Through a back story that mirrors the length, plot points and politics of a Russian novel, I consciously did not pay all of my property tax bills for 2012. I knew I owed them, and had every intention of making good. Just not on time.
Then I got busy.
However, Jefferson County, the same county where the majority of City of Birmingham is located (and incidentally is in bankruptcy proceedings--though I am sure that is a total coincidence to me not paying my property taxes), did not forget. In fact, last month they sent me a friendly reminder. Which was a pleasant surprise to find out they had my address, as they couldn't bothered to send me a friendly reminder of the actual amount due any time during 2012.
Sadly, last month when I received notice, I was dealing with real estate drama, Girl Scout cookie sales and a trip to Birmingham. So, I didn't give much thought to property taxes. Though, I did at some point casually mention to Mr. Partner we owed them and should do something about it. Mr. Partner agreed. And that is about how far I got with the whole thing.
Saturday (March 16) I received another friendly letter telling me if I did not pay the delinquent property taxes by Wednesday March 20, 2013 they would start the tax lien process. They promised there would be judges, and courts and scary legal stuff involved. Though I had never been delinquent before, I pretty much took them at their word.
At the suggestion of Saturday's notice, I tried to pay the property taxes online only to find out Jefferson County's Tax Assessor Web site wasn't working. Not quite ready to panic, I figured I would just happily call up the phone number listed on the letter, and submit a payment over the phone. How hard could it be? Three hours of a busy signal later, I found out.
Apparently there is as special department for people who pay property taxes late. The department is staffed by rejects from the Department of Motor Vehicles who have small, small lives and thrive on adding misery and panic to the unsuspecting. There is no semblance of Southern hospitality for those of us in my situation. We are condemned tax deadbeats and deserve every and all hateful things that happen to us from this point forward. At least that is what the woman answering the phone conveyed to me in the first 38 seconds of my call.
As I explained to the woman on the other end of the phone line my situation (the Web site to pay wasn't working please let me pay you), she curtly informed me that her office did not take payments over the phone. She then ordered me to write down an e-mail address. At her mercy, I complied.
"Can I submit a payment to this e-mail address?" I innocently asked.
"No, just e-mail them and let them know the site isn't working. If they get enough complaints, they might fix it."
I believe she must have sensed that I rolled my eyes because she then became even more unpleasant. It was her suggestion that if I want to redeem myself from the low status of pond scum and if I am and to keep my home, she would recommend I get on a plane tonight, fly out and pay the property taxes in full in her office tomorrow.
"You don't take UPS?" I countered. After several variations of this particular question it turns out they do ("Do you take overnight deliveries?" and "How do people out of town manage to pay on time at the end of the year?"). And that is certainly cheaper than a last-minute air fare that will probably route me through Newark.
I had to go to the UPS Store anyway today, but wasn't looking forward to spending the same amount as a tank of gasoline to send over my payment to a pissy woman who probably would loose my check just out of sheer spite. I toyed with sending the money and a box of chocolates as a total bribe to Carolsue and begging her to find the tax assessor's office on my behalf tomorrow.
In the end, it appears enough people did e-mail whomever was in charge of that particular payment Web site, because I finally was able to get the site to work. It took a few thousand tries, but I now have confirmation it went through. All taxes are now paid, and I think I will make a better effort to pay them on time this year.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Thursday, March 14, 2013
True Story
I had a woman call me once who was a neighbor to one of my rental homes. A former tenant had told her I was a real estate agent in a state beginning with a letter "A."
So, she hunted me down by calling the Arizona Department of Real Estate (and presumably Arkansas and Alaska too) and getting my phone number. She called to tell me that she had loaned the tenant prior to the one currently living in the home next door to hers curtains more than three years earlier. And, she now wanted them back. What was I going to do about it?
So, she hunted me down by calling the Arizona Department of Real Estate (and presumably Arkansas and Alaska too) and getting my phone number. She called to tell me that she had loaned the tenant prior to the one currently living in the home next door to hers curtains more than three years earlier. And, she now wanted them back. What was I going to do about it?
Friday, March 08, 2013
The Next Chapter
We are closing our accidental business. It just isn't necessary any more. I still have all of my gazillion rentals. But, I am only managing a few of these properties. I am leaving the picking and choosing of tenants and the day-to-day crazy stuff to Kirby and Mario, my two property management companies.
In actuality, nothing is really changing except for the amount of paperwork, money and time that I am spending. When I started my accidental company, Marty Sunshine and I did not have any properties in just our own LLC, and needed an outlet to collect rents and a place to handle expenses. Now that we have three particular homes in an LLC all to ourselves, on paper at least, the accidental business is somewhat redundant.
When Polly heard we were "closing our doors," so to speak, she was alarmed. She asked if I was sad. Yes, in some ways I am. I have fleeting feelings of failure as a property manager--though this is completely my choice and I have been somewhat quasi-successfully managing rental properties for the past 10 years. And, for that matter, I am still managing a few homes--just my easy tenants. I know I am not a failure as a property manager, at least I know that intellectually. But shutting down still stings just a little. Even if I am willingly doing it.
What I explained to Polly was ending our accidental business is like getting to the end of a delicious and captivating novel. You are sad to come to the last chapter, because you want to know so much more about the characters and what happens next. But, reading the last page and closing the book leaves you room in your life to read another book that might be just as wonderful.
I want the next chapter in my life to be like that too. I need too make room for that adventure.
This blog isn't going away. Writing is a form of therapy for me. Writing is cathartic. Writing is as a part of me as breathing. Besides I still have things to write about. Trust me. The weirdness hasn't ended. And just maybe I will find something new to write about too.
In actuality, nothing is really changing except for the amount of paperwork, money and time that I am spending. When I started my accidental company, Marty Sunshine and I did not have any properties in just our own LLC, and needed an outlet to collect rents and a place to handle expenses. Now that we have three particular homes in an LLC all to ourselves, on paper at least, the accidental business is somewhat redundant.
When Polly heard we were "closing our doors," so to speak, she was alarmed. She asked if I was sad. Yes, in some ways I am. I have fleeting feelings of failure as a property manager--though this is completely my choice and I have been somewhat quasi-successfully managing rental properties for the past 10 years. And, for that matter, I am still managing a few homes--just my easy tenants. I know I am not a failure as a property manager, at least I know that intellectually. But shutting down still stings just a little. Even if I am willingly doing it.
What I explained to Polly was ending our accidental business is like getting to the end of a delicious and captivating novel. You are sad to come to the last chapter, because you want to know so much more about the characters and what happens next. But, reading the last page and closing the book leaves you room in your life to read another book that might be just as wonderful.
I want the next chapter in my life to be like that too. I need too make room for that adventure.
This blog isn't going away. Writing is a form of therapy for me. Writing is cathartic. Writing is as a part of me as breathing. Besides I still have things to write about. Trust me. The weirdness hasn't ended. And just maybe I will find something new to write about too.
Thursday, March 07, 2013
Why We Don't Have Peace in the Middle East
I am told I have the house in Alabaster rented--even without the fourth bedroom.
The potential tenants in question, treated the entire rental application like they were negotiating a peace accord in the Middle East. I treated it with a mild amusement and told Daisy I wasn't impressed.
The prospective tenants also wanted a stove from the modern age. Check. I was already planning on putting one in.
They told me they would "bypass" the fact the fourth bedroom wasn't done. I explained to Daisy they could bypass this fact up their a$$, because there isn't a fourth bedroom and there will never be a fourth bedroom and if they can't figure out the difference between an attic and a bedroom I can't help them.
I don't hate them. And, if they can pay--which it looks like they probably can--it is fine by me. I was planning on painting the patchwork quilt of color on the walls and a new stove anyway. But, let them think they won that part of the negotiation. Perhaps that will stop them from asking for an indoor pool.
The potential tenants in question, treated the entire rental application like they were negotiating a peace accord in the Middle East. I treated it with a mild amusement and told Daisy I wasn't impressed.
The folks wanted the wall colors to match. Fair enough. Right now there is about 15 colors on every wall. Ms. Shirley, a former tenant from a year ago, did this and then stiffed me the last month's rent as she left never to be heard from again. Fortunately, Mr. Wonderful Former Tenant was a self-proclaimed "guy" and just didn't care about mis-matched paint smears randomly placed on every wall.
They told me they would "bypass" the fact the fourth bedroom wasn't done. I explained to Daisy they could bypass this fact up their a$$, because there isn't a fourth bedroom and there will never be a fourth bedroom and if they can't figure out the difference between an attic and a bedroom I can't help them.
The tenants then told me if I would take $200 less for the monthly rent, they could pay a year up front. I countered back with they could pay the full amount of rent every month and we would get along just fine. I don't want a year up front, it would be harder to get rid of them if things don't work out.
The potential tenants own a packing and shipping store nearby, so while I was at the Alabaster house, I swung by to see what I thought. I told Daisy I would only call her back if I hated them. What I discovered is the owner was busy helping someone. He was business-like. I didn't see or hear anything that raised any red flags while watching him. There were two young men (presumably the two sons I heard this tenant has) in the store also who were very helpful, asking repeatedly if they could help. Given there isn't much to do in a pack and shipping store if one isn't packing or shipping, I looked out of place. So, after a minute or two, I left.
I don't hate them. And, if they can pay--which it looks like they probably can--it is fine by me. I was planning on painting the patchwork quilt of color on the walls and a new stove anyway. But, let them think they won that part of the negotiation. Perhaps that will stop them from asking for an indoor pool.
Wednesday, March 06, 2013
Random Bama
It is a superfluous blog kind of day, as I am heading for the airport after I finish my English muffin. My inner introvert is cowering in the corner, knowing the rest of my week is taken up by a plane flight, Girl Scout cookie sales and real estate. Some day I am actually going to travel for recreational purposes.
__________________________________________________________________________
It turns out I need a coat of paint or two on the house in Alabaster. Apparently I didn't translate Daisy's (that's Kirby's assistant) optimistic rhetoric appropriately when she told me "it needed some touch up paint" and suggested she would be willing to take care of it herself. With all due respect to Daisy, I am sure she meant well, but she touched up the walls with the wrong colors. She knows this now.
I did get a quote for painting the place. Apparently the painter was planning on using solid gold paint. That's the only reason I could think of that would make the cost of painting so expensive.
I hear nobody who looked at the home has complained about it (though I dare her to tell me). They were all too busy gawking at "fourth bedroom." But I suspect it is probably a significant factor in the reasons we haven't gotten this place leased so far.
Also, I found out Former Tenant Ms. Shirley took my stove and replaced it with a 1972 variety. I happen to believe in Divine Retribution, which is what was keeping me going when I found out about the stove.
__________________________________________________________________________
Speaking of Former Tenants, I spent the last 24 hours with a few divorced dads that come from Alabaster. I met Mr. Former Wonderful Tenant. He is truly a nice and interesting guy. We chatted for almost two hours at his office. Well, he chatted. I listened and asked a question from time or two. If Diamond Jim ever decides to retire, I may bring in Mr. Former Wonderful Tenant to handle my taxes for me.
I also saw Mr. 114, former next door neighbor to my Alabaster home. As he put it, he still owns the place, he just isn't legally allowed to set foot on the property. Mr. 114 will be helping me out at the Grayson Valley home. Mr. 114 was also quite chatty, but I certainly hope he has his very own Divorced Dad Magnet handy, because I think Mr. Formal Wonderful Tenant called dibs.
__________________________________________________________________________
The house in Grayson Valley is a blog or three unto itself. Monday morning I had James, the Hell's Angel Turned Carpet Installer out there to give me an idea for flooring. Kirby and I sat on the floor, looking over carpet samples while James measured everything.
I also had Mr. 114 out there to give me an idea of what to do with a significant drainage issue on the property. To put it mildly, when it rains water runs downhill. Then it turns right and runs downhill again through my property, congregating with it all of its little water droplet friends. They then parade through my back yard and down the rest of the hill. So, my back yard is like a water gathering place before their final journey--like the Diamond Club at the airport. Unfortunately these drops of water weren't raised right and keep destroying my back yard. They also are coming entirely too close to my actual home and I don't need the house flooding.
In addition to Mr. 114, Kirby and James, the Hell's Angel Turned Carpet Installer hanging out with me on Monday morning, I also had Doug, the general contractor, and Scott, the insurance adjuster at the house. There is a theory being bandied about that the home needs a roof. It might. It also might just need to be fixed. I am ok with either option as long as the rain water stays outside and it doesn't cost me what I think it is going to cost. Right now I am letting Doug and Scott work it out.
My last visitor Monday morning was Ms. Betsy, the elderly next door neighbor. Actually, a woman came out and said Ms. Betsy was inside and wanted to meet me. Would I please come over? Kirby and I did, with me whining on my way over, "Why? Does she want to tell me that the former tenants had barking dogs or other former tenants were crazy? Why?"
"Oh she probably wants to just tell you the yard floods." Kirby replied with a Southern nonchalance.
"That's silly." I protested. "That is not a reason to meet someone."
Anyway, Ms. Betsy is in the late stages of cancer and she wanted to say hello. She wanted to tell me the former tenant's dogs barked, but they were better than the crazy people (Harold and Haroldine) that were there before. And she wanted to let me know that my yard floods.
__________________________________________________________________________
It turns out I need a coat of paint or two on the house in Alabaster. Apparently I didn't translate Daisy's (that's Kirby's assistant) optimistic rhetoric appropriately when she told me "it needed some touch up paint" and suggested she would be willing to take care of it herself. With all due respect to Daisy, I am sure she meant well, but she touched up the walls with the wrong colors. She knows this now.
I did get a quote for painting the place. Apparently the painter was planning on using solid gold paint. That's the only reason I could think of that would make the cost of painting so expensive.
I hear nobody who looked at the home has complained about it (though I dare her to tell me). They were all too busy gawking at "fourth bedroom." But I suspect it is probably a significant factor in the reasons we haven't gotten this place leased so far.
Also, I found out Former Tenant Ms. Shirley took my stove and replaced it with a 1972 variety. I happen to believe in Divine Retribution, which is what was keeping me going when I found out about the stove.
__________________________________________________________________________
Speaking of Former Tenants, I spent the last 24 hours with a few divorced dads that come from Alabaster. I met Mr. Former Wonderful Tenant. He is truly a nice and interesting guy. We chatted for almost two hours at his office. Well, he chatted. I listened and asked a question from time or two. If Diamond Jim ever decides to retire, I may bring in Mr. Former Wonderful Tenant to handle my taxes for me.
I also saw Mr. 114, former next door neighbor to my Alabaster home. As he put it, he still owns the place, he just isn't legally allowed to set foot on the property. Mr. 114 will be helping me out at the Grayson Valley home. Mr. 114 was also quite chatty, but I certainly hope he has his very own Divorced Dad Magnet handy, because I think Mr. Formal Wonderful Tenant called dibs.
__________________________________________________________________________
The house in Grayson Valley is a blog or three unto itself. Monday morning I had James, the Hell's Angel Turned Carpet Installer out there to give me an idea for flooring. Kirby and I sat on the floor, looking over carpet samples while James measured everything.
I also had Mr. 114 out there to give me an idea of what to do with a significant drainage issue on the property. To put it mildly, when it rains water runs downhill. Then it turns right and runs downhill again through my property, congregating with it all of its little water droplet friends. They then parade through my back yard and down the rest of the hill. So, my back yard is like a water gathering place before their final journey--like the Diamond Club at the airport. Unfortunately these drops of water weren't raised right and keep destroying my back yard. They also are coming entirely too close to my actual home and I don't need the house flooding.
In addition to Mr. 114, Kirby and James, the Hell's Angel Turned Carpet Installer hanging out with me on Monday morning, I also had Doug, the general contractor, and Scott, the insurance adjuster at the house. There is a theory being bandied about that the home needs a roof. It might. It also might just need to be fixed. I am ok with either option as long as the rain water stays outside and it doesn't cost me what I think it is going to cost. Right now I am letting Doug and Scott work it out.
