The Chalkville House

Last week I had a spat with Daisy about my home in Chalkville. It had been vacant since Mr. and Mrs. Green left months ago. Daisy had finally gotten in rented at more than $230 less than I have ever rented it for in all the years I have had this home. Also, she took a Section 8 tenant.

As we all know, there is nothing in this world as desperate as a landlord with a vacant home. And, given I wanted to have this home rented so badly, Daisy was floored by my lack of gratitude. When I explained to her that I didn't want a Section 8 tenant--especially one who would be living there for so little, Daisy's reply was that next year when the tenant moves out I can re-rent it for "my" price. And besides! Luigi's fees are less than Kirby's so, the difference should be negligible.

First, Section 8 tenants don't move. They stay. If the tenant does leave for some strange reason, I have yet to see a Section 8 home that was in good shape once the tenant left. I currently have a Section 8 home right now, and I am here to tell you, I don't expect it to be stellar when I get it back. It was a different time when I agreed to this. For now, it works. But I am not happy about it.

The government doesn't pay much for Section 8 tenants, but the catch is they do pay. Every month a check comes in to the owners. I don't hear excuses like the light bill was too high and that is why I am not seeing a drop of rent. What HUD does pay depends upon the tenant's voucher, which is based on several factors including if the tenant has a job, the number of kids and other variables. In return, the Section 8 authority wants an inspection once a year to prove I am not a slum lord. They will insist upon minor repairs that most of us can just live with when push comes to shove.

Daisy's last comment was probably the most inconsiderate and gave a clear pictures of what she thought of my money. This house is one Marty Sunshine and I own without a partner. It had never been in property management before so there had never been property management fees prior. But more important, it shouldn't matter. What I pay in property management fees is not her business and should not be taken into account, nor should my concerns be dismissed because "I am paying less" for property management fees.

When I asked Daisy to contact me to discuss how I could get out of having this tenant, she didn't return my calls. Last Wednesday afternoon, I had a stroke of brilliance. I called Luigi and asked for a reality check. Could I get more money for this home or was this new tenant--even on Section 8--paying market rate for rent. Luigi looked over the home. His assistant Amy looked over the home. Both told me it was one of the nicest in the area (I thought as much) except that the exterior needs to be desperately painted (I thought as much too). However, they saw no reason why I had to settle for so little money.

Before the Section 8 tenant moved in, I asked them to put the home back on the market and withdraw the tenant's application. I was willing to gamble on a higher rent than a sure thing. I held my breath, knowing I was down to the dregs in my bank account to keep supporting this home.

Today Luigi called me. He had two tenants fighting over the place. Neither had pets. Both sets of tenants had ties to the area, were stable in their jobs and could afford to pay their own way. It was a happy problem. The tenant who reigned victorious has already put in their deposit and is moving in next week. And I am getting for rent what I expected to get all along.

Dazzling With Brilliance

In an effort to keep Mr. Partner off my back appease Mr. Partner's diligent pursuit of information, I am working with Bliz to get the taxes done. Mr. Partner doesn't just want his K-1 statement that the IRS lovingly requires and Diamond Jim will once again prepare. He wants bank statements, a 2014 P&L statement and all sorts of other gobbledygook to clog his inbox.

Though he is really a great person (really!) I actually suspect he can't actually read financial statements.  This theory has been postulated by me after Mr. Partner has repeatedly asked over the past ten years basic questions any business owner should know. Like what is a P&L statement? And, I recommend not getting him started what a balance sheet happens to be and why owner's equity is a negative number.

Anyway, this weekend I sent Mr. Partner the first installment of documents that he will either oooh and ahhh over, ask Marty Sunshine a million questions about (he wouldn't dare ask me) and Marty will patiently explain again that whatever number he sees in the bank account does not equal how much money we have to our name (we pay bills with that money). Or, hopefully he will just be so overwhelmed with my e-mails, as I tend to send them in strategically timed batches, that he will set it all aside and forget about them.

____________________

And speaking of dazzling, might you remember, last December Bliz, on my behalf (I was traveling through the swampland at the time), wrote a letter to Mario saying my gazillion homes Kirby was managing weren't going to Mario. They were going to the new property management company.

Ever since then, Mario has had his A-Game on. If I ask a question, I get an answer within 24 hours. If he and his minions had shown this level of service at all in the past two years, I might have made other choices. 

Does Amazon Sell Babble Fish?

One of the hardest issues I have had about doing business in the South is that the folks there continuously complain about my thick Northern accent.

Yes, really.

Actually, if truth be told, I have an even harder time with their Southern drawl. I bring this up because the language barrier darn near caused me a major stroke after a long list of other minor strokes this week.

It turns out, I don't have a trashed house. I have a house with trash in it. Lots and lots of trash. Not that it makes me any happier to know this. But my house isn't destroyed. It just needs to be cleaned up. There are thousands of dollars in difference between a "trashed house" and a "house with trash in it."

Saving the Cell Minutes

My week ended with the following e-mail. Amy is another leasing agent at the new property management company's office. To his credit, Luigi e-mailed me back and gave me a partial solution. But I suspect I won't know more about my trashed house until Monday.

Hi Luigi,

I spoke with Ms. Amy and asked her to have you call me. I have changed my mind. Neither of us need to use our cell minutes on me ranting to you like a crazed lunatic and you saying whatever it is you normally say to furiously raving owners.

I am sure you are working this on your end. When you have solutions or a future game plan for this home, please be in touch.

Thanks,

Mrs. Landlord

Sucker Punched

I found out Thursday I have a home that has been trashed. My favorite home. Investors aren't supposed to have favorites, but I do.

I am too numb to be angry. It is compounded on to a long list of garbage that has defined my Alabama experience this month. I intend to blog more about it. But right now it might become legal and I know it is best to wait and let time soothe me.

I still don't know when I am flying to Birmingham. I was hoping I could put it off until the summer--which would be more ideal than going in a few weeks. But now I am not so sure. Experience tells me this will all work out and I won't have to raise hell and make promises that involve the Department of Real Estate and the Alabama Attorney General's Office. Or, I should say that wisdom tells me how sane people would handle this. I am hoping the person I have cleaning this up is handling it my way. If not, I may no longer be numb.

The Great Calera Flood Aftermath

They house on Hysteria Lane in Calera now has a kitchen sink and dry walls and floors. The plumber is going on an around the world cruise. The tenant is still pissy that I am not compensating her for her inconvenience (that she caused. Did I mention she caused this and could have prevented it?). Insurance and I have squared up.

And, because I had pipes in four different homes burst, there is a new clause in all of my future leases from here to the end of time--and I don't care where you live, fee free to steal the concept. The wording is still a bit off. I have no idea if it will hold up in court, but I am hoping it will at least open up a few eyes. "Tenants are responsible for any damage done to the home caused by a water pipe breaking because of cold weather."

Great News

It appears my tenant in Grayson Valley has paid in full. And even better! She hasn't called me.

According to Luigi, she is now asking if she can buy the house. I don't know if I want to sell the house right now. It is worth about what we paid for it. It cash flows pretty well. But if we don't sell it, it will all likelihood be vacant when this crazy tenant's lease is up.

I Speak For Real Estate Professionals Everywhere When I Say...

Please know, Zillow is not always accurate. It is a Web site that gives false expectations to buyers and sellers and make agents look like idiots--even though we are usually correct and Zillow rarely is.

I am amazed at the number of people--people who actually talk with me for hours on end--who tell me I am credible until I tell them what their home is worth or what they should pay for the home they wish to buy. Then I am a half-baked snake oil saleswoman and know utterly nothing about the real estate industry.

Why? Because some anonymous Web site says otherwise.

And how was your day? 

Sociopaths Rn't Us

It is 24 hours later, cooler heads are prevailing and I have to tell you, my dear three readers, I feel as justified today in telling off that woman as I did yesterday. I am not a lose-my-cool with perfect strangers kind of girl. Generally I like to please and make everyone happy. But make no mistake: I have a backbone. That said, for the most part, I don't start phone conversations with perfect strangers by biting their heads off. It just isn't dignified.

After she talked to me, apparently the tenant called Daisy three times last night as well. She never mentioned once to Daisy that she called me in the afternoon. I find that odd. Daisy and I talked about it for a bit. The tenant is up to some weird game or has some strong need to be right or she feels, after living in my home hassle-free for several months, somehow justified in withholding the rent. None of those are logical, sane actions under the circumstances.

The biggest reason I feel like the tenant is playing a game is because my name is not on the title of the home--and the tenant looked up the title to find Marty Sunshine's name. That's how this whole thing started. She wanted to buy the home and found out that Daisy didn't own it, and mind you, Daisy never claimed to. And just for the record, there has been no conversation with us about selling this home.

However, when the tenant and I talked yesterday she never once asked who Marty Sunshine was, if I was married to him or what relationship I might have to him. She brought up a lot of extraneous fluff, but if her real issue--the one she has been bitching about for weeks to anyone in Birmingham who would listen--is that she wants to verify who owns the house before she pays us any more money, a sane thinking person would draw the conclusion that this one factor should have mattered to her if she was taking the time to call me. Yesterday it didn't matter to her.

Daisy and I have a bet going that this woman is skipping this weekend. I predict a Uhaul in her driveway tomorrow morning. I won't know if I am right until next week some time. I did tell Daisy to just start the eviction ball rolling. If they pay up (including late fees, process server fees, etc.), that's awesome. Then they can stay. If not, it is probably best to get rid of this sociopath sooner than later anyway.

