The Daisy Chronicles--The Last Straw

For you three long-time readers, you may remember Baseball Guy.  I don't write much about him. Baseball Guy is a tenant from years gone by. For a while he lived in Ms. Angie's home--long before Ms. Angie lived there.

He happens to be related to Carolsue, which would chalk him up higher in my esteem if I didn't already think the world of him. Baseball Guy is former military, he has done a plethora of odd jobs for me over the past ten years and he likes baseball. He is dearly protective of me and posts some funny things on Facebook. What's not to love?

In the beginning of January, Baseball Guy got wind that I had a vacant home in Centerpoint. This particular home had been vacant for a very long time, and in all fairness I had turned down two Section 8 tenants in the months' past who appeared on paper to be train wrecks and would have probably caused me carpal tunnel syndrome blogging about their shenanigans. However, the house in question was perfect for Baseball Guy. And right after New Year's he asked me if I would rent to him. I didn't blink and immediately gave Daisy a call, filled her in on Baseball Guy's awesomeness and directed her to contact him immediately.

Now before I go on, let's make sure you and I are on the same page. If you are a property manager and one of your best landlords tells you, "Rent this house to my former tenant and friend," you might want to be very careful what you do, lest it gets back to your best landlord. At least that's how I think. But apparently not everyone agrees. But then again, "Everyone" isn't employed any more either.

Though Daisy knew she was to coordinate with Baseball Guy, she managed to blow this in epic proportions. Many things happened that are too numerous to write about in this segment of cyber space. However, Daisy utterly ignored my directive and then brushed off Baseball Guy. Twice. I am not sure how she thought I wouldn't hear about it. After some frantic nudging from me, she managed to finally meet him and get his security deposit. However, even as I write this, Baseball Guy's cash security deposit he gave to Daisy never made it back to Luigi's broker's account (Luigi has since eaten this).

Fast forwarding through three weeks of drama... February 1, Baseball Guy contacted me at some insane hour. He had moved in the Friday before. However, the house was dirty, the stove didn't work, and he wasn't able to turn on the water because he didn't have a lease. Stoves can be fixed. Homes can be cleaned. But he didn't have a lease!? This was news to me. Daisy gave him keys but didn't give him legal rights to the home. I am still having trouble processing that one.

For those of you who aren't outraged by this last statement, let me please explain: If this was anyone other than Baseball Guy, once the tenants are in the door, moved in and hanging up the "Home Sweet Home" sign, they may not feel so inclined to sign that lease. And THERE WOULD BE NOTHING I COULD DO ABOUT IT UNTIL I WENT IN FRONT OF A JUDGE TRYING TO PROVE I DID NOT AGREE TO THIS ARRANGEMENT.

When I am truly angry, it is best to give me space. Once I confirmed with Daisy that she really did indeed do something so heinous, I needed that space. And sadly, Daisy did not give it to me. She kept calling. And texting. And e-mailing. Her excuse was, she was "too busy to give him an actual lease" (but could give him house keys?). My answer was simply, when I am busy I find someone else in my office to handle these things for me. That's why, just like her, I work with other people who do what I do. Or, if that solution isn't possible, I don't let the tenant move in. Even Baseball Guy.

By the time I got Luigi involved, I was beside myself. Personally, I don't know if this is the final straw that got Daisy fired. I suspect she had dug her grave with Luigi and this was just more fuel. But I for one was calling for her head.

Carolsue once told me never to trust anyone from Louisiana. Daisy is from Louisiana. She is the second person I have met from there and her behavior was just like the other Cajun. When Luigi and I were clearing things up in February, figuring out what was what, and working on moving forward, I flat-out asked him if he was from Louisiana. He may have thought it was a random question, but I now know better. 

The Daisy Chronicles

When Daisy offered to take my properties instead of having them go to Mario, I was grateful. But, I was grateful that the homes weren't going to Mario, not that Daisy was somehow saving me. I figured my portfolio of homes would help her look more glamorous to a prospective employer. I was ok with that because I was getting a new property management company.

I didn't sign my homes over until December 31st, a full week and a half after my vacation just to make sure I had taken some time to check out my new company. My thought was it would be nice to have someone I had already trained and someone who knew my tenants handle things for me. A win-win.