My last visitor Monday morning was Ms. Betsy, the elderly next door neighbor. Actually, a woman came out and said Ms. Betsy was inside and wanted to meet me. Would I please come over? Kirby and I did, with me whining on my way over, "Why? Does she want to tell me that the former tenants had barking dogs or other former tenants were crazy? Why?"
"Oh she probably wants to just tell you the yard floods." Kirby replied with a Southern nonchalance.
"That's silly." I protested. "That is not a reason to meet someone."
Anyway, Ms. Betsy is in the late stages of cancer and she wanted to say hello. She wanted to tell me the former tenant's dogs barked, but they were better than the crazy people (Harold and Haroldine) that were there before. And she wanted to let me know that my yard floods.
Monday, March 04, 2013
I Hope They Aren't Looking for a Butler's Pantry or Wine Cellar Either
A long, long day. More later. But, a quick story.
As a total coincidence, while out with Kirby today, a prospective tenant called about my Alabaster house. They had just viewed the home and were "outraged" at the condition of the fourth bedroom. They said they had a strong interest in renting out the house, but demanded to know what the landlord was going to do about the floor in the fourth bedroom. Apparently, the flooring and walls were completely sub-par.
I heard Kirby tell the caller, with a bit of amusement in his voice--seeing as though I was sitting right next to him--he would be willing to check with the landlord and let the prospective tenant know what indeed I was going to do about the fourth bedroom. When he got off the phone he told me about the call, with me utterly confused.
"The house in Alabaster has only three bedrooms," I reminded him.
"I know. He swore there were four." Kirby said.
We discussed this for a minute or two, trying to belatedly decipher what on earth the caller was talking about. I was half-convinced the possible tenant just had the wrong house. After all, after personally having seen this home this weekend, an imaginary bedroom should be the least of someone's concerns. I had been sad to discover the place isn't in as tip-top shape as I was expecting. However, I happen to know, nobody added on another wing since I saw it Saturday.
I finally figured out what the issue was. The "fourth bedroom" is not a bedroom at all. It is the attic space.
As a total coincidence, while out with Kirby today, a prospective tenant called about my Alabaster house. They had just viewed the home and were "outraged" at the condition of the fourth bedroom. They said they had a strong interest in renting out the house, but demanded to know what the landlord was going to do about the floor in the fourth bedroom. Apparently, the flooring and walls were completely sub-par.
I heard Kirby tell the caller, with a bit of amusement in his voice--seeing as though I was sitting right next to him--he would be willing to check with the landlord and let the prospective tenant know what indeed I was going to do about the fourth bedroom. When he got off the phone he told me about the call, with me utterly confused.
"The house in Alabaster has only three bedrooms," I reminded him.
"I know. He swore there were four." Kirby said.
We discussed this for a minute or two, trying to belatedly decipher what on earth the caller was talking about. I was half-convinced the possible tenant just had the wrong house. After all, after personally having seen this home this weekend, an imaginary bedroom should be the least of someone's concerns. I had been sad to discover the place isn't in as tip-top shape as I was expecting. However, I happen to know, nobody added on another wing since I saw it Saturday.
I finally figured out what the issue was. The "fourth bedroom" is not a bedroom at all. It is the attic space.
Sunday, March 03, 2013
The Birmingham Weekend
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The only evidence left from our Anual Meeting. Minutes are titled, "What Happens in Birmingham, Stays in Birmingham"
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In addition to my fabulous girl's weekend (which now includes a serious Downton Abbey addiction), I spent Sunday with Carolsue. We went to church--only because I made her. In return I was treated to a lovely lunch and great conversation (thank you Sweetie, you always make me laugh). Afterwards, I went back to the hotel room and made several phone calls and texts to finish rounding out my Birmingham visit.
One of my texts was to Mr. 114, asking if I could borrow a tape measure in the morning. Another call was to Kirby. Kirby, who manages about 200 landlords and even more properties, has in the past confided that I am his favorite. I have no idea if that is true or not, but I am open to flattery. And, in case it isn't I am bringing him Girl Scout cookies tomorrow. I also got in touch with Mrs. Green and will be inspecting her house at some early-early hour in the morning.
It is late. So, I must end this blog now, my dear three readers. I will either go to bed, get a good night's sleep and wake up refreshed and ready to start my Monday. Or, I will watch another episode of "Downton Abbey" and add a bit extra concealer under my eyes tomorrow.
Friday, March 01, 2013
Tripp'n with Bliz
By the time you read this, I will be on an airplane en route to a cold Midwestern City blanketed by Arctic weather, whereby, I will have a layover and pick up Bliz and board another airplane to Birmingham. Bliz, my dear, dear friend of way too many years, took me up on my offer to come with me to Birmingham this trip in hopes of keeping me from being arrested company.
A few weeks ago, I asked Bliz what she wanted to do while we were in Birmingham. Museums? Zoo? Nature walk? She said she wanted to see my houses. Personally, I can think of lots of other fun-fun things to do that don't involve driving into Leeds, but whatever.
Anything Bliz wants to do, short of hunting for alligators in the swamps in Alabama is fine with me. Frankly, I looked up "Things to Do In Birmingham" and didn't come up with much of a list anyway. So perhaps Leeds won't be too bad.
In years past my trips to Birmingham have been a chore. This is probably the first trip I have actually anticipated with a joyful heart. I am thrilled she is coming along for the ride.
A few weeks ago, I asked Bliz what she wanted to do while we were in Birmingham. Museums? Zoo? Nature walk? She said she wanted to see my houses. Personally, I can think of lots of other fun-fun things to do that don't involve driving into Leeds, but whatever.
Anything Bliz wants to do, short of hunting for alligators in the swamps in Alabama is fine with me. Frankly, I looked up "Things to Do In Birmingham" and didn't come up with much of a list anyway. So perhaps Leeds won't be too bad.
In years past my trips to Birmingham have been a chore. This is probably the first trip I have actually anticipated with a joyful heart. I am thrilled she is coming along for the ride.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Priorities
I am leaving for Birmingham soon. So far I have bought granola bars, checked the Alabama weather (cold and wet) and found my umbrella.
I am thinking I really should pack.
I am thinking I really should pack.
Swan Song Part 2
In the beginning of 2012, Diamond Jim sold his CPA practice to some other company and proceeded to transition his company with theirs. Presumably learning lessons from the last time he sold his business, this time he was welcomed to stayed on with the firm who bought him out, letting his clients know they would be in good hands in future years.
This time however, Diamond Jim was finally doing what he should have done years earlier--retire. Given than he is heading into his 70s, retirement makes sense. Mrs. Diamond Jim needs him. Some small obscure town in Oregon, where he now calls home, needs him too.
When Diamond Jim left for Oregon last October, we we would e-mail occasionally, with me inquiring about Ms. Diamond Jim, his children and the grand kids--Ricky and Timmy. He would ask back about Marty Sunshine, Polly and Buckaroo.
Last winter I had questions for him and he and I talked for a while about what I wanted to do. We discussed books (Me: "Killing Lincoln" Jim: "What the Dog Saw" a 680 page tome on its third renewal from the Mesa Library because I haven't started it just yet). We discussed baseball. I even congratulated him on his Oregon Ducks winning some sort of collegiate bowl game.
In late January, in our neighborhood community newsletter, there was a notice a day from someone asking if they had an accountant referral, as theirs had retired. After about six of these notices, I e-mailed Diamond Jim and shared a few of them with him. "Looks like you have left big shoes to fill." I said, not knowing if he was the accountant all of these folks were referring to.
In the beginning of February, around 7 a.m. I got a phone call from Diamond Jim. When I went to answer it, the line went dead. I called him back and he told me he must have pocked dialed me. I didn't push it, but I happen to know Diamond Jim has a touch screen phone. Pocket dialing someone with a touch screen phone is pretty much impossible. Diamond Jim did tell me, if Mrs. Diamond Jim were up to it (her health has been wavering) he was coming back for one more tax year.
As I sat down to write this blog last week, Diamond Jim called me. We caught up and decided we would both be hungry Friday morning around 6:30 a.m. How about we meet at Cindy's Cafe? I came, armed with a red velvet cupcake Buckaroo made for "Uncle Jim" and Girl Scout cookies.
The breakfast was lackluster, but the company was wonderful. Not once did we discuss taxes, but that came this past week when I showed up for the first of two tax appointments. I had never been to Diamond Jim's new offices before (last year I managed to have my taxes done through a series of breakfast meetings). The receptionist seemed truly floored when Diamond Jim came to the lobby and greeted me with the greatest of bear hugs.
During the meeting, while we were discussing my tax options, I asked if he was really, truly retiring. Not to be selfish or anything, but I need to figure out who is doing my taxes next year. I jokingly asked if they have direct flights from Phoenix into Eastern Oregon. He suggested I just fly into Portland and rent a car.
At this time, I believe Diamond Jim plans on making this the last year he commutes for tax season. He needs to focus his energy and time on other pursuits (I suggested he sell real estate in the middle of nowhere). I will miss my friend and tax advisor. But I know he has earned a quiet season in some obscure Eastern Oregon town with Mrs. Diamond Jim.
This time however, Diamond Jim was finally doing what he should have done years earlier--retire. Given than he is heading into his 70s, retirement makes sense. Mrs. Diamond Jim needs him. Some small obscure town in Oregon, where he now calls home, needs him too.
When Diamond Jim left for Oregon last October, we we would e-mail occasionally, with me inquiring about Ms. Diamond Jim, his children and the grand kids--Ricky and Timmy. He would ask back about Marty Sunshine, Polly and Buckaroo.
Last winter I had questions for him and he and I talked for a while about what I wanted to do. We discussed books (Me: "Killing Lincoln" Jim: "What the Dog Saw" a 680 page tome on its third renewal from the Mesa Library because I haven't started it just yet). We discussed baseball. I even congratulated him on his Oregon Ducks winning some sort of collegiate bowl game.
In late January, in our neighborhood community newsletter, there was a notice a day from someone asking if they had an accountant referral, as theirs had retired. After about six of these notices, I e-mailed Diamond Jim and shared a few of them with him. "Looks like you have left big shoes to fill." I said, not knowing if he was the accountant all of these folks were referring to.
In the beginning of February, around 7 a.m. I got a phone call from Diamond Jim. When I went to answer it, the line went dead. I called him back and he told me he must have pocked dialed me. I didn't push it, but I happen to know Diamond Jim has a touch screen phone. Pocket dialing someone with a touch screen phone is pretty much impossible. Diamond Jim did tell me, if Mrs. Diamond Jim were up to it (her health has been wavering) he was coming back for one more tax year.
As I sat down to write this blog last week, Diamond Jim called me. We caught up and decided we would both be hungry Friday morning around 6:30 a.m. How about we meet at Cindy's Cafe? I came, armed with a red velvet cupcake Buckaroo made for "Uncle Jim" and Girl Scout cookies.
The breakfast was lackluster, but the company was wonderful. Not once did we discuss taxes, but that came this past week when I showed up for the first of two tax appointments. I had never been to Diamond Jim's new offices before (last year I managed to have my taxes done through a series of breakfast meetings). The receptionist seemed truly floored when Diamond Jim came to the lobby and greeted me with the greatest of bear hugs.
During the meeting, while we were discussing my tax options, I asked if he was really, truly retiring. Not to be selfish or anything, but I need to figure out who is doing my taxes next year. I jokingly asked if they have direct flights from Phoenix into Eastern Oregon. He suggested I just fly into Portland and rent a car.
At this time, I believe Diamond Jim plans on making this the last year he commutes for tax season. He needs to focus his energy and time on other pursuits (I suggested he sell real estate in the middle of nowhere). I will miss my friend and tax advisor. But I know he has earned a quiet season in some obscure Eastern Oregon town with Mrs. Diamond Jim.
My To-Do LIst
I didn't think I had much to do in Birmingham until I started making my to-do list. Most people when they get ready to go somewhere actually pack. I blog.
So far I have made arrangements for Mr. Little to drop his keys off at my hotel. I have a roofer lined up for my soon-to-be vacant home. I have Mr. 114 coming by to see if I can employ him and his new-fangled tractor to fix a grading issue there. I double-checked to make sure I have James-the-Hell's-Angel-Turned-Carpet-Installer's (cash only) phone number handy, in case Mr. Little is right about the flooring.
Additionally, I have warned Mrs. Green I will be swinging by to say hello. I have gotten in touch with Kirby and Daisy (Kirby's trusty assistant) about touring a few homes--including my house in Leeds and the Fultondale home, where the tenant yelled at me last time. Kirby and/or Daisy is also going to check out my vacant home with me and see what I can rent it for. In return for them taking a whole day out of their life, I will shower them with Girl Scout cookies--though they don't know it yet.
Mr. Wonderful, my former tenant, suggested I come by and say howdy. It is on the list. I have also, thanks to Carolsue, befriended a real estate agent who seems to be a go-getter. I would like him to tour my vacant home and give me an idea of what I can get for it. Also on my list is contacting Mrs. Sherwood--I still haven't written about her adventures, but let me just say I just payed the plumber and the electrician, both of whom have set up satellite offices in her basement.
For the first time since 2007, I have not told Jack I am in town. I am not sure I am ready to see him. I like him. I find he and Mrs. Jack to be great conversationalists. But, truth be told, I am not ready to field the awkward silence where he should be asking "How's the house I am no longer part owner in working out for you?" with me responding with "Vacant and needs a roof and possibly carpeting, thanks for asking". Maybe I will change my mind, but right now I think I would like some time to pass before I broach that.
Rounding off the list is some well-deserved girlfriend time (more on that later), dinner with Carolsue--which includes peanut butter pie. I am sure there is more, but right now I need to get back to work in Arizona and prepare my clients, Girl Scouts and family for me being gone a few days.
So far I have made arrangements for Mr. Little to drop his keys off at my hotel. I have a roofer lined up for my soon-to-be vacant home. I have Mr. 114 coming by to see if I can employ him and his new-fangled tractor to fix a grading issue there. I double-checked to make sure I have James-the-Hell's-Angel-Turned-Carpet-Installer's (cash only) phone number handy, in case Mr. Little is right about the flooring.
Additionally, I have warned Mrs. Green I will be swinging by to say hello. I have gotten in touch with Kirby and Daisy (Kirby's trusty assistant) about touring a few homes--including my house in Leeds and the Fultondale home, where the tenant yelled at me last time. Kirby and/or Daisy is also going to check out my vacant home with me and see what I can rent it for. In return for them taking a whole day out of their life, I will shower them with Girl Scout cookies--though they don't know it yet.
Mr. Wonderful, my former tenant, suggested I come by and say howdy. It is on the list. I have also, thanks to Carolsue, befriended a real estate agent who seems to be a go-getter. I would like him to tour my vacant home and give me an idea of what I can get for it. Also on my list is contacting Mrs. Sherwood--I still haven't written about her adventures, but let me just say I just payed the plumber and the electrician, both of whom have set up satellite offices in her basement.
For the first time since 2007, I have not told Jack I am in town. I am not sure I am ready to see him. I like him. I find he and Mrs. Jack to be great conversationalists. But, truth be told, I am not ready to field the awkward silence where he should be asking "How's the house I am no longer part owner in working out for you?" with me responding with "Vacant and needs a roof and possibly carpeting, thanks for asking". Maybe I will change my mind, but right now I think I would like some time to pass before I broach that.
Rounding off the list is some well-deserved girlfriend time (more on that later), dinner with Carolsue--which includes peanut butter pie. I am sure there is more, but right now I need to get back to work in Arizona and prepare my clients, Girl Scouts and family for me being gone a few days.
Friday, February 22, 2013
Things Always Work Out For the Best
Mr. and Mrs. Green have been renting from me (in a house Marty Sunshine and I own without another partner) for more than three years. I know this precisely, as when I was filing the enormous stack of papers Bliz sent me the other day I found information on their credit check. Has it really been so long?
For the most part, Mr. and Mrs. Green have been good tenants. They don't call with minor dramas, and save it all for roofs caving in and other such dilemmas. I don't talk with Mrs. Green much, though I find her delightful. I happen to know she has two sons who are deployed overseas. I know she is a home-health nurse. I also know, when I mentioned to her a few months ago I had been in town over the summer, she darn near blew a gasket because I didn't stop by and introduce myself.