Sins of Tenants' Past

To give you an idea of how things are going, I just found out today is Thursday and a client gently reminded me tomorrow is Valentine's Day and no, they would not be interested in looking for homes tomorrow if that was ok with me. And didn't I have someone special to share Valentine's Day with instead of with them?

I got home at 7:15 tonight, which is the earliest I have been home all week. Today I was only gone 12 and a half hours--a short day. I have lost four pounds this week alone because my car is not equipped with a refrigerator, though I have been carrying an ice chest of water in there for the past week. The kids' homeschooling lessons are consisting of art projects, Netflix documentaries and Minecraft. I am not whining. I am sharing with you a glimpse into my life.

Why is this going on? Because some woman in my home in Grayson Valley has decided she isn't going to pay the rent because the property management company doesn't own the house. Therefore as far as she is concerned, she doesn't have to pay (It still sounds stupid no matter how many times I say it). Though I thought this was resolved yesterday, it doesn't change two realities: 1) the mortgage is still due and 2) I haven't seen the rent money.

And, I am guessing after today I won't. You see, while slipping away for a sandwich today, my cell phone rang. It was my office and I quickly answered it figuring I was being asked some sort of innocuous question. Instead, the woman on the other end started asking me if I actually owed the home in Grayson Valley. After a few intrusive questions I refused to answer, I asked her who she was. She gave me her first name and then started asking me more intrusive questions. Finally, putting two and two together, I realized she was the tenant.

Her main question--which she asked and I answered no less than seven times--was did I own the house. Yes I do.

I countered every single time with where is the rent?

To be honest, I was unnerved that this stranger had found me and my place of employment. She knew who I was and where I worked. I realize that one can Google just about anything, but she made no apologies for doing so.

Instead, she kept saying she was unaware the property management company had changed hands. I pointed out I knew for a fact she had talked to Mario early on and he told her to call Daisy. And by the way, I knew she talked to Daisy too. She was visibly startled when I shared this with her. And by the way, where was my rent money?

She told me nobody had told her where to send the rent. I countered back with yes they did. And she had been told several times and she had been given five copies of her lease in the past few weeks. And furthermore, why didn't this become such an issue six weeks into the new property management changeover? And if it was really that big a deal, why didn't she address it the day her rent was originally due--which was January 1st.

She asked again if I was the owner. I told her I knew she checked the tax records because she had told Daisy she had done so. I also pointed out I had already answered that question, so pay or pack her stuff because she was a thief.

She said that being a "thief" was my "interpretation" and she was coming to me in "good faith." I explained it will be the court's interpretation too and she might want to look up the definition of "good faith" because she was two month's behind on the rent.

This went on for way too long with me getting angrier and angrier, not just at her but all of the others who have played this game before her. As she blathered on, the sins of tenant's past danced in my head, sounding just like this nutjob who was innocently suggesting her inability to pay rent is somehow my fault. I know this playbook.

This woman's twist to an old shtick was to go so far as to seek me out, intruding on my life. She violated my boundaries. I have enough experience to know this relationship will never get better. She needs to go.

As soon as she accused me of being belligerent, suggesting she was perfectly normal--given she had just taken time to find a perfect stranger 1,700 miles away at her job--I seethed, "You are a thief. You are the reason I am away from my family today. Pay up or get out of my house. I will sue you. I will garnish your wages and your husband's wages. I will evict you and put a judgement on your credit." And I hung up on her.

Though no longer furious, I am still shaken from such an intrusion. I honestly cannot tell you what this woman really wants from me. I called Daisy afterwards to let her know this woman contacted me and to call the lawyer. Let's get this party started. Apparently Daisy had hung up on her earlier in the day. My guess is she is moving and now she will blame it on me being unreasonable. That's ok. I am better off with her gone than any other nuttiness she might fling my way.

"Mean" Is My Middle Name

It appears the folks in Grayson Valley have decided they want to stay. This came about when a process server kindly showed up at the Mrs.' job and gave her a special letter from me saying, "Pay up or get your stuff out of my house."

Though there are people who felt having this notice served at her work was mean, let me remind you: 1) I am an Aries. 2) This woman owes me rent and I knew where it would be convenient to find her. After all, I have to pay the process server, why make him work extra-hard. And by the way, the tenants are reimbursing me for the process server fee too. So, I just saved the tenant an extra $100 for not having the process server work nights and weekends. In essence, they should be thanking me.

I am told that the tenant was utterly shocked that I would take such extreme measures and after all, wasn't this a minor misunderstanding? The "misunderstanding" being she was refusing to pay the rent because Daisy's company did not own my home. They were only managing it and hence, she didn't owe them money. To her credit, the tenant apologized for her portion of this issue and hoped we could make amends. I believe she was waiting for similar words from Daisy, but I doubt they came--at least they shouldn't have.

All of this is allegedly going to be resolved by February 19 and she will be current by then. I am proceeding like I am evicting and calling an attorney on February 20th if she hasn't paid up.

Consider THIS Your Notice

The reason I have property management companies taking care of my gazillion rental homes is so that I don't have to be intimately involved. DO YOU HEAR THAT MARIO, DAISY AND LUIGI????

Apparently they didn't.

This week has been one of those weeks that make me question why I give a percentage of my rental income to these folks. In fact, in the past four days, the drama has gotten intense enough that even Marty Sunshine is taking it upon himself to randomly say things like, "You know, you probably do need to book a ticket..." At which point I give him a dirty look and then my phone lights up with texts and phone calls from Birmingham and I provide some colorful commentary to my buzzing phone.

One of the biggest (but not THE biggest) issues this week has been the flood in my home in Calera that Mario and his minion, Bruce, manage. The flood was caused by a tenant who did not open the tap as the pipes thawed, and therefore the pipes exploded. I should also say the tenant in question teaches middle school science. Surely the science common core covers water expanding and contracting.

The tenant is also furious with me for not giving her money for her inconvenience. An inconvenience she caused. Apparently she has had a lot to say about me, my lineage and abilities to manage my home based on the fact I am not forking over a sizable amount of loot to make her forget that he kitchen is in disarray. Mind you, she has water now. But apparently the cabinetry is away from the wall and everything needs to dry out.

Did I mention the tenant caused this issue? Please don't forget that.

Just like everything in the South, the insurance adjuster is taking his sweet time getting this resolved. Today (Thursday), a week after the Great Calera Flood began, I heard from from him and then ten minutes later, I heard from Bruce. Apparently Bruce didn't have time today to meet the adjuster out at the house but he wanted me to know that it wasn't a problem. He would just have the tenant meet the adjuster instead. "Its all covered." Bruce said happily.

I wasn't impressed. "Just so I understand this, you are letting the tenant--who is extremely upset with me--meet the insurance adjuster without a chaperone?" I asked Bruce. "Does that sound like a good plan to you?"

Bruce,who really does seem like a nice guy, even if he is always acting afraid of me, stammered for a moment, assuring me it was fine. "What could go wrong?" He asked.

Plenty. How do we know the tenant will tell the truth? How do we know the tenant won't take it upon herself to tell the adjuster that something caused by the flood was "always broken"? And I gave Bruce a few other scenarios that came to mind. In the end, Bruce was back-pedaling, suggesting the adjuster probably could just wait until next week to see the house when Bruce was available.

"You know, when I come to town I will want to see the house," I said.

And that's when Bruce lost it. Going a full octave higher, he said, "You are coming to town?! You have to give me notice when you are doing that!"

As sweetly as possible, I explained to Bruce that I come to town often, and it really is no big deal. And of course I will let him know when I come.

However, Bruce could not be calmed. He continued to stammer about how I had to give him notice. And I couldn't "just show up," and went along in this vein for more of my cell minutes than I expected. To get the poor guy off the phone, I did promise him I would let him know, and I also told him I had no intention of meeting the tenant--who apparently hates me anyway. He agreed it would be a good idea not to let on I own the home when we inspect it. But, he added with all the authority he could muster in the end, "you must give us notice."

Loopholes

Friday morning I was questioning why it was traditional to wait until later in the day to drink. Who came up with that rule anyway?

On top of the Great Calera Flood, I also had another doosy in North Birmingham. Apparently the tenant--who had been happily living at my home in Grayson Valley for more than 10 months--snapped.

You see, she has not paid January's rent. Nor will she agree to pay January's rent. And though she had paid her rent for the past ten months to a property management company, that wasn't going to happen any longer. According to the tenant, she had looked up the tax records, found Marty Sunshine's name as the owner of the home and decided that since Daisy's company wasn't named "Marty Sunshine" she summarily decided she no longer had to pay rent.

I will pause for a moment while you let that sink in, because it sounds stupider to me every time I see it too.

My first thought was simply the tenant doesn't have the rent. After all, she has been paying rent to a property management company since she moved in. Somehow Mario got involved this week and told her she needed to pay Daisy's company and yes, she owed the money.

The tenant also bawled out Daisy about the property management changeover a month earlier (which didn't bother the tenant until Friday) and complained about how nobody kept her in the loop (not true--she received about five letters from various parties--at least two of them were certified letters). Mind you she did this on the 31st day of the month, when rent is due on the first. So, essentially she is 30 days late and now squawking.

