Let the Deforestation Begin

We are working diligently to give my home in Pinson back to the bank. I would like to tell you it is going swimmingly, but let's face it, if it were, it wouldn't be blog fodder. Instead, my once-favorite home sits on the mountain, presumably empty and reasonably trashed by the last tenants who I hope are the recipients of Karmic retribution.

This particular home has a first and second mortgage. The first mortgage company told us early on they wouldn't discuss anything until we were more than 90 days late. However, a gentleman by the name of "Mr. King" did send me a packet of information and said I can call him at any time. He was there to help. He gave me specific instructions to send in these papers to him around the beginning of June and he would get this party started.

This past week we did just that. However, Mr. King doesn't work for this particular company any more. When I called them Monday afternoon, I was told there is no record of my paperwork anywhere. And then I got transferred to about six different people. Twice the phone line went dead and I had to start over. Finally I found a guy who sounded friendly and told me what to do. Unfortunately he told me I should have done this six weeks ago and I shouldn't have waited so long. It doesn't really matter at this point. They were taking the house back either way as far as I am concerned.

The second mortgage company hasn't been as wonderful to work with. For starters, they haven't really let me talk to anyone past the person who calls me at all hours of the day in broken English to demand my social security number.

And, generally when the second mortgage company calls me, I am not in the mood for them and the call never ends well. Last time they called I said, "may I speak to an asset manager please?" The person on the other said they had nobody with that tile--something I had heard before. But this time I added,. "And you expect me to believe you have called me, demanded I give you ultra personal information because you say you are a 'mortgage company' but don't have asset managers? What kind of mortgage company doesn't have an asset manager?"

Of course, this was at 10:15 p.m. last Friday night. So, the timing wasn't good for anyone. My bad. It turns out that this particular company doesn't call their asset managers by that name. They are called "relationship managers."

On Monday Marty called the company and asked to speak with one of these relationship manager-type folks. Apparently they said they can spare on of their "relationship managers" this coming Wednesday and they will call him back then.

What I am finding fascinating is the amount of paperwork necessary to hand over keys. According to at least Mortgage Company 1 (and Mortgage Company 2), I am to provide profit and loss statements, balance statements (sorry Bliz, I need those too. I didn't know until today), tax returns for the past two years, pay stubs, a hardship letter and several more reams of paper that I may have or not have at my disposal.

When the mortgage company (or companies) are done reviewing my paperwork, they then have their own agenda. I am supposed to negotiate with the second mortgage company on my own behalf upfront (hence the whole relationship manager meeting). And then the first mortgage company needs to a title search (fair enough) to make sure nobody else has claim to this property.

Then there is the whole matter of us proving we can't pay the mortgage. For whatever reason, this concept seems to confound everyone I have spoken with. During one of my phone calls to the first mortgage company Monday (who was actually was very nice about the whole thing) said that their records show that we can pay it. Oh how I wish that were true. In fact, it might have saved a lot of heartburn and a trashed FICO score if that were really the case.

Super Kirby

Kirby just called me. Apparently Flunky didn't feel the need to contact him on a Sunday night to announce one of the air conditioners at one of my homes has bit the dust. Flunky graciously waited until today. Which is reasonable.

And professional.

And polite.

And let me just ask this: why do I have a property management company handling my affairs when 1) I am getting the stupid phone calls on a Sunday night from unpleasant people and 2) I have to resolve the issues myself? I am wondering if Luigi would kindly put me on his payroll and I can manage my own homes.

I might be on to something here...

Anyway, I knew the call wasn't going to go well when Kirby started out with a tentative, "Hey Ms. Landlord...  How are you?" Kirby and I have gone too far in the past few years  to be addressed as "Mr." or "Ms." anyone. And as soon as he asked about my well-being, I knew he wasn't calling to tell me he had a buyer for my short sale.

"So is the AC dead?" I asked skipping all presumption. And that's where Kirby got upset.

"I tried to save it, I really did," he lamented.

If you had asked me 12 years ago if there would come a time in my life where I would be comforting my former property-manager-turned-AC-technician-and-real-estate-broker (especially a Southern man) I would have been laughing too hysterically to respond. But, yep. Here I am.

Kirby gave me the news. The AC unit isn't salvageable. He also said there was no way the unit had smoke coming out of it. But there was a gizmo causing the issue and that particular part it isn't made anymore. It isn't surprising, given the unit was put on in the early 1980s.

Kirby is also giving me the close friends and family price. Because, I swear, AC units do not cost this little. I didn't even consult with Marty Sunshine when he gave me the price. Frankly, if Kirby says it costs this much, I know I don't have to shop around,

As we were hanging up, I told him it would really make my day if he could find a buyer for my short sale. "Working on it next..." he replied. And I am sure he is.

Another Day in The Jaded Empire

To his credit, Flunky the Maintenance Manager actually seemed conciliatory when he called me at 6 p.m. tonight. And today is Sunday.

Flunky's conciliatory nature was such a far cry from the nasty confrontation he and I had while on vacation. I am not sure I blogged about it, but let's just say I was standing in a Wal-Mart parking lot in Fort Stockton, Texas angrily saying things like, "I don't know who you think you are..." and "When you said you physically saw the property and the damage, you were actually lying. Is this correct? Because I have better things to do than deal with liars.... And, you have proven you will lie on all occasions to cover your own incompetence..."

And, then there was last week's grouch-fest where the tenant is (rightly) complaining about a flood in the basement, I told him to speak immediately with Marty Sunshine. And, I told Marty the same. Marty completely understands I don't want anything to do with Flunky. And, I thought Flunky was on board with this when I got an e-mail from him Saturday morning asking how he was supposed to reach Marty in the first place (call him perhaps?).

Anyway, I guess this didn't completely sink in, because about 36 minutes ago, Flunky called me. You see, one of our tenants heard a big "bang" and then "smoke started coming up." It took me a few exasperating minutes to find out that smoke was coming up from the air conditioning unit. I guess I was supposed to know this automatically, because it took me asking Flunky "where was the smoke coming from?" three times before he narrowed it down for me. I personally think this is a little power trip game of his.

But then again, I think the entire phone call was a little power game. because in his next breath, Flunky told me "Obviously, we can't do anything about this tonight." Which, I figured out in the first three seconds of the phone call. And, it made me wonder why he didn't just call me tomorrow to give me the news, but I didn't say so because it would have kept me on the phone with this guy longer.

Sadly, not only did I have to endure talking to Flunky on my day off (and why do I have a property management company anyway when they are calling me on a Sunday night to tell me something happened but there is nothing that can be done?), but I also had to come up with a reasonable solution--something I pay these yahoos for. My response was simply, "Call Kirby."

You see, Kirby, who ran screaming from the property management business 18 months ago is now making loads of money off of me in air conditioning work. When Flunky admitted he didn't know who Kirby was, I reminded him that he has worked with Kirby on numerous occasions, as I keep telling him to directly talk to Kirby for AC issues. In fact, I listed off the last three homes Flunky and Kirby have discussed recently. After a few minutes of Flunky feigning ignorance, and me wanting to get back on with my life, I finally told Flunky I would e-mail him Kirby's contact info. Hopefully that will resolve it. However, I bet he doesn't contact him until tomorrow.

