The Great Lawyer Hunt

I am currently looking for an attorney who will help me with this mess the Late Attorney Jon left me in. Last year I hired Flip to do this. I paid him. Called him regularly. E-mailed him as well. Flip, in turn ignored me.

Early on, I saw the flaw with this game plan: Hope doesn't get e-mails read or phone calls answered. I happen to know letters to the Alabama BAR or the Alabama Attorney Generals' office are much more effective. But I was trying not to burn any bridges. And besides, I choose to label my issue a small administrative matter which just needs a wee bit of attention. I would eventually get around to fixing it. Which is now.

A couple of weeks ago Flip sent me a letter telling me to call him to discuss a lawyer named Mr. Abbot who may have an interest in helping me. Flip said he wasn't sure he would take my case. But I was to call Flip and he would explain everything. So, I ramped up my call/e-mail/smoke signal campaign and got nowhere faster.

The underlying message in Flip's letter was that he wasn't going to touch my small administrative matter, probably because there are other consequences--like he is a personal friend to Late Attorney Jon's family and my teensy tiny administrative matter could easily be construed as a one-way ticket to a sinkhole landing in Birmingham Society hell. (But really, I prefer to consider this a simple administrative matter). If it is indeed a one-way ticket, it could get awkward next time Flip's wife and Mrs. Late Attorney Jon are seen socially. So, essentially to me it looks like Flip is rescuing himself. Though he hasn't exactly told me that.

So, I have spent the last ten days looking for looking for another attorney to handle this small administrative matter. My main criteria was that I wanted someone who worked out of Shelby County--the county where this house in question happens to reside. It also meant I would have a better chance of finding a lawyer who's wife didn't have regularly active social functions with the delightful Mrs. Late Attorney Jon. One doesn't need awkward ostracizing at tennis matches because someone's feathers are ruffled over what the Late Attorney Jon was or was not supposed to do.

Doing what I always do when I am looking for something in the Birmingham area, I sent out e-mails explaining I want an attorney who RESIDES in Shelby County--and under no circumstances were they to have a law practice office in the suburbs of Vestavia and Mountain Brook.

I thought that was pretty simple. Mario was the first to respond. I asked him personally because (though he doesn't know it), it is the house on Hysteria Lane that he manages that is tied to this small administrative matter. If he knew about my issue, he would not be pleased. And, he probably would--and should--fire me immediately. (that's for another blog).

Mario sent me the name of someone who happens to live two blocks North of Vestavia Hills, a swanky suburb where many of Mrs. Late Attorney Jon's friends reside. When I mentioned this to Mario (who was pleased I asked, as he is really trying to stay on my good side), I pointed out that this particular attorney was not Shelby County.

Mario's response was priceless: He said: "If he is in Jefferson County, he barely is. He is about 25 minutes closer to the Shelby County Courthouse than any other real estate attorneys I know."
Bless his heart. That is so Southern of him to purposely misunderstand what I meant.

Mr. Wonderful Former Tenant also sent me a name of a lawyer he knew. She was very nice. I spoke on speaker phone to her and her colleague who wanted me to understand in no uncertain terms that "My small administrative matter" was going to be small. In fact, it sounds like a colossal nightmare for me that would not going away in an easy fashion. And, to do this would cost at least my first born and probably a few years of indentured servitude to get resolved. But all was not lost. She had a friend who was located off Highway 280 in Mountain Brook who could probably help me. And good luck. I will need it!

Carolsue talked to Ron. Ron gave Carolsue the name of someone who would give me a referral. This gentleman took my call instantly. He was nice enough. He lives and works in Jefferson County (where most of metro Birmingham is located). He didn't know the Late Attorney Jon. But he couldn't help me anyway. He asked me if I needed a pea shooter lawyer or a Sherman tank lawyer. I explained my situation, including what I think is a reasonable course of action that could quickly resolve this. The guy agreed with my reasonable course of action but then urged me to call the Sherman tank lawyer. When I asked for the name of the pea shooter attorney, he said no. That wouldn't help at all. He also promised me the Sherman Tank would not be part of the Mountain Brook cocktail party crowd under any circumstances.