Except things took an odd turn. For example, my home in Chalkville that Mrs. Green moved out of months ago still wasn't rented. When I pressed Daisy about it, she told me my rent was too high and there were much nicer homes for rent in that area. Also, she said Mrs. Green hadn't left the home in great condition. None of this made sense to me. I had always had it rented at much higher rent and I had seen this home last year and Mr. and Mrs. Green were immaculate housekeepers.

In February Daisy rented this home for significantly less money and to a Section 8 tenant. When I didn't show the appropriate amount of gratitude, she was floored. That situation has since been fixed, the tenant was told she couldn't move in and I eventually got what I expected for rent for a tenant I wanted. Incidentally, Luigi tells me my home is the nicest in the area.

Also, my tenant at the Grayson Valley home managed to get my work phone number. She knew enough about me--even though I am not on the title for the home--to find me. I believe Daisy gave her information about me so she could find me. I have an unusual first name and a common last name. However, I am not the only person with my name who happens to be a real estate professional in the Phoenix metro area.

Additionally, my tenant in Pinson moved out January 1st. Daisy knew this, assured me the home was picture-perfect. She told me she even went over and personally turned off the water on the property so the pipes won't freeze. Every time I asked, she would tell me she is showing the home, but it is just so far away she is having trouble finding anyone interested. She promised me it was advertised appropriately and my rent was too high--at a price less than I normally was getting. The house in question happens to be in the mountains. It is one of my favorites, with a wrap-around porch and a pond in the back. Some day I may want to live there.

It turns out the house was in no way ready to rent out. It was dirty. There was trash everywhere. It needed a coat soap and three coats of paint. And, the water was never, ever turned off. In the past week, the property was repaired, cleaned up and on the market for what I expect to be a reasonable amount of money. Luigi has been telling me every time he shows it. If Daisy had been straight with me back in early January, everything would have been done by mid-February and probably be rented out by now.

If you factor in the amount of rent I lost in the past few months with her lies and the amount of money needed to get the place back in order, she darn well better hope she doesn't see me any time soon. In fact, I did factor it all in. When this all came to a head in February I discussed this with Luigi. I didn't mince words. I could tell he had his fill of Daisy by then too. And sadly, this wasn't Daisy's biggest transgression.

But, that is for the next blog.

A Quick Summary

If you took the summation of words in the English language and added a few Yiddish ones for color, you still would not have an accurate description of what it has been like for me to own a gazillion rental homes in Alabama for the past three months and eight days. I can tell you this: I did not go to Birmingham. Everything imploded instead.

Let me back up. Last December, while on vacation, I found out that Kirby's company--the one who manages most of my rental homes--was going belly-up January 1. Daisy, who worked for Kirby and was soon to be out of a job, offered to take my properties to her new company. While hanging out at the world's biggest tourist trap in Orlando one sunny December day, I interviewed Luigi, the man who was going to hire Daisy. I liked him. I liked his philosophy on managing rentals. It seemed like a reasonable fit. Though I knew I was making a financial decision based on a 45 minute phone call, it seemed like a better course of action than giving my properties to Mario, managing them myself or interviewing more property management companies. So, Luigi won.

The deal was that Daisy would handle my accounts and Luigi would just cut the landlord checks every month. I was good with that. Except it didn't work that way. Needles to say, I was getting a bit frustrated and thinking I needed to go to Birmingham, put a boot in the ass of someone--and I didn't care who--and find a reasonable property management company to handle my affairs. I was even willing to take a drive down to Montgomery and have a chat with the Real Estate Commissioner if necessary. All I knew was I was bleeding money.

Then, a few simultaneous events happened--which are blogs unto themselves--and I wrote Luigi a quick note. I asked him to handle a few things that I felt Daisy was lacking. She said she was busy and would "get to them." However I didn't feel like I had time to wait. There also seemed to be a personality conflict between Daisy and a new tenant (also a blog for another time) and I was stuck in the middle of, mediating from 1,700 miles away. The final straw came for me when I asked Daisy a business question and she suggested I find her on Facebook and friend her. She never answered my question.

When I wrote Luigi, he did not write me back. He immediately called me instead. He wanted to know if I thought of Daisy's performance thus far. Was this normal for her? Actually no. I explained I was buying my plane ticket that day to go up to Birmingham (I was, actually) and he replied, "Let me save you some air fare. Tell me what you know." And then the dam broke. And I did tell him what I knew. And then some.