"You are telling me, that you came to town and didn't come by?" She asked with no small amount of outrage.
"Yes Ma'am." I answered meekly, with the mental memo that either next time I was in Birmingham I would call upon her, or I would just remember not to say anything else about future visits.
Last month, Mrs. Green sent me a text asking me to call. That is never a good sign, but I dutifully obeyed. It turns out Mrs. Green's job went away and the family of the woman she was taking care of gave Ms. Green a one hour notice her job was through. She wanted me to know she had a majority of the rent, but not all of it. And, then she let it hang with a nice pregnant pause.
What Mrs. Green did not know was Mr. Little had just given his notice a few days prior. Also, what she didn't know was cleaning up after someone has rented for years isn't a cheap process. There is painting. There is cleaning this and fixing that. All has to be painted, cleaned and repaired before a new and paying tenant can be brought in. And Mr. Little just called dibs.
Last week, I texted Mrs. Green and asked how her employment search was going. When she didn't respond for several days, I pretty much knew the answer. She finally called me a couple of days ago with the news she didn't have a job. Money was tighter than it has ever been before. I could tell she was afraid. I am afraid too.
She broke into tears when I told her I would take a token rent amount and not ask her to leave this month. However, I told her I didn't want her beholden to this house, and if she needs to move, she needs to move. I also mentioned I would be in town soon, and I would stop by and discuss her options.
I personally don't like throwing good tenants out on the street for a short-term money issue. Besides, the cost to carry a good tenant a month or two while they are getting back on their feet is much less expensive than carrying a vacant home. However, I have learned (the hard way), that when a tenant wants to leave, it is probably better just to let them go.
For the most part, Mr. and Mrs. Green have been good tenants. They don't call with minor dramas, and save it all for roofs caving in and other such dilemmas. I don't talk with Mrs. Green much, though I find her delightful. I happen to know she has two sons who are deployed overseas. I know she is a home-health nurse. I also know, when I mentioned to her a few months ago I had been in town over the summer, she darn near blew a gasket because I didn't stop by and introduce myself.
"You are telling me, that you came to town and didn't come by?" She asked with no small amount of outrage.
"Yes Ma'am." I answered meekly, with the mental memo that either next time I was in Birmingham I would call upon her, or I would just remember not to say anything else about future visits.
Last month, Mrs. Green sent me a text asking me to call. That is never a good sign, but I dutifully obeyed. It turns out Mrs. Green's job went away and the family of the woman she was taking care of gave Ms. Green a one hour notice her job was through. She wanted me to know she had a majority of the rent, but not all of it. And, then she let it hang with a nice pregnant pause.
What Mrs. Green did not know was Mr. Little had just given his notice a few days prior. Also, what she didn't know was cleaning up after someone has rented for years isn't a cheap process. There is painting. There is cleaning this and fixing that. All has to be painted, cleaned and repaired before a new and paying tenant can be brought in. And Mr. Little just called dibs.
Last week, I texted Mrs. Green and asked how her employment search was going. When she didn't respond for several days, I pretty much knew the answer. She finally called me a couple of days ago with the news she didn't have a job. Money was tighter than it has ever been before. I could tell she was afraid. I am afraid too.
She broke into tears when I told her I would take a token rent amount and not ask her to leave this month. However, I told her I didn't want her beholden to this house, and if she needs to move, she needs to move. I also mentioned I would be in town soon, and I would stop by and discuss her options.
I personally don't like throwing good tenants out on the street for a short-term money issue. Besides, the cost to carry a good tenant a month or two while they are getting back on their feet is much less expensive than carrying a vacant home. However, I have learned (the hard way), that when a tenant wants to leave, it is probably better just to let them go.
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Perhaps His Belt Slipped?
I am not making light of the victim in this case. Assault is assault. But I can certainly understand landlord's mindset. One of the things that is the most maddening for me as a landlord is the sense of entitlement I have run into from tenants. It is one thing if a tenant looses a job or has a significant hardship. It is quite another if a tenant just wants to stick it to the "rich landlord." I have had tenants say aggravating things like, "How do you expect me to pay the rent when I have to pay the electric bill/buy school supplies for my kids/go to Vegas for the weekend?" Personally, if I were on the jury of this landlord's peers, I would be open to the temporary insanity defense.
Police in the village of Waynesville say 53-year-old Ron Kronenberger was charged with assault for the Jan. 22 encounter in his office. He was due in court Thursday in Warren County.
Police say Kronenberger told the 29-year-old tenant that if he was going to act like a child, he would treat him like one. He then allegedly hit him four times with a belt, leaving small marks.
Police say the tenant told them he was scared and just wanted to get it over with.
The Dayton Daily News reports Kronenberger is a former chamber of commerce president. His home phone wasn't taking messages Thursday.
(Copyright 2013 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.)
Police: Landlord whipped tardy-paying tenant
WAYNESVILLE, Ohio (AP) - A Warren County landlord is accused of whipping a tenant with a belt on his bare buttocks for falling behind on his rent.Police in the village of Waynesville say 53-year-old Ron Kronenberger was charged with assault for the Jan. 22 encounter in his office. He was due in court Thursday in Warren County.
Police say Kronenberger told the 29-year-old tenant that if he was going to act like a child, he would treat him like one. He then allegedly hit him four times with a belt, leaving small marks.
Police say the tenant told them he was scared and just wanted to get it over with.
The Dayton Daily News reports Kronenberger is a former chamber of commerce president. His home phone wasn't taking messages Thursday.
(Copyright 2013 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.)
Monday, February 18, 2013
Swan Song (Part 1)
At the moment, I can count the number of wonderful things that have come out of me starting my accidental business on one hand. And, that list is courtesy of Bliz, who helped me compose it. I took her three items and added two more. Now, two weeks later, I am still stuck on five positive points.
One of the biggest blessings from this venture is my friendship with Diamond Jim. For those of you who aren't paying close attention, Diamond Jim is my former accountant. He is roughly my parents' ages. I am his daughter's age. However, unlike my parents, he doesn't consider me to be 11 years old. Or, if he does, he hides it well.
I met him when I first started this venture, courtesy of an unscrupulous bookkeeper. The bookkeeper in question doesn't like me very much, especially since our last encounter had to be mediated by the Arizona Attorney General's office. I won. She didn't.
But, back to Diamond Jim. Diamond Jim has been doing taxes in Mesa for 30+ years. He is well-known in the community. And, more to the point, well-respected.
He grew up in Las Vegas, post depression and has shared many colorful stories of his grandfathers and father building the Hoover Dam. As a young boy, he had extended family who lived in downtown Mesa, AZ at the time, and so he spent many vacations traipsing around Mesa--that little Mormon town thirty miles from Phoenix--visiting landmarks that aren't there any more. At 16, his family spent a summer on the Navajo reservation, just a little bit East of the Grand Canyon. And his college years were in central California (Cal Poly I believe--but I can't remember which school is north of Santa Barbara). He likes baseball, reading and anything related to the Oregon Ducks. About six years ago, he retired from taxes, sold his business and was planning on living happily ever after.
And, this is how we became friends. Long before we met on a regular basis for breakfast, one February, Diamond Jim invited me to a formal breakfast with another investor. He knew I was looking for creative ways to refinance many of my properties. He knew a guy who had gone through something similar. And hence, Diamond Jim thought the two of us should meet and swap ideas. It was a nice gesture from Diamond Jim the accountant and business acquaintance not Diamond Jim I know now who has been known to call me up and ask questions about the Harry Potter series, if you see my point.
So, at breakfast everyone was on their best behavior, until a sticky philosophical point came up and the other gentleman and I ended up just agreeing to disagree, both of us not wanting to embarrass Jim, and me most especially wanting to have Jim walk away from this breakfast not thinking I was a raving lunatic (as this particular random topic we had hit upon happened to be something related to the activities going on next door to my home.). I am a pleaser at heart and I wanted Diamond Jim to think I had the grace and class to let this one go. So, I played a "bless your heart" card to the gentleman and, for Jim's sake, let the other man win the round.--though I was proven right later in life. Too bad I didn't get a chance to gloat.
Also that same morning, unbeknownst to me, Diamond Jim had sold his CPA practice. As part of the merger there was a plan in place for Diamond Jim and the CPA firm to make a pleasant experience for Diamond Jim's clients of 30+ years. Part of Diamond Jim's duties would be to tell his solid client base this was his last tax year, introduce them to the company taking over and make it a good transition for Jim's clients.
The morning of our breakfast, while the other dining companion and I were respectfully debating zoning law for my next door neighbor's home, Diamond Jim said nothing about his current merging. Later that day, I stopped by to drop off some tax documents, only to find out the company that had merged with Diamond Jim summarily dismissed him 37 seconds after the ink in their contract was dry.
Me, having seen Jim earlier that morning was surprised. What? Diamond Jim wasn't there? I had seen him an hour or two before! The battle axe of a woman who answered my questions was to the point and lacked any bedside manner necessary to make those of us getting our taxes done feel the least bit at ease. ("No, he doesn't work here any more" and "How nice you saw him two hours before now--but that was two hours ago.") The battle ax certainly didn't give me any reassurances Jim was safe, secure and/or happy. I did leave that conversation with that wretched woman with two absolutes I knew that morning: I don't like change. And, I was pretty sure, given how I was treated in the 10 seconds I spent in the lobby of Jim's former office I wasn't getting my taxes done from this new accounting firm. I went home, mulled over my choices and told Marty about the bizarre exchange I had with the woman running the office.
As a rule, people who work on taxes don't tend to be warm and fuzzy, but one would think they might try harder when they are picking up a practice that arguably includes the Who's Who of what is now the third largest city in Arizona. Marty Sunshine wasn't thrilled either with what I shared with him so, he took over. He marched back over to the office and asked for our tax records.
That's when it got dicey. The battle axe had a title of "office manager" (mind you, this had been a one man show up until about 9 a.m. that morning, now there were six people milling around) and was apparently having a bad day. She greeted Marty Sunshine with the same contempt given to the school cafeteria lunch lady who sticks something green and slimy on a child's food tray. Staring at Marty Sunshine, she stated that my tax records were her property and she would burn in hell before she parted with them.
Marty Sunshine told her if that was the case and she wasn't parting with them, he bid her a safe trip, suggested she bring sun block and left the office. I, in turn, did my homework. I wrote a nice letter demanding my files. Just to make sure everyone knew I wanted my files, I cc'd the Arizona Board of Accountancy, citing what rules she was breaking.
There was a hearing. The day of the hearing, while the hearing was going on, I got a phone call from some muckety-muck at the Board of Accountancy's office suggesting everything would be smoothed over and how sorry he was for the clowns who bought Diamond Jim's practice holding my files (in the middle of the hearing!!!!).
Eventually I got my files and the woman who started this mess lost her job. The other byproducts from this experience was Diamond Jim ended up coming out of retirement three weeks later and managed to get 90 percent of his clientele back. The company still had to pay him for the purchase of his tax practice too.
And of course, our friendship was born.
I have always felt bad that I was the catalyst for Diamond Jim not retiring. He was ready. He earned it. Though, I have to tell you there were a lot of happy people who were more than happy he didn't. Diamond Jim is still ready to retire. Heaven knows he has been trying to do so. There were a couple of years when he commuted from some small obscure town in Eastern Oregon to Mesa for tax season. And, there were a few years where he just gave up the whole "commute thing" and stayed in Mesa for the entirety of tax season.
And then last year, he sold his firm again.
To be continued...
One of the biggest blessings from this venture is my friendship with Diamond Jim. For those of you who aren't paying close attention, Diamond Jim is my former accountant. He is roughly my parents' ages. I am his daughter's age. However, unlike my parents, he doesn't consider me to be 11 years old. Or, if he does, he hides it well.
I met him when I first started this venture, courtesy of an unscrupulous bookkeeper. The bookkeeper in question doesn't like me very much, especially since our last encounter had to be mediated by the Arizona Attorney General's office. I won. She didn't.
But, back to Diamond Jim. Diamond Jim has been doing taxes in Mesa for 30+ years. He is well-known in the community. And, more to the point, well-respected.
He grew up in Las Vegas, post depression and has shared many colorful stories of his grandfathers and father building the Hoover Dam. As a young boy, he had extended family who lived in downtown Mesa, AZ at the time, and so he spent many vacations traipsing around Mesa--that little Mormon town thirty miles from Phoenix--visiting landmarks that aren't there any more. At 16, his family spent a summer on the Navajo reservation, just a little bit East of the Grand Canyon. And his college years were in central California (Cal Poly I believe--but I can't remember which school is north of Santa Barbara). He likes baseball, reading and anything related to the Oregon Ducks. About six years ago, he retired from taxes, sold his business and was planning on living happily ever after.
And, this is how we became friends. Long before we met on a regular basis for breakfast, one February, Diamond Jim invited me to a formal breakfast with another investor. He knew I was looking for creative ways to refinance many of my properties. He knew a guy who had gone through something similar. And hence, Diamond Jim thought the two of us should meet and swap ideas. It was a nice gesture from Diamond Jim the accountant and business acquaintance not Diamond Jim I know now who has been known to call me up and ask questions about the Harry Potter series, if you see my point.
So, at breakfast everyone was on their best behavior, until a sticky philosophical point came up and the other gentleman and I ended up just agreeing to disagree, both of us not wanting to embarrass Jim, and me most especially wanting to have Jim walk away from this breakfast not thinking I was a raving lunatic (as this particular random topic we had hit upon happened to be something related to the activities going on next door to my home.). I am a pleaser at heart and I wanted Diamond Jim to think I had the grace and class to let this one go. So, I played a "bless your heart" card to the gentleman and, for Jim's sake, let the other man win the round.--though I was proven right later in life. Too bad I didn't get a chance to gloat.
Also that same morning, unbeknownst to me, Diamond Jim had sold his CPA practice. As part of the merger there was a plan in place for Diamond Jim and the CPA firm to make a pleasant experience for Diamond Jim's clients of 30+ years. Part of Diamond Jim's duties would be to tell his solid client base this was his last tax year, introduce them to the company taking over and make it a good transition for Jim's clients.
The morning of our breakfast, while the other dining companion and I were respectfully debating zoning law for my next door neighbor's home, Diamond Jim said nothing about his current merging. Later that day, I stopped by to drop off some tax documents, only to find out the company that had merged with Diamond Jim summarily dismissed him 37 seconds after the ink in their contract was dry.
Me, having seen Jim earlier that morning was surprised. What? Diamond Jim wasn't there? I had seen him an hour or two before! The battle axe of a woman who answered my questions was to the point and lacked any bedside manner necessary to make those of us getting our taxes done feel the least bit at ease. ("No, he doesn't work here any more" and "How nice you saw him two hours before now--but that was two hours ago.") The battle ax certainly didn't give me any reassurances Jim was safe, secure and/or happy. I did leave that conversation with that wretched woman with two absolutes I knew that morning: I don't like change. And, I was pretty sure, given how I was treated in the 10 seconds I spent in the lobby of Jim's former office I wasn't getting my taxes done from this new accounting firm. I went home, mulled over my choices and told Marty about the bizarre exchange I had with the woman running the office.
As a rule, people who work on taxes don't tend to be warm and fuzzy, but one would think they might try harder when they are picking up a practice that arguably includes the Who's Who of what is now the third largest city in Arizona. Marty Sunshine wasn't thrilled either with what I shared with him so, he took over. He marched back over to the office and asked for our tax records.
That's when it got dicey. The battle axe had a title of "office manager" (mind you, this had been a one man show up until about 9 a.m. that morning, now there were six people milling around) and was apparently having a bad day. She greeted Marty Sunshine with the same contempt given to the school cafeteria lunch lady who sticks something green and slimy on a child's food tray. Staring at Marty Sunshine, she stated that my tax records were her property and she would burn in hell before she parted with them.