Nope, she doesn't have the rent.


There seems to be no convincing her that rent is owed and she has a contract--just like she did when she moved in. Daisy wanted to know what course of action I wanted to take. And mind you, Friday I was dealing with day four of a flu and insurance adjusters. My patience at an all-time low, I told Daisy exactly what she could do. If the rent was not in her office by Monday, tell them they have till Saturday to get their belongings out of I will evict. And then start the process on Tuesday morning anyway. That will make them move a lot faster on Saturday. And oh yes, please serve the tenant at her office.

I had years of crazy stuff like this. In fact, these crazies are the reason I have property management companies. I am not about to put up with this any longer than I have to. I know the game and I am not going to play.

Blame Game

For you old timers, you may remember Facebook Debbie, an old acquaintance who posts every drama in her life from her running out of underwear because she hadn't done laundry, to posting how she was actually folding laundry. And of course, there were usually 537 other posts during the day.

She caught my eye--and subsequently made this blog--because she had a flood in the bathroom of her rental home. The landlord took care of it as quickly as humanly possible, but the work was slow. It lasted three days. She didn't have renter's insurance and many of her belongings (which weren't neatly put away) were water-damaged. She also managed do detect "toxic mold." In Arizona. In August. Neither is likely. Her saga played on for months with her finally suing--and loosing to--her former landlord for damages. She said the judge was blinded by the landlord's wealth and a few other absurdities that ended up in this blog.

I am only reminding you of this story, because I fear, dear three readers, I am about to live Facebook Debbie's Landlord's nightmare.

You see, Friday morning a pipe at my tenant's home burst. It burst because the tenant didn't turn on the tap so as the frozen pipe was thawing, the pressure inside the pipe could be released. Hence, more than 100 gallons of water flooded into my home and has done more damage than I can humanly imagine. I will eventually get pictures I am sure.

By mid-morning, a plumber was on the premises. Bruce, Mario's minion was also there. And by noon, the insurance company had been notified of the damage, a water restoration company had been called and all was moving forward as quickly as possible. Bruce and I had developed a game plan to effectively tackle this unfortunate accident.

However, it will be later today (Saturday) before the tenant has water. It will be several days before the house dries out and is back in ship-shape. It is up to the adjuster to decide if I need a new cabinet and carpet. I don't know. It depends how things dry out. And, that will obviously be the first step.

Also by mid-morning, the tenant had already called another of Mario's minions and asked what I was going to do to compensate the her. When Bruce told me this, I think he was expecting some sort of answer that would make everyone--especially which ever one of Mario's minions gets to be the messenger--feel better.

My answer was simply: I know this is a major inconvenience. And, I am working to restore this as quickly as possible. I am terribly sorry if the tenant is misplaced for a night. It is very unfortunate. The difference between the tenant owning the home and the tenant renting the home is who is going to pay the bill for this unfortunate occurrence. If the tenant owned the home, she would also be displaced and inconvenienced just long as if she rents it. So therefore, no. I will not give her any sort of money for her troubles. In fact, if she had just opened the tap the night before, she wouldn't have any troubles. And neither would I. And dare I say, I believe she owes me for my inconvenience. She caused this.

I somehow don't think anyone on Mario's staff will add that last part. But I wish they would.

I'm Opening an Indoor Ice Rink

Mario's Minion, Bruce called Marty Sunshine this morning at 6 a.m. I would have relished in delight that it wasn't my phone that was lighting up, but I was zonked out, starting my fourth day of this flu hell and not much was going to make me relish in delight. Besides, Marty has a job and I would be a fool to think--flu or not--that I wasn't going to somehow get involved in this mess.

Bruce doesn't like to call me. Frankly, I don't think he knows how to take me. All of the labels that may have been bandied around about my personality were hopefully dispelled by Kirby, who voluntarily swore to me one day that he told all what an awesome a person and landlord I really am. At the time I didn't ask why my name came up, though right now I am pretty interested. But, I digress.

Bruce's issue on Friday was that the tenant in the one and only house Bruce and Mario manage managed to screw up again. This time a pipe burst. And, it flooded the downstairs, which is 97 percent of the house. And--as I found out when Bruce called me later and related the entire scenario to me once again--the house is uninhabitable.

Though I blame it on the illness, I shortly asked Bruce, how stupid is this tenant? Did she not think to open a pipe--knowing it was freezing and then would thaw? And come on! This wasn't the first time this particular tenant has done something utterly boneheaded (and through my drug-induced stupor, I rattled off a pretty darn accurate list). Did she live in an actual house before she rented this place? I really did expect an answer to that last question, given I have seen what as passed for "shelter" in swampy areas of the south. And I assure you if the tenant lived in one of those shelter-y things, they probably never dealt with running water.

After a couple of hours of this nonsense, I have spoken to two insurance folks, Bruce and relayed messages through him to a plumber, restoration company and tenant. I am told no less than 100 gallons of water has gone though that house today. I have visions of people donning ice skates zipping across the living room. Perhaps if Bruce charges enough for admission it will cover the deductible. Of course the insurance adjuster may not get around to going over there for a few days, given he is probably busy with other claims of similar nature. And now I have one more house to tour when I make my unscheduled trip out to there this spring.

According to my cyber pal Lori, no matter when things happen during the week, a tenant will wait until Friday to alert landlord. That pretty much sums it all up.

An Open Wound

I found this business card today.

It made me cry.

Random Bama

Though I have been silent, I have a few blog posts brewing. For now, you are stuck with these tid-bits.

Mr. Partner and I have been at odds for the past couple of days. Apparently he is trying to fax me and the fax isn't going through. Would I please check my connection?

My connection is fine. I get faxes every day. But for whatever reason, I cannot receive his fax. I haven't suggested the obvious: scan. Or mail. Or as he is driving right by my home on his way to work, stop by. Or even better, give the said documents to Marty Sunshine while they are at the office. But whatever.

I hope he figures it out.

____________________________

I have two vacant homes. Actually, I have three. But one I am told will be rented by Feb. 1st.

Marty and I are bandying around whether or not I need to haul my butt to Birmingham and have a talking-to with Daisy and the new property management company in the next few weeks. I am voting no. Hopefully the property management company will concur and rent out the darn homes.

Besides, my other choice is Mario.

____________________________

And finally I got a lovely letter from Attorney Flip the other day. He sent me my bill and a super-sweet note suggesting a "Significant contribution towards my balance would be appreciated."

No kidding? As an amazing coincidence, the plumbers I use in Birmingham feel the exact same way. And statistically, I will need a plumber before I need a lawyer again so the plumber wins.

Birmingham Hath Frozen Over

Ms. Angie sent me a text yesterday. Because I was in the throes of a parenting crisis (Buckaroo and two of his buddies were missing for two hours--turns out they took it upon themselves to go to the park a mile away without permission, however at the time we were thisclose to an Amber Alert), and because she sent me a text instead of calling, I didn't realize the enormity of what she was suggesting.

It wasn't until I finished with Buckaroo did I let Ms. Angie's text message sink in. Her outside pipe had burst. Water was rushing. The only way to take care of it was to shut off the main or get a new pipe.

For those of you enjoying today's 67 degree Arizona day, let me explain. The rest of the Northern Hemisphere is dawning the realization that Mother Nature is on crack. Record-breaking low temperatures are rampant. I spoke with a friend in Chicago the other day who said it was minus 8 degrees at 4:00 p.m. Yay them. Even Birmingham, which might get a smattering of snow flurries here and there every January has succumbed to the Arctic weather.

Though I live in the desert, even I know with cold temperatures, one needs to leave a faucet line open so that if water freezes in the pipe, as it thaws the pipe will not burst. Apparently I am of  a small minority who is aware of this tid-bit because I just talked to Daisy and the plumber who are both inundated with calls of this nature. Daisy tells me I have three homes with piping issues right now. However, she said that is a small number based on the overall calls she is getting. I asked her not to get any more calls from my tenants.

But back to Ms. Angie. Because water was gushing everywhere, I ended up paying time and a half for the plumber. I did tell the plumber's charming phone person that I would appreciate it if they would send out their most competent person who can fix the problem in 10 minutes. I don't think the charming phone person thought I was serious. Apparently there isn't any damage worth noting. And hopefully Ms. Angie now fully understands one needs to keep the pipes open. 

Kirby

After spending New Year's day fretting about if Kirby paid me the rent money he owed before his company disappeared into the dust, I followed Marty Sunshine's gentle patient frustrated urging and actually called Kirby. As I kept explaining to Marty, Kirby isn't one to actually answer his phone and promptly calling people back isn't really his thing.

"He likes you. You were his favorite." Marty said for the twentieth time and I finally caved.

You see, at the end of every month, Kirby e-mails me a statement saying he paid me the rent money to me. In December I hadn't received it. Therefore I had no way of knowing if the money had been transferred to my account until many days later (the bank process is slow. It is a Southern thing). I needed to know as soon as possible, because I had mortgages due.

I did call Kirby. And by some miracle, he called back almost immediately. He had made one last deposit into my account before his company went poof at midnight. However, he had just forgotten to send me the monthly statement. We ended up talking about this and that for about 20 minutes, and I got the distinct impression he didn't want to get off the phone.