In fits desperation, I looked over the letter Flip sent me. He mentioned Mr. Abbot who might be willing to take my case--but he said this guy hadn't agreed to it yet. Figuring I had nothing to loose, and figuring he already knows what is going on (and because he came from Flip, he probably hangs out with the Late Attorney Jon's family, but whatever).

It took two tries to get in touch with this guy. (I left messages saying Flip gave me his name. The receptionist seemed to be pleased to hear such wonderful words while she ruminated about the character of Mr. Flip. This isn't exactly lying. I never said I got a referral from Flip. Just that I had a name of someone Flip mentioned.).

That not-exactly a lie got me a call from Matt the paralegal. He was familiar with the Late Attorney Jon cases and some of the challenges Jon's clients are facing right now (which always blows me away when people just sort of assume you know all the ins and outs of a tragedy and don't hold back on the gossip).

Matt was kind enough to ask me to repeat my issue and admitted he didn't have any particular experience with Alabama Real Estate Law. But from everything I told him, it sounded like a small administrative matter. How hard could it be? Matt needs to talk with Mr. Abbot. I will know more later this week.

If Mr. Abbot doesn't work out, I will also go to plan C. Kirby gave me the name of a lawyer in the "hood" (Kirby's words). Yep, I am guessing he doesn't spend a lot of time at the Mountain Brook Country Club.

I also have a plan D: A lawyer I found from another former tenant that resides in Columbiana, Alabama.

Plan E is another attorney who happens to reside in Aniston, Alabama.
 

Out of the Quiet

Yes, yes, yes. I am here. My quiet it over. I am too co-dependent on my therapeutic blog.  I am the first to admit I am needy.

It wasn't really my fault I am blogging. Last month, Kirby sent me a sweet, soothing e-mail telling me that there had been a storm near one of my vacant homes. And, wouldn't you know, a tree limb fell down, taking out the pole that strung the electric lines to the house.

Incidentally, Alabama Power is going to replace the pole and the lines running to this house. They told Kirby to "Sit tight" they will get there in "a spell."  Hopefully I can translate that to the house will have electricity this week.

Seriously? What sane person can read this and not feel their head ready to explode?

Out of the Mouth of Babes

It has been a long week, complete with drunk neighbor coming into my home, screaming at my daughter and me (in front of my children) telling the drunk to jump in the lake.

Then there was yesterday with Marty Sunshine's family, at a funeral saying good bye to a really awesome person. The rest of that day was spent with me gritting my teeth and saying, "bless your heart" at a variety of his extended family.

Which brings me to Buckaroo's innocent question to Marty yesterday: "Why doesn't Mom get along with anybody?"

Marty's reply: "Because she is a landlord and there is no amount of bull s--- she hasn't seen."

Into the Quiet

The day I graduated from college, I grabbed James Mitchner's Centennial, plopped myself down on the couch and only moved when absolutely necessary. It took about three weeks to completely decompress, with me only coming up for air to answer the incessant phone calls from a friend of mine who was trying to set me up with a guy "who had a great personality."

Those weeks of decompression were quiet. I cleared out the years of intense projects, papers and college life. I rested, void of distractions, allowing myself to relax and ease into the new season of my life I was entering.

Lately, I have been living that quiet time again. I am entering a different season.

We closed our property management division of our accidental business, which focused all my time and energy for the past 10 years. We still have challenges in Alabama. However, one main lesson I learned from managing homes is the time goes by anyway. No matter if Kirby or Mario are dealing with painters or if I am, the painters will still take the same amount of time. Me being anxious about it (because I am managing the day to day activities), doesn't make these people work any faster, nor does it change the outcome.

I feel like I have written the same story over and over again. The names and homes have changed. In fact, as I am writing this--and I swear I am not making this up--I just got a call from from the brother of a neighbor of my home at ________________ and there is a ______________ problem going on there right now. I don't know exactly how he got my number, because I don't even know who this neighbor is. Did he want to help me, or was he looking for easy money? I now have boots on the ground over there. I gave him Kirby's number and told him to call.