Marty Sunshine told her if that was the case and she wasn't parting with them, he bid her a safe trip, suggested she bring sun block and left the office. I, in turn, did my homework. I wrote a nice letter demanding my files. Just to make sure everyone knew I wanted my files, I cc'd the Arizona Board of Accountancy, citing what rules she was breaking.
There was a hearing. The day of the hearing, while the hearing was going on, I got a phone call from some muckety-muck at the Board of Accountancy's office suggesting everything would be smoothed over and how sorry he was for the clowns who bought Diamond Jim's practice holding my files (in the middle of the hearing!!!!).
Eventually I got my files and the woman who started this mess lost her job. The other byproducts from this experience was Diamond Jim ended up coming out of retirement three weeks later and managed to get 90 percent of his clientele back. The company still had to pay him for the purchase of his tax practice too.
And of course, our friendship was born.
I have always felt bad that I was the catalyst for Diamond Jim not retiring. He was ready. He earned it. Though, I have to tell you there were a lot of happy people who were more than happy he didn't. Diamond Jim is still ready to retire. Heaven knows he has been trying to do so. There were a couple of years when he commuted from some small obscure town in Eastern Oregon to Mesa for tax season. And, there were a few years where he just gave up the whole "commute thing" and stayed in Mesa for the entirety of tax season.
And then last year, he sold his firm again.
To be continued...
Sunday, February 17, 2013
I am Sure This Is Completely Legit
A very long time ago, I blogged about how I accidentally sent the Post Office an erroneous (and significant) amount of money. The Post Office, catching the error sent the check back. Now all is well.
Today I got the following comment. I am so glad the reader's life is now worth living. Or so I presume.
Today I got the following comment. I am so glad the reader's life is now worth living. Or so I presume.
"I must express my appreciation to you for rescuing me from this scenario. After surfing through the the net and obtaining methods that were not productive, I believed my entire life was well over. Living devoid of the strategies to the problems you have sorted out by way of your website is a crucial case, as well as the ones that would have in a wrong way damaged my entire career if I hadn't come across your blog post. Your own skills and kindness in dealing with every aspect was crucial. I'm not sure what I would've done if I hadn't come upon such a subject like this. I am able to at this moment relish my future. Thanks a lot so much for this impressive and effective guide. I will not hesitate to refer your web sites to anybody who would need tips on this matter."
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Silver-ish Lining
It is tax time. Next to the bottom of the ninth inning in the final game of the world series, it is my least favorite time of the year. Tax season encompasses a lot of machinations involving: 1) me filing 2) Bliz sending me profit loss statements and 3) me filing.
I will gloss over the "me filing" for a moment, as I am sure I will pout about it in a later blog--when I have actually filed everything from 2012.
Bliz, my bookkeeper and dear friend of almost 30 years handles the actual crunching of the numbers. A major disadvantage to our relationship is that she happens to live in a midwestern city which is not in Arizona. Therefore, there are time zones and other barriers to getting things done. Personally, I think a lot of the information she needs from me should be conveyed with us sitting face to face over a margarita at an Aunt Chilada's happy hour.
During this time of year, Bliz sends me random e-mails, texts and phone calls asking quite reasonable questions such as, "I see a deposit for $1.34 on June 2 of last year. What was that for?" or "There is a bill here from last March from the UPS Store for $64.91. What did you buy?" At which point, I am forced to comb through a plethora of data, trying to figure out what I needed to buy, pay or repair that might have caused said bill. All along I am wondering why I didn't just document it at the appropriate moment.
In turn, Bliz calmly waits, probably polishing her resume and swearing she needs better clients.
This past weekend, Bliz sent me a rough draft of the profit and loss statement that she did for my biggest LLC--the one Marty Sunshine and I hold with Mr. and Mrs. Partner. I looked over the numbers in shock. They didn't match what I was expecting.
So, I e-mailed Bliz, "Not to nit-pick but these numbers are a lot more positive than I was expecting..." Granted, this is just round one of the Bliz and Me Balancing the Books game. However, I have seen years where the losses were in direct competition with the federal deficit (read: 2008 and 2009). Certainly, 2012 wasn't that bad. Most of my homes were rented for the majority of the year. If memory serves, I only had two vacancies in that particular LLC (one being Ms. Kathy and the other Ms. Shirley).
Inyears weeks minutes gone by, I have wondered with complete conviction why on earth I was doing all this. Is there a silver lining? Essentially, more than once I thought about letting the business go, exploring new (and preferably profitable) opportunities and just getting on with my life. With the numbers Bliz gave me, we are still looking at a loss. We are still undercapitalized. Our rents are still down. But the loss isn't that bad--if "that bad" is really something to attain. But then again, a small-ish loss certainly beats calling it quits.
I will gloss over the "me filing" for a moment, as I am sure I will pout about it in a later blog--when I have actually filed everything from 2012.
Bliz, my bookkeeper and dear friend of almost 30 years handles the actual crunching of the numbers. A major disadvantage to our relationship is that she happens to live in a midwestern city which is not in Arizona. Therefore, there are time zones and other barriers to getting things done. Personally, I think a lot of the information she needs from me should be conveyed with us sitting face to face over a margarita at an Aunt Chilada's happy hour.
During this time of year, Bliz sends me random e-mails, texts and phone calls asking quite reasonable questions such as, "I see a deposit for $1.34 on June 2 of last year. What was that for?" or "There is a bill here from last March from the UPS Store for $64.91. What did you buy?" At which point, I am forced to comb through a plethora of data, trying to figure out what I needed to buy, pay or repair that might have caused said bill. All along I am wondering why I didn't just document it at the appropriate moment.
In turn, Bliz calmly waits, probably polishing her resume and swearing she needs better clients.
This past weekend, Bliz sent me a rough draft of the profit and loss statement that she did for my biggest LLC--the one Marty Sunshine and I hold with Mr. and Mrs. Partner. I looked over the numbers in shock. They didn't match what I was expecting.
So, I e-mailed Bliz, "Not to nit-pick but these numbers are a lot more positive than I was expecting..." Granted, this is just round one of the Bliz and Me Balancing the Books game. However, I have seen years where the losses were in direct competition with the federal deficit (read: 2008 and 2009). Certainly, 2012 wasn't that bad. Most of my homes were rented for the majority of the year. If memory serves, I only had two vacancies in that particular LLC (one being Ms. Kathy and the other Ms. Shirley).
In
Monday, February 11, 2013
The Kids
I have perpetual rental clients, whom I totally adore. In their late 20s/early 30s, I have been helping these kids find a place to live for the past five years. Their last stint lasted two years and they really had no intention of calling me ever again. They loved their home. They were never planning on moving. Ever.
But, the owner has opted to sell and "my kids" are once again searching for a new home.
Enter optimistic me from a week ago.
My clients wanted to find a home, rent it out and then live happily ever after once again. So, we started the process. I sent them rentals from the multiple listing. They sent me outdated Zillow and Trulia ads. I explained the ones they sent me weren't available (seriously!!!! Why don't people actually believe me when I tell them stuff on those sites is not updated as often as the multiple listing? There is a reason these sites are free!).
We went back and forth with this for a number of days--seeing lots of homes--before they called me on Saturday to share the great news with me. They found the rental home of their dreams on Craig's list.
The home in question was "perfect." It was "stunning." It was like "no other rental home they had ever seen." They then asked me questions about how best to obtain this home. Of course, because I wasn't involved, I don't get my measly commission which wouldn't have covered the gas and time I have spent with them. I still adore them anyway.
Fast forward to today. The husband emailed me and told me they decided to pass on the home. The owner was a lawyer, and added a lot of lawyer speak to his 11 page lease. He put things in there such as he could, with no notice, at any time he chose inspect the property. The tenants were not to store anything in the attic and doing so was a violation of the lease. And my favorite: under no circumstances were the tenants to walk on the roof. Every paragraph was numbered. Paragraph number three said, and I am not making this up, "Intentionally left blank."
Then there was this bit of gobbledygook: Rent was due on the first of every month. However, rent was to be received before the first of the month. If rent was received on the first, it was considered "late" and the late fee was $15 per day. However, the lease started on the first. Go figure.
I think under the circumstances the tenants made a good choice. The landlords lost me with the bit about inspecting the home at will. And, I wouldn't have signed off on not utilizing the attic. It makes me wonder what kinds of tenants they have had in the past if they need to make them initial next to "you will not walk on the roof. Ever." And, someone please explain to me, if rent is "due" on the first. How can it be late on the first?
The good thing that came out of all of this is "my kids" are now thinking about buying. And, they are no longer looking on Craig's list.
But, the owner has opted to sell and "my kids" are once again searching for a new home.
Enter optimistic me from a week ago.
My clients wanted to find a home, rent it out and then live happily ever after once again. So, we started the process. I sent them rentals from the multiple listing. They sent me outdated Zillow and Trulia ads. I explained the ones they sent me weren't available (seriously!!!! Why don't people actually believe me when I tell them stuff on those sites is not updated as often as the multiple listing? There is a reason these sites are free!).
We went back and forth with this for a number of days--seeing lots of homes--before they called me on Saturday to share the great news with me. They found the rental home of their dreams on Craig's list.
The home in question was "perfect." It was "stunning." It was like "no other rental home they had ever seen." They then asked me questions about how best to obtain this home. Of course, because I wasn't involved, I don't get my measly commission which wouldn't have covered the gas and time I have spent with them. I still adore them anyway.
Fast forward to today. The husband emailed me and told me they decided to pass on the home. The owner was a lawyer, and added a lot of lawyer speak to his 11 page lease. He put things in there such as he could, with no notice, at any time he chose inspect the property. The tenants were not to store anything in the attic and doing so was a violation of the lease. And my favorite: under no circumstances were the tenants to walk on the roof. Every paragraph was numbered. Paragraph number three said, and I am not making this up, "Intentionally left blank."
Then there was this bit of gobbledygook: Rent was due on the first of every month. However, rent was to be received before the first of the month. If rent was received on the first, it was considered "late" and the late fee was $15 per day. However, the lease started on the first. Go figure.
I think under the circumstances the tenants made a good choice. The landlords lost me with the bit about inspecting the home at will. And, I wouldn't have signed off on not utilizing the attic. It makes me wonder what kinds of tenants they have had in the past if they need to make them initial next to "you will not walk on the roof. Ever." And, someone please explain to me, if rent is "due" on the first. How can it be late on the first?
The good thing that came out of all of this is "my kids" are now thinking about buying. And, they are no longer looking on Craig's list.
Saturday, February 02, 2013
If Necessary, I am Happy to Supply an Atlas
There was an ugly rumor I was going to Birmingham next month. The rumor was started by me, confirmed by Marty Sunshine--though the specifics, including dates had not been fine tuned. The only item I had done was warn Carolsue I was coming.
And then I checked airline schedules.
It turns out Southwest Airlines, my airline of choice, given that I have frequent flyer miles, no longer flies direct. I can fly though Tampa or Chicago (Midway--ugh!) or Las Vegas. Too bad there isn't a stop over in Paris or Maui, both of which would be much more preferable.
I guess Birmingham isn't the smoking hot vacation destination it used to be.
And then I checked airline schedules.
It turns out Southwest Airlines, my airline of choice, given that I have frequent flyer miles, no longer flies direct. I can fly though Tampa or Chicago (Midway--ugh!) or Las Vegas. Too bad there isn't a stop over in Paris or Maui, both of which would be much more preferable.
I guess Birmingham isn't the smoking hot vacation destination it used to be.
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Mr. Little's Going A Long Way and Other News about Our Home in Grayson Valley
Mr. Little gave his notice today. I knew it was coming from our phone call earier this month. But I was hoping when he originally told me he was moving in "March" he meant the end of March. Nope. March 1. 8 a.m.
Just because he really is all kinds of awesome, Mr. Little tells me he has the carpet cleaners scheduled for the end of February. I am guessing he is planning on getting his deposit back: not that there was any question. He is also meeting the handyman out at the house next Monday to fix the roof issue we have out there.
I am sorry to see him go for a myriad of reasons. First, he's a great tenant. But, when you and your bride have lived your entire life in some cold upper Midwestern state and all of your immediate family, friends and life is in the same cold upper Midwestern state, I can see why you might want to go back andfreeze your butt off be with the people you love. I don't have a lot of love for Birmingham at the moment, so I can't blame the guy.
Trying to be proactive about this house, I talked to some guy named Jason who sent me a postcard saying he wants to buy my home in Grayson Valley--currently Mr. Little's home. What Jason clarified when we chatted today was that his postcard really meant was he was willing to offer me $50,000 cash for this house. Or, he was willing to take over the payments. Neither option thrilled me. I didn't tell him what my payment was, but I am guessing it wouldn't thrill him either. Jason and I parted friends, with me telling him to keep my number and he laughing politely and probably muttering under his breath about the "crazy and unreasonable Arizona lady."
The good news, is the mortgage company made a big mistake and we just got it remedied. So, now our payment is $150 lower than it was (and what it should have been all along). The money they owe us will be used to pay off the heat pump Jack--before he bailed on us--wanted to buy on credit, thus bettering our cash position. Sort of. I suspect we are going to take a $150 hit on rent as Kirby will probably be managing this and I don't think I can get what I was getting for rent before.
Our next step is looking at refinancing. Banks don't like to refinance empty homes, so we need to get this done before Mr. Little moves out. Or, we need to find someone to buy it from us at a reasonable price. At this moment, either is fine with me.
Just because he really is all kinds of awesome, Mr. Little tells me he has the carpet cleaners scheduled for the end of February. I am guessing he is planning on getting his deposit back: not that there was any question. He is also meeting the handyman out at the house next Monday to fix the roof issue we have out there.
I am sorry to see him go for a myriad of reasons. First, he's a great tenant. But, when you and your bride have lived your entire life in some cold upper Midwestern state and all of your immediate family, friends and life is in the same cold upper Midwestern state, I can see why you might want to go back and
Trying to be proactive about this house, I talked to some guy named Jason who sent me a postcard saying he wants to buy my home in Grayson Valley--currently Mr. Little's home. What Jason clarified when we chatted today was that his postcard really meant was he was willing to offer me $50,000 cash for this house. Or, he was willing to take over the payments. Neither option thrilled me. I didn't tell him what my payment was, but I am guessing it wouldn't thrill him either. Jason and I parted friends, with me telling him to keep my number and he laughing politely and probably muttering under his breath about the "crazy and unreasonable Arizona lady."
The good news, is the mortgage company made a big mistake and we just got it remedied. So, now our payment is $150 lower than it was (and what it should have been all along). The money they owe us will be used to pay off the heat pump Jack--before he bailed on us--wanted to buy on credit, thus bettering our cash position. Sort of. I suspect we are going to take a $150 hit on rent as Kirby will probably be managing this and I don't think I can get what I was getting for rent before.
Our next step is looking at refinancing. Banks don't like to refinance empty homes, so we need to get this done before Mr. Little moves out. Or, we need to find someone to buy it from us at a reasonable price. At this moment, either is fine with me.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
"Carry On My Wayward Son"
Though there has been plenty of drama in Alabama, I haven't had time to sit long enough to process what has been going on. However, if you heard some sort of grumble by way of Mesa, AZ this morning, it was me swearing at my phone when Mrs. Sherwood texted me at 7:30 today. On Saturday, she texted me at 6:30 a.m.
There has also been a lot going on in baseball news too. I haven't had much time to process that either.
What I have been doing is making the Arizona Department of Real Estate happy by taking my continuing education classes. Last week was a landlord-tenant class. Today I am suffering through Fair Housing.
I would like to tell you I made my real estate client happy last week, but from what she told me in no uncertain circumstances last Friday, I am responsible for all of her poor decisions for the past ten years and it is completely my fault the transaction was going South (because I choose not to pay her bills?). By the way, she finally got her house yesterday.
Anyway, my brother sent this to me. I thought it was pretty cool. (It is sad that Kansas is now Muzak). Happy Wednesday everyone.
There has also been a lot going on in baseball news too. I haven't had much time to process that either.
What I have been doing is making the Arizona Department of Real Estate happy by taking my continuing education classes. Last week was a landlord-tenant class. Today I am suffering through Fair Housing.