The most interesting part of this for me is that I forgot to ask for any relevant details. Heck! I even neglected to find out if everyone was ok (I hope so). In fact, I haven't even told Marty the news yet. My blood pressure isn't even through the roof. And, I am not even hopped up on chocolate or other substances. In essence, it is out of my hands. I have no idea how I am going to pay for this, But experience tells me it will get done.

Tenant Urgency

I manage two of the gazillion homes I have. I also quasi-manage another one--which is a long story, but the house is also in management. So, I guess I manage 2.5 houses. I don't miss managing homes. On those occasions where I am feeling sentimental about all the craziness, I just waltz into my office--which happens to be a real estate and a property management office. Three minutes in the door and I have had my fill of bizarre stories and situations to last a while.

I also have the utmost respect for those who do handle property management. I don't miss managing a gazillion homes. And, if I had to pick one, and just one, reason why I was ready for someone else to handle the phone calls it was simply because my tenants do not appreciate the existence of time zones.

I will never, ever get used to people who cannot fully comprehend time zones. And, for those keeping track, currently Alabama is two hours in front of Arizona. So, if it is noon in Arizona, it is 2 p.m. in Alabama. Because we don't celebrate the hoax that is Daylight Savings, our time difference changes part of the year. But, that really should not matter: Alabama isn't the same time as Arizona. No matter what.

Ever.

I will also never fully comprehend those folks who have a strange sense of urgency. Generally, this sense of urgency is directly related to their lack of comprehension that I am two hours away from their emergency. True, when I get calls like, "My gas hot water heater is currently on fire." I can appreciate the emergency, but it seems like managing the fire and making sure it is fully extinguished is much more urgent than immediately telling me.

Conversely, "Last Monday my septic backed up and now--4 p.m. (Alabama time) on the Friday before Labor Day Weekend--I thought I would tell you I have no working water disposal system," is only urgent because the tenant waited a week to tell me.

And by the way, those are real examples. Unfortunately.

I have gotten so many calls from frantic tenants who think I have some magic Landlord Wand(tm) that can make all their troubles disappear. I promise, I cannot fix an air conditioner or repair a hole in a roof from thousands of miles away in the next 20 minutes. No matter who calls or how many times a tenant may call (also real life Alabama examples). And by the way, having one of your friends call and tell me they are an attorney and start quoting make-believe Alabama Landlord-Tenant laws at me will not make the air conditioner get fixed any faster or get me to get on a plane any quicker and buy a tarp at Home Depot.

However, my most exasperating example of tenant urgency is the ones who call me at odd hours to announce rent will be late. Now, I am no fool. I suspect I get these calls at 4 a.m. (last week) or at 2 a.m. (a few years ago) because the tenant does not want to speak with me. But let's think about this, what if I do answer? Will I be in the kind of mood that will ingratiate these folks to me? A little forward thinking goes a long way.

Last week, there was one of these calls. The gist was they would like a few extra days to come up with the money. Would that be ok? Now, if we could process this please: You have known for days you weren't going to have rent today, but you waited until 6 a.m. your time to tell me this. Doesn't it stand to reason news like this could wait until a reasonable hour? Hell, I would even settle for a text or an e-mail! 

Last week, I ignored the call. If I had answered it, I would have probably said a lot more that was less polite. Instead, I allowed voice mail to do my bidding. When I was fully awake, I text my dear tenant back, explaining there is a two hour time difference. In their defense, they acted apologetic. However, I think next time I manage a home out of state (if I have any left, that is) and write up the application, I am going to give a time zone quiz. Any potential tenant who cannot master this, won't rent from me. It will save us both a headache.

The Ass. Manager

You might remember the home where the bank called the loan due?

Well, now it is a short sale.

I have been in discussion with some dude known as an "Asset Manager" who was quite friendly at the onset. Eight weeks into this process he isn't as friendly. In fact, he has become a bit bossy.

Last week I emailed him and asked two innocent questions:

1. Can he please have his goons stop calling me at all hours of the day on my cell phone?
2. Given the house hasn't sold, would the bank--which called the loan due, putting us in this situation in the first place, and what exactly was their exit plan in the first place when they started this mess?--be willing to consider a deed in lieu of foreclosure so we can just part ways and get on with our collective lives?

As far as he was concerned, neither was an option. He did ask for Kirby's (who happens to be the listing agent on this particular home) contact information.

The Asset Manager wrote me back today, telling me he felt that my real issue wasn't that I need to do a deed in lieu of foreclosure, but that I needed a different agent. Apparently Kirby isn't qualified to sell a home deep in the Hood. The Asset Manager kindly explained to me I needed an agent who was more familiar with "this type of neighborhood."

Now, before we go any further, the idea that a real estate agent is some sort of "neighborhood specialist" is really a load of marketing pap. Yes, you might read some article on "How to Choose a Real Estate Agent" on a random Yahoo site, but the truth is, a "neighborhood specialist" really means someone who sells more homes in one area. These agents Google the same information a non-neighborhood specialist Googles. An agent's true job is to work in a client's best interest--which includes negotiating price and other terms of a contract. So, essentially, any agent can be a short sale agent in any neighborhood and be quite successful at it.

And I trust Kirby.

But, that isn't what the Asset Manager was really saying. What he really meant was Kirby's skin was the wrong color for the neighborhood this home is located in. Or at least that is what I surmised. Just to be sure, I sent the e-mail to Kirby. I asked him if I was reading this correctly. He told me that was the gist he got out of it too.  And then we had a good laugh over the whole thing.

Because Kirby doesn't specialize in one particular neighborhood, he just happened to be in Calera that morning. And, he happened to be driving by my Waterford home and let me know everything looked good there. That's an added bonus that the Asset Manager would never understand.

The Pep Talk

My brothers are amazing. Simply amazing. I wish everyone had siblings like mine.

This past weekend, during a private moment, I shared our Strategic Downsizing decision with my brothers. I shared the shame I feel. I shared the uncertainty of our future. I shared the frustration and anger I have to those tenants who contributed to our ultimate decision and how I vacillate between anger to the tenants and my own underlining self-blame that I caused this situation.

These wonderful men told me they have my back. They asked what they could do to help me. They reassured me it was a strategic decision (which I know intellectually) and told me of business icons we have all heard of who have made similar choices. And, for a few minutes, they made me feel better, promising me this was not my doing. I am not the failure I have begun to think of myself as.

Then Brother #1 pointed out something I hadn't considered. Starting over isn't terrible. There was a time when my parents had to start over. My father was about the age I am now. It was 1982. My father had been out of work for two years. We lost our home in Phoenix. We moved back to my parent's hometown in Vermont and they scraped together enough to live in a 100 year old, 800 square foot rickety home in the middle of the slums. As I slept in the attic room, I could hear the critters scraping in the walls at night. My source of warmth in that room was a waterbed with a heater I kept on high. I owned one pair of pants and had to wear an ugly orange ski jacket to school because someone had given it to me, and the alternative was no jacket in a Vermont winter.