Daisy no longer works for Luigi. I haven't heard from her since. And I didn't find her on Facebook.

Spring is Here!

 

We will return to your regularly scheduled blog shortly. 

Beware of the Ides of March and the Rest of the %&$#^* Month Too

Typically springtime is my favorite time of year. However, this particular March has just stunk. On the private side, Polly had some weird ailment that kept me hopping from doctor to doctor for a couple of weeks (she's fine now). In addition, I have been working a zillion hours--which will hopefully pan out in a month or two, and the two property management companies I have hired in Birmingham are driving me to stroke out on a daily basis.

Mario's minion, Bruce--who was more than happy to answer my calls and e-mails when he first learned he had lost my gazillion minus one (the one he currently manages) homes earlier this year, got over himself and stopped talking to me at an inopportune moment. He originally sent me a punch list of things the tenant was asking to be fixed. My reply was simply: how many of the particular issues on this list are you asking me to fix that the tenant may have caused?

And, because Bruce tends to be conflict avoidant, he didn't get back to me--even after four e-mails. After a while, I contacted Mario and suggested Bruce must be on vacation, because I am certain he would have answered my question right away, given Bruce is so um... awesome. I let Mario know I was just astonished he hadn't replied to my simple request: was the faucet leaking before the tenant moved in or did the tenant break the faucet and expect me to fix it? After Mario didn't respond for a week either, I started writing more lengthy e-mails and using larger words, hoping to convey my frustration at their silence.

Finally Mario gave in and suggested we needed to have a phone conference. That is scheduled for sometime next week. I really am not sure why we need a pow-wow over a stupid punch list, but whatever. I can roll my eyes just as easily on the phone as I can at an e-mail. All I want to know is was the faucet leaking, was the shower door broken and was the fireplace cleaned before the tenant moved in?

Mario's drama just pales in comparison to Luigi. In his defense, Luigi manages more of my homes (a lot more) and has more hassles. I suspect he is cursing my name for bringing over my homes and all the subsequent baggage associated with these properties. That "baggage" is a blog or five for another time.

At one point a few weeks ago, Luigi sent me a note saying he was sorry to send me another work order. I wrote back: "What a coincidence! I am sorry to receive this." Which I was. Very sorry. The dishwasher had a slow leak that ruined the kitchen floor and all of the cabinets.

Last week, in addition to the popcorn ceiling request, he sent me an invoice for a gas leak I had at my property. He sweetly suggested I look over the invoice and explained he would call in a few minutes to "explain everything." I looked at the total and wrote him back, telling him to just call 911 and just send over a defibrillator.

I have property management companies so I don't have to deal with this stuff. For the most part, I am relieved I am not getting the tenant calls, but I am very tired of writing checks. 

Free Popcorn

To give you an idea what my Monday was like, my first phone battery was dead by 11:47 a.m. and my second one by 4:52 p.m. Not including a of a pal of Polly's who called no less than 16 times in a half hour, my phone rang on average ever minute starting at 7 a.m. (and it was an Alabama call) and didn't stop until I turned it off after 6 p.m. Undercapitalized issues be damned. I was done for the day.

In addition to my phone, my texts sported messages from really awesome people like Bliz to some family members, whom I pretty much ignored, who had nothing better to do than contact me about self-induced drama out of my control. It also had more than 48 texts (I counted) from people who were not Bliz or related by blood.

When I finally sat down to process my e-mails (because you know if people can't wait the approximate four minutes for me to return their call and text, by golly! they need to e-mail me too!), I had an e-mail from Luigi. I wasn't in good humor, though I hoped I kept it professional enough. Apparently my Section 8 tenant called in a work order asking to have a new shower door hung--though I don't know why--and, (wait for it....) she wanted to know when I was removing the popcorn ceilings from "her" home.

I have no intention to have the popcorn ceilings scraped. The home in question isn't in a terrible area, but it isn't in the top-notch community either. The homes were built in a time when popcorn ceilings were all the rage. Though I think popcorn ceilings are unsightly under any circumstances, I  think someone who can't afford the rent and is living in my home off of the good tax payers can either live with with popcorn ceilings or move out. I am good either way.