I would like to tell you I made my real estate client happy last week, but from what she told me in no uncertain circumstances last Friday, I am responsible for all of her poor decisions for the past ten years and it is completely my fault the transaction was going South (because I choose not to pay her bills?). By the way, she finally got her house yesterday.
Anyway, my brother sent this to me. I thought it was pretty cool. (It is sad that Kansas is now Muzak). Happy Wednesday everyone.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Comps Roulette
I ended up getting three sets of comps for my home in Grayson Valley. This was the home Jack owned with the Sunshines up until this past December 31. The home is about 20 years old, brick, three bedroom, two bath, vaulted ceilings, two car garage with a fenced, level back yard. It also backs the Grayson Valley Golf Course, at Grayson Valley Country Club. However, there is foliage in the way, between the back yard and the actual golf course, so the value added for backing the golf course is a wash.
My first set of comps came from Kirby a few weeks ago before Jack left our LLC. He confirmed my gut feel: the house is worth between $125,000 to $135,000. When I offered the house for sale to Mr. Little, my current tenant, he thought that was a fair price too. However, come spring, he is moving back to theArtic tundra the Midwest and doesn't need a fabulous home in Birmingham.
My second set of comps came from Mike, the agent I wrote about last week. I wasn't very comfortable with his level of professionalism and was ready to call it quits before we got started. Marty Sunshine thought otherwise, feeling it was only fair to give him a fighting chance, so I sent him the address of my home. Sadly, this tid-bit of vital information totally confused Mike, because he, for some strange reason, was under the impression I was interested in selling some other random home that I don't own (Yes! There is a home in Birmingham I don't own!). Of course, if he was willing to talk to me last week when I called, he probably woudn't have been so confused.
Though I had prefaced our e-mail exchange by explaining I was a licensed agent in the state of Arizona, Mike didn't take that to mean I had any indication of what I was talking about. So, his comps were of homes were all over the place. In fact, all but two were in different neighborhoods and were nothing like the twenty year old, three bedroom ranch home I would like to sell. Pleasantly, a few of the homes were in Mrs. Green's neighborhood. So, now I know what I can expect if I sell that one.
The only real useful comp that he gave me was of the four bedroom home directly across the street from my home. It sold recently for $139,000. However, based on Mike's assessment (completely bypassing the fact that only two homes--the ones in the same neighborhood as this one--in his comps were legit and higher than the rest of the gobbledygook he sent), the home would probably sell for about $110,000.
The last set of comps came from a Birmingham Agent on my Facebook Friend's list. She actually got in touch with me about 10 minutes after I contacted her. She was professional and asked relevant questions. She told me this is not a neighborhood she is real familiar with, but her best guess with the information she had was it was worth about $135,000. Personally, I think that is high, as I am not really willing to update my home enough to get $135,000. Nor do I have the money to cover a mortgage payment for three to six months if this house is priced higher. If I sell it, I want it gone.
I did give the third agent a few other items for her to work on (like find me an investor buyer for the home in Leeds). And, if I decide to sell it, I will probably give her first right of refusal. But right now I need to see if there is a possibility to refinance the house. The house has always rented easily, and I have gotten a very good rental price for it. However, rents have gone down since Mr. Little moved in. If I can cash flow and I can keep it for another year, that might be for the best.
My first set of comps came from Kirby a few weeks ago before Jack left our LLC. He confirmed my gut feel: the house is worth between $125,000 to $135,000. When I offered the house for sale to Mr. Little, my current tenant, he thought that was a fair price too. However, come spring, he is moving back to the
My second set of comps came from Mike, the agent I wrote about last week. I wasn't very comfortable with his level of professionalism and was ready to call it quits before we got started. Marty Sunshine thought otherwise, feeling it was only fair to give him a fighting chance, so I sent him the address of my home. Sadly, this tid-bit of vital information totally confused Mike, because he, for some strange reason, was under the impression I was interested in selling some other random home that I don't own (Yes! There is a home in Birmingham I don't own!). Of course, if he was willing to talk to me last week when I called, he probably woudn't have been so confused.
Though I had prefaced our e-mail exchange by explaining I was a licensed agent in the state of Arizona, Mike didn't take that to mean I had any indication of what I was talking about. So, his comps were of homes were all over the place. In fact, all but two were in different neighborhoods and were nothing like the twenty year old, three bedroom ranch home I would like to sell. Pleasantly, a few of the homes were in Mrs. Green's neighborhood. So, now I know what I can expect if I sell that one.
The only real useful comp that he gave me was of the four bedroom home directly across the street from my home. It sold recently for $139,000. However, based on Mike's assessment (completely bypassing the fact that only two homes--the ones in the same neighborhood as this one--in his comps were legit and higher than the rest of the gobbledygook he sent), the home would probably sell for about $110,000.
The last set of comps came from a Birmingham Agent on my Facebook Friend's list. She actually got in touch with me about 10 minutes after I contacted her. She was professional and asked relevant questions. She told me this is not a neighborhood she is real familiar with, but her best guess with the information she had was it was worth about $135,000. Personally, I think that is high, as I am not really willing to update my home enough to get $135,000. Nor do I have the money to cover a mortgage payment for three to six months if this house is priced higher. If I sell it, I want it gone.
I did give the third agent a few other items for her to work on (like find me an investor buyer for the home in Leeds). And, if I decide to sell it, I will probably give her first right of refusal. But right now I need to see if there is a possibility to refinance the house. The house has always rented easily, and I have gotten a very good rental price for it. However, rents have gone down since Mr. Little moved in. If I can cash flow and I can keep it for another year, that might be for the best.
Friday, January 18, 2013
The Power of Social Media
The real estate agent I contacted yesterday seemed a bit clueless and did nothing to boost my confidence about his abilities, much less his people skills. After I posted my blog, my e-mail exchanges with him got weirder to the point where I am pretty much done before we go any further. If we were at Starbucks, speed dating I would have pegged him as a stalker living in the basement of his's mother's 1975 house.
Then it occurred to me! I am facebook friends with a real estate agent (whom I have never met) in Birmingham. I contacted her, gave her my info and in no less than 10 minutes, she e-mailed me and gave me a piece of mind.
I already had a backup plan in place if she didn't work out: I was going to try Twitter.
Then it occurred to me! I am facebook friends with a real estate agent (whom I have never met) in Birmingham. I contacted her, gave her my info and in no less than 10 minutes, she e-mailed me and gave me a piece of mind.
I already had a backup plan in place if she didn't work out: I was going to try Twitter.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Awkward Options
The big question Marty and I have been debating this week is what to do with the house we owned with Jack. Now that Jack is no longer in the picture, we have options.
One avenue we are exploring is just selling the place. We probably could get slightly more than we paid for it, though with real estate fees, we would probably break even or make a little bit, given Jack gave us his down payment in the dissolution decree. However, it might be the most advantageous of our options.
So, I e-mailed Kirby and asked if he wanted to handle a sale. He said he would, but I would probably hear from him once in a blue moon as he is busy with that whole property management thing and doesn't have time for a sale. It was one of the two e-mails I had sent Kirby that day, and I still haven't gotten a reply from the other e-mail, so I am guessing he being my agent is not a win-win.
I could also ask Jack if he wants to sell it. But that seems awkward. "Hey Jack, want to sell the house you bailed on and be the only one who walks away with cash in your pocket because you will be paid a commission for selling it?"
Instead, I went to the Internet, found someone who is selling a home in the general neighborhood and contacted that guy. I explained I have a home in the neighborhood and am thinking about selling it. What did he think it was worth?
This is really a trick question, because I know what it is worth. I also know I am probably putting in new carpet and doing some painting as well. But, I wanted this guy's opinion just to see how credible he is. Real estate agents who give their sellers some inflated number so they can get the sale always disappoint. I know this. I have lost listings to these types of agents. Over-inflating a home's value does nobody any good in the long run. But, the process does weed out the honest agents from the snake oil sales people.
The agent, Mike, played phone tag this morning with him leaving a message saying hello. My return call to him was simply to request he call me to discuss my situation, as I saw no reason to go into the long-winded details in a voice mail. When he did return my call, he left a message saying there was no reason to call him back, he would just send over comps later today and we could go from there.
Well, yes there is a reason to talk, I hadn't given him the actual address of my home.
If Mike comes back with comps for the right property I will probably hire him on the spot for showing such initiative and clairvoyance in finding the correct home of mine in question. However, I am thinking right now this is a sign from above that I need to move on.
One avenue we are exploring is just selling the place. We probably could get slightly more than we paid for it, though with real estate fees, we would probably break even or make a little bit, given Jack gave us his down payment in the dissolution decree. However, it might be the most advantageous of our options.
So, I e-mailed Kirby and asked if he wanted to handle a sale. He said he would, but I would probably hear from him once in a blue moon as he is busy with that whole property management thing and doesn't have time for a sale. It was one of the two e-mails I had sent Kirby that day, and I still haven't gotten a reply from the other e-mail, so I am guessing he being my agent is not a win-win.
I could also ask Jack if he wants to sell it. But that seems awkward. "Hey Jack, want to sell the house you bailed on and be the only one who walks away with cash in your pocket because you will be paid a commission for selling it?"
Instead, I went to the Internet, found someone who is selling a home in the general neighborhood and contacted that guy. I explained I have a home in the neighborhood and am thinking about selling it. What did he think it was worth?
This is really a trick question, because I know what it is worth. I also know I am probably putting in new carpet and doing some painting as well. But, I wanted this guy's opinion just to see how credible he is. Real estate agents who give their sellers some inflated number so they can get the sale always disappoint. I know this. I have lost listings to these types of agents. Over-inflating a home's value does nobody any good in the long run. But, the process does weed out the honest agents from the snake oil sales people.
The agent, Mike, played phone tag this morning with him leaving a message saying hello. My return call to him was simply to request he call me to discuss my situation, as I saw no reason to go into the long-winded details in a voice mail. When he did return my call, he left a message saying there was no reason to call him back, he would just send over comps later today and we could go from there.
Well, yes there is a reason to talk, I hadn't given him the actual address of my home.
If Mike comes back with comps for the right property I will probably hire him on the spot for showing such initiative and clairvoyance in finding the correct home of mine in question. However, I am thinking right now this is a sign from above that I need to move on.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
The House That Jack Bought
Jack, my real estate agent in Birmingham, approached us in 2008 about investing in a few homes together. At the time, it seemed like a reasonable idea. We found a home, bought it with some equity and found a renter. Then we found another tenant. And another. And another. We never found another home.
Last month Jack approached us about selling out his interest in the LLC. Essentially, he was quit-claiming his share of the LLC back to Marty and me. Jack graciously suggested that if he got out we would have "twice the equity." Which is nice and all, but that also leaves us with twice the bills. And, in all fairness, Jack wasn't paying those bills anyway so it isn't as if he was out more than some inconvenience for showing the home and working with a repair person or two. The cash flow position on this property has been so tight that even I am not taking a property management fee for this house.
My feeling is he thinks this home (and subsequently the LLC) is a sinking ship. The Birmingham real estate market is not bouncing back as fast as the Phoenix market. So, I can appreciate his point of view. However, Marty and I wouldn't have made some of the decisions differently if we knew Jack was going to bail. For example, Jack lobbied to put a new heat pump on the home but wanted to do it on credit. Begrudgingly, we finally agreed, and are still paying it off. At the time, I would rather have just paid half and had Jack pay the other half, instead of buying the heat pump on installments. Live and learn.
I am not spewing sour grapes. I happen to like Jack. He tells fascinating stories and has a great business mind. In fact, I have probably communicated with him more in the past month than I have all last year. Much of the talk between us has been about how we enjoy each other's company when I am in town and our mutual interest in writing. I am curious if he will make time to see me next time I show up (which, at this point won't be soon). I guess I will find out later if he meant it or if it was nice words to ease the tension.
Yesterday, Mr. Little, the tenant for this particular home, e-mailed me. There is a leak in the roof. A simple-ish fix that will require a handyman. I asked Mr. Little if he might have an interest in buying the home. He doesn't. In fact, he gave me a 60 day notice instead. Another challenge for Marty and I to take on.
The home is being transitioned to the LLC Marty and I own by ourselves. We are also looking at changing the mortgage, including fixing the heat pump payment that should never have been bought on credit. Or perhaps we can just sell the darn house and take "twice the equity." That would work too.
Last month Jack approached us about selling out his interest in the LLC. Essentially, he was quit-claiming his share of the LLC back to Marty and me. Jack graciously suggested that if he got out we would have "twice the equity." Which is nice and all, but that also leaves us with twice the bills. And, in all fairness, Jack wasn't paying those bills anyway so it isn't as if he was out more than some inconvenience for showing the home and working with a repair person or two. The cash flow position on this property has been so tight that even I am not taking a property management fee for this house.
My feeling is he thinks this home (and subsequently the LLC) is a sinking ship. The Birmingham real estate market is not bouncing back as fast as the Phoenix market. So, I can appreciate his point of view. However, Marty and I wouldn't have made some of the decisions differently if we knew Jack was going to bail. For example, Jack lobbied to put a new heat pump on the home but wanted to do it on credit. Begrudgingly, we finally agreed, and are still paying it off. At the time, I would rather have just paid half and had Jack pay the other half, instead of buying the heat pump on installments. Live and learn.
I am not spewing sour grapes. I happen to like Jack. He tells fascinating stories and has a great business mind. In fact, I have probably communicated with him more in the past month than I have all last year. Much of the talk between us has been about how we enjoy each other's company when I am in town and our mutual interest in writing. I am curious if he will make time to see me next time I show up (which, at this point won't be soon). I guess I will find out later if he meant it or if it was nice words to ease the tension.
Yesterday, Mr. Little, the tenant for this particular home, e-mailed me. There is a leak in the roof. A simple-ish fix that will require a handyman. I asked Mr. Little if he might have an interest in buying the home. He doesn't. In fact, he gave me a 60 day notice instead. Another challenge for Marty and I to take on.
The home is being transitioned to the LLC Marty and I own by ourselves. We are also looking at changing the mortgage, including fixing the heat pump payment that should never have been bought on credit. Or perhaps we can just sell the darn house and take "twice the equity." That would work too.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Magnatized
Mr. Wonderful is all kinds of awesome. I really believe so, but it is somewhat awkward to be friends with a tenant or even a former tenant. And though I have male friends, I prefer they all are sanctioned by Marty Sunshine.
For those of you needing a back-story. Mr. Wonderful moved into my home last April. He rented out my home in Alabaster after Ms. Shirley left (painting a sample color or three on every wall downstairs). However, Mr. Wonderful didn't care about a little mis-matched paint. He had some place to live. Which was fine by me.
Much to his delight, Mr. Wonderful bought a home last month. It was a dandy of a home and a bargain price too. I know this because Mr. Wonderful talked to me about it. And, he sent me the listing. It really is a nice place. Much nicer than my home in Alabaster. And much, much bigger too.
Buying a home before the lease is up is a bit of a conundrum. You see, Mr. Wonderful is on the hook for the remaining money. He knows this. I know this. Fortunately, he is (so far) paying his fair share. He is also frantically helping me find a tenant.
On Wednesday he called with a lead. One of his clients needs a short-term lease. If I were to agree, his client would be in as soon as possible and be out by summer--just in time for renting season. And, by the way, Mr. Wonderful had given this guy my name and e-mail address.
So, what did I think?
I think this might work out. Though I loathe short-term leases, exceptions can be made for the right person. So, when the new guy e-mailed me, I explained the rent is higher on a short-term lease and I wasn't painting the patchwork quilt walls either. And please contact Kirby. Of course, if forced, I will paint the mis-matched walls. But if I don't have to do it just now, that's fine by me.
Meanwhile, something tells me Mr. Wonderful isn't going away. He recently expressed his disappointment that I didn't contact him last time I was in town. He has told me when I am next in town to let him know so he can show off his new home to me. I currently have no plans of stepping foot in Alabama any time soon. But perhaps by the time I do, Mr. Wonderful will have found a new Divorced Dad Magnet.