There are other things that I haven't written about, that are still unresolved. Attorney Jon caused a legal nightmare for me that is ongoing. He was a great, wonderful man, but very disorganized. And now I am looking at having to get another attorney to resolve this mess.

Legal Eagle blew me off last year. She said she couldn't meet with me for an hour during my visit to Birmingham because three weeks later she would be going on vacation. Jack left me a mess too, though we parted friends. I haven't heard from him, and after what I saw with the house he and I owned and he was managing, I don't really feel the need to contact him either. I think both of those relationships came to an end because of Attorney Jon's death and subsequent legal mess I have to deal with.

Then there is the woman I never met and never will. She disappeared, leaving behind a toddler my tenant was granted custody of. There are many unanswered questions related to this, including, what is that grave-shaped spot in the back yard of one of my homes that every one is ignoring? It is still being ignored. I am finally ok with that. I hope they find this woman somewhere else. Preferably alive.

I am tired. I need quiet. I need to change, grow and not be involved in Alabama. The quiet I have felt in the past few months has been cathartic. A welcome change from the drama of the every day Mrs. Landlord calls.

In keeping with my quiet, I have been noodling what to do about this blog. I am so grateful I have had an outlet to channel some of the craziness I experienced. And, I am even more grateful that I have had a few friends who came along for the ride. Thank you all.

Regarding this blog, do I take a break as I change seasons? Do I change my focus (a pretty narrow scope if you think about it: managing properties, fixing our undercapitalized issues and baseball)? Do I start a new blog? Or do I just let it slip away into the quiet as well? I don't have an answer right now. But I am thinking at this point, I may just set it aside and see where this new season takes me.

--SW

Oh, what happened to the guy my friend was hell-bent on me dating? I married him a few years later and we started our own adventures.

Random Bama

I am thinking this person is residing in the wrong state. By the way, it does not say "Royalty."

_______________________________________________

I got a text today from someone at 2:47 p.m. (that would be 4:47 p.m. Alabama time on a Friday afternoon) saying, "Mrs. Landlord, I need a plumber. My potty backed up yesterday." I have no idea who the text was from. 

At 2:47 p.m. today, I was busy--in fire drill mode actually--with my nudist seller who is hoping to close on Monday. And, as I am only managing a few homes, and I trust those particular tenants I am managing, I just sent a text back telling them to call a plumber. The outcome would have been the same if I had known if it was Mrs. Sherwood, Ms. Angie or Mrs. Green. I guess I will find out when the bill comes.
_______________________________________________
Marty Sunshine found a few of the lessons we have learned from managing a business in the South to have come in handy. The out-of-state interview he had the other day was for a job in the South. Early on, Marty mentioned he has family "in the area" (if you count Florida as South--which Southerners don't) and we own property in Birmingham. Marty said the man interviewing him suddenly perked up, became a lot more friendly and his drawl immediately got a lot thicker. I guess that was a secret code for something. 
_______________________________________________


And finally, I would like to give a shout-out to Carolsue's daughter. She graduated from law school today and there are a lot of proud people in the South as we speak. Though I have never met her, Carolsue has been keeping me abreast of her adventures since the days she was an undergrad.

So, Congrats Lawyer Girl! It would be really awesome if you specialize in real estate.

Waterford

Not to jinx anything here, but Daisy tells me the home in Waterford may, possibly, maybe be rented. IF I am willing to take care of a few itsy-bitsy issues. First, the carpet in the bedrooms needs to be replaced. I had heard that before from Kirby a few years ago and chose to ignore it. So, now I am guessing it is probably 100 percent true.

I am hesitant to send James, the Hell's-Angel-Turned-Carpet installer out there. It is 40 miles from his home and last time I sent him there, he dumped the used carpet on the side of the home. I suspect that is how he keeps his prices extremely low.

Also, apparently there is an infestation of fleas at this vacant home. So, there needs to be a low-grade thermal nuclear weapon dropped on the spot which may, possibly, maybe eliminate the issue. Maybe.

The tenants are apparently a "sweet couple" with "cute kids." They say they have no pets (uh-huh) and are "clean" people. They also want to move in June 1. They also want to paint the royal-blue bedroom on their own dime. That works for me. Perhaps the fleas will be dead by then. 