My folks pulled out of this, moved back to Phoenix and got back on track. And then years later there was a divorce. And they started over again and pulled out of that too. 

For Marty Sunshine and I, starting over won't be this dramatic. I hope. Brother #1 pointed out that my father has had a comfortable retirement for the past sixteen years. He also said, "Dad got back on his feet and he doesn't have even half the drive you and Marty have."

At this moment, I feel like we are fine-tuning our strategic downsizing. Will it be one or all we loose? Can we straighten this out in one year? Will we loose everything? Will we file bankruptcy? One of the asset managers told me a few weeks ago, that we are going to have a hard time convincing the banks we mean business when our credit has been so good for so long. Essentially, we can expect this to be an uphill battle.

I am ready for a new season in my life. The accidental business has worn me down. I asked for this downsizing years ago, and it took this long to convince Mr. Partner to do so. I am tired.

But my brothers are right, I have a lot of life left to live. And I am ready for a new adventure.

The Top Ring of Deadbeat Hell

One of the biggest concerns I had when we decided to "strategically downsize" was that the creditors would start calling. I didn't want them to talk with my children.

It is fair to say I had a right to be concerned. The calls come. Sometimes--like this past Friday--six times in one day. I have had to tell these folks, whose first language is obviously not American English, not to call me before 8 a.m. I have repeatedly told them not to call my cell phone (which is my work phone). And every time they call, I explain I have already spoken to asset managers. That seems to confuse them, as one man confessed, he had never heard of an "asset manager" and was pretty sure his company didn't have anyone in that position.

Generally the calls go like this,

Them: "Is this Marty Sunshine?"
Me: "No."
Them: "Is this Mrs. Marty Sunshine?"
Me: "Can I help you?
Them: "I am Some Random Person from the mortgage company. Would you please verify your social security number?"

At which point, I seem to throw them off their script. My former answer was, "No. I will not." The person on the other end would then explain that they can't continue the call until I give them my social security number. "That's fine. You called me. If you can't continue the call, I have other things to do anyway. Please have an asset manager call me," I will say, and they get confused all over again.

Friday I tried a new strategy. When asked what my social security number is, I said, "Why don't you give me your social security number instead?" Apparently the woman on the other end of the call found that utterly unacceptable. When I pointed out the irony, she wasn't impressed and hung up me.

Friday afternoon, after my sixth call, I e-mailed two asset managers (of the three we are dealing with), asking them to call off their goons. Loosing homes is humiliating enough. I don't wish to be reminded I am a deadbeat every day, six times a day.

The Last Six Weeks

About 40 years ago, Marty Sunshine's parents saved every last penny they had, shoved their five kids into the 1963 Ford Falcon station wagon, left their single-wide, which is (still) located 50 miles North of the US-Mexico boarder in the middle of nowhere, and traipsed over to that great amusement park in Anaheim for a vacation of a lifetime.

As the story goes--and I have confirmation from Marty and three of his siblings (the youngest was still a baby and didn't remember)--about an hour after arriving at said theme park, Marty's father came down with a case of the stomach flu and instead of letting his wife and children enjoy their day, he insisted they all leave, hang out at the hotel while he threw up and then promptly drove them home the next morning.

And thus, a life-long obsession was born.

Looking back now, I realize how much more simple and cheaper therapy might have been. Instead, Marty's (and now my children's) idea of a vacation involves Walt and the Mouse. I have fought this for years and finally decided:

1) my kids like it, we all have a good time, they won't be little much longer and there really is something magical about going into the Happiest Place on Earth for days on end,

2) as long as the trip is paid for ahead of time (generally with the commission from my most obnoxious client at the time--this year it was a Canadian couple who got a sweetheart of a home, $70k under market and then proceeded to tell me how "incompetent" I was--even though they wouldn't have gotten this home without me because it wasn't on the market) and in no way does any of it go on the credit card I will be somewhat ok and

3) Marty's Uncle Sunshine lives on this really cool island off the Gulf coast of Florida. Seeing him, the island and having a place on the beach to unwind and relax isn't all bad and makes up for the over-commercialization of Orlando.

When we set up this vacation, we were somewhat strategic. We knew it could very likely be our last big vacation for a while. When one is in the midst of financial ruin, a lot of things get to be put on hold--like vacations.

The major byproduct of this trip was that I was able to relax, something honest and brave friends told me (repeatedly) this past spring I needed to do. Loosing homes is not very relaxing. In fact, it is very stressful. How do people purposely not pay their bills? I will never know. I have spoken to many folks over the years who didn't pay me what they rightfully owed and didn't blink twice. Some told me I was a "nice" person as they personally stole from, as if sweet-talking will somehow make their debt magically disappear. After the last six weeks of fielding calls from mortgage companies, I can assure you, it doesn't work that way.

Our vacation ended three weeks ago. I am no longer relaxed, though I am not as crazed as I was back in early April. However, I am stressed. Even baseball isn't comforting.

In an effort to diffuse the monumental pressure I am feeling, I am caving. With the exception of very few and select people, I am keeping to myself. My social anxiety is running rampant. I am staying off Facebook completely because reading my cousin's excessive posts--even from 3,000 miles away--about how she has a new haircut, how much she loves children and how she needs urgent prayers for her neighbor's puppy even stresses me out.

I am not making apologies for staying away from others. My true friends understand this is what I do when I have had enough life in my day. Extreme caving is a new sort of self preservation, but it is keeping me able to function in my daily life. And that is necessary because my real estate clients truly don't understand or appreciate "caving." I need a balance.

That said, we are entering a new season of our Accidental Business. What it will look like a year from now, I do not know. I do know Marty and I have a new business we wish to pursue in the next three or four years--depending upon how long it takes to clean up our current mess. But for now, the Alabama homes are still around, whether or not I like them to be. And I have to learn to cope with this new normal, because I can't vacation forever. 

Lies, Lies, Lies

I had a deadbeat living in my home in Pinson. They had been there since June, never paid a penny and cost me the GDP of a second-world country to have them removed. One of the main reasons I went to Birmingham last month was to check on this house and see what we were looking at for damage. Luigi knew this. Slick Willy knew this. It has been a going concern, and anyone in Birmingham with a pulse knows how stressful this particular saga has been.

Last weekend, I e-mailed Luigi and Slick Willy to ask what the status of this house happens to be. Willy wrotes me back, telling me he TOLD me weeks ago the tenant had left. Now, let's make this clear: If Willy had told me weeks ago, I would have remembered it. Even I am not that much of a flake. However, now that it is vacant, I didn't get into an e-mail pissing match with him, pointing this out. Instead, I said "thank you."

A couple of days later, figuring this was an obvious question, I asked Willy what kind of damages were we looking at. Willy, sent me back an e-mail, reminding me that Flunky the Maintenance Jerk had already given me numbers. For about 36 seconds, I thought I was loosing my mind. How did I miss this e-mail too? I mean, I am ready for vacation and everything, but I am pretty sure I would remember 1) this house coming vacant and 2) getting a quote for the damage.