For those of you needing a back-story. Mr. Wonderful moved into my home last April. He rented out my home in Alabaster after Ms. Shirley left (painting a sample color or three on every wall downstairs). However, Mr. Wonderful didn't care about a little mis-matched paint. He had some place to live. Which was fine by me.
Much to his delight, Mr. Wonderful bought a home last month. It was a dandy of a home and a bargain price too. I know this because Mr. Wonderful talked to me about it. And, he sent me the listing. It really is a nice place. Much nicer than my home in Alabaster. And much, much bigger too.
Buying a home before the lease is up is a bit of a conundrum. You see, Mr. Wonderful is on the hook for the remaining money. He knows this. I know this. Fortunately, he is (so far) paying his fair share. He is also frantically helping me find a tenant.
On Wednesday he called with a lead. One of his clients needs a short-term lease. If I were to agree, his client would be in as soon as possible and be out by summer--just in time for renting season. And, by the way, Mr. Wonderful had given this guy my name and e-mail address.
So, what did I think?
I think this might work out. Though I loathe short-term leases, exceptions can be made for the right person. So, when the new guy e-mailed me, I explained the rent is higher on a short-term lease and I wasn't painting the patchwork quilt walls either. And please contact Kirby. Of course, if forced, I will paint the mis-matched walls. But if I don't have to do it just now, that's fine by me.
Meanwhile, something tells me Mr. Wonderful isn't going away. He recently expressed his disappointment that I didn't contact him last time I was in town. He has told me when I am next in town to let him know so he can show off his new home to me. I currently have no plans of stepping foot in Alabama any time soon. But perhaps by the time I do, Mr. Wonderful will have found a new Divorced Dad Magnet.
Wednesday, January 09, 2013
Let's Move On, Shall We?
My loyalties to Alabama football is solely built on self preservation. But please! Don't tell the gang down South.
On Tuesday, I heard from three folks, all independent of each other, who wanted to revel in Alabama's obscene 42 to 14 victory. One person texted me and said, "God was merciful, only making the quarters last 15 minutes."
Another sent me a text saying, "What a great game! You weren't rooting for the Irish were you?"
Yea, like I would admit it to these folks if I actually had a college football allegiance to someone other than the Tide.
On Tuesday, I heard from three folks, all independent of each other, who wanted to revel in Alabama's obscene 42 to 14 victory. One person texted me and said, "God was merciful, only making the quarters last 15 minutes."
Another sent me a text saying, "What a great game! You weren't rooting for the Irish were you?"
Yea, like I would admit it to these folks if I actually had a college football allegiance to someone other than the Tide.
Tuesday, January 08, 2013
Mellowing Out
Days until pitchers and catchers report: 35. Oh come on! You were secretly wanting to know.
I have spent the last week fulfilling my 2012 resolution: clean out my office. After a coat of paint (butter cream), it looks pretty wonderful right now. I tried to post pictures, but my aptitude for technology is akin to my aptitude for belly dancing and pole vaulting.
My office has been the source of a lot of stress over the years. And--dare I say it--there may be something to the whole Feng Shui thing. Paper paralyzes me. Overwhelmed, paper stacks up around me, waiting until I have the stamina to file. I am told it is psychosomatic by a pedantic someone who doesn't appreciate my overwhelm for the true handicap that it is, and instead finds my inability to handle paper as contributing to clutter.
Even after I took out the piles of paper (which are now sitting in the garage still waiting to be filed), I found other aspects a bit disheartening. My office represents a different time in my life. For example, I found brochures and marketing paraphernalia that was once used in our Accidental Business. There was a time when I had so many applications for rental homes that I sent out postcards, telling applicants I would let them know when capital became available. I found some of those postcards.
I found a lot of things that were once used when we were growing. We aren't growing any more.
Somewhere in time gone by--I realize now--I mistook "not growing" for "not thriving." Our company is no longer in the toddler years, needing constant attention. When I read back to my blog posts from years gone by, I am astounded by how much time was taken up by little things. When did I find time for anything else? No wonder we stopped growing! I didn't have time to manage and grow (and the housing collapse didn't help either).
If our business were human, it would be fair to say we are no longer in our early years. It has successfully transitioned into the mellowed existence of young adulthood. We no longer need the daily hand-holding, but instead need the philosophical conversations and the examination of values to help us blossom into full-blown maturity.
We have some of the daily issues still taunting us: vacancies (two right now), late rents and crazy people. That probably is standard with all rentals. The big picture isn't changing too much either: pay the bills, grow the equity. But I hadn't sat back until this week and realized my Accidental Business has grown. It is a constant changing entity that doesn't need the myopic management it received before.
I didn't realize how grateful I was for this transition until now. It is time to move on. My business did this years ago. I am just now catching up.
I have spent the last week fulfilling my 2012 resolution: clean out my office. After a coat of paint (butter cream), it looks pretty wonderful right now. I tried to post pictures, but my aptitude for technology is akin to my aptitude for belly dancing and pole vaulting.
My office has been the source of a lot of stress over the years. And--dare I say it--there may be something to the whole Feng Shui thing. Paper paralyzes me. Overwhelmed, paper stacks up around me, waiting until I have the stamina to file. I am told it is psychosomatic by a pedantic someone who doesn't appreciate my overwhelm for the true handicap that it is, and instead finds my inability to handle paper as contributing to clutter.
Even after I took out the piles of paper (which are now sitting in the garage still waiting to be filed), I found other aspects a bit disheartening. My office represents a different time in my life. For example, I found brochures and marketing paraphernalia that was once used in our Accidental Business. There was a time when I had so many applications for rental homes that I sent out postcards, telling applicants I would let them know when capital became available. I found some of those postcards.
I found a lot of things that were once used when we were growing. We aren't growing any more.
Somewhere in time gone by--I realize now--I mistook "not growing" for "not thriving." Our company is no longer in the toddler years, needing constant attention. When I read back to my blog posts from years gone by, I am astounded by how much time was taken up by little things. When did I find time for anything else? No wonder we stopped growing! I didn't have time to manage and grow (and the housing collapse didn't help either).
If our business were human, it would be fair to say we are no longer in our early years. It has successfully transitioned into the mellowed existence of young adulthood. We no longer need the daily hand-holding, but instead need the philosophical conversations and the examination of values to help us blossom into full-blown maturity.
We have some of the daily issues still taunting us: vacancies (two right now), late rents and crazy people. That probably is standard with all rentals. The big picture isn't changing too much either: pay the bills, grow the equity. But I hadn't sat back until this week and realized my Accidental Business has grown. It is a constant changing entity that doesn't need the myopic management it received before.
I didn't realize how grateful I was for this transition until now. It is time to move on. My business did this years ago. I am just now catching up.
Monday, January 07, 2013
That Time Of Year
I would be remiss if I did not direct your attention--once again--to the fact that Alabama (State? University?) is playing in the College Super Bowl (or whatever they call it) today.
I can guarantee there is no reason to call anyone in Birmingham today, as they are getting ready for the big game. Tomorrow they will be hung over from celebrating. Celebrating is what I am expecting, as I have yet to see this team loose a bowl game. And if they do loose, I am certainly not calling anyone tomorrow!
Roll Tide, Y'all.
On a separate note, Diamond Jim's Oregon Ducks won last week. I thought I should mention that for equal time.
On a last, and possibly most important note: baseball season is right around the corner.
Friday, December 28, 2012
Random Correspondence
I don't make this stuff up. I don't need to.
I was cleaning out my office today and ran across these two little ditties below. I am sorry I only saved two. There have been many, many more.
A word about this first letter. It came just as you see below. The paper was folded in half with Marty Sunshine's name hand-written on the front.
For grins (and possibly to unload a home), I called the phone number. The first time I got a business voice mail for ABC Something Or Other--which had nothing to do with real estate, investing or anything of the like. The message said my call had been "forwarded" to this number. I didn't leave a message, but thought better of it. So, I immediately pushed redial.
This time I got a different voice mail. It was one of those generic "You have reached 2-0-5-XXX-XXXX" messages. I opted not to leave a message this time either. The third time I called was later in the day. I got a woman's voice mail. Her message sounded more like she was part of an escort service than a Michael Jones. I even double-checked to make sure I called the correct number. Yep. The last time I called, it went to a fax machine.
Sorry about that Michael Jones. I am sure you are totally credible.
I was cleaning out my office today and ran across these two little ditties below. I am sorry I only saved two. There have been many, many more.
A word about this first letter. It came just as you see below. The paper was folded in half with Marty Sunshine's name hand-written on the front.
For grins (and possibly to unload a home), I called the phone number. The first time I got a business voice mail for ABC Something Or Other--which had nothing to do with real estate, investing or anything of the like. The message said my call had been "forwarded" to this number. I didn't leave a message, but thought better of it. So, I immediately pushed redial.
This time I got a different voice mail. It was one of those generic "You have reached 2-0-5-XXX-XXXX" messages. I opted not to leave a message this time either. The third time I called was later in the day. I got a woman's voice mail. Her message sounded more like she was part of an escort service than a Michael Jones. I even double-checked to make sure I called the correct number. Yep. The last time I called, it went to a fax machine.
Sorry about that Michael Jones. I am sure you are totally credible.
This sweet postcard came from my AC company. They really are a good company, in the event you are in the market for someone to do HVAC service.
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
2012 Bucket List
Ok, I am writing this down in hopes I will remember--because I keep forgetting.
I need to pay property taxes tomorrow.
I need to pay property taxes tomorrow.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Plan E
It took Mr. Wonderful 32 cell phone minutes to tell me he was moving out. I had gathered this the moment the phone rang, as why else would he be calling me?
He has bought the house he mentioned to me before. I am happy for him. Mr. Wonderful is truly a nice guy. He seems to have had a bit of a struggle in years past and presumably things are looking up. Now, I don't know for sure if he has had struggles--because I refuse to get too personal with the guy. But I can guess based on life circumstances which brought him my direction. And the fact that my home in Alabaster seems to attract eitherMs. Shirley crazy folks or people in life transitions.
This house isn't hard to rent. The neighborhood is quiet. The house is cute. It isn't my nicest house, but it is in the top three. Also, I get pretty decent rent at this house.
Mr. Wonderful, of course, is blissfully unconcerned about what I am facing: finding another tenant. However, for this particular house, I had a plan.
Plan A: Mr. Wonderful would show the home to prospective tenants, helping me find just the rightcrazy person delightful person whose life is in transition to move in.However, experience tells me tenants shouldn't show homes. Ever.
Tenants mean well of course. But tenants who are moving out get busy and then take it personally when the folks who are looking aren't always reliable and don't show up. Also, tenants might say something that may cause misunderstandings down the road. And then there is that pesky little issue of tenants thinking they are doing me a favor--which they essentially are.
So, though having Mr. Wonderful help looks like the easiest solution, it probably isn't.
Plan B: This one is a bit tricky. You see, in the past Mr. 114--the next door neighbor--has often helped me with this house. This is a much better situation because I can pay Mr. 114 and then the relationship is somewhat even.
However, it turns out Mr. 114 doesn't live next door any more. Mrs. 114 still lives next door, but I don't know her. I was somewhat aware of this situation, as Mr. Wonderful is quite chatty, but I opted to play dumb and just see if Mr. 114 might want to help me out anyway.
When I contacted Mr. 114 I found out two things: first, he doesn't want to help me rent out the home next door to his ex wife. And second: well, let me just say this, I am a divorced dad magnet. I now know many more things about a casual acquaintance than I ever wanted to know.
Plan C: A former tenant contacted me recently wanting to know if I had anything available in the area. At the time, I told them Mr. Wonderful's home might be coming available. I promised to keep them apprised. Though this seems like an easy answer on paper--instant tenant! Please note: it was my third choice and there is a reason for this. I didn't hear back from them when I broached the subject again two weeks ago, so I let it slide and didn't shed any tears.
Let's just completely gloss over Plan D: Do it myself. Frankly, it wasn't really much of a plan. This house is too far for Carolsue to help me with. And, let's face it, even though I can manage it myself, I have two property managers who are already there and can deal with the crazy calls. Mario prefers managing homes in Shelby County. However, because of a gross miscalculation of my competence on Mario's part earlier this year, I preferred to go straight to plan E.
Plan E: call Kirby. It isn't anything personal about Kirby that he is my last resort. I happen to really like the guy. It is just that this house is far from most of the others. And, I am never sure how busy he happens to be. But I e-mailed him anyway. I gave him my best, "Gee, I know this is kind of far, but I have this super-cute house in Alabaster that needs the right tenant and I am ready to loose an additional percentage of rent to have you manage it--just in case you might want to."
Kirby got back to me in record time. He looked up the house, checked out my pictures and assured me it was every bit as desirable a rental home as I promised it would be. According to Kirby, he is already working on finding a tenant and hopefully I will get this home rented quickly.
In the mean-time, Mr. Wonderful happens to be on the hook for the rent until I find a new tenant. I know this because he may have reminded me of it in one of our 30 minute chats.
He has bought the house he mentioned to me before. I am happy for him. Mr. Wonderful is truly a nice guy. He seems to have had a bit of a struggle in years past and presumably things are looking up. Now, I don't know for sure if he has had struggles--because I refuse to get too personal with the guy. But I can guess based on life circumstances which brought him my direction. And the fact that my home in Alabaster seems to attract either
This house isn't hard to rent. The neighborhood is quiet. The house is cute. It isn't my nicest house, but it is in the top three. Also, I get pretty decent rent at this house.
Mr. Wonderful, of course, is blissfully unconcerned about what I am facing: finding another tenant. However, for this particular house, I had a plan.
Plan A: Mr. Wonderful would show the home to prospective tenants, helping me find just the right
Tenants mean well of course. But tenants who are moving out get busy and then take it personally when the folks who are looking aren't always reliable and don't show up. Also, tenants might say something that may cause misunderstandings down the road. And then there is that pesky little issue of tenants thinking they are doing me a favor--which they essentially are.
So, though having Mr. Wonderful help looks like the easiest solution, it probably isn't.
Plan B: This one is a bit tricky. You see, in the past Mr. 114--the next door neighbor--has often helped me with this house. This is a much better situation because I can pay Mr. 114 and then the relationship is somewhat even.
However, it turns out Mr. 114 doesn't live next door any more. Mrs. 114 still lives next door, but I don't know her. I was somewhat aware of this situation, as Mr. Wonderful is quite chatty, but I opted to play dumb and just see if Mr. 114 might want to help me out anyway.
When I contacted Mr. 114 I found out two things: first, he doesn't want to help me rent out the home next door to his ex wife. And second: well, let me just say this, I am a divorced dad magnet. I now know many more things about a casual acquaintance than I ever wanted to know.
Plan C: A former tenant contacted me recently wanting to know if I had anything available in the area. At the time, I told them Mr. Wonderful's home might be coming available. I promised to keep them apprised. Though this seems like an easy answer on paper--instant tenant! Please note: it was my third choice and there is a reason for this. I didn't hear back from them when I broached the subject again two weeks ago, so I let it slide and didn't shed any tears.
Let's just completely gloss over Plan D: Do it myself. Frankly, it wasn't really much of a plan. This house is too far for Carolsue to help me with. And, let's face it, even though I can manage it myself, I have two property managers who are already there and can deal with the crazy calls. Mario prefers managing homes in Shelby County. However, because of a gross miscalculation of my competence on Mario's part earlier this year, I preferred to go straight to plan E.
Plan E: call Kirby. It isn't anything personal about Kirby that he is my last resort. I happen to really like the guy. It is just that this house is far from most of the others. And, I am never sure how busy he happens to be. But I e-mailed him anyway. I gave him my best, "Gee, I know this is kind of far, but I have this super-cute house in Alabaster that needs the right tenant and I am ready to loose an additional percentage of rent to have you manage it--just in case you might want to."
Kirby got back to me in record time. He looked up the house, checked out my pictures and assured me it was every bit as desirable a rental home as I promised it would be. According to Kirby, he is already working on finding a tenant and hopefully I will get this home rented quickly.