Kirby did tell me I had been his favorite landlord. He said, "Sometimes you would get squirrely like the rest of those owners, but I would get you back into shape and you'd come around." I believe if I am translating that correctly, he meant that he would ignore me and let the issue in hand pass over. When I said as much he laughed and said, "That has to happen sometimes to get those owners into shape."

Though I will miss Kirby, I will probably be better off with a different company. Perhaps one better organized. I suspect Kirby was running himself ragged. He didn't really have enough people to handle the amount of work he had. I am hoping I will have a chance to stay in touch with him down the road. Because he really was one of the bright spots in this journey.

I Really Do Hate to See a Grown Man Cry

Good riddance 2013. It was the year of the perpetual migraine.

This morning I signed an agreement with an new property management company. I negotiated a few things, including sliding scale management fees at a reduced price. Also, I asked to be able to take back the properties after 30 days of vacancy with 10 day's notice. They had 60 days of vacancy with 30 day's notice (that would equal 90 days for those of you who are skimming this paragraph). I also asked for this and that and threw in a few weird things that I was pretty sure he would balk at--including tenants pay for the stupid repairs they cause. He gave it all to me, making me wonder what else I should have requested while I was at it.

Allegedly Daisy is going to be hanging her real estate license with this dude. I called, e-mailed and texted her yesterday making sure before I gave him my contracts she would for sure be there. I never heard back, which put me in a real pickle. I had until today to change companies or I was going with Mario. So, hopefully she is there. Otherwise some one other than Daisy is my new contact.

Speaking of Mario, he sent me one last e-mail yesterday afternoon. He told me Bruce (his top minion) is crying himself to sleep every night because I did not move my homes to his company. His note made me laugh but I didn't reply. I almost asked him to post a short video of Bruce doing this and post it on their site so I could see it. But, I thought that might sound snarky and I don't want to fight with Mario. I am concerned I may need him sooner than later.

The only loose end, and it is a bit of a biggie, is I haven't seen December's rents from Kirby yet. I would tell you I am trying not to panic, but that would be a bold-faced lie. My chest seized last night and my blood pressure--which is usually pretty low--went through the roof. I am in a happy place right now and going with the optimistic idea that the rents will magically appear in my bank account like they are supposed to by the end of December before Kirby's company poofs into dust. Because I would prefer 2014 does not start out as the year of the defibrillator.

Had My Fill

I have dealt with Mario and his minions more in the past 12 hours than I have in the past 12 months. First, I had an administrative tax issue. I have been trying to get this resolved since last January. When I have asked about it before, I am told to go to their web site, watch a "short" video and voila! my question will magically go away.

In the real world, watching videos don't make problems go away. Even in Propertymanagement Land. So, this slight issue has been dragging. And in two days, if I don't get it resolved, Diamond Jim is going to have to jump through a lot more hoops and the IRS might get cranky. So, today was the day.

Anyway, after spending a good portion on my morning playing with their site (seriously, do I really need a capital, numeral and non-alphanumeric character in an 8 character password for a property management web site??? Who wants to steal the work order information telling me the garage door doesn't open properly?), I broke down and e-mailed Mario and asked him if he could provide me with a link, or dare I say it, the actual forms to fill out to change my tax ID number and bank account information? Wouldn't you know? Mario got back to me in record time with words like, "Fantastic," "Happy to help" and "How was your vacation?" (which I did not tell him I was taking).

Later today I got a cryptic e-mail telling me the gas fireplace smells like gas when the tenant uses the fireplace. The e-mail was from someone named "Manny" said, "Please help us to keep a happy tenant by contacting them as soon as possible to let them know that you have received it and you are working on it and/or setup a time to get the work completed."

I beg Manny's pardon, but I was under the impression I have a property management company so I don't have to call the tenant and reassure her this is under control. It isn't that I mind doing so, but Mario charges enough as it is. Manny can do his job and call the tenant himself. And besides, the note was kind of ambiguous as to if I was supposed to get the issue resolved or just pat the tenant on the head.

Because I have had enough of Mario for one day, and because Mario and his minions seem to do much better when Marty Sunshine calls them, I made him call. Bruce--Mario's top minion--is going to look into everything and let me know if I am calling someone or patting someone's head.

Bruce also said to Marty that it pains him that we didn't move our properties to his company. Marty gave some diplomatic answer about their Web site being a hassle, all while I was gesticulating wildly and holding up hand-written pieces of paper about the real reasons I am not using them. And I have many. Though I gave examples on my handwritten signs, Marty ignored them and kept on talking to Bruce promising that we would give them a try if the new company didn't work out.

In the mean-time, Bruce is set to call Marty back with an update on our maintenance issue. And with any luck, that should be all the contact we have with them for the next twelve months.

"Truce in the Forest"

This story was brought to the public's attention during an "Unsolved Mysteries" episode in the mid-1990s. Apparently there was a man named Ralph Blank in a nursing home in Fredricksberg MD telling a similar story. The two had been independently searching for each other and the other members of that 1944 party for years. 

I first heard about this story last night. I thought it was worth sharing. 

Merry Christmas

"Truce In the Forest" by Fritz Vincken

It was Christmas Eve, and the last, desperate German offensive of World War II raged around our tiny cabin. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door...

When we heard the knock on our door that Christmas Eve in 1944, neither Mother nor I had the slightest inkling of the quiet miracle that lay in store for us.

I was 12 then, and we were living in a small cottage in the Hürtgen Forest, near the German-Belgian border. Father had stayed at the cottage on hunting weekends before the war; when Allied bombers partly destroyed our hometown of Aachen, he sent us to live there. He had been ordered into the civil-defense fire guard in the border town of Monschau, four miles away.

"You'll be safe in the woods," he had told me. "Take care of Mother. Now you're the man of the family."

But, nine days before Christmas, Field Marshal von Rundstedt had launched the last, desperate German offensive of the war, and now, as I went to the door, the Battle of the Bulge was raging all around us. We heard the incessant booming of field guns; planes soared continuously overhead; at night, searchlights stabbed through the darkness. Thousands of Allied and German soldiers were fighting and dying nearby.

When that first knock came, Mother quickly blew out the candles; then, as I went to answer it, she stepped ahead of me and pushed open the door. Outside, like phantoms against the snowclad trees, stood two steel-helmeted men. One of them spoke to Mother in a language we did not understand, pointing to a third man lying in the snow. She realized before I did that these were American soldiers. Enemies!

Mother stood silent, motionless, her hand on my shoulder. They were armed and could have forced their entrance, yet they stood there and asked with their eyes. And the wounded man seemed more dead than alive. "Kommt rein," Mother said finally. "Come in." The soldiers carried their comrade inside and stretched him out on my bed.

None of them understood German. Mother tried French, and one of the soldiers could converse in that language. As Mother went to look after the wounded man, she said to me, "The fingers of those two are numb. Take off their jackets and boots, and bring in a bucket of snow." Soon I was rubbing their blue feet with snow.

We learned that the stocky, dark- haired fellow was Jim; his friend, tall and slender, was Robin. Harry, the wounded one, was now sleeping on my bed, his face as white as the snow outside. They'd lost their battalion and had wandered in the forest for three days, looking for the Americans, hiding from the Germans. They hadn't shaved, but still, without their heavy coats, they looked merely like big boys. And that was the way Mother began to treat them.

Now Mother said to me, "Go get Hermann. And bring six potatoes."

This was a serious departure from our pre-Christmas plans. Hermann was the plump rooster(named after portly Hermann Guring, Hitler's No. 2, for whom Mother had little affection) that we had been fattening for weeks in the hope that Father would be home for Christmas. But, some hours before, when it was obvious that Father would not make it, Mother had decided that Hermann should live a few more days, in case Father could get home for New Year's. Now she had changed her mind again: Hermann would serve an immediate, pressing purpose.

While Jim and I helped with the cooking, Robin took care of Harry. He had a bullet through his upper leg, and had almost bled to death. Mother tore a bedsheet into long strips for bandages.

Soon, the tempting smell of roast chicken permeated our room. I was setting the table when once again there came a knock at the door. 

Expecting to find more lost Americans, I opened the door without hesitation. There stood four soldiers, wearing uniforms quite familiar to me after five years of war. They were Wehrmacht! Germans!

I was paralyzed with fear. Although still a child, I knew the harsh law: sheltering enemy soldiers constituted high treason. We could all be shot! Mother was frightened, too. Her face was white, but she stepped outside and said, quietly, "Fröhliche Weihnachten." The soldiers wished her a Merry Christmas, too.

"We have lost our regiment and would like to wait for daylight," explained the corporal. "Can we rest here?"

"Of course," Mother replied, with a calmness born of panic. "You can also have a fine, warm meal and eat till the pot is empty."

The Germans smiled as they sniffed the aroma through the half-open door. "But," Mother added firmly, "we have three other guests, whom you may not consider friends." Now her voice was suddenly sterner than I'd ever heard it before. "This is Christmas Eve, and there will be no shooting here."

"Who's inside?" the corporal demanded. "Amerikaner?"

Mother looked at each frost-chilled face. "Listen," she said slowly. "You could be my sons, and so could those in there. A boy with a gunshot wound, fighting for his life. His two friends lost like you and just as hungry and exhausted as you are. This one night," she turned to the corporal and raised her voice a little, "this Christmas night, let us forget about killing."

The corporal stared at her. There were two or three endless seconds of silence. Then Mother put an end to indecision. "Enough talking!" she ordered and clapped her hands sharply. "Please put your weapons here on the woodpile and hurry up before the others eat the dinner!"