On the 37th second, I came to my senses. I didn't forget. I wouldn't forget. And by the way, Hey Willy, why not give me these numbers again?

Frankly, I thought Willy's numbers were low. I saw the place last month. I knew what kind of condition the house is in. But, it was really nice and everything for him to comply so "quickly." What I didn't tell Willy is this house is going back to the bank. Unless the cost of fixing up the place is free or better, we don't have the repair money. Heck, we don't even have the mortgage money this month either.

But, before I can deal with the intricacies of loosing a home, I still have a few housekeeping issues to take care of. Which brings me to yesterday. Yesterday, I sent an innocent e-mail asking if the house had been secured and if the debris the tenants left behind (in this case, and I am not exaggerating, about 8 feet of trash bags stacked against the back of the house and floor to ceiling trash taking up half of the basement).

Now, let's face it. There is only one right answer for this question. And true to the incompetence Flunky and his friends have repeately diplayed, Flunky wrote me back, telling me he is getting--and I am not making this up either--"Vendor quotes."

And this is where I lost it. You see, that was not the right answer. And I was annoyed. If this place had truly been vacant for weeks, the way Willy had said so, why hasn't the place been secured? And why, when Willy had given me prices--that allegedgly Flunky had given me weeks ago (he didn't)--were we looking now for vendor quotes?

My response wasn't very nice. I asked why when I asked a simple yes or no question am I getting a big long answer? Either yes, it has been done or no it hasn't. And, what do "vendor quotes" have to do with putting a piece of plywood on a window. And while I was at it, I asked why I had to initiate these conversations. After all, isn't this what they do for a living? I mean, come on? Do they want the Department of Real Estate breathing down their backs because they are that incompetent? It isn't just because I do this for a living that I know damn well the house has to be secure. It is truly common sense.

My other issue was why are we getting more vendor quotes? We have quotes. Quotes Willy gave me earlier this week. Willy's response was to say he was going to "step back" and let me and Flunky work this out (It really is Flunky's job). I damn near called Willy an incompetent coward, but Marty asked me not to. After all, they still manage other properties of mine and I am loosing this house anyway so it doesn't matter what kind of quote I get?

As it stands, Flunky was going to have the trash removed the window secured by close of business yesterday. I don't believe it. Because if that was truly going to happen, someone over there would have to show more competency than they have already. 

A New Low

I am getting "anonymous" texts from neighbors at my real estate listing. They are taking pictures of the front lawn with little notes saying, "just a friendly reminder!" and then a smiley face. I don't own this house. I am just the name on the sign.

I called one of the neighbors of the anonymous texts (and who refuses to give me her name) who is complaining the grass is 3/4 of an inch longer than the prescribed 1/4 inch blade. I said, "You know, in my neighborhood, we just help each other out. If someone can't take care of their yard we just go do it for them. We are just neighborly that way. We certainly don't run and tattle to the HOA."

She hung up on me. I'm guessing she didn't feel inspired to mow my client's yard.

Minding My Business

I could bore you with all of the latest in Alabama. The property management company moonlights for Ringling Brothers... I have vacancies... I am loosing houses... Yada, yada, yada. But not today. Today I am dealing with silly drama much closer to home.

In my Arizona real estate life, I currently have three listings. Coincidentally, all three happen to be former rentals. This usually isn't the case, but right now it is. Also coincidentally, all three owners happen to live out of town, which means I have my fair-share of extra duties.

Of the three, one is in a neighborhood Marty has implored me not to go into alone even in daylight areas. That's fine with me. However, I was there today, but please don't tell him.

The other two have another issue that is taking way too much of my time. You see, I only get paid if these homes sell. And so far, I can't sell them because the neighbors are driving everyone away. One of my homes is in a waterfront community (we have a few of these in Arizona). It is one of those Stepford communities where the homes and the neighbors are all alike. Heaven forbid one distinguishes themselves by painting a door "pale ecru" instead of the the community approved "light taupe." According to the repeated phone calls I receive from the members of home owner's association, my 79 year old seller is inadvertently breaking rules all the time.

I have had this fall out of escrow twice. The first time was because the next door neighbor on the North chatted merrily with the future buyer. Apparently Ms. Future Buyer wasn't impressed at what a busy-body Ms. North Neighbor happens to be and walked.

Then Mr. Future Buyer wanted to live in my lovely listed home. Until he heard the wild party put on Saturday night by Mr. and Mrs. Southern Neighbor. According to Mr. Future Buyer he wanted a "safe and quiet neighborhood" his children. Frankly, Mr. Future Buyer sounds like a bigger stick in the mud than the neighbors.

But none of this compares to the drama at my other listing. The next door neighbor has anger management issues. My broker (who also moonlights as my handyman) went over to take care of the yard one day. The neighbor stormed out, started screaming and threatened to call the police if my broker/handyman didn't leave at once. On what grounds? I have no idea.

Then there was Tuesday. I have a buyer for this home. Or, I probably did have a buyer. But instead, the neighbor came out and got into some sort of altercation with the home inspector and gas company representative. And then someone called my office demanding to speak to me--though I represent the seller and don't know any of these people, but my name is on the sign. Fortunately, someone at my office had the presence of mind to say I was busy. Instead I got an e-mail and I still had to manage it.

I am expecting the buyer has heard about these crazies by now. I know his agent knows what happened. I expect this will not bode well for my seller and we will probably have it back on the market again by tomorrow.

Meanwhile, I sent Marty Sunshine an e-mail today. I told him I was giving up real estate. Instead, I would be applying for a job at the local day care. Two year olds have less drama than these neighbors.

National Carolsue Day

Happy Birthday to my dear friend Carolsue. You are are one of the high points of my accidental business. Because if I never invested in Alabama, I never would have met you and my life would have been much, much more dull. Love to you.

Opening Day

Today is the first day of the 2015 Arizona Diamondbacks season. I have personally asked the Diamondbacks for a winning year as a special birthday wish. I am writing this before first pitch, so I can say--at least right now--they are undefeated.

Today is also opening day for my home in North Centerpoint. It is officially for sale. A short sale. You see, the second mortgage was called due. Marty and I rallied back and forth with the bank since last September and the result was the destruction of a mid-sized rainforest, ample frustration and blog fodder for the past six months. Last week I spoke to the asset manager who told me to short sell the house or pay off the second mortgage. They won't do a deed in lieu of foreclosure--which was my first choice. He made it perfectly clear: they don't want the home either.

Kirby listed the house for me. He sent me the listing today and actually made the home sound wonderful. Who wouldn't want to purchase this place for $40k under what we paid for it? A bargain at half the price.

I am somewhat numb about the entire short sale issue. I have had time to think about it, process everything and get used to the idea of having fledgling credit and potential creditors calling my home.

This is the home I liked the least. Sadly, the home I liked the most--the one in Pinson--will also be a short sale in a month or so. I have equated this process to a cortisone shot: it stings like a bitch going in, and then the pain goes away. Maybe by Opening Day next year I can be writing about more happy topics.