In the mean-time, Mr. Wonderful happens to be on the hook for the rent until I find a new tenant. I know this because he may have reminded me of it in one of our 30 minute chats.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Reality Check
I won't bore you with the knock-down drag out details that make an MTV reality show look tame, but Mr. Partner and the Sunshines have been at odds for months. Mr. Partner's complaints are legitimate: we aren't making money.
My response is something along the lines of, "No $^%# Sherlock. How nice of you to notice." In fact, I am quite shocked it has taken Mr. Partner this long to catch on to this little ditty.
And, let's be reasonable here: I assure you Mr. Partner has been informed of our undercapitalized issues every step of the way. He knows rents in Birmingham have decreased about 20 percent. Unemployment in Birmingham is around 19 percent. Match that with a culture that doesn't seem to care about debts or obligations and you have the perfect storm of landlord hell.
What I find interesting about our conversations with Mr. Partner, is how clueless he seems to be each and every time we talk. It's as if he completely forgets what was said or written to him from a week earlier. Instead, he retorts with astonishment, taking it as a personal affront that this is the first time he has heard that his money is being used for such things as property taxes and home owner's insurance.
Rinse, lather and repeat.
Quite frankly, it is not just Mr. Partner's money that is being used for such endeavors. It is also Marty's and my money. It is also MY time. And, if I could humbly point out, I have at times worked two jobs just to ensure Mr. Partner's credit score stays intact and bills got paid. So, we are acutely aware of the cost and upkeep involving rental properties. Our kids know. My bookkeeper knows. My accountant knows.
I am not sure what Mr. Partner expects at this point. Every year we have the same expenses: mortgages insurance and property tax. (And for anyone who feels pious here, Yes, I know buying an investment home for cash is the way to go. Crystal clear on that fact thankyouverymuch.). Every once in a while a potty leaks or someone moves out. It is the cost of doing business.
And, I assure you if I were to call Mr. Partner every time a tenant called me just to say, "Mr. Jones has a leaky faucet. What should we do?" Mr. Partner would come to the same conclusion I come to: get it fixed. He would make the same decision for his personal home too.
What Mr. Partner isn't saying is that property management costs us more money--money he wasn't intending to spend. This is true. Instead of consulting with Mr. Partner before I started putting homes in property management, I staged a coup. In fact, when the subject of property management first came up, Mr. Partner said no way. After a while, I found that the cost of property management is less expensive than the cost of turning over a trashed home--which is what I was getting because I was not able to effectively manage tenants from a long distance.
It isn't that Kirby and Mario get better tenants (in many cases they do), it is that there is someone right there and then who has the resources to hold tenants accountable when they move out. With me being 1,700 miles away, a tenant can take their family, but leave their garbage and make the latter my problem.
The situation with Mr. Partner has ebbed and flowed through the course of time, with Mr. Partner getting all partner-y and asking for financials and 8" x 10" color glossies every time he is asked to come up with his fair share.
And, if I could point out: we aren't making money on a monthly basis, but the assets have value. There are a few we could sell a few for a nice profit--but Mr. Partner isn't interested in selling. There are also a few we could sell for a reasonable loss too, but down the road they will again have equity.
Lest you think Mr. Partner is a complete jerk. He isn't. He and Mrs. Partner are pretty terrific people. When we started, he had a lot more landlord experience than I did and I greatly relied on his expertise. His experience, however, was managing local rentals--which right now I could do with my eyes closed and one hand tied behind my back. He has had his fair share of issues with local rentals too, but he doesn't manage as many in Phoenix as I do in Alabama so his problems aren't magnified.
We are coming to the end of another fiscal year and once again we need the funds necessary to handle his fair share of the property taxes. This isn't a shock to anyone but Mr. Partner. But I am sure he will figure out how to make this right. Because no matter how often he is shocked by what he is told, the reality isn't changing.
My response is something along the lines of, "No $^%# Sherlock. How nice of you to notice." In fact, I am quite shocked it has taken Mr. Partner this long to catch on to this little ditty.
And, let's be reasonable here: I assure you Mr. Partner has been informed of our undercapitalized issues every step of the way. He knows rents in Birmingham have decreased about 20 percent. Unemployment in Birmingham is around 19 percent. Match that with a culture that doesn't seem to care about debts or obligations and you have the perfect storm of landlord hell.
What I find interesting about our conversations with Mr. Partner, is how clueless he seems to be each and every time we talk. It's as if he completely forgets what was said or written to him from a week earlier. Instead, he retorts with astonishment, taking it as a personal affront that this is the first time he has heard that his money is being used for such things as property taxes and home owner's insurance.
Rinse, lather and repeat.
Quite frankly, it is not just Mr. Partner's money that is being used for such endeavors. It is also Marty's and my money. It is also MY time. And, if I could humbly point out, I have at times worked two jobs just to ensure Mr. Partner's credit score stays intact and bills got paid. So, we are acutely aware of the cost and upkeep involving rental properties. Our kids know. My bookkeeper knows. My accountant knows.
I am not sure what Mr. Partner expects at this point. Every year we have the same expenses: mortgages insurance and property tax. (And for anyone who feels pious here, Yes, I know buying an investment home for cash is the way to go. Crystal clear on that fact thankyouverymuch.). Every once in a while a potty leaks or someone moves out. It is the cost of doing business.
And, I assure you if I were to call Mr. Partner every time a tenant called me just to say, "Mr. Jones has a leaky faucet. What should we do?" Mr. Partner would come to the same conclusion I come to: get it fixed. He would make the same decision for his personal home too.
What Mr. Partner isn't saying is that property management costs us more money--money he wasn't intending to spend. This is true. Instead of consulting with Mr. Partner before I started putting homes in property management, I staged a coup. In fact, when the subject of property management first came up, Mr. Partner said no way. After a while, I found that the cost of property management is less expensive than the cost of turning over a trashed home--which is what I was getting because I was not able to effectively manage tenants from a long distance.
It isn't that Kirby and Mario get better tenants (in many cases they do), it is that there is someone right there and then who has the resources to hold tenants accountable when they move out. With me being 1,700 miles away, a tenant can take their family, but leave their garbage and make the latter my problem.
The situation with Mr. Partner has ebbed and flowed through the course of time, with Mr. Partner getting all partner-y and asking for financials and 8" x 10" color glossies every time he is asked to come up with his fair share.
And, if I could point out: we aren't making money on a monthly basis, but the assets have value. There are a few we could sell a few for a nice profit--but Mr. Partner isn't interested in selling. There are also a few we could sell for a reasonable loss too, but down the road they will again have equity.
Lest you think Mr. Partner is a complete jerk. He isn't. He and Mrs. Partner are pretty terrific people. When we started, he had a lot more landlord experience than I did and I greatly relied on his expertise. His experience, however, was managing local rentals--which right now I could do with my eyes closed and one hand tied behind my back. He has had his fair share of issues with local rentals too, but he doesn't manage as many in Phoenix as I do in Alabama so his problems aren't magnified.
We are coming to the end of another fiscal year and once again we need the funds necessary to handle his fair share of the property taxes. This isn't a shock to anyone but Mr. Partner. But I am sure he will figure out how to make this right. Because no matter how often he is shocked by what he is told, the reality isn't changing.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
By the Time You Read This
I will be (or had been) sitting with my sister-in-law at some swanky mall on Wilshire Boulevard in Los Angeles. I don't care about the swanky mall (her choice for vacation destinations), whose Web site shows the same stores are also in the Phoenix Metro area. I certainly don't care about Los Angeles, which I have been waiting patiently to fall into the Pacific Ocean for quite some time (don't let me down Myans!). I do care about my sister-in-law, whom I love and adore and who took the day off to spend with Marty, the kids and I.
However, I know you don't come to my corner of cyber-space to hear about me being forced to spend Marty Sunshine's vacation in Southern California. You come here to read about the latest challenges I might be facing running an undercapitalized accidental rental business miles from my home.
There are a few items happening with the accidental business too. I have written several rough drafts of blogs that never were worthy of publishing. Perhaps after I get back from our Southern California Therapy I will feel like telling you about the demi-feud between the Partners and the Sunshines.
Or how Mr. Wonderful has designs that I am not thrilled about, and how plans A, B and C didn't pan out for me and Mr. Wonderful's home.
Or about how I was once again a magnet for another divorced dad--and keeping in the same vein how it utterly astonishes me when quasi acquaintances tell me such personal items about their lives.
Or, for that matter, how I feel about my Section 8 tenant leaving.
Or how I got another bill from Attorney Flip that is roughly equal to the National Debt from seventeen days ago.
Anyway, all these and much more to come when I am not so burned out.
Until next week!
However, I know you don't come to my corner of cyber-space to hear about me being forced to spend Marty Sunshine's vacation in Southern California. You come here to read about the latest challenges I might be facing running an undercapitalized accidental rental business miles from my home.
There are a few items happening with the accidental business too. I have written several rough drafts of blogs that never were worthy of publishing. Perhaps after I get back from our Southern California Therapy I will feel like telling you about the demi-feud between the Partners and the Sunshines.
Or how Mr. Wonderful has designs that I am not thrilled about, and how plans A, B and C didn't pan out for me and Mr. Wonderful's home.
Or about how I was once again a magnet for another divorced dad--and keeping in the same vein how it utterly astonishes me when quasi acquaintances tell me such personal items about their lives.
Or, for that matter, how I feel about my Section 8 tenant leaving.
Or how I got another bill from Attorney Flip that is roughly equal to the National Debt from seventeen days ago.
Anyway, all these and much more to come when I am not so burned out.
Until next week!
Monday, December 10, 2012
Incompetence
Marty Sunshine recently asked me what obscure task could he help me with that would make my life easier. He was giddy with joy when I asked him to please find out about the property taxes. "That's all you need?" he naively asked.
Yep. That's what I needed.
You see, Jefferson County did not send me property tax notices this year. Some might think they did this because they are incompetent. They would be right.
So, early this morning Marty Sunshine went off to search for a phone number or any type of information whatsoever on Jefferson County's web site that would tell us exactly how much we owed. Three hours later, Marty was in a foul mood and no closer to finding what we had to pay.
There are no phone numbers on this site. There is no useful information on this site. In fact, the "old" way to look up properties--using the parcel ID number has been replaced by the "new" way to look up properties. The "new" way includes taking one's tax statement that was presumably mailed to them and typing in the "receipt" number one received on their tax statement.
In the event one didn't get a tax statement, Jefferson County has accounted for this: they have a message below the "tax receipt number look up" that says to contact their office if one needs a property tax notice. And then they give their physical address.
Marty Sunshine then went on to the most obvious way to look up properties: by address. Nope. This was a no-brainer to me, as the entire County has about four street names. For example, if you want to get to my home on King James Circle, one must go down King James Court, hang a left at King James Drive and proceed around the bend back to King James Court, until they reach King James Circle.
After about sixteen different searches, Marty found the place to input a parcel number--which has been how I looked up property tax information in the past. However, for whatever reason it wasn't working this morning. The noise you may have heard if you turned your head slightly in our direction was Marty Sunshine telling everyone how displeased he was that the parcel ID search wasn't working.
Eventually Marty settled for looking up each address by the name associated with the address. This is not an easy task when your last name is the same name as a county in Alabama and one's first name is probably one of the most common names on earth--as poor Marty's happens to be. Then there are a few homes titled to the LLCs also, those weren't as easy to find either, because instead of being classified as ABC Homes, LLC, they were listed in the system as (first name) LLC (last name) Homes (middle initial) A.
What we did find out through the course of this exercise is that Jefferson County has changed the parcel numbers for every single property we own. We now have the new parcel numbers so that this task will be much easier whenI Marty does this again next year.
In the end, we decided that if we had just left everything alone Jefferson County probably would have sent us delinquent notices letting us know exactly how much we owed and what our parcel number happened to be. Or then again, maybe they wouldn't have noticed we hadn't paid.
Yep. That's what I needed.
You see, Jefferson County did not send me property tax notices this year. Some might think they did this because they are incompetent. They would be right.
So, early this morning Marty Sunshine went off to search for a phone number or any type of information whatsoever on Jefferson County's web site that would tell us exactly how much we owed. Three hours later, Marty was in a foul mood and no closer to finding what we had to pay.
There are no phone numbers on this site. There is no useful information on this site. In fact, the "old" way to look up properties--using the parcel ID number has been replaced by the "new" way to look up properties. The "new" way includes taking one's tax statement that was presumably mailed to them and typing in the "receipt" number one received on their tax statement.
In the event one didn't get a tax statement, Jefferson County has accounted for this: they have a message below the "tax receipt number look up" that says to contact their office if one needs a property tax notice. And then they give their physical address.
Marty Sunshine then went on to the most obvious way to look up properties: by address. Nope. This was a no-brainer to me, as the entire County has about four street names. For example, if you want to get to my home on King James Circle, one must go down King James Court, hang a left at King James Drive and proceed around the bend back to King James Court, until they reach King James Circle.
After about sixteen different searches, Marty found the place to input a parcel number--which has been how I looked up property tax information in the past. However, for whatever reason it wasn't working this morning. The noise you may have heard if you turned your head slightly in our direction was Marty Sunshine telling everyone how displeased he was that the parcel ID search wasn't working.
Eventually Marty settled for looking up each address by the name associated with the address. This is not an easy task when your last name is the same name as a county in Alabama and one's first name is probably one of the most common names on earth--as poor Marty's happens to be. Then there are a few homes titled to the LLCs also, those weren't as easy to find either, because instead of being classified as ABC Homes, LLC, they were listed in the system as (first name) LLC (last name) Homes (middle initial) A.
What we did find out through the course of this exercise is that Jefferson County has changed the parcel numbers for every single property we own. We now have the new parcel numbers so that this task will be much easier when
In the end, we decided that if we had just left everything alone Jefferson County probably would have sent us delinquent notices letting us know exactly how much we owed and what our parcel number happened to be. Or then again, maybe they wouldn't have noticed we hadn't paid.
Monday, December 03, 2012
Crying Wolf
One of the major byproducts of Landlordom is the level of astonishment I continually feel towards my tenants. Prior to the last 10 years, if you had ever suggested being a landlord includes providing free advice and/or solving personal problems of grown, (presumably) productive members' of society I would have laughed hysterically waiting for the punchline.
"No, really. The tenant expects you to what?!"
That said, I have been told all sorts of personal tidbits from tenants that blow me away, including but not limited to health challenges, love life questions, and lets not forget private issues that landed me a subpoena where I had to explain to a judge exactly what a tenant told me. And, let me tell you, the tenant was furious my memory was decent. And so was the judge.
I bring this up because of how I spent part of my weekend. My new refrigerator is coming this week. And, not a moment too soon. Sunday I spent the day cleaning up the melted goop in the bottom of my freezer. There is no question: this freezer is on life support (fortunately, the only thing being kept in this freezer at the time were ice cube trays, chocolate chips and bread). I figured this out myself. I took care of it.
Which brings me to Mrs. Green. A week ago Saturday she sent me a message about her refrigerator. I ignored it, wanting to see what "my refrigerator is acting up" really meant. However, I fully know I may eventually have to deal with this. But here is the catch: I have heard nothing. Not text, e-mail or phone call. Nothing.
Contrast that to the Greens wanting me to drop everything and put a tarp on their roof last August. Given that I owed them a tarp at the time, I was still astonished at how little effort they were willing to go to in order to make sure their bedroom was protected from the elements. I would expect a similar panic if they didn't have a working refrigerator. But instead, it has been eerily quiet. Perhaps the refrigerator isn't really as bad as she suggested and she found her own solution.
"No, really. The tenant expects you to what?!"
That said, I have been told all sorts of personal tidbits from tenants that blow me away, including but not limited to health challenges, love life questions, and lets not forget private issues that landed me a subpoena where I had to explain to a judge exactly what a tenant told me. And, let me tell you, the tenant was furious my memory was decent. And so was the judge.
I bring this up because of how I spent part of my weekend. My new refrigerator is coming this week. And, not a moment too soon. Sunday I spent the day cleaning up the melted goop in the bottom of my freezer. There is no question: this freezer is on life support (fortunately, the only thing being kept in this freezer at the time were ice cube trays, chocolate chips and bread). I figured this out myself. I took care of it.