Dazedly, the four soldiers placed their arms on the pile of firewood just inside the door: three carbines, a light machine gun and two bazookas. Meanwhile, Mother was speaking French rapidly to Jim. He said something in English, and to my amazement I saw the American boys, too, turn their weapons over to Mother.

Now, as Germans and Americans tensely rubbed elbows in the small room, Mother was really on her mettle. Never losing her smile, she tried to find a seat for everyone. We had only three chairs, but Mother's bed was big, and on it she placed two of the newcomers side by side with Jim and Robin.

Despite the strained atmosphere, Mother went right on preparing dinner. But Hermann wasn't going to grow any bigger, and now there were four more mouths to feed. "Quick," she whispered to me, "get more potatoes and some oats. These boys are hungry, and a starving man is an angry one."

While foraging in the storage room, I heard Harry moan. When I returned, one of the Germans had put on his glasses to inspect the American's wound. "Do you belong to the medical corps?" Mother asked him. "No," he answered. "But I studied medicine at Heidelberg until a few months ago." Thanks to the cold, he told the Americans in what sounded like fairly good English, Harry's wound hadn't become infected. "He is suffering from a severe loss of blood," he explained to Mother. "What he needs is rest and nourishment."

Relaxation was now beginning to replace suspicion. Even to me, all the soldiers looked very young as we sat there together. Heinz and Willi, both from Cologne, were 16. The German corporal, at 23, was the oldest of them all. From his food bag he drew out a bottle of red wine, and Heinz managed to find a loaf of rye bread. Mother cut that in small pieces to be served with the dinner; half the wine, however, she put away "for the wounded boy."

Then Mother said grace. I noticed that there were tears in her eyes as she said the old, familiar words, "Komm, Herr Jesus. Be our guest." And as I looked around the table, I saw tears, too, in the eyes of the battle-weary soldiers, boys again, some from America, some from Germany, all far from home.

Just before midnight, Mother went to the doorstep and asked us to join her to look up at the Star of Bethlehem. We all stood beside her except Harry, who was sleeping. For all of us during that moment of silence, looking at the brightest star in the heavens, the war was a distant, almost-forgotten thing.

Our private armistice continued next morning. Harry woke in the early hours, and swallowed some broth that Mother fed him. With the dawn, it was apparent that he was becoming stronger. Mother now made him an invigorating drink from our one egg, the rest of the corporal's wine and some sugar. Everyone else had oatmeal. Afterward, two poles and Mother's best tablecloth were fashioned into a stretcher for Harry.

The corporal then advised the Americans how to find their way back to their lines. Looking over Jim's map, the corporal pointed out a stream. "Continue along this creek," he said, "and you will find the 1st Army rebuilding its forces on its upper course." The medical student relayed the information in English.

"Why don't we head for Monschau?" Jim had the student ask. "Nein!" the corporal exclaimed. "We've retaken Monschau."

Now Mother gave them all back their weapons. "Be careful, boys," she said. "I want you to get home someday where you belong. God bless you all!" The German and American soldiers shook hands, and we watched them disappear in opposite directions.

When I returned inside, Mother had brought out the old family Bible. I glanced over her shoulder. The book was open to the Christmas story, the Birth in the Manger and how the Wise Men came from afar bearing their gifts. Her finger was tracing the last line from Matthew 2:12: "...they departed into their own country another way."

Warm and Fuzzy

I got an early Christmas present today. Diamond Jim called me just to wish me a merry Christmas. And, he has decided to be a willing participant in this next years' tax preparation.

The Rest of the Story

Back Story 1: Last year I had a horrible client who went out of his way to be just as nasty as can be. I brought him five offers in 36 hours. This wasn't because I was a rock star real estate agent, it was because of the market conditions at the time. However, three of the offers were over asking price. In return for selling his house (twice--the first buyer walked because he was such a jerk), he belittled me, abused me and made me question whether a true jury of my peers could possibly question my motives. As soon as my commission check came, I slapped it down on a vacation to Uncle Sunshine's island and to visit the MouseHouse in Orlando as a way to celebrate Marty Sunshine's upcoming 50th birthday.

Back Story 2: The day before Thanksgiving, I was attacked by the feral kitten I was rescuing from certain death. As a reward for saving this cat's life, the beast rendered my right thumb unusable for more than two weeks. Even as I type this, there is still a little bit of sting where her fang went straight through to the bone. Stupid cat.

So, I went to visit Uncle Sunshine's island paradise. The major downside of this is that it is 2,300 mile drive from my desert home. In exchange for pleasant company and a little bit of helping out Uncle Sunshine with odd jobs, we had a fabulous beach house to stay in where Marty, the kids and I could just forget 2013 even happened--which was fine by me. So, as we were hanging out one night I got a "welcome to the family" e-mail on my phone which told me Kirby has sold his company to Mario.

Many things happened from that e-mail. First, it put a major damper on my vacation. And, because my texting thumb was incapacitated (stupid cat), I was unable to completely express my displeasure about this arrangement. Not that anyone cared what I thought anyway. But the major issue I faced was my gut tied in about 16 knots and I felt green. The result being that I knew I would rather go back to managing these properties myself than go with Mario.

As I toyed seriously with calling Carolsue, seeing what she had going on for the next 18 months and begging her to please drop everything and let me bug her endlessly until the end of time, Daisy came through with another plan. This plan would bring a bit more sanity to Carolsue. Daisy--who was about to be unemployed--was shopping around for another property management brokerages to work with before her last day with Kirby's now-defunct company. She had a couple of interviews with different property management firms. And, great news! None of those companies are ones I have personally sicked the Alabama Attorney General's office on.

Even though Daisy was changing companies, I wasn't sure I really wanted to follow her either. After all, what if her new company was one of the previous rejects from my already long list of, "I will never do business with in Alabama. Ever."? She eventually found a company she liked. I actually talked to the broker for 30 minutes while waiting for my family to get off Splash Mountain. I asked all sorts of question that either baffled or impressed the new broker.

"Do you have a clause in your tenant agreement that says if the landlord is forced to call a repairman for something stupid you caused, you--Dear Tenant--will pay for it?" Yes they do.

"Do you give keys to random strangers who say they want to see a vacant home and then just expect this person off the street to go view the property, lock the house back up and return the key (without making a copy, stealing the copper or just moving in?" No. They don't.

And of course, there was my essay question as well: "How do all'y'all feel about Section 8 tenants?" He and I were of a like mind on that one.

As it turns out, the new company sounds acceptable. I negotiated a reasonable rate with them--that's something you can do when your new leasing agent is offering to bring over landlords with a gazillion homes to add to your inventory.

I was able to send one long-ish e-mail with hopefully no typos to Mario on my phone (stupid cat) explaining he was not getting my gazillion homes and please stop sending me endless boilerplate e-mails about what a "great opportunity" this will be for me. To his credit, Mario handled the news with a lot of class and asked if we could "discuss this further." (Note to Mario: No. No we can't.) And Bliz--God bless her--wrote a letter on my behalf cutting my former ties. Apparently my phone/e-mail wouldn't do. It had to be a letter and it was very time sensitive.

Hopefully this new change will be the start of a brighter future.

Everyone Should Know

Happy birthday to Marty Sunshine who just happens to turn 50 today.

Hope it is a wonderful day! 

Coming Up Daisies

I am in week two of my vacation and about as relaxed as a girl can be. Under the circumstances.

Maybe even a little bit more.

To back up, the Friday after Thanksgiving Daisy sent me an e-mail saying my home in Pinson is about to be vacant and she may want to rent it out herself. This was news to me because I had no idea it was about to be vacant. Daisy said she was traveling that weekend and just let her know. What I found out through the course of the next few days is that Daisy's brother was on life support and they were planning on saying good-bye the following Wednesday. That would be the same Wednesday that Mario sent a "welcome to the family" letter to me and all of Kirby's landlords.

I knew about Daisy's situation so I thought I would wait until Thursday to ask her what was going on. However, many landlords who were unaware of her family issue did not know and they called her immediately--while she was in the hospital grieving over her dear brother. And that's how she found out she was going to be unemployed at the end of the year.

Meanwhile, Daisy and I chatted via text, with me hearing from her every so often with a note from her saying, "I will call you in 10 minutes," which she never did. Finally today--the day after the funeral--I called her. Though I wish to be sympathetic to her situation, I still needed to figure out what to do.

It turns out Daisy has been offered another another position with a different company and if I wanted, she would take my homes with her. Apparently her opinion of Mario and mine are about the same with her saying a few more choice adjectives to describe him and his lineage.

Truthfully, I wasn't sure if I wanted her to take all my homes. "Is the company you would be working for the same one I had discussed in length with the Alabama Attorney General's office?" I asked? No. "Is it any of the following companies I immensely dislike?" I asked, listing off about six of them. Apparently not. "Are other landlords going with you too?" Yes they are. "Will you honor the property management agreements I have in place already?" Yes she will. There were a bunch more questions. But you get the gist.

One idea was to let Mario have the other home I have in Calera (he manages one down there already) and my home in Alabaster. These properties are all located near each other and away from my other gazillion homes.  I also offered her a chance too not manage my vacant home in Centerpoint. Mario manages a few homes already on that street and that one seems to be a bit of a challenge. Daisy wanted to keep all of those properties. And all the other ones she takes care of too.