Random Bama

It turns out the deadbeats in my Pinson have officially been evicted. However, they aren't out last I heard. Apparently I need to fork out more money to pay the local sheriff to kick them out to the curb. That's tomorrow's task.

_____________________________________________________

I am overwhelmed at the kindness from those of you who have reached out to me to see if I was ok about what is going on in our accidental business. I am at peace with everything going on. At least right now.

And thank you for asking. Today I am fine. I am aware it will probably get worse before it gets better.

_____________________________________________________

I had lunch with Mr. Partner yesterday. Though he is intimately aware of our situation, he seems to be of the opinion we can salvage the home in Pinson. "File and insurance claim!" was his mantra.  I think (and I didn't want to burst Mr. Partner's optimistic outlook) we can file a claim, make some of the repairs and still loose this house. Time will tell. First the idiots need to leave.

_____________________________________________________

I spent part of my day with Diamond Jim working on tax issues today. Our taxes are complicated. I am a reasonable record keeper, but more with an artistic flair. Nor do I care if this or that is missing--which apparently can be a big issue. This does not work well for Diamond Jim, who told me I was driving him bonkers. He certainly wasn't winning any Mr. Congeniality awards either today, but I give him leeway: he is over 70, working 13 hours a day and he lost his wife less than three months ago.

_____________________________________________________

The Arizona Diamondbacks look to be pretty crummy this year. I am hoping, though my expectations are low, they figure out how to pleasantly surprise me.

Preparing for the Worst

There is an odd mindset when one surrenders to financial ruin. When the realization came about months ago, Marty Sunshine and I sat down and said to each other, "what do we want to do?" And oddly, the first priority was taking what might be our last vacation for a while. We wanted the kids to have a good memory.

Yes, I know "financial ruin" is temporary. Marty has a job. I have a real estate business. We will survive. We will bounce back. But there will be lawyers involved (there already are). There will be--and this daunts me the most for some reason--creditors calling, asking why the hell we went from 800 FICOs to not paying our bills. And for no earthly reason they can fathom.

We aren't "not paying our bills" exactly. We are choosing not to go into further debt to keep two homes which are in serious disarray from situations out of our control--either because the bank has chosen to give us hell for the past six months or because a tenant did the same. Either way, after a lot of evaluation, prayer and muttering to ourselves, this is the path we have taken.

I can promise you, this isn't a decision we took lightly. The emotional aspect of our choice has taken a toll too. I have went from looking myself in the mirror, knowing I was an upstanding citizen who did what was right and now I have the eerie feeling I can't shake that I am a mere deadbeat. A bum. And--this bothers me the most--someone who doesn't keep their word.
One of the questions LegalOwl (my new legal counsel at Attorney Flip's office) asked me is if Mr. Partner was on board with this. The exact answer is yes and no. His credit will not be harmed by our actions. He understands we are going to do this. And he also sees the reasons why. Essentially, if we wanted to fight for these homes, he would back us and help us hold lemonade stands and garage sales (which is what it would take to find the funds we needed to go forward). If we want to let them go, he will do that too. He is also tired and broke.

There is a saying in the South, "Things can only go up from here." I believe this is true. I don't know what "financial ruin" will look like in this accidental business. If we will keep all but two homes or if we will loose everything. But in the end, I believe letting these two homes go and the potential looming bankruptcy that will probably follow for us is going to be for the best.

Everything That Glitters...

Through the course of this accidental business, I had become fond of one specific home. In fact, I recently joked with Mr. Partner that I, being the youngest of us four partners, was going to out-live the rest of them, acquire the LLC by default and retire in this particular house.

The Pinson home is nestled in the mountains. The home has a fabulous front porch that spans the property's length. The home itself is rather cozy. It is a three bedroom, two bathroom of about 1,400 square feet with a two-car garage in the basement. I should mention the front of the home at the top of the hill, the garage and basement nestled into the hill with the back deck overlooking the two acres with the pond. All of this is exotic to me, a city-girl who has always wanted to live on a mountain in the woods with a view overlooking some water.

Last summer, a husband, wife and two itty-bitty toddlers  moved in. They had gone through the vetting process. In fact, the husband's credit score was in the mid-to-high 600s. They had the income to qualify and nothing suggested there would be a problem.

It is now March. And there is a problem. They never paid rent. And, the eviction process is still ongoing. It makes me ill to write this. Just ill. Apparently the husband is no longer employed and has "anger issues." He has beaten the hell out of his wife. In fact, I am told (by her) he has gone so far as to hide in the attic when the wife is gone, and when the she returns to what she thinks is a quiet home with her two children, he pops out of the attic only to break down my doors, smash my windows and do God knows what to those babies and their mama.

The house is in utter disarray. For one thing. The husband drove his truck through the garage door, so now the garage is boarded up. The electricity and water are off (though we found a generator hidden outside) and the electric box is hanging from a few wires to the wall. There are rotted food everywhere. In fact, the glass from one of the broken windows is still on the ground, right in reach of the toddlers. 

When we arrived last week to inspect, the wife let us in, gave us a song and dance about how she is moving out last week (of course she is!) and let us look around at the utter filth she is living in. Part of me--the part that wants to take those children home with me--felt for her. I listened to her story and believed her life is really the train wreck she made it out to be. That lasted about 15 seconds until sanity sunk in and became so angry I had to step outside before I lost it with her.

She and her idiot husband (wherever he might be--she says they are now estranged) have been stealing from me for months. They have trashed this home. Even when they move out, I will have lawyers to pay. Insurance may pay for a broken window and an electrical box, but insurance isn't going to give me enough to remove the rats that have made themselves at home in the basement from all the filth. Insurance won't give me enough to replace the flooring that is covered with moldy food, cigarette burns and whatever else disgusting things might be on there. Insurance isn't going to cover the corner of the basement I am presuming the woman is using for her personal toilet (we accidentally found that spot). And, insurance isn't going to reimburse me for my now-faded dream of retiring in this home.

In fact, this home is so bad, we probably won't recover from it. I had that inkling going over there (and hence, one of the main reasons for my trip). My worst fears were confirmed. The house will most likely be going back to the bank.

It is just a home. Our credit will bounce back eventually. We may invest again. Maybe. Maybe not.

Monday

If I write too much right now, it will just be a whiny blog about how tired and sick I am. I really am missing the moments of gratitude in this trip. And, I know it. But I don't feel gratitude. I feel tired. And sick.

And whiny.

I purposely don't allow myself to engage in pity-parties on a regular basis. But lately I have felt one brimming to the surface, like a boiling pot with a lid affixed tightly. Earlier today, when I was on an emotional low, I called Carolsue to cheer me up. Just being in the same town as her brings me comfort.

There. A gratitude.

Today was a mixed day. My homes in Shelby County were in great shape. I could not ask for better, stable tenants who are happy and love where they live. Luigi and Willy were friendly and gracious hosts. The afternoon's adventures were not as wonderful and overshadowed the whole day. For that matter, they have overshadowed the last two months. I will write more on that later.