And let me also just explain, this particular tenant by the way, has a 2011 Suburban and a 2012 Escalade. When I toured her home a couple of years ago, I found furnishings nicer than mine (which isn't hard to achieve actually) and nicer and much newer appliances. And I should point out, Section 8 pays pittance, so I am not exactly cash-flowing a reasonable sum here.

I haven't heard back from Luigi about my take on this tenant's particular request, but I am guessing I was able to convey enough disapproval to the idea in one e-mail that he probably doesn't need to respond. 

Keeping My World in Perspective

Just found this. I love this line: " 'He is making a big to-do because he is being evicted'." Airbnb is a vacation rental site.

Airbnb renter returns to ‘overweight orgy’

By Frank Rosario, C.J. Sullivan and Joe Tacopino

A comedian under the impression he had rented out his posh Chelsea pad to a man with family in town for a wedding returned home to a wild orgy, he said.

Ari Teman, 31, claimed he left his apartment keys with David Carter, 32, on Friday night and stepped out for dinner before leaving town.

When he returned to the building to grab his luggage, a rowdy sex party featuring “Big Beautiful Women” was in the process of being shut down by building management.

“This was just so bizarre,” said Teman, who had rented his apartment via the website Airbnb.

“The worst part of the Internet right there was in my apartment.”

“There were all sorts of people walking out of my apartment and people coming in from the back yard. It was a huge mess.”

Teman said his apartment was trashed by a group of nearly nude, overweight people. After the shindig was broken up, Carter was a nervous wreck in the lobby, Teman says.

“This guy had a look of horror on his face,” Teman said. “He didn’t expect to see me for a few days. He said, ‘They shut us down, man, they’re shutting it down.’ ”

Carter, however, claims he just had a small, quiet get-together and that Teman was overreacting.
“I had six people, friends and family,” Carter told The Post. “He is making a big to-do because he is being evicted.”

Carter posted on Airbnb that he wanted a place for his in-laws to stay while they were in town for a wedding, Teman claims. “He had a verified account and he seemed legit,” Teman said. “He had three positive reviews and so I approved the deal.”

When Teman later searched Carter’s phone number on the Internet, he found the raunchy soiree involving plus-size women advertised online as “Turn Up Part 2: The Pantie Raid.”

One person even blasted out Teman’s Seventh Avenue address in a tweet for an “XXX FREAK FEST.”
Carter denied he had anything to do with the ad. “There was no address on the advertisement and I had nothing to with it,” he said.

The professional comedian called police, but no charges were filed. He now claims he wants to move.
“I just don’t want to touch anything in there,” he said. “I threw sheets all over everything.”

Carter claimed that a little partying never hurt anyone.

“I was not arrested. I did nothing wrong,” he said.

Airbnb said in a statement that Carter has been permanently removed from its website and that it will work with law enforcement to get the situation resolved.

A Happy Landlord Story

Mr. Partner is refinancing two homes. I should mention that I have been asking Mr. Partner to do this for years. A few months ago he looked at the interest rate of one of his mortgages and decided it might be worth pursing. This is a home we bought in 2005 and things were a bit different then.

Fast forward to about three weeks ago. The underwriter of these mortgages asked for some very common items, leases, bank statements, tax returns and the like. Most of this paper is kept at my house so I needed to provide it. Which, I did. However, two of the leases: one for Ms. Angie's home and one for Mrs. Sherwood's home have expired. Like years ago. I was absolutely floored when I realized Mrs. Sherwood has been living in this home since 2007.

Anyway, because they are such awesome tenants and rarely call me before 6 a.m. (though Ms. Angie did text me at 4 a.m. my time last week), I haven't really done anything with their leases. This arrangement has worked out fine for all parties involved until the underwriter got hold of everything two weeks ago. At that time she wanted explanations as to why I don't have current leases. She also wanted something in writing showing they were still living in the homes and paying the rent.

Mr. Partner asked me to handle this two weeks ago. I got sidetracked by some personal issues in our lives and completely forgot. However, the ever-diligent Mr. Partner did not forget and reminded me 10 p.m. Sunday night when he told me he needed it first-thing Monday. 

Monday morning I left frantic messages for both Ms. Angie and Mrs. Sherwood telling them I needed their help, would they please check their e-mail, sign the letter I wrote for them and get it back to me in record time. I also pathetically explained to their voice mail that: 1) this needed to happen immediately--just in case I hadn't stressed that enough and 2) there was nothing wrong and this would not affect them.