Danville

As a pro-active stand on his possible impending lay-off, Marty Sunshine had an initial interview today with a company out of state*. This job interests him, but it was just a first interview and currently there is no reason to get too excited about it.

However, because change freaks me out, last night I did my general recon of this potential location. I looked into some of the basics: the cost of living, crime and how far away the Costco was from the city which we could be potentially living in (three hours). I also checked into home schooling laws for that state. Actually, just like Phineas and Ferb, this job is in a "Tri-State Area", so I have my choice of home school laws. The state in question had a Web site dedicated to the their home school laws, and just to make things interesting, the site was riddled with type-os. 

What I don't know just yet (and it may not matter if he doesn't get past the first interview) is where to live over there. Trying to figure out where the most desirable rental area happens to be, I pulled up the local school district. The thought is that the better areas had better schools. Apparently in this city, that is not the case. Not only were they not boasting their fabulous test scores, they weren't boasting much about anything. Instead, the district posted an "action plan," explaining what they were going to do in the up-and-coming school year to improve their lot in life. I am thinking there is a reason the population has expanded into the tri-state area.

So, I am still not freaking out about three (and soon to be four) vacant homes. I have no energy.


*In all fairness, he has three interviews this week. The other two positions are local-ish. One decided against because the commute was 70 miles a day.

I May Start Freaking Out Tomorrow

Experience tells me I really should be freaking out right about now. But currently I am not.

Grayson Valley is still not rented. I am told it is partially because I am not allowing for pets. Which I am not. I have brand-new flooring in this place. I have an emotional attachment to my new flooring. I told Kirby this and he just politely laughed and muttered something about me being the one to make the decisions.

The house in Waterford came vacant at the end of last month. The tenants moved out because the air conditioning wasn't working right--though it has been fixed (and don't ask me why it wasn't working once again. The house is 10 years old!). And the second reason is there were termites. The house was also treated for termites immediately. I am not convinced there were termites, but I have no reason not to believe the three people who said otherwise. Kirby gave me the punch list of what needed to be fixed for this house. There are a lot of small maintenance items and that surprises me. Don't you think the tenants would have been able to take a screw driver to a door and tighten the hinge themselves in order to make the door close properly? After all, the husband is a mechanic. He probably owns a screwdriver or two.

Hysteria Lane--the home Mario manages--is also coming vacant at the end of this month. The tenant asked for a ridiculous reduction in rent as an enticement to stay. I countered back and suggested she move into Waterford. And, just to make things more tidy, the tenant at Waterford could move into Hysteria. Apparently nobody took me seriously. Mario's people sent me an "action plan" as a way of saying, "yep, we are on this." The action plan cleverly includes staying in touch with the tenant while they are in the process of moving out, conducting a final walk-through and advertising the home for rent. Frankly, they lost me at "staying in touch with the tenant while they are in the process of moving out." When one is in the process of moving, they don't really have time to stay in touch.

Mrs. Roebuck also moved out last week. A long-long time tenant, this home is now vacant. Kirby gets this one this week. In some ways it is easier to turn over a home where a tenant has been living there for a year, than one where a tenant has been living there since the dawn of time. Not looking forward to that punch list.

And then, mix in the impending fact Mr. Partner and Marty Sunshine's company has jumped on the lay-off bandwagon and neither of them expect to be employed there past the summer and you can see where I am coming from. However, I am not hysterical. I am totally zen. Or, I am an ostrich.

Mayday

As of today I have three vacant homes. I hear I have another one coming open June 1. I am not necessarily complaining. Nor am I panicking just yet. Maybe in another week or two I will do that.

What I would really prefer is just have tenants.

Really, I am not Bitter

Marty Sunshine has an appointment in less than an hour to sign the refinance documents for our home in Grayson Valley. This is a significant step in fixing the issues with this house Jack dumped on us.

Now to find a qualified tenant.

For the Record, I am Playing Hooky

I just got an e-mail notifying me I was attending the following Webinar. Apparently someone signed me up and felt this would be a benefit to my career. Now, I am not pointing fingers or anything, but it smells like my broker is up to something. 