Also, because I was the passenger and didn't have much of a choice, visited an attorney of Luigi's who was assisting him in some business. I zoned out in the office, thinking of days gone by and how Birmingham "used to be" for me. This particular attorney knew Late Attorney Jon. In the past, there had been a couple of times Late Attorney Jon suggested I call this guy when something was out of Jon's scope of reference. This attorney was also the closing attorney for one of my homes back in the day--though I don't know if he would remember me. Probably not. But he runs in the same circles as the folks I used to deal with.

Watching the lawyer today got me thinking. And made me a bit sad for Late Attorney Jon's family. I wasn't expecting that. I knew I would have to deal with this later this week (I am visiting Attorney Flip's office Wednesday), but this was a double blow to the sucker punch that was my afternoon.

Right now I am on my way to dinner. Then bed. Perhaps with some food in my system and an alka-seltzer or two, I might feel a bit more grateful.

Wait. It looks like I did write too much.

I Only Came Up With Five Items On My List

I am sitting in my lonely hotel room in Birmingham. Today was a short day because Alabama is one of those states which celebrates Daylight Savings the first Sunday in March by lopping off an hour of their day. Thus all the clocks told me I woke up earlier than I really did. I am definitely drained.

And, if you must know, I seem to have a terrible ear infection and am vacillating between going to the urgent care to see if there is anything--anything--some medical professional can do so I don't have to fly back to Phoenix with an ear infection or ignoring it and hoping the flight back later this week isn't as bad as the flight out--which was a bitch. I don't recommend flying with an ear infection. Ever.

Today started with church and a drive through Homewood where I followed my GPS to find Luigi's office. I am pleased to see he isn't spending a lot of his owners' money on overhead. That really isn't sarcasm. I work in a small property management office of similar ilk. There really is no need for flashy digs. Tenants don't see where their rent check goes every month. I am sure there is a market for travertine floors and posh interiors located in high-end zip codes, but I am more practical. I like simple and the exterior of Luigi's office didn't disappoint.

After that I met Carolsue at her lovely home where she showed me some of the treasures she is finding from local estates. And from there, we swung by Baseball Guy's home and went on a road trip. I am pleased to see Ms. Angie is taking great care of her home. I am even more pleased to see she wasn't out in the front yard as I drove by. Though I like Ms. Angie, I didn't want to stop in for two hours and visit.

Our next stop was my vacant-home-in-North-Centerpoint-where-the-second-mortgage-has-been-called-due house. Flunky had been kind enough to give me the code to the vendor box (not that the back door wasn't unlocked by Baseball Guy two weeks ago and before that Kirby, both who have visited this home for me in the past month). The Section 8 tenant left the house a mess. Just an utter mess. I am not sure why Section 8 feels the tenant deserves her deposit back. I am dragging Luigi by there tomorrow. The house is in disrepair, but it appears to be cosmetic. It still doesn't change the fact: if the home is going back to the bank, I am not fixing anything. And, I can't rent the house until the home is fixed.

The next leg of our trip was up to Pinson, where I checked on my "I really am moving out and please call off the eviction" house. The tenant is still there. She also has bags, upon bags of trash all over the outside of the home. They moved in last summer and haven't paid a dime. They have also broken off the garage door and now it is plywooded over. The woman looked comfortable there. Too comfortable. The entire scenario makes me ill.

Our last spot on the tour was Mrs. Sherwood's home. Mr. Sherwood was outside and I opted not to slow down, as again I wasn't in the mood for a social call. But the house looks good. No complaints. Thus far.

Dinner tonight was with Kirby and Mrs. Kirby.

Last week Marty asked me to give my top 10 favorite things about Birmingham. Carolsue, Baseball Guy and Kirby were on the list. All were part of my day today. All make this trip much more bearable.

Random Bama

The representative for the second-mortgage-who-called-our-loan-due called today. He wanted to tell us they didn't need anything else from us at this time and our file is "under review." He would let us know if anything changed, so there was no reason to contact him.

Not that we had the representative's name or number before today.

__________________________________________________________________

Luigi sent me an e-mail yesterday suggesting he would like to go with me to my homes when I inspect them during my upcoming Birmingham trip. Of course, it never occurred to me he wouldn't be coming with me. I have no desire to show up on any tenant's door, announce I am the owner and then have the tenant go off on every.little.thing they want, or feel they deserve. That's why I have Luigi in the first place. He gets to take the abuse with me.

__________________________________________________________________

I have finally done something to prepare for my trip. I bought mascara and an umbrella. 

Disorganized

Typically when when one is planning on traveling, they actually do something constructive about it. You know, pack, verify flights/hotel/car. They may possibly check out reviews of restaurants, book a tour (or if traveling to parts seriously unknown, a tour guide) and ensure the accommodations they are expecting to get at their desired destination will indeed be there.

So far I have checked the weather, made the property management scramble and begged my broker to take the on-call phone away from me. Actually, I have done a bit more than that. I have also contacted two real estate agents to discuss ways to sell my Leeds home. I have e-mailed Carolsue to make sure I have some one to play with for (at least) one of my days there. And, I have scanned Yahoo Maps to see if there are any exits off of Highway 280 to the property management office.

I did put some thought into what kind of "Arizona" gift I could bring to those I am meeting. If it were closer to Holiday season, I might have considered an Arizona Highways calendar. At this moment, I am at a loss and decided to go empty-handed. I am sure I am breaching some sort of Southern protocol showing up empty-handed. It even feels awkward to show up without something. But unless I have divine inspiration, it just isn't happening.

Eventually I need to pack. Or do laundry so I can pack. And perhaps I should figure out when my flight is taking off.

The Bless Your Heart Trip

At the pleading bribing request of Mr. Partner, Marty Sunshine and my ulcer, I am going to Birmingham shortly. I knew this was coming. To be honest, like most trips, in the time leading up to my arrival, I am not quite sure while I am bothering. After all, I have boots on the ground. I have a property management company with questionable levels of competence. I have a few tenants and former tenants who have graciously helped me out in a bind here and there.

But back to my trip. I managed to e-mail Luigi I was coming around 10 p.m. my time one night. By 6:30 a.m. my time the next morning, it was Slick Willy who e-mailed me back, saying some platitude about how excited he was to meet me. Luigi also wrote some similar sentiment, but probably changed his mind when he and I talked later in the week and he got a general gist of why I was going out there.

I don't expect to see Ms. Angie or Mrs. Sherwood, neither of whose homes are in property management. Though I would love to see them, they don't cause me any grief. Besides, I have superstitious tendencies that suggest if I show up, all might change. And, to be fair, I can only understand about a third of what Ms. Angie says.

So, I now have Willy scrambling to make appointments with the tenants. That will eat up a couple of days. In there somewhere I have an appointment or two. I am meeting Kirby and Mrs. Kirby for dinner one night. I am also visiting with Carolsue, whom I adore. I believe Carolsue is also plotting for ways for us to get potentially arrested. She is good at that. I don't adore that part, but it is inevitable.