We also talked about my other drama that I was made privy of by Opal last week: My tenant in Fultondale is still behind on the rent. That is something for another blog and not something I want to address this week. Essentially, I want to get through my vacation first.

And yes, for the record, if Daisy wants to rent the home in Pinson, it was hers. But if she is living there it won't be in property management and she needed to fill out all of my applications and lease documents. She said she would let me know over the weekend if it would work for her. Hopefully this will all work out for the best.

Mario's Way or the Highway

Once upon a time, Mario called me up (at Carolsue's recommendation), introduced himself and told me he wanted to manage all my homes. I gave him one to try him out. While we were in the getting-to-know-you phase, Mario called me and asked for directions about the vacancy I had. I told him what I wanted done and without a moment's hesitancy replied, "Why don't you ask your husband what he thinks and get back to me."

Ten minutes after uttering those fateful words, he was on the phone with Marty Sunshine. Mario apparently lamented that perhaps his comment was a bit unseemly and he was pretty sure he lost any chance--ever--to manage all of my homes. Marty was sympathetic and non-committal to poor Mario, but the damage was done.

Though I am great at holding a grudge, it really isn't Mario's (Southern) attitude that kept me from dropping all of my rentals on his lap. It is the fact Mario is expensive. In the past, he has charged me a great deal of money--more than I have ever paid to turn over a vacant home. This has happened twice, with rent being withheld for months at a time. His vendors are pricey. I have worked hard to establish good relationships with my vendors but Mario won't use them unless I am forewarned there is an issue and I absolutely insist (which in the past I have). I can't prove it, but I suspect Mario's company tends to up charge his vendors. For example, if a tenant needs a plumber, he sends the plumber out, the plumber bills Mario's company and Mario's company adds a bit on top and bills me.

And then there is the issue of the useless expenses. One time the tenant had the AC company come out because they didn't change the battery in the thermostat. I fought with Mario's company about the $85 trip charge that I still don't think should have been billed to me for the tenant's laziness. Stupid expenses make me crazy. It isn't their money they are spending, it is mine.

Nor do I care for Mario's staff. I once sent an e-mail to one of Mario's minions asking a quick question. He replied, "go to our web site, log in and watch a video on how to handle this." All I wanted was the form needed to change the bank account number where we were getting our rent disbursement. I still haven't changed the bank account number because I can't figure out the stupid Web site and Mario's entire office insists on practicing tough love instead of customer service.

That said, Mario's folks have gotten the one house they manage of mine rented in record time. Twice. Perhaps it is the house (it is one of my nicest). Perhaps it is the neighborhood. Maybe they have just gotten lucky twice. But for whatever reason it is rented. For that I can't complain.

Kirby on the other hand doesn't nickle and dime me. I can use my own vendors and I have never gotten calls about tenants doing something stupid and me having to pay for it. However, Kirby has decided to sell his company. He has the right to do so. And Mario's company must be a decent fit for this merger. Kirby is big into service, happy owners (or at least happy me). But my houses are definitely vacant longer. And again, the houses Kirby is managing are in different neighborhoods and have a different feel than Mario's home, so I can't exactly conduct a scientific comparison.

I am not excited about this merger. The only certainty I have right now is that I do know I won't be managing these homes myself.

Heath Bell is No Longer a Diamondback and Other News

I was having a great vacation. And, to top it all off, I finally was connected to the internet and discovered Heath Bell had been traded to the Tampa Bay Rays. So, if being on a remote island wasn't great enough, finding out the Diamondbacks had rid themselves of a has-been player who (in my opinion) single-handedly blew the Dbaks first place lead was sheer heaven. Heaven I tell you!

Then I got an e-mail yesterday that changed my entire vacation outlook. Apparently Mario's property management company had acquired Kirby's company. The letter said it was a friendly merger--and it explains why Kirby hadn't bothered to return a few of my messages in the past few weeks. Messages that would have been relevant if he had long-term plans to keep his company--which apparently he did not.

I don't have a reference to know if this is good or bad for my accidental business. I don't like Mario. That's why he only manages one of my homes. I like Kirby. That's why for the next few weeks at least, he manages most of my homes. Mario will have to honor the contracts Kirby and I have in place, which means I won't be able to snatch these homes out of property management and then what? Manage them myself? Give them to another company? What company? I have interviewed pretty much every property management company in Central Alabama. To give you an idea of what I think about them, Mario's company is my second-favorite.

Daisy sent me a text this morning. She had been out all week, she knew I called Monday (not related to the merger). Her note said she needed to talk with me. She said she would call me when she could but right now she was dealing with the "disaster" of her company going away. Disaster was her word, the rest I am paraphrasing. I am guessing as soon as I talk with her I will have a reference on how I need proceed.

Checked Out

2013 has probably been one of the most yucky in my life. Thank God Alabama wasn't as much of a problem as it could have been. I am not sure I could have handled any more drama.

And there is drama. I got an earful I wasn't expecting yesterday when I called from a rest stop off of I-10 and asked an innocent question. I managed to mind my manners as Opal--Kirby's administrative assistant--spilled the beans.

I realized as she gave me an earful there wasn't much I could do about it at that moment. In fact, I am not going to do anything about it for a few days. For now I am here with a panoramic view of paradise on Uncle Sunshine's island. I told Bliz today that I expect to be totally relaxed by Friday. But I don't think she believes me.

Ta Da!

This is Mrs. Sherwood's new floor. Awesome isn't it.

Thanksgiving

So, I stopped by and saw my loan officer friend yesterday. He was introduced to me by Diamond Jim many years ago. As we were talking, he discovered that no, I had never lived in Birmingham. Apparently he assumed that was why I had bought a gazillion homes there. Nope.

After giving him the Reader's Digest version of how we ended up investing there and explaining I was frantically working on a Wayback Machine so I could go warn my 2002 self what I was in for, he said, "You are probably the only property investor I know who owns more than five rental homes and still has them since the collapse. Do you know how extraordinary you are to have made every mortgage payment?"

Extraordinary? I don't feel extraordinary. I feel exhausted. The extraordinary hat really doesn't seem to fit.

Yes. we have made all of our payments--sometimes at the expense of our personal grocery budget. We have made every payment on time too. I know there are investors out there who for one reason or another did not survive. I know what they went through. I don't think they gave up or took the easy way out. If we hadn't gone halfsies with Mr. Partner on our expenses we would be one of those folks. The odds were against us in 2008 and 2009. In fact, the only reason we survived in 2008 is someone bought one of our rentals. The money we made gave us enough cash to carry us through the summer of our seven simultaneous vacancies and one tenant bankruptcy.

I don't talk much about my faith. But if you know me personally, you know it is an important part of who I am. About 2009 Marty Sunshine and I started a family prayer routine with our kids. I believe in my heart it has been the cornerstone of what has kept us going with our accidental business. There have been many prayers for Alabama. For Mr. Partner. For the rest of the folks we work with in Alabama and beyond who have helped us along the way. We have prayed endlessly for our tenants. We still pray for a few past tenants--wherever they might be. And, we thank God for His continued blessings, the courage to embrace hard work and to recognize opportunities to fix our undercapitalized issues. Because we aren't truly extraordinary. We have just been blessed.

A Small Price To Pay

Other than undercapitalized issues, two vacancies and a third tenant who is thisclose to eviction (according to my sources), the only other Alabama drama going on right now is Mrs. Sherwood's flooring. You see, she has this carpeting in her kitchen that was installed in the early 1960s. It looks like--and I am not making this up--brown chain links on a dingy mustard background. Except the brown is more of a garish dried blood brown. At any rate, it is ugly. And old. And because it has 50+ years of spills, splatters and who knows what else landing on it, it is pretty gross.

When I went to visit earlier this year, Mrs. Sherwood and I chatted about her kitchen floor and she asked if she could have something newer and more attractive installed. Given Mrs. Sherwood has lived in this house since 2007, rarely pays late and handles all the minor fixes herself, this is a small request. After all, I have been expecting her to give notice any day for the past three years.

Also, I happen to know if she shopped around she would find out she is paying 2007 rental prices in a 2013 rental market (rents in general have dropped about 20 percent). So, if Mrs. Sherwood wants new flooring, I think I can find a way to accommodate that. Or at least I felt that way back in March when she asked. And besides, when she eventually moves out, I will have to have it replaced it anyway.

Fast forwarding eight months, when Mrs. Sherwood brought to my attention last month that I had agreed to new flooring, I was dealing with a bad-ass sinus infection threatening to turn into pneumonia and had a myriad of personal issues swarming around me. In addition, if you back up to last summer, on the Alabama front as you may (or may not recall), I had been dealing with attorneys, vacancies and Alabama Power. So, Mrs. Sherwood's kitchen floor was pretty far from the front of my to-do list.

Frankly, I had completely forgotten about the flooring until she brought it up again last month.

Though I remembered discussing this last March, what I wasn't certain about is what kind of deal we made. And finally, I had to admit this to Mrs. Sherwood. I hated to loose the upper hand, because for all I know I could have agreed to hardwoods throughout the house last spring. Turns out it was just the kitchen. And Mrs. Sherwood said that I had agreed to buy the materials and she would handle the rest. To her credit, she shopped around a bit, decided on a dark laminate and found a great deal for me. She tells me Howie the Handyman will be installing the flooring this week--just in time for Thanksgiving.

