much more pleasant.

When I got to Ms. Tyler, I listened to the voice mail one last time before calling her. She was one of the more articulate, but it is always best to make sure I have her name and number correct before dialing the phone (one of the really cool things about Southern etiquette: if I can't catch the last name, I can add "Mr." or "Ms." to a first name and be considered polite--Ms. Patty or Mr. Todd are just as acceptable as Mr. Jones or Ms. Smith).

Now then, back to Ms. Tyler.

I called Ms. Tyler and inquired if the person who answered the phone happened to be her.

She barked, "Yes it is! I don't know who y'all are, but y'all need to stop calling me. Have I made myself clear? Don't call me again."

I replied, "I am terribly sorry to have troubled you. I was under the impression you had called me inquiring about one of my homes for rent."

And as I was hanging up, I heard her yell, "Wait! Don't hang up."

To which, I did anyway.

Today's Tip

If you want to rent a home, please don't send me the following text: "Who es dis?"

She Got It

Mrs. Sherwood caught me a few minutes before my Y'all shift was to start. You see, she wanted to make good on some of the rent she owes. "Are you going to be caught up soon?" I asked with impatience, eyeing the clock to make sure I wasn't going to be late. Y'all is cranky if I am late. And I need the job right now.

"I hope so," she replied with a sigh. "This has been really hard for us." "This" being her husband out of work and having to relocate to a small isolated boarder town in the desert. Then, as an after thought, she said, "I didn't think about it until now, but it was probably pretty hard on you too."

I love Mrs. Sherwood. Have I mentioned that?
I admitted that her paying rent late hadn't been ideal, but Mrs. Sherwood and her situation was special. "There are only a handful of tenants I would extend this courtesy to," I explained.

"How many?" She naively inquired.

"One." And I meant it. The rest of the tenants who took it upon themselves to pay late last month just did it without my blessing. (Are you listening Ms. Shirley and Ms. Kathy???). Though, I might be willing to extend a charitable hand to Ms. Angie if she asks.

As we continued to chat, I asked her if she knew of anyone who wanted to rent a home or four. And then Mrs. Sherwood put it together. "You have four that need to be rented and I paid late?" I could hear it in her voice. She had every idea what August was like for me.

Yes, yes I did.

Mrs. Sherwood told me she would ask around--but only to those she thought I would "be able to stand." In the meantime, she would send a prayer or two my way. Thank you Mrs. Sherwood. I could use a few.

Danielle and Daphny

I really hate tenant screening. And yes, I know I have a property manager for this sort of thing. And let me assure you, with the number of phone calls and e-mails he has gotten this week, he knows that I know he should be doing this. 

I had two interesting phone calls today.

The first came from Danielle. What caught my attention about her was that she had a 602 area code for her phone number (that would be Phoenix, AZ area code, for those who aren't in the know). Danielle was articulate, interesting and pleasant to talk with.

She wanted more information about my Pinson home. However, she isn't moving until Mid-October. That wouldn't work for me. In fact--I am going to go out on a limb here--given the number of calls I am receiving, I am willing to bet Pinson is going to rent in less than two weeks. However, I gave her Kirby's name anyway and told her to call him about my Fultondale home. The Fultondale home isn't on the market just yet.

Heck, I don't even know if the Fultondale tenant is going to leave quietly or not. Hopefully she will. But at any rate, it is better to be proactive, than reactive. So, if she wants it, Godspeed.

I also had a call from Daphny. She was articulate, well spoken and left a lovely message. However, in her voice mail, she didn't tell me which house she was interested in renting. When I called her back, she responded to my introduction by asserting, "I need you to call me back in five minutes. I'll be waiting."

She can wait all she wants. I am moving on.

Random Bama

Kirby is alive! I know this because he responded to Mr. Noble's request to return the keys to the home and carefully cc'd me.

Of course, Mr. Noble is holding my keys hostage until Sept. 14--the day his lease officially ends. No amount of logic, "You no longer live there, why don't you just return them, I am planning on giving your security deposit back to you, let it go already" seems to be working on Mr. Noble.

___________________________________________________________

I got a call today from someone on the Birmingham line inquiring about my homes. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the caller, except my skin prickled and the hairs on my neck went up. During the course of his voice mail he said he was interested in renting any of the homes I have available. Mind you, the homes I have available are about 40 miles from each other. Why isn't he picky?

At any rate, I think I will call him back next week if I am really desperate. My landlord sense is telling me to pass on him.
___________________________________________________________


I'm probably overreacting, but one of the e-mails I received about the home in Centerpoint came from "Sandra." Actually, her name wasn't Sandra, but a derivative of that. And her last name was actually a middle name. Like Sandra Louise. The name was eerily similar to a former tenant of mine who trashed my home a couple of years ago.


I passed the message to Kirby with the following note: I had a tenant with a similar name. If this person also goes by the name "Sandra White," "Louise White," or "Laverne Louise White," don't even bother showing the home.
___________________________________________________________


In the morning I have my monthly Diamondbacks/Oregon Ducks/Harry Potter book club breakfast with my dear Diamond Jim. When we set this up earlier in the week I asked what he thought of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. I am glad to hear he liked it and can't wait for the next book I am dutifully bringing him.

Rookie Mistake

I didn't call the litany of inquiries who left coherent, polite messages on my voice mail Tuesday. I realized around 1:45 that I just didn't have time. So, I convinced Marty Sunshine to please, please, please do it for me.