What I really want are some intangibles. What is my going on with my homes? Are my tenants happy and planning on staying another year or so? Is there any maintenance that needs to happen that Flunky, Luigi's maintenance dork, hasn't mentioned. What am I going to do about my vacant home where the mortgage company has called the loan due? And, what is going on with my eviction? (Yea, I have one of those, I haven't written much about it because it upsets me greatly, but it is always top of mind). All of these questions can be answered--and have been answered to one degree or another--but a little face time never hurts. And perhaps, I won't have to utter "Bless Your Heart" too many times.

Hobson's Choice

There are some interesting factors involved with this house where the mortgage is called due. First, when one has superior credit, the mortgage company doesn't necessarily believe the mortgage holder (us) will actually follow through with having a home returned. After all, it isn't in our nature. Marty is telling them, "we are giving you the home back." The mortgage company is saying, "Of course you are..." (nudge, nudge, wink, wink).

The other interesting aspect is that the mortgage company doesn't appear to want the home back. We happen to be the most upside down on this particular property than all of the rest. It will be painful for them. Frankly, it will be painful for all of us. When we have broached the subject with our representative at the mortgage company, they say, "Now wait a minute... Don't be so hasty, we are working with you." Which really isn't true.

Additionally, the home is vacant. And, according to Flunky (the property management's maintenance guy), the home is in disrepair. So, there is no money coming in to cover the repairs or the mortgage.

When Slick Willy (my contact at the property management company), emailed me a few weeks ago he asked me what I was going to do about the work that needed to be done at the house. I told him then, I didn't have the money to fix up the house. Willy didn't offer any solutions. Willy didn't say, "what can you afford." Willy did nothing.

Fast forward to yesterday. Willy sent me an email. He said, "We have a deposit on your house. Will you be remodeling it?" Mind you, he didn't call me. Mind you, the house has not been advertised (I checked). Mind you, there is no sign in the front yard (I also checked). Mind you, a deposit means I would have approved a tenant and the rental price.

I told Marty I didn't believe Willy. If he had a potential tenant, he would have called. If he had a potential tenant--who had put down a deposit--that means they would have approved the home in the condition it is in (which, by the way, I have heard from another source over there--who may or may not have gone through the unlocked back door--that the home is in reasonable condition and does not need thousands in repairs).

Here's the rub: until the mortgage company agrees to fix our loan they called due, we are at an impasse. We can't rent the house out if the mortgage company is going to take it back. We can't update the home because the home is vacant and there is no sense in putting money into the property if the mortgage company is going to take it back. In fact, we can't afford to pay the mortgage on it any more. And, if we can't pay the mortgage, we will loose the home.

Yep, That Happened

The saga of the second mortgage being called due has reached new depths. For those of you who need a refresher, we have a second mortgage that has been called due--though we don't know why. We always paid on time. Always. The mortgage company has asked for the balance of the loan. When we explained we didn't have it, they asked for a mountain of paperwork. We have reasonably complied, figuring this was a no-brainer.

We are now in month five of this saga. The mortgage company is asking for redundant paperwork. We have already given them tax returns, bank statements and our "hardship letter." Twice. In fact, in our hardship letter, we explained that the only real hardship was that they called the mortgage due. If they hadn't done that, there would be no hardship.

Two weeks ago, we provided them with the latest bank statements they asked for. We explained they are modifying a second mortgage. The home is upside down. It is vacant. We even said we don't care if they just take the house back if it is that important to them.

The mortgage company followed that up with a personal phone call from a dude named Joe. The poor guy actually called Marty wanting to make nice and find a reasonable solution. He said they just needed one teeny-tiny item from us and then they could wrap this up. And if we could just comply with this one itsy-bitsy request, we would be on our way.

They want Polly's bank account information for the past sixty days.

For those of you who aren't aware, Polly is my 14 year old daughter. And in the event anyone is slightly confused on our stance on this particular request, it is totally unreasonable. Instead of complying a letter came from Marty. He wrote:

"You have recently called a loan due and we have repeatedly complied with your redundant requests for bank information, tax information and other essential documents. Recently, you requested bank statements for the last 60 days of my minor-child's bank account. I will not be providing this information for the following two reasons:

1. My name is not on this bank account,

2. And more importantly, it is none of your business if my daughter, neighbor or arch enemy has a bank account. People other than me have bank accounts." 

Marty then told them if they find our stance unacceptable, let us know, they can have the keys back. We are done.

The Flunky

My biggest beef with Luigi's company right now isn't Slick Willy--though he is a close second. It is Flunky--Luigi's maintenance supervisor. Flunky is a passive-aggressive asshat who suffers from severe Napoleon complex.

And those are his good points.

Flunky and I have been going round and round for the past few months with various issues, all of which make me dislike him even more. I have been tempted to say something to Luigi, but I don't know their relationship and the concrete facts I could toss Luigi's way demonstrate more of Flunky's need for an Emily Post Book than incompetence. 

Flunky, who has apparently flunked out of charm school, will call me but not leave messages. He will call several times until I ultimately call him back. He will then act like we don't know each other and introduce himself once again. This happens even when we have talked earlier in the day about the same home.

Flunky also talks to me like I am a complete idiot. I am not a sensitive person, and I have had Marty listen in just to be sure. Marty assures me I am not wrong. Flunky will say something like, "You know, how when water flows through a pipe there has to be pressure to move the water out, and when there is a breach in the pipe this doesn't happen?"

"You mean we have a leaky pipe?" I asked.

Flunky doesn't like to be corrected. He has been known to call Marty Sunshine with the exact same news but say, "Hey, you have a leaky pipe." He has done this on two separate occasions.

Also, I am pretty sure Flunky is paid on a commission or some sort of kick-back for work he does on owner properties. Recently, Flunky was a bit unhappy when I asked him to get a second opinion for an issue I was having because I felt his quote was too high. In fact, he was so pissy about it, he "forgot" to call my plumber for three days.

Fortunately, I called my plumber immediately. And I called Luigi--just to make sure the tenants were taken care of--which didn't make Flunky very happy either. And by the way, my second opinion was 40 percent lower. After that was settled, Flunky wouldn't schedule the job because I didn't pay in advance. So, I called the plumber, made payment arrangements and then e-mailed Luigi and Flunky and said, "Great news! The payment is now taken care of. Please start the work."

Just because he is a colossal jerk, Flunky sent me disturbing pictures of one of my homes on Christmas Eve. I haven't written about this particular nightmare, but I assure you, sending me these photos on Christmas Eve was in bad taste. These are pictures Luigi hasn't even wanted to send me.

Last month, my home in North Centerpoint came vacant (this is the one the bank has called the mortgage due and the Section 8 tenant no longer lives there). Flunky didn't send me pictures until Willy mentioned it to him--while Willy was on the phone with me. A week later I got pictures, along with a note saying they need money to fix the place up. My response was Flunky has known the home was vacant for the past two weeks, he has gone into the home repeatedly (according to the e-mails I have received) and yet I have not been given a quote for the repairs. So, I see no reason to send random amounts of money until he has done his due diligence. Could I please get that first? I haven't heard back. He might still be looking up the word, "diligence."

This past week a tenant had a problem with their gas fireplace. Flunky's answer was to write me, call me Susan (which isn't my name) and then ask me what I wanted to do. He didn't give me a price, a solution or any type of useful information whatsoever to allow me to make an informed decision. Instead of writing the guy back, I called Kirby and asked him to look at the issue. I then wrote both back and told them to coordinate the repair.