Hopefully the $600 I spent on flooring will keep Mrs. Sherwood happy for another several years.

Chalkville is Lovely This Time of Year

So I got a text from Daisy yesterday. Did I have any vacant upcoming homes in the new year? She was looking for herself. I would like to point out Daisy works for a property management company which manages about 250 homes. With an average industry turnover of five percent that company is looking at 12 to 13 homes per month coming vacant. So, she doesn't necessarily need one of mine to rent.

However, as it happens, I currently have two properties that might interest her. Daisy is intimately familiar with these homes, as I contact her about once a week to say, "It's rented now, right?" At which point Daisy takes a play from Kirby's book and ignores me--but thus answers my question anyway. I presume I would hear a choir of angels rejoicing moments before I got a call from Daisy saying, "I've got a tenant."

I threw both vacant houses at her at got a varied response of, "that one is a bit too far," (which I suspect means the same thing as, "that house is a half mile from Kirby's place") for the one in Chalkville to the very diplomatic-not-a-violation-of-any-federal-fair-housing-law-whatsoever response of, "I am not sure I am a good fit for the neighborhood," for my home in Centerpoint. Truthfully, unless she is a drug lord, murderer or has gang ties, I suspect she isn't a good fit either.

I was baffled by Daisy's request to rent one of my properties and wondered exactly what kinds of homes she sees every day in her job that makes mine so attractive. Not that mine are all that bad. They mostly aren't. No matter, if I can get rid of some of my dead wood tenants, that was fine with me. I have a Section 8 tenant whom I am not excited about. Her lease is up December 31st. I told Daisy to tour the house, if she liked it, give a 30 day notice to the tenant. I would love to replace the Section 8 tenant with someone different (one of these days I really should write about this tenant).

The tenants in house in Fultondale pay late every month. They give Kirby and Daisy fits. The tenants are in continual violation of their lease. I told Daisy if she wanted that house, go ahead and do the same there too.

In both cases I am serious. But I will let Kirby decide if this can happen. Otherwise, I have a lovely home in Chalkville that might be of interest if she needs to move sooner than later.

Changes

It was too easy. That's what I told myself today as I left my now-former broker's office. After 10+ years with the same company (the ones with the gold sport coats), I decided to go hang my license with a smaller brokerage.

The decision wasn't spontaneous. I had been thinking about it for some time. And, when I decided this is what I wanted to do, the particular company I am now working for was not high on my list. The broker--who now happens to be my new boss--got into the business at the same time I did. A former used car salesman, he was my mentor the first year I was in the biz. Over the course of time he got his broker's license. He bought a property management company and that is now what he is doing. Just like Kirby and Mario.

When I told my now-former broker I was leaving. She didn't react the way I expected her to, though I am not sure what I expected really. Crying and hysterics? A fist-pump along with a good riddance? I didn't expect she would take it so... so.. well.

At the very least, I expected her to tell me that being affiliated with a national company was worth something. Here's a hint for those of you who aren't in the know: the national company doesn't do a thing for agents. Agents still have to find their own leads. They still have to pay for their own advertising. All agents--no matter what size company they are affiliated with--have access to the same web sites, multiple listing information and the like. The difference is if one is affiliated with a national name, they pay more in fees.

And, in case it matters, if you need the services of a quality agent, the best place to look is one of those mom and pop companies. Why? Because no broker of a small company is going to hire a part-time or green agent. The liability is too great. The small boutique brokerages pay more for better agents because those agents don't have to be trained and there is a smaller chance of a lawsuit. When I negotiated my new pay structure I threw that at my new broker and he agreed--which will help my bottom line. But it is true. The new agents go to the mega-companies because the smaller brokerages won't take the risk.

But I digress...

When I told my now-former broker where I was going (something I was dreading her asking--given this was her top agent who left years ago and I am told by my sources there was some bad blood at the time) she said she had never heard of my new company. I figured it would take her about three nano-seconds after I walked out the door for it to dawn on her. Then she would either hate me or ask me to come back with a better offer.

For the record, she came back with a better offer. But money isn't the only reason I am moving on. And also for the record, it really is unproductive to entice someone to come back by throwing more money at them. If they want to leave, they will do it anyway--either now or later. And by keeping them just a teensy bit longer, all you have done is buy their loyalty for the short-term. This is true in business and in rental homes. Let them go.

The irony of it all is that I am working for a company that pretty much mirrors Kirby's brokerage. Both companies have about the same number of homes. This new company has a Kirby, a Daisy and an Opal. And now they have a me. I am excited. I am still a sales agent. And I won't be doing leasing exclusively (because my opinion of leasing homes hasn't changed). However, in the short-term, this is part of the deal. Which is fine given my under-capitalized issues being what they are and all. In the six hours I have been with my new company, I have already leased a home. I can't complain.The decision was right. It was time.

Modern Technology

Last week during my marathon real estate days, I talked to Daisy and explained that I wasn't going to be near a computer for a good long while and please text me if she needed anything.

Ten minutes later she did. I replied with, "It was actually a trap. Now I have your cell number."

Daisy, who instantly realized it was not a good scenario for a landlord to have her private cell number (I didn't actually expect she would text me), probably swore up and down and then wrote me back with a few other choice words.

At any rate, now Daisy texts me things like, "The house in Moody is rented." And I am happy.

I can also ask her about the house in Centerpoint and the house in Chalkville.  I did notice when I asked about these two properties today she somehow didn't feel the need to get back to me right away. That's ok. Because I have Kirby's cell number too.

One Down, Two to Go

Today was the second day in a row I have left my home at 7 a.m. in search of remedying our undercapitalized issues. However today I did not make it home until 7:30 p.m. At one point, I jotted over to my office to check my e-mail. In it was a lovely note from Daisy. She had rented my home if I was willing to take "those folks."

Though I greatly appreciated her e-mail, I had no idea which home or who "those folks" happen to be. When I called her I got a better scope of the situation. It turns out Daisy is sick and shouldn't be at work, let alone writing e-mails to desperate landlords. However, I am glad she did. I like reading the words, "rented."

The house in question happens to be the one in Moody. She told me it was a nice couple with ties to the area. I froze in terror. Two of the last three sets of tenants were also "nice" with ties to the area. I quickly made sure we weren't looking at Mr. Smith moving back in (as a refresher, you may recall the unemployed Mr. Smith lives across the street with his wife, his 49 offspring and his ultra-proud father-in-law--who is supporting his daughter, her children and her dead-beat husband).

I also sweetly inquired if half of the "nice couple" Daisy mentioned happened to include Ms. Kathy, the other deadbeat former tenant whose sister happens to live next door. Before she answered me, she let out a string of Dayquil-induced profanities, indicating this house had a lot of hidden baggage and either she did not need to know this, or perhaps it was best I told her prior to her showing it to the "nice couple."

And then, still not answering my question, she put the phone down and I heard her say, "Hey Kirby, did you know about the house in Moody and the former tenants who live next door and across the street?" I am guessing based on her next litany of cuss words, she found out Kirby did know. At any rate, it doesn't appear the "nice couple" includes Ms. Kathy either. That's a relief.

The couple in question have been approved by me and are moving in this weekend. The home was vacant for less than a month.

For those of you counting, that is one down, and two to go. 

On a Brighter Note

It turns out the folks in Fultondale decided they don't want to be evicted and have straightened out at least for now. I can handle "for now."

I don't know all the details to why Kirby and Daisy felt they needed to be evicted. But that is fine. I don't need that added stress.

The Tale Of The Two Text Messengers

Yesterday I sent Ms. Angie a text that basically said, "Let me know rent is coming on time and for the love of all that is good and just you aren't in jail again." Ok, I only sent the first clause, but the second part of that sentence was implied.

And then I heard nothing.

This morning I sent a text saying, "I didn't hear from you yesterday and that is not a good sign. I am not in the mood for surprises. Please tell me rent will be on time." And yes, I sent that one in its entirety.

To her credit, Ms. Angie did reply. Apparently she is not in jail. She let me know rent was coming. On time.

Mrs. Sherwood also sent me a text today telling me she wants to collect on the offer I made with her months earlier when our accidental business looked a bit brighter. She wants new flooring in the kitchen. I had agreed to pay half of the new flooring costs.

I certainly can't blame her for wanting this change. Her current kitchen flooring is from another era. And it is rather ugly yellow and brown patterned carpet that has no business in the kitchen. Even casino carpeting is more attractive.

Mrs. Sherwood has also been in my home since 2007 and doesn't seem to be interested in leaving any time soon. That's a good thing, because I will take a $300 rent reduction if I have to lease this place out again. Besides, she takes great care of the house. I am happy to hold up my end of the bargain once I get rid of these crazy vacancies.

Request

Daisy, Kirby's assistant, sent me an e-mail today telling me that she has showings lined up for all three vacancies. It doesn't mean they are rented, but just that people are interested. She ended her e-mail to me with the following: "Pray!"

I have to tell you, I pray every day. Lately I have added prayers that these homes will be rented with quality folks. If you are the praying type, I am asking for help. Please pray with me.

Thanks.

Cutting Kirby Some Slack

As you may recall, I would rather give birth to 20 pound triplets without any form of pain relief than work rentals. But, to give you an idea of how desperate undercapitalized we are at the moment, I called my buddies at not one, but two, property management companies begging to work rentals for them this weekend. In both cases, I was happily given a litany of homes from both agencies and I promptly put them on craigslist.