WORKING WITH RENTERS!!!!!

Attend this session and see how! Renters need you more than ever in this market.

_________________

LEARN TO EFFECTIVELY QUALIFY RENTERS!

GET THEM TO IDENTIFY THE PROPERTY IN NO MORE THAN 2 SHOWING SESSIONS!

UNDERSTAND THE LEASE AGREEMENT AND DEPOSIT REQUIREMENTS!

TIPS FOR SUBMITTING THE AGREEMENT!

Three Litte Words

I am still trying to refinance the house in Grayson Valley. Though this has been going on for two months, I have hope, as the bank is asking for new random items that I need to compile. This past week I have been jumping through the hoops, begging (and loosing, and rebegging) Bliz for the random items they have asked for once again (the list is getting redundant).

In the process of doing so, we came to realize we weren't getting a mortgage statement for our Pinson home. So, I called the mortgage company for the Pinson home, and found out a few tidbits: 1) I have been paying the wrong amount. 2) they have been sending "e-statements" to some random e-mail address for the past several months. However, it wasn't my old e-mail address or my new e-mail address. Nor did I (or Bliz) authorize this.

To add insult to injury, I was on the phone with them this morning long enough for my kids to run wild when I finally found this out. And, when I inquired as to why someone had opted to send us e-statements, the customer service rep stated (with presumably a straight face) it was done to "save time and hassle."

At this point, my patience was at an all-time low. While this was going on, I stumbled into the kitchen to find dear, independent and clever Buckaroo, who was in the process of mixing powdered milk and water into a plastic bag and was packing it as part of our sack lunch for our outing today. He was having a difficult time and now powdered milk was now on every single surface in my kitchen, making the counters look like a winter wonderland. Couple that with spending an hour on the phone only to find out that the mortgage company had purposely caused the hassle I was experiencing.

 I couldn't help myself.  I said "Bless your heart" to the customer service rep before I could stop. And frankly, I meant it.

Probably Not a Failure

Saturday afternoon, Marty Sunshine and I sat in Diamond Jim's office while I signed the final tax return for our now-defunct accidental business. Silent emotions set in, my hand shaking and my lip quivering as I signed away. I decided crying in front of my 70 year old accountant was not in good form. Even if it is Diamond Jim.

Marty has continually reminded me closing down our now-defunct corporation is a strategic decision, not a failure. The business no longer serves the purpose it was designed to serve. We don't hold mortgages for our tenants any more. The housing market tanked. Kirby and Mario handle most of the day-to-day management for our rentals--which we still have. Bliz has comforted me with similar sentiments. Both are repeating the words I have said before: essentially, it is not a failure to close our virtual doors.

But right now it feels smack dab like a major failure. My failure.

I will eventually get over my sadness. We have a lot of changes happening around here at the Sunshine homestead that are providing unique challenges for our future. And perhaps, as time goes on, I will come to think of letting go of the accidental business as a major relief.

And not a failure.

Please Leave Me Alone

Every year, because it is required, I pay the Alabama Department of Revenue an extortion fee to do business in their state. For each LLC, the cost is $100. For my now-defunct corporation, it is $110.

I have been doing this for 10 years. And, each year, the Alabama Department of Revenue throws a dart at some random LLC or now-defunct corporation of mine and then sends a letter, accusing me of not paying them what I owe.

They played this game two years in a row with my now-defunct corporation. The second year, I wrote them back (I always write them back with the copy of the cancelled check), explaining that I have better things to do than play this little game and perhaps they could have someone possibly file my extortion fee correctly in the future and save us a bit of trouble?

The following year, the Alabama Department of Revenue went after an LLC of mine that had not been around for several years. That particular LLC was bought out by the LLC Mr. and Mrs. Partner own with us. At the time, when we had filed the final taxes for that LLC, we wrote a nice little letter saying, "This is our last tax return for this LLC, and you can now find us at XYZ LLC."

This severely confused the Alabama Department of Revenue, who THREE YEARS LATER began sending me letters saying "You owe us money. Pay up." At first I did reasonable things, like re-submitting my tax returns, pointing out where I told them it was my last tax return to them (there is a checked box for this), and once again explaining what happened to those homes.