As I was rushing out the door, I was giving last minute orders: "Now, if they are impolite, we aren't renting to them. Don't give them any false hopes. If they are rude now, they will be a nightmare for the next year." And, "No pets. No excuses." And, "If you like them, give them Kirby's number." Marty assured me all of these directives were obvious, as Marty Sunshine has been hearing me do this forever.

Of course, what I forgot to give him was the rental amounts for each home. So, while I was meeting with my client he sweetly called to ask. It worked out well. My client was intrigued enough with whatever B.S. pearls of wisdom I offered Marty, and I manage to score a few points, as my client is a landlord as well.

When I got home, Marty had dutifully gone through the list. He proudly presented me with a paper with copious notes, and in a few cases, frowny faces, depicting people who will not be renting from us. He then threw this bomb at me: he had given a few our home number for folks to call us back at if they had any questions. "Our home number?" I gasped in horror. "Tell me you mean my cell."

Nope, he didn't. Because at that moment, the phone rang and it was one of Marty's favorites calling back. She was lost and needed directions to the house in question? And, while we were at it, when would I be over to show her the home? "You need to call Mr. Kirby." I repeated as patiently as I could muster for the thirtieth time. "He is the one who has the keys."

That didn't seem to convince her nothing could be done, but it got her off my home phone for the time being. And I predict, no matter if she rents or not, I will not have heard the last of her now that she knows how to get in touch with me.

Update: She called again. At 5:30 a.m. this morning. Marty may never hear the end of this.

Don't Mess With a Passive-Aggressive High Strung Type

There was no amount of prodding, affirmations or amaretto that could make me call the 17 people (yes, 17) who left voice messages for me Monday wanting to know about my vacant homes. Of those 17, I have already axed about four, who couldn't follow the simple directive I left on my voice mail:

"If you don't leave your name, I won't call you back. You are renting my home. You play by my rules." Ok, I might have only put the first sentence in my voice mail. The rest is total subtext.

Of the 13 calls I will return later today, most of them were for Ms. Robin's former home. The others were for Mr. Noble's home which isn't technically on the market until next week. There were two calls for the home on Hysteria Lane in Calera. One wanted to know if I would take a section 8 tenant. The other wanted me to hold the home until December 1. No. And, No.

Note to caller who wants to move in December 1: bless your heart. I am calling you back last.

I am sure Kirby is doing some sort of mega-advertising blitz, on my behalf, but I haven't heard word one from him about potential tenants. The advertising did point out something I had wondered: are there renters? Apparently there are. Just not in Calera. Good to know Kirby isn't slacking.

Later this afternoon, (a day where I haven't worked for Y'all and handled real estate in the same day), I will call them all back. I will start with those who I put little stars by their name--the stars telling me they won the "who can leave the most professional message on my voice mail" lottery.

I will then have those callers bombard Kirby's cell phone. I suppose I could have them call the office, but why take a chance he will miss the calls? Just to be sure, I will also send Kirby a list of potential tenants.

Micromanaging? You bet.

Let the Fun Begin

I ran three ads in the Birmingham News on Sunday. Do you know of anyone else anywhere who has their own personal rep at the newspaper?

I have 12 voice mails to listen to and return today. I put a notice on my voice mail that said I would not return any call where the caller did not clearly leave their name.
I hate screening tenants. But I hate empty homes worse.

As Good as it Gets?

I am not in the South. I really don't get the South. But I do know a few things about doing business there. Namely, don't piss off the ones who help you.

Which brings me to this particular dilemma. I have Kirby. Before Kirby, I had a terrible property manager who should not be in business. Thanks to a letter to the Alabama Department of Real Estate, they have been put on notice. 

Before that fiasco of a company, I interviewed several property management companies in Birmingham and hated them all. Simple things--like actually not giving the keys to my vacant home to total strangers prospective tenanats was too much to ask. I understand this is common practice in Birmingham. But it doesn't take a county fair psychic with a Magic 8 ball to figure out how wrong this could go. 

Essentially, Kirby is the best legitimate property manager I have found in Birmingham. I have Carolsue as well, but she isn't licensed, and she also has her own life. So, Kirby it is.

Kirby understands property management. I know what he does all day. He knows I know. His job isn't for the faint of heart. Now that he manages over two hundred and fifty homes with a skeleton staff, he is busy. He once told me another landlord sent an unSouthernlike e-mail to him, suggesting Kirby should actually return a call or an e-mail. Kirby said to me, "I think that was a little uncalled for. He should know I would get back to him."

Though Kirby's lacadaisical behavior doesn't bode well in the rest of society, it seems to be perfectly appropriate in the South.

But I am not in the South.

And I have two vacant homes.

And two others coming vacant.

And a deadbeat in Fultondale.

And a high-strung serious type-A personality (no, that is not redundant).

And a Kirby who can't seem to return an e-mail or a phone call in a timely fashion.

Marty Sunshine and I have been discussing this. Or, more to the point, I am fretting, and making veiled threats to fly out to Birmingham to yell at Kirby and Marty has been nodding and smiling. Most of my property management contracts are coming due and I don't have to renew them. But, I really don't have anyone else to take them over. Those I speak with don't know as much about property management as Kirby does (or, for that matter I know). I don't want a sales guy to sell me his services. I want someone who can handle my homes. And rent them out.

Something else Kirby told me the day we were talking about the other landlord who offended Kirby. He said he always calls me back first. He knows how patient I am and he knows I understand what he does. Kirby said he was confident I understood, beyond a doubt, that Kirby would call me back as soon as time permitted.

I am glad Kirby is confident about that. I am not so sure. I think I would rather have a phone call or two a bit more often instead.