It is now Saturday around 3:30 and yet the phone hasn't rung even once. No e-mails from a crazy person asking if they and their 47 live wildebeests can rent a home in some posh Scottsdale neighborhood. And will the landlord take a $1,500 a month rent reduction? And--in case it comes up--Mr. Wildebeest just happens to be a convicted serial ax murderer with a 506 FICO score. Will that be an issue?

I am guessing if the rental market is this quiet in the US's fifth largest metropolitan area, Birmingham can't be any better. But I am hoping it is. 

Moody

It appears we won't be refinancing the home in Moody. Though we would have a lower interest rate, the difference in payment is negligible.

If it matters, I am cranky.

Nobody Has To Read This

It is an understatement to say October, 2013 has been one of my toughest. I don't wish to whine about my personal life. But come on, 2013 as a whole has kind of sucked. It isn't just the Alabama accidental business either. But I have to tell you, that alone is playing a larger than necessary role in my already totally crappy October.

There was a time a few years back when we were faced with tough times in our accidental business and I would actively look for solutions. Then we used up those solutions. Then other tough times happened and we managed to endure. Then things went well for a very long stretch. In fact I even thought--dare I say it--the worst was over.

Then we had a vacant home that will never be rented. Then Ms. Angie went to jail twice. Then we had a tenant skip out. Then Mrs. Green needed to move. And then this past week Daisy, Kirby's assistant, sent me an email yesterday saying the people in Fultondale need to be evicted. NOW.

The house in Fultondale happens to be one of the three Marty Sunshine and I own without a partner. So for those of you keeping track: we have the one in Grayson Valley that Jack bailed on us, the vacant one that Mrs. Green lived in (and is currently vacant) and the one in Fultondale.

In the past three weeks (on top of the utterly other rotten things going on) Marty and I have done some serious financial maneuvering to figure out if we can hold on. We changed our personal budget to accommodate our issues over there, including dropping a lot of extras in our lives and changing Marty's retirement holdings. We are looking at refinancing a couple of homes--which never goes well, given banks don't to like to refinance for landlords who have more than four properties. So, I am not certain we will be refinancing.

I don't have the money to pay the property taxes. Nor do I have the money to pay November's mortgages if Ms. Angie goes to jail again. If Kirby doesn't get these places rented, I will definitely not have December's mortgage money either. That's a big concern. It used to be this made me anxious. Now I am just embittered.

Yesterday Kirby gave me numbers for potential outcomes if I sell the home in Moody. It is doable--if indeed anyone will quickly buy the home. It doesn't do me well to let the property sit vacant for four months waiting for a buyer. So, we are looking into that. It is also one of the homes Marty is speaking with the bank about refinancing.

Marty Sunshine tells me this blog post is "incredibly negative." What if it is? This is where I'm at right now. It ain't pretty, but it is the best I can do.

Public Service Announcement

For the love of all things, if you want to rent a home be sure you clean up your social media accounts. Landlords don't like finding XXX Twitter sites for potential tenants. Just saying...

The Way To An Attorney's Heart

When one can't pay the mortgages, one certainly can't pay the attorney who handled a small administrative matter. So, I have been sorta sitting by, letting Attorney Flip's extra-large bill gather dust. Once in a while I will look at it, groan and then shove it out of sight only to repeat the process a week or so later.

Fortunately (for Flip), Mr. Partner brought in an infuse of cash that he owed recently. The mortgages are covered and we have enough left over to give Attorney Flip a nugget or two. In preparation for this monumental event, and because I got another "past due" bill from him today, I sent him an e-mail telling him I was making a payment. I thanked him for his patience.

In a strange turn, Attorney Flip--the same man who would not return my e-mails and phone calls for the past year--actually responded in about 10 minutes flat with a "no problem, hope all is well," e-mail.

If you are counting, that is two times in the past year I have heard from him. Perhaps a new record.

You've Now Read It All

So Ms. Angie went to jail again. For those of you keeping track, that was twice in 30 days. I would raise a skeptical eyebrow and say, "uh huh" but it really wouldn't change the realities here.

What I do know is that Ms. Angie's September rent hasn't shown up. I did receive most of August's rent (late) and I have no reason not to believe her. Let's face it, Ms. Angie (nor anyone else) has ever used the excuse, "I was in jail and I needed the rent money to bail me out." Twice. Ever. And I promise you, I have heard some very interesting excuses.

I find her story somewhat plausible because both times this happened in Leeds. And, as a matter of interest, I almost got arrested in Leeds once for taking a picture on the public sidewalk. I was told later by someone (Jack I think, but it might have been Carolsue) that if I hadn't been white I probably would have been arrested. Now, I am not saying Leeds is a bigoted backwater 1940s, Southern town, but let the inferences land where they may.

And as another matter of interest, it would be best not to have an African American rent the home I have in Leeds (if it were available). That is, if an African American actually wanted to rent my home in Leeds. So far no one has jumped at that opportunity. But I digress...

Anyway, Ms. Angie was arrested again on (what she tells me) an outstanding traffic warrant. I told her to please stay out of Leeds. Leeds doesn't like her. And, because I currently have two vacancies in this particular LLC and if I were to let her go I would take an immediate reduction in rent--barring I got the place rented prior to January--I am working with her again this month. Besides, other than the last two months, she has been a really good tenant.

When I spoke with her today I made her cry. I think if I had gotten angry and nasty, she would have felt better. But I was already weary with this week's drama on actually paying the mortgages. So, I wasn't up to yelling at her.

I believe in my heart this will be straightened up. She will pay off her debt to me (I expect to see some money in a week or so). In the mean time, it would be best if Ms. Angie just stayed out of jail.

I Should Open a Thrift Store

I don't really understand this. And before I became a landlord I wouldn't have believed it. But my first tenant in Phoenix did this. I thought it was just her. Now I realize it happens often. Tenants just leave their stuff behind. It used to blow me away. Now I just accept it.

But really, if you could cart it into your home, why can't you cart it out of your home? And for that matter, if you didn't want it when you moved out, why did you want it when you moved in? 

The Rest of the Story

In addition to the two vacancies with the LLC with Mr. Partner, I asked Mr. and Mrs. Green to move this past summer. They finally left last month. So, though Mr. Partner has two vacancies, Marty Sunshine and I have three.

A quick background on the Greens. I loved them. I adored them. They would actually Fed Ex me the rent if it was a day late. They were my tenants for five years. Then Mrs. Green lost her job with no notice this past New Year's Day. I let her limp along for a month or two, with the idea that I would look them in the eye during my trip last spring and ask them to leave.

Except within that LLC I had another vacancy that needed a lot of time and attention. This particular LLC does ok with one vacant home, but two empty houses is a bit out of my budget. And the house in question was "managed" by my former-partner Jack. Jack neglected to mention the house needed flooring, roof repair, a hot water heater and significant outdoor drainage reconstruction when he begged out, leaving these issues for Marty and I to fend for ourselves. So essentially when I got to Birmingham, Mr. and Mrs. Green won the landlord lottery.

I believe in my heart the Greens were trying as hard as they could to make things right in their life. I also believe she didn't want to move. She would tell me about job interviews. I knew she was borrowing money from her son who is stationed somewhere where he is eligible for combat pay--and this was even with the reduction in rent. Somewhere around July, I did ask them to leave. I told her if she stayed current and kept the place clean, I would refund her security deposit.

Mrs. Green didn't leave until the second week of September and by then she was in for two month's of rent. So, the security deposit is mine. She also left the place clean except she left half of her worldly possessions behind, leaving Kirby to figure out where to donate them.

 Right now I am juggling these three vacancies, and wondering what needs to happen. I know I have done this before, but all I remember is the stress, not the solutions. At this moment, I have no answers.

Welcome Back to 2008

I'm Not Falling Apart, is the name of a fun little ditty by Maroon 5. And it pretty much sums up my day.

I would like to tell you that all is hunky dory in my accidental business, but we ended up with some hiccups last month when it came to mortgage payments. And, for the first time in 10 years we bounced some payments. Like a lot of payments.

A lot.

Some of this had to do with Ms. Angie going to jail. But most of it had to do with Kirby billing me for a ton of repairs he had done on our properties and not telling me upfront he was going to do that. And, when I found out this happened--two days after the first NSF--he sheepishly informed me that most of the repairs were completed, except for a teensy one that would show up in September's statement that needed to happen in our Section 8 house so that we could get the rent. And by the way, that was only $1500.

So, already being under-capitalized and having a vacant home in the LLC we have with Mr. Partner, we ran into some struggles in September. And then I had enough NSFs to balance the National Debt to round out that stretch of 30 days. But that was last month. 

Except now we are in October. And the work on the Section 8 home needed to be paid. And apparently my tenants in Moody, after making a huge stink about me replacing the bathroom floor--which I did--snuck out in the middle of the night and haven't left a forwarding address. I found this little gem out about four hours ago.

When I did the calculations, it looks like we are going to be short again this month. Mr. Partner has been informed of this. I don't know if he cares right now. He might care October 16 when mortgages are officially late.

I lived through this type of drama once before and it took its toll on my health, well-being and sanity. I am not in the mood for it again. And Marty Sunshine is certainly not in the mood for me to fall apart.