Both of them obliged without batting an eye. In fact, Ms. Angie went so far to call me and I believe she may have asked if I was ok and to tell me the letter she needed to sign should be back in my inbox at that moment. And, if I needed anything else, just say the word. Or at least that is what I gleaned through her extremely thick drawl. Mrs. Sherwood didn't say anything at all. The letter just appeared in my inbox fifteen minutes later. However I did text her and say thank you. I got a quick reply, "You are very welcome." 

And this is why these two tenants are not in property management.

My Money is on the Leprechaun

I finally had time to process what I wanted to do with the Grayson Valley house. To back up a teensy bit: in 2007, we bought this house with business partner Jack. Marty Sunshine and I put in half of the down payment. Jack put down the other half. Jack bailed on us about a year ago, not asking for his down payment back or his half of the equity. Nothing. Nada. This bothers me in some ways, but that is for another blog.

Last year (after Jack bailed and we found out he had not managed this place in any way, shape or form and it now had a LOT of deferred maintenance), Marty and I took care of the pressing issues and sunk part of our tax return into making the place the rock star of a house it deserves to be. For that, we were rewarded with top-of-the-market rent. We also refinanced and are now cash flowing a very nice sum every month (Jack refused to refinance). So, the house is now doing what we intended it to do all along. 

However, for some reason our tenant wants to buy the house. There was never a conversation with us about selling the home and the first I heard about this was at the end of January when rent was already a month late. So, I don't know if the tenant was told by Kirby's folks last year that we would sell her the home. I don't know if a leprechaun riding on a blue and orange water buffalo came to her in a dream and said she should purchase this home. But now she is hell-bent on buying this place and won't let up.

I am really not ready to sell. I like this house. It is in an appreciating neighborhood. Though we bought at the wrong time, it it worth slightly more than we paid for it. This morning I sent Luigi and his Broker, Ray, an e-mail. I gave them my price--which wasn't realistic. I said if I were to sell it right now, the sale would be as-is, we use Attorney Flip and everyone pays their own costs. I said these terms were not negotiable.

Though that should turn off any reasonable person, I don't want to loose the tenant if they aren't willing to hand over what in March of 2014 would be considered an obscene amount for this home. Crazy as she has proven may be, she and her husband have good jobs and a vacant home costs me money. So, I offered if the tenant was not in a position to buy it for my price, if they would like to renew when their lease is up, I will offer $200 off their first month's rent as long as someone can do a walk-through on the property and make sure it is still in great condition. The $200 I would be loosing (which is still less than what I am cash flowing) is a small price to pay not to have a vacancy and turn over the property.

She's Baaacccckkkkkk

Jack--remember him?--has e-mailed me about four times in the past two months. Apparently there is some real estate agent in Birmingham who has a client who wants to buy my Grayson Valley home. The agent had gotten Jack's number because Jack had sold us the home (he was also part owner until he bailed on us last year, but I digress). Would I please just call this guy and get him off Jack's back?

The house in question is very nice. It is red brick, on a golf course and is currently rented by that crazy lady who did not want to pay me rent for two months and managed to find my phone number, call me at work and had me chew her out for being a thief. It is one of my favorites, and though I am still puzzled why Jack jumped ship, Marty and I are doing well with it right now.

I did call the agent Tuesday. Apparently this woman has been calling him non-stop for several months and saying she wanted to buy this home.

"Why this home?" I asked the agent.

He did not know.

"I have a tenant in place right now. It isn't exactly for sale."

It was a rental? That was news to him.

"Is it possible it is the tenant calling you?" I asked.

"No, this woman is black." the agent replied.

Let's all pause, roll our eyes and take a trip back to pre-1964 Birmingham. Shall we? 

"Though I have only spoken to her once, I believe my tenant may be African American," I said. 

The agent was nonplussed. Looking up her name, he told me her unusual first name was the same as my tenant's unusual first name. The last names were different, but my tenant's middle initial is the same as what this agent had down as a last name. She also in the same type of business as that of my current tenant.

"Is it possible my tenant is calling you asking you and asking you to represent her?"

The agent didn't concede, but thought perhaps he might want a longer conversation with her tomorrow to see what her intentions are. My guess is it is the same sociopath who is up to some different weirdness.

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.