Which brings me to Mrs. Green. A week ago Saturday she sent me a message about her refrigerator. I ignored it, wanting to see what "my refrigerator is acting up" really meant. However, I fully know I may eventually have to deal with this. But here is the catch: I have heard nothing. Not text, e-mail or phone call. Nothing.
Contrast that to the Greens wanting me to drop everything and put a tarp on their roof last August. Given that I owed them a tarp at the time, I was still astonished at how little effort they were willing to go to in order to make sure their bedroom was protected from the elements. I would expect a similar panic if they didn't have a working refrigerator. But instead, it has been eerily quiet. Perhaps the refrigerator isn't really as bad as she suggested and she found her own solution.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Thin Ice
I read somewhere that the busiest time for plumbers is the days that follow Thanksgiving. That's going to be a problem for Mr. and Mrs. Green. You see, on Saturday, while I was at the orange big-box hardware stores that sells appliances, bolt cutters and grass seed, I got three texts from Mrs. Green.
The gist of the first two texts were to tell me that someone had stuffed an entire turkey down the kitchen sink when they weren't looking. And lo and behold! The sink backed up. The Greens had tried the usual methods of prayer, cursing and drain cleaner and now were on to drastic measures: letting the landlord know. And, what was I going to do about it?
In case, dear reader, you hadn't noticed it was the Saturday of a holiday weekend. There isn't a lot I can do. I am here. They are there. Getting on an airplane to jet over to Birmingham just to check out their sink is cost-prohibitive. So, I texted Mrs. Green back the only thing that made sense to me: call a plumber on Monday.
The third consecutive text message in her trilogy was to tell me that her refrigerator wasn't cooling or freezing. Coincidentally, I happened to be making an emergency refrigerator purchase at the time of Mrs. Green's texts. But this one was for my home. My 27 year old side-by-side is making funny noises and the ice cream is mushy. However, mine has been on the fritz for weeks. If Mrs. Green knew about her refrigerator for any length of time, she shouldn't have waited until a holiday weekend to tell me.
Given that the Greens--who are perfectly delightful tenants most of the time--expected me last August to get on a plane, fly to Birmingham, purchase a tarp at the hardware store, find a ladder and put the tarp on their roof, I am not inclined to offer up any feedback on the whole refrigerator thing.
I examined my options. I could purchase a refrigerator which she would hate. Or, I could tell her to look for a used one and bill me (knowing full well they would expect me to get on a plane, pick up the refrigerator and deliver it to their home). Or, I could just completely ignore her last message and see how serious her situation really is. Which, is what I decided to do for now.
The gist of the first two texts were to tell me that someone had stuffed an entire turkey down the kitchen sink when they weren't looking. And lo and behold! The sink backed up. The Greens had tried the usual methods of prayer, cursing and drain cleaner and now were on to drastic measures: letting the landlord know. And, what was I going to do about it?
In case, dear reader, you hadn't noticed it was the Saturday of a holiday weekend. There isn't a lot I can do. I am here. They are there. Getting on an airplane to jet over to Birmingham just to check out their sink is cost-prohibitive. So, I texted Mrs. Green back the only thing that made sense to me: call a plumber on Monday.
The third consecutive text message in her trilogy was to tell me that her refrigerator wasn't cooling or freezing. Coincidentally, I happened to be making an emergency refrigerator purchase at the time of Mrs. Green's texts. But this one was for my home. My 27 year old side-by-side is making funny noises and the ice cream is mushy. However, mine has been on the fritz for weeks. If Mrs. Green knew about her refrigerator for any length of time, she shouldn't have waited until a holiday weekend to tell me.
Given that the Greens--who are perfectly delightful tenants most of the time--expected me last August to get on a plane, fly to Birmingham, purchase a tarp at the hardware store, find a ladder and put the tarp on their roof, I am not inclined to offer up any feedback on the whole refrigerator thing.
I examined my options. I could purchase a refrigerator which she would hate. Or, I could tell her to look for a used one and bill me (knowing full well they would expect me to get on a plane, pick up the refrigerator and deliver it to their home). Or, I could just completely ignore her last message and see how serious her situation really is. Which, is what I decided to do for now.
Monday, November 12, 2012
The Divorced Dad Magnet
Mr. Wonderful is my tenant in Alabaster. He is a prominent business owner (so I hear) and seems to be an an all-around great guy. I really like him in a professional, Southern-friendly kind of way.
Recently, the City of Alabaster tried to extort money from me. I asked Mr. Wonderful about the legitimacy and he assured me that yes, they could do that. If you are so inclined, you can read about this experience here.
Fast forward to some random time in recent memory. Mr. Wonderful e-mailed me. Apparently the City of Alabaster has changed their minds and is no longer in the business of extorting landlords. He sent me a link to the aforementioned extortion page. Lucky for me, our LLC hasn't had the money to pay anything, and I hadn't complied anyway. At least now I am officially off the hook.
However, I found it interesting how the dialog went with Mr. Wonderful. He sent me the story, with a brief explanation about why he was contacting me.
I thanked him for thinking of me and told him I was relieved this new rule had been enacted.
He wrote me back, re-iterating how awesome this is.
I thanked him, once again.
He wrote me back saying, once again, how this is just totally ducky.
I re-read our correspondence, making sure I wasn't missing anything huge, like there is a water leak, rent will be a day late or there is a herd of wild hedgehogs inhabiting the attic that need my immediate attention. When I didn't see any reason other than he is just being totally nice, I again thanked him and went into detail about the depths of my gratitude, but this time I cc'd Marty Sunshine.
Marty Sunshine's solution to said correspondence was to snicker. You see, for what ever reason, I am a divorced dad magnet. No, no--not in a home wrecker sort of way. But divorced men seem to gravitate to me in a sisterly, girl next door kind of way.
And, to make matters more awkward, Marty Sunshine thinks this is amusing and doesn't have a problem with these folks striking up friendships. I think he is totally ok with it merely for his entertainment. In fact, as Marty is reading this post over my shoulder, he is telling me this blog entry really doesn't convey the level of divorced dad magnet that I really am--whether family, friends, church or Alabama. They find me.
They always find me.
Which brings me to a few weeks later. Mr. Wonderful called. He has a possible steal on a home and wants to buy it--which translated to he is actually in the process of buying it. I gleaned this last nugget as Mr. Wonderful kept me on the phone for about 30 hours going over how carefully he will honor his lease if he buys this house. He also filled me in on ever single neighbor in his caulde sac.
He reiterated all of the above about sixteen more times as I stood on a rickety farm chair with a bic lighter desperately trying to make the smoke detector go off so I could feign another excuse to get off the phone. Hey! Don't laugh, short of hanging up on the poor guy, I was totally out of legitimate ways to cut off the conversation.
As a rule, brought to you by years (YEARS I tell you!) of experience, I don't make friends of my tenants. Mr. Wonderful is a top-notch tenant, quite fascinating and I actually have some legitimate business items I would like to discuss with him if he weren't my tenant. But right now he is my tenant. And, it is time to let Marty start answering my phone.
Recently, the City of Alabaster tried to extort money from me. I asked Mr. Wonderful about the legitimacy and he assured me that yes, they could do that. If you are so inclined, you can read about this experience here.
Fast forward to some random time in recent memory. Mr. Wonderful e-mailed me. Apparently the City of Alabaster has changed their minds and is no longer in the business of extorting landlords. He sent me a link to the aforementioned extortion page. Lucky for me, our LLC hasn't had the money to pay anything, and I hadn't complied anyway. At least now I am officially off the hook.
However, I found it interesting how the dialog went with Mr. Wonderful. He sent me the story, with a brief explanation about why he was contacting me.
I thanked him for thinking of me and told him I was relieved this new rule had been enacted.
He wrote me back, re-iterating how awesome this is.
I thanked him, once again.
He wrote me back saying, once again, how this is just totally ducky.
I re-read our correspondence, making sure I wasn't missing anything huge, like there is a water leak, rent will be a day late or there is a herd of wild hedgehogs inhabiting the attic that need my immediate attention. When I didn't see any reason other than he is just being totally nice, I again thanked him and went into detail about the depths of my gratitude, but this time I cc'd Marty Sunshine.
Marty Sunshine's solution to said correspondence was to snicker. You see, for what ever reason, I am a divorced dad magnet. No, no--not in a home wrecker sort of way. But divorced men seem to gravitate to me in a sisterly, girl next door kind of way.
And, to make matters more awkward, Marty Sunshine thinks this is amusing and doesn't have a problem with these folks striking up friendships. I think he is totally ok with it merely for his entertainment. In fact, as Marty is reading this post over my shoulder, he is telling me this blog entry really doesn't convey the level of divorced dad magnet that I really am--whether family, friends, church or Alabama. They find me.
They always find me.
Which brings me to a few weeks later. Mr. Wonderful called. He has a possible steal on a home and wants to buy it--which translated to he is actually in the process of buying it. I gleaned this last nugget as Mr. Wonderful kept me on the phone for about 30 hours going over how carefully he will honor his lease if he buys this house. He also filled me in on ever single neighbor in his caulde sac.
He reiterated all of the above about sixteen more times as I stood on a rickety farm chair with a bic lighter desperately trying to make the smoke detector go off so I could feign another excuse to get off the phone. Hey! Don't laugh, short of hanging up on the poor guy, I was totally out of legitimate ways to cut off the conversation.
As a rule, brought to you by years (YEARS I tell you!) of experience, I don't make friends of my tenants. Mr. Wonderful is a top-notch tenant, quite fascinating and I actually have some legitimate business items I would like to discuss with him if he weren't my tenant. But right now he is my tenant. And, it is time to let Marty start answering my phone.
Thursday, November 08, 2012
Random Bama--The Absentee Edition
The e-mail's subject line said, "potential tenant, no section 8". In the event Opal, Kirby's assistant, was afraid I wasn't going to respond to her e-mail, she shouldn't have worried. Telling me she had a potential tenant for Ms. Kathy's former home was something I couldn't ignore.
The tenant in question has now moved into the home and has already whined about minor maintenance issues that need to be addressed--like all of the stuff Ms. Kathy left in the shed. I was temped to tell Kirby to toss it over the fence, where she is currently living, but opted to remain silent and let him figure it out.
________________________________________________________
Speaking of Section 8, my first foray into a Section 8 tenant is coming to an end. My tenant had two pit bulls living at my home and several months ago I asked her to remove the dogs. Pit bulls and home owner's insurance don't go hand in hand.
The tenant gave two month's notice and will be leaving at the end of December. Kirby asked if I wanted to do anything to entice her to stay. "Not sure I can offer much." I replied. I wasn't about to reduce the rent and she couldn't have the dogs.
So... starting January 1, I will have another vacant home. I am not sure I will accept another Section 8 tenant. I have some thoughts about this, but it will have to wait for another blog.
________________________________________________________
You might remember Mr. Wonderful? I owe you a blog about him too. He is truly a wonderful tenant. However, he is buying a home. Because he is so darn wonderful, he is honoring his lease until it expires or until I find another tenant.
This house is easy to rent, so I am not too worried. Just sort of annoyed I have to turn it over again. In addition to that, Ms. Shirley--the tenant who lived in this house before Mr. Wonderful--painted sample colors on just about every wall in the home. It still hasn't been painted. Mr. Wonderful just didn't care. But it strikes me as something a future tenant will probably care about.
________________________________________________________
My tenant in Fultondale came through. They paid, but not without a bit of cardiac arrest from me. Fortunately, the note I sent Kirby that Friday said "please don't make me go into the weekend without an update on this situation. It just won't be fair to my family," was received by an update on Friday afternoon and another one Saturday morning--letting me know they did indeed pay. They also renewed their lease.
The tenant in question has now moved into the home and has already whined about minor maintenance issues that need to be addressed--like all of the stuff Ms. Kathy left in the shed. I was temped to tell Kirby to toss it over the fence, where she is currently living, but opted to remain silent and let him figure it out.
________________________________________________________
Speaking of Section 8, my first foray into a Section 8 tenant is coming to an end. My tenant had two pit bulls living at my home and several months ago I asked her to remove the dogs. Pit bulls and home owner's insurance don't go hand in hand.
The tenant gave two month's notice and will be leaving at the end of December. Kirby asked if I wanted to do anything to entice her to stay. "Not sure I can offer much." I replied. I wasn't about to reduce the rent and she couldn't have the dogs.
So... starting January 1, I will have another vacant home. I am not sure I will accept another Section 8 tenant. I have some thoughts about this, but it will have to wait for another blog.
________________________________________________________
You might remember Mr. Wonderful? I owe you a blog about him too. He is truly a wonderful tenant. However, he is buying a home. Because he is so darn wonderful, he is honoring his lease until it expires or until I find another tenant.
This house is easy to rent, so I am not too worried. Just sort of annoyed I have to turn it over again. In addition to that, Ms. Shirley--the tenant who lived in this house before Mr. Wonderful--painted sample colors on just about every wall in the home. It still hasn't been painted. Mr. Wonderful just didn't care. But it strikes me as something a future tenant will probably care about.
________________________________________________________
My tenant in Fultondale came through. They paid, but not without a bit of cardiac arrest from me. Fortunately, the note I sent Kirby that Friday said "please don't make me go into the weekend without an update on this situation. It just won't be fair to my family," was received by an update on Friday afternoon and another one Saturday morning--letting me know they did indeed pay. They also renewed their lease.
Friday, October 26, 2012
October Surprise
It is no surprise that for the past several Octobers I have managed to get mind-blowingly sick. I wasn't shocked when it happened this October. Instead I was annoyed beyond belief. I still am annoyed (and still under the weather, for that matter).
However, this year, as I have been laying around, wishing I could run, knit and sleep I was reveling in the fact that All Things Alabama were more or less under control. Yes, Ms. Kathy's former home is vacant. I expected that, though if I was going to have the money for the mortgage has been nagging at me. But this year, with the help of good tenants, two property managers and Carolsue on the ground, I haven't really needed anything and have been able to focus on getting well because all other minor pesky issues could wait for better health.
So, imagine my astonishment when I woke up today to find out that one of my tenants hadn't paid rent! It is one of Kirby's properties. I had gotten a seven-day notice on them earlier in the month--right before I had taken ill. I had been in continued correspondence with Kirby since then, but nobody on his team had the presence of mind to tell him, or for that matter me, that rent is now 26 days late.
The house in question is not in Mr. Partner's LLC, it is one Marty and I own solely. So, there are different challenges with this.
I have contacted Kirby, explaining my ultimate displeasure with his person who dropped the ball and didn't keep me posted. I also asked for an update by the end of today, explaining that nobody wants to deal with me if I have to play "what if" over the weekend.
Nobody.
If there is some sort of silver lining on this one, the tenant in question tends to come through. Hopefully they will do so this time. If not, I am not sure I have a plan B right now.
However, this year, as I have been laying around, wishing I could run, knit and sleep I was reveling in the fact that All Things Alabama were more or less under control. Yes, Ms. Kathy's former home is vacant. I expected that, though if I was going to have the money for the mortgage has been nagging at me. But this year, with the help of good tenants, two property managers and Carolsue on the ground, I haven't really needed anything and have been able to focus on getting well because all other minor pesky issues could wait for better health.
So, imagine my astonishment when I woke up today to find out that one of my tenants hadn't paid rent! It is one of Kirby's properties. I had gotten a seven-day notice on them earlier in the month--right before I had taken ill. I had been in continued correspondence with Kirby since then, but nobody on his team had the presence of mind to tell him, or for that matter me, that rent is now 26 days late.
The house in question is not in Mr. Partner's LLC, it is one Marty and I own solely. So, there are different challenges with this.
I have contacted Kirby, explaining my ultimate displeasure with his person who dropped the ball and didn't keep me posted. I also asked for an update by the end of today, explaining that nobody wants to deal with me if I have to play "what if" over the weekend.
Nobody.
If there is some sort of silver lining on this one, the tenant in question tends to come through. Hopefully they will do so this time. If not, I am not sure I have a plan B right now.
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