That wasn't good enough. They wrote back.

And then I wrote back.

And then they wrote back.

And then Diamond Jim wrote back.

And then they wrote back again.

And then I put in big red letters on the outside of the envelope, "Return to sender. No such business at this address"--which was true. And that pretty much stopped them in their tracks.

At that point, the Alabama Department of Revenue came up with a new target: the LLC Marty and I own with Mr. and Mrs. Partner. This time they swore I did not pay my extortion fee for the 2011 tax season. Although I complied to each letter last year, giving them a copy of the cancelled check (showing not only was it paid, but that they cashed the check prior to April 15, 2012), they still levied a fine: $2.10 for my alleged tardiness.

This past week, Diamond Jim completed my K-1 for this LLC. To the front of the tax return, I repeatedly stapled (and photo copied) the check I sent them. Also to the front of the tax return, I sent them one more letter explaining how I am tired of this game and once in for all, could they please not loose my check and possibly appropriate the money correctly and save me the hassle and headache of having to research their incompetence at a later date? Except I didn't say incompetence.

I did suggest there were better things they could do with their time. And to please, please leave me alone.

Magnatism

I got an e-mail from Mr. Former Wonderful Tenant. Granted, he was e-mailing me to inform me he received his security deposit back from me (which I knew because he cashed the check). How sweet! Even during tax season he managed to say hello. He even told me to keep in touch.

A Modest Proposal

I have two homes in the quiet suburb of Calera, AL. The home on Hysteria Lane is managed by Mario. The one in Waterford is managed by Kirby.

Last Monday, the tenant in Waterford gave his notice. Frankly, I was a bit surprised. Though he is month-to-month (and has been for the past year and a half) he had just asked to put down tile flooring in the kitchen, so I figured he was staying a while. When I asked why they were moving, Kirby said they need a bigger place.

On Wednesday, the tenant on Hysteria Lane e-mailed Mario saying her lease was up in May and she wanted to "renegotiate." Apparently "renegotiate" means she wants another lease at a $300 a month reduction. Good for her! I want a mortgage payment at $300 less too.

When Mario sent this to me, he said something of the lines of "I am sure we can talk her into a two year lease if you do this." I am sure I could, if it were financially possible. For that matter, this is a pretty big house. A $300 rent reduction is like giving away the home. However, at this point, all I really want is to keep the homes rented.

And, in that vein, I came up with the only solution I thought reasonable. I e-mailed them both, and suggested the tenants change homes. I have no idea if this is a good idea or not. But, it seemed like a plausible solution to me.

So far I haven't heard from either Mario or Kirby (though Kirby is better at getting back to me, he still isn't winning any awards for timeliness. In fact, while I Birmingham, I mentioned I was going to e-mail him in April, and would expect a response back by June. He laughed, good natured. But I was serious). But, I figure it is a win-win for both. Both of them get the homes rented quickly. Both of them will have approved tenants from the landlord (me) and I won't have vacancies for any great length of time. Hopefully the tenants will see it my way as well.

The Birmingham Carpet Connection (Cash Only)

On Saturday, when James the Hell's Angel Turned Carpet Installer (cash only) called me to tell me about a leaking hot water heater, he promised he had a plumber who could help me out and offered to call me Monday and give me his number. James was being so sweet about it, and seemed to genuinely care about my predicament, that I just didn't have the heart to turn him down.

However, I have a plumber. A good plumber. One I trust. One who bills me. One who probably would make a Saturday call if I needed him to, but would prefer not to pester him unless it is necessary. For the most part a leaking hot water heater in a vacant home (where presumably James turned off the water), isn't an emergency.

Monday morning James the Hell's Angel Turned Carpet Installer (cash only) made good on his promise. He called me at 6 ^*%$&(* a.m. to give me the name of, as he put it, "the best plumber in Birmingham." It turns out as luck would have it, his plumber and mine are one in the same.

The Day Is Here

Despite the adage, March actually went in like a lion and out like a rabid mother bear missing her cub. I am happy it is over.