Today Flunky wrote me, "Hey Susan" asking if the fireplace work was completed. How would I know? I don't live there. And I suggested to Flunky that perhaps he could make a few phone calls and find out, after all, I didn't feel the need to catch the next flight out to do his job. But I promise, I said it much more politely than that.

In truth, I am running out of patience with Flunky. And I am getting to the point where I am thinking about flying out to Birmingham so that Flunky and I can have a face-to-face "Bless your heart," kind of chat. 

A Sad Post

I am sad tonight. Diamond Jim called me earlier today. Yesterday he was flying from his home in Eastern Oregon to Phoenix to tackle another tax season. When he landed, he got the news: his bride of many, many years passed away. So, he immediately flew back to Portland, met up with his adult son who lives there and then they drove four hours back to his Eastern Oregon home. When I talked to him earlier, he was just about numb, not really having time to process all that goes with loosing a loved one.

I had known Mrs. Diamond Jim. She was his office manager for the first several years I visited his practice. She was smart and made me (and probably everyone else she met) feel at ease, as if we were long-lost friends. I liked her quick wit and loved her sense of humor.

As time went on, when Mr. and Mrs. Diamond Jim decided to "retire" they bought a home in some small, obscure town (which was Mrs. Diamond Jim's childhood hometown) to live out their golden years. A series of unfortunate events has kept Diamond Jim from officially retiring, with him choosing to spend the three coldest of the Eastern Oregon months here in sunny Mesa, filing taxes.

Anyway, Diamond Jim has been a regular on this blog. Some of you three readers have even had the exceptional opportunity to meet him. He is hurting tonight. I am saddened by his loss. The only thing I could offer my friend when I spoke was cliche'd platitudes and prayers. And he, being the gracious man he is, said thank you and asked me if I would call him again.

Slick Willy

Willy, my new contact at the property management company, has not been terrible. He hasn't been wonderful either. However, I knew I had heard his name before. And after a bit of research, I figured out where: he was my contact the last month I had Hysteria Lane in Mario's clutches. The sum-total of my communication with the guy when he worked for Mario was one e-mail (where he addressed me as "Hey",) and him telling me he would rent out my home as soon as he could. However, he only showed it to one person for the entire month.

The reason I remember him, is that Mario insisted Willy was my contact over there. Mario was actually unhappy I kept contacting Mario asking for information and not Willy because I couldn't get any information from Willy. And, when I forwarded Mario the one e-mail I had gotten from the guy, Mario back-pedaled.

Anyway, I told Willy I knew he worked for Mario--I figure he knew he worked for Mario and he must have known who I was prior to last week, so let's just address the ugly elephant in the room, shall, we? Willy, to his credit, was upfront. He said he hadn't been a good fit over there. He also said he was looking forward to better opportunities working for Luigi, including--and I am not making garbage up--working with "savvy investors" like myself.

Oh brother.

Frankly, the fact he ignored my home last July and his actions are ultimately what cost Mario my business isn't playing in his favor. But right now I am going to go with this because Luigi trusts him. But unfortunately, I don't.

Brother Of The Year

Dear Joe,

May I call you Joe? You don't know me, but I wrote you once before. If you would like me to refresh your memory, please feel free to go here. I'll wait. Take your time.

When we last conversed, you were living in a home owned by Mitch and Tonya, these awesome people who were your defacto landlords. You are the felonious brother of Lisa--Mitch and Tonya's true tenant--whom you were subletting from. I know you are aware of who Mitch and Tonya are. And if you weren't aware prior to last week, I am guessing about 11:16 last Monday you got a phone call from Lisa, after she left the court house, filling you in on her morning's adventures.

You see, last week, Lisa had to go to court. Mitch and Tonya sued her for damages in their home. In return, Lisa was a bit pissy because she thought it wasn't very nice that she hadn't gotten her security deposit returned and elected to counter-sue them for a few hundred dollars.

But the truth is, you weren't very nice to Mitch and Tonya's home. Not only did you let your daughter's turtle die in her aquarium, you also poured the aquarium gravel down the bathroom drain. And the plumbing is probably the least of Mitch and Tonya's issues.

During the court hearing, Tonya outlined their position very clearly: Lisa didn't leave the house in the same condition she received it. There were pictures to prove this. There were e-mails from Lisa saying she would honor the terms of the lease and Mitch and Tonya could count on her. There were even e-mails from Lisa, stating she would fix all of your damages and leave the house in tip-top shape when "she" vacated. Unfortunately she didn't check with you prior to this, to make sure you were both on the same page. It might have saved her a bit of money. And, there were also receipts presented to the judge showing the amount of work needed to bring the house back up to habitable condition--though in my estimation, Mitch and Tonya should have asked for more money.

Joe, when it came time for your dear sister to defend herself and explain how she was indeed the one wronged because she hadn't seen a lick of her security deposit returned to her, she forgot to do so. I sat in the hard bench seat, watching her give her entire defense, which consisted of about 17 minutes  of her babbling different variations of "I am a single mother." I personally thought the teary eyes were a nice touch. And of course she concluded her soliloquy with an old standby used by victims everywhere: this whole legal proceeding just wasn't "fair."

As a last ditch effort to see that justice was served (and let's face it, nail her coffin shut), Lisa had hastily made a list of what she thought she might be responsible for (actually what she thought you were responsible for) and what she didn't think she should pay for. Lisa never got around to explaining to the judge exactly why she was expecting her deposit back. And that's too bad. I really wanted to hear her side of the story and see how she was going to go about it without admitting she had blatantly lied to Mitch and Tonya and sublet their home.

Eventually Joe, I was asked to speak to the judge.  Although Tonya had eloquently covered all the main points, I was happy to re-iterate a few things I felt the judge hadn't completely grasped. For example the holes in the walls weren't just tiny nail holes. They were large enough for burrowing animals to have nested. And these holes are in every wall in every room.

And, Your Honor, please understand these three-to-five inches across holes were filled with some sort of chewing gum-type substance and painted over. Someone (and we just happen to believe it was you, Joe) took the time to make that mess. And someone (and we know it wasn't you, Joe) had to scoop that goop out, replace those pockets of drywall and repaint.

Then there was the damage to the garage ceiling. It  wasn't just a "tiny spot" that Lisa could have possibly have neglected to miss--which is what she claimed to the judge during her tearful counter-suit. But, in fact, the damage spanned the entire length of the garage. And, it was obvious. And it was expensive to fix.

Joe, I have two brothers. I cannot image them screwing me over the way you did this to your sister. I won't say she didn't have it coming by lying to Mitch and Tonya and letting you live in their home, especially because she knew what kind of person you were prior to the time she signed the lease. But that said, I am saddened you live your life in a way, and Lisa lives her life in such a way that she had to spend her morning in front of a judge defending herself because of your actions. 

Lisa now has other issues because of this racket too. First, Mitch and Tonya want their money. They will be garnishing your sister's wages. I am sure she