Good riddance.

Though it is the wee hours of April I have seriously valid concerns April is waltzing in like a den of cranky rattlesnakes. I still wish for better. But for now, at this snapshot in time, there is peace in my world because baseball starts today!

As far as I am concerned, nothing can be all that bad if there is a baseball game around somewhere. In fact, keeping in tradition, I am meeting my brother and two friends to watch the game. Here's hoping for a reasonably sane April and a winning baseball season.

I found this little gem the other day.

"People ask me what I do in winter when there's no baseball. I'll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring." --Robers Hornsby

For those of you who may not appreciate baseball, that's ok. It is just a matter of time.

A Weekend Off

James, the Hell's Angel Turned Carpet Installer called me this morning, while I was herding six girl scouts at a local park. Sadly, he speaks Southern, and I speak English and he is very difficult to understand. Couple that with being outside around screeching/giggly preteen girls and you can see why under normal circumstances it might be difficult to follow him.

However, casting those conditions aside, it turns out he was crystal clear. You see, he was installing new flooring at my home on Grayson Valley. Apparently the "flooring" needed to be updated for a number of years. The carpet was threadbare in spots and the bathroom and kitchen floors were rotted, stained and scratched. Too bad Jack never mentioned it when he was managing this house.

Not that I am bitter.

But I am. Still.

But enough about that. The reason James, the Hell's Angel Turned Carpet Installer called me was to tell me I had a water leak in the laundry room. He just wanted me to know. Because I am a "regular." Apparently, it had been leaking for quite some time. Given the house is empty, there is no way I would have known this.

"Were you able to successfully turn off the water?" I asked, holding myself together.

"Do you want the water off?" He replied, completely bypassing the obvious. "What you really need is a plumber."

Though I am not in Birmingham, I was pretty certain the only plumber I could find on Easter weekend would be one with a child in Harvard. And, I simply didn't feel like funding Junior's education. Besides, other than me (and James, who is unable to finish installing my flooring), nobody else is being inconvenienced by this issue.

It took every ounce of self-control not to call Carolsue or Kirby this morning, and ask either of them to go out and assess the damage. My reasoning was that it was their weekend off too. James had assured me it wasn't "bad", but I am not sure what that exactly means. I guess I will find out when I call my plumber on Monday.

On a side note, if you need to reach me, my old e-mail address still works right now. It is just forwarded to my new gmail account. If you know how to import contacts into gmail, please let me know.

The Break-Up

My business has been an extension of me for a long time. And now it is time to let it go. The process is bittersweet, as I find releasing. I see new things on the horizon and I am excited with the possibilities that await. However, the clean-up is killing me. It isn't a clean break, it is a dwindling down with tons of details and I will probably miss a few few.

In the process of winding down my accidental business, I am finding one of the most challenging issues to be changing e-mail address. My e-mail address is my business name. I like my business name. I like my e-mail address. I have had the same e-mail address for 10 years. It isn't just giving up the e-mail address, it is giving up all that is associated with it. It is like breaking up after a long-term relationship and then running into some acquaintance who says, "And how is Bob? I always thought you two were a fabulous couple." And then having to not only explain that Bob is not fabulous but deal with the five stages of grief your acquaintance will go through on your dime.

Under normal circumstances I would just keep the e-mail address, but but 1) I have to pay for it and 2) I can't seem to make the e-mail address work with my cell phone. So, being a real estate agent and not being able to receive e-mail on my phone is counterproductive to fixing our under-capitalized issues.

We live in a day and age where everything we have is attached to our e-mail address. If you don't believe me, try logging into Craigslist, Twitter, Facebook, Netflix or Amazon without one. And, these are the ones I can currently remember. I am sure there are other cyber institutions who want to know. Also, I need to change my real estate marketing to my new e-mail address, including my business cards, Web site and (by law, with penalty of a stiff fine--these people aren't messing around) the Arizona Department of Real Estate.

Speaking of e-mails, one of the annoying quirks I have run into is that Blogger won't link my new e-mail address with this blog. That's going to be interesting. I haven't figured that one out just yet. Perhaps it is a sign?

Eventually, my tenants need to be informed, just so they can e-mail me to tell me rent will be late. Or, in some cases, send me something sentimental that I should forward to 237 of my closest friends in the next five minutes, otherwise Bill Gates won't leave his entire fortune to me when he passes on to his Great Reward.

Diamond Jim is handling the legalities of shutting everything down with the IRS. I also need to close down the bank account. But first I need to tell Mario and Kirby where to forward my automatic rent payments. I also probably need to let people know so that avoid having to tell some random acquaintance Bob wasn't really all that fabulous after all.

Up In The Air

I am not sure I will ever find the energy to write all that needs to be written about the house in Grayson Valley. This is the house that we bought with Jack, that he "managed" and then returned to us. The house in question went through a tenant a year, with little drama, other than having to turn it over. It rented easily for the most part. The rent for this house is pretty high for Birmingham in general, but not for the neighborhood.

Right now the home is vacant. I am not able to get a tenant until I have some of the maintenance issues resolved. One of the reasons I went to Birmingham was to find out if the home in question needs a roof. You see, Mr. Little, my now former tenant sent me pictures showing me where it was leaking. In his estimation, as a computer programmer--who has no experience with roofing whatsoever--it needed a roof. I didn't know. I know it was leaking. And, Mr. Little was was there. I am here.

So, when I got there, one of the main tasks I had planned was to have someone look at the roof and tell me if indeed it needed to be replaced. My roofer said yes. Kirby said he wasn't sure. The roof looked like a roof to me. I just want the darn house rented out.

At any rate, the Monday I was in Birmingham, I called my insurance agent and asked for their honest assessment. After all, given my experience with insurance adjusters not wanting to reimburse me when the tenant stole the carpeting and kitchen sink, I guarantee if it doesn't need a roof, he is going to let me know.

And, that was two weeks and four days ago. I have heard nothing since. And, because the roof is the first item that needs to be fixed before I can have the walls painted. And before I can have James, the Hell's Angel, Turned Carpet Installer out there to put in new flooring, all is on hold until I know whether or not the roof needs to replaced or patched.

This week, Kirby sent a roofer out to the home to get his opinion. A patch is much cheaper than a replacement. So, I called the insurance company and politely told them I am withdrawing the claim. I explained it wasn't personal. I just need to get the work done and the house rented. The only person out there right now was Mr. 114 who was mowing the grass and fixing the drainage issue and an errant snake who looks waayyy too cozy in my yard. 

Last I checked, "I am withdrawing the claim" is music to an adjuster's ears. After all, there is less work to do. There is no money to pay out. There are less frantic homeowners to deal with. Like I said, music!

Except this adjuster.

The adjuster actually called me about an hour after I withdrew the claim and told me not to cancel the claim! I had to pause for a moment, check around for hidden cameras and then resume my call. I was under the distinct impression adjusters were allergic to passing out money. He apologized for the delay (explaining his father had passed away the day he and I talked), but thinks I may want to reconsider. Oh? "Exactly how bad is it?" I asked. At which point the adjuster promised me some sort of paperwork tomorrow.

I don't believe I really will see anything tomorrow, but nothing was going to be happening along the lines of repairs anyway until next week. And, if I can't get my answer, I will just go on without him.

Found at the Grayson Valley Home

"Just a Little Guy" -- Words found in Mr. 114's text yesterday, which I finished reading right after I climbed down off the ceiling fan.

The Tax Deadbeat

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.

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?

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.

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

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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.

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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.

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.

The Birmingham Weekend

The only evidence left from our Anual Meeting. Minutes are titled, "What Happens in Birmingham, Stays in Birmingham"

I sadly dropped Bliz off at the airport today, wishing upon wish she could stay another day or so. I can't speak for Bliz, but I certainly had a great time driving around three counties stalking my houses on Saturday. I showed Bliz all but three--including one that was the closest to the hotel I am staying at. Go figure? When I list the five things I like about Birmingham, my friendship with Bliz is always number one.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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: 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.)

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...

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.

"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."

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).

In years 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.

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.

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.

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 and freeze 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.

"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.

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 the Artic 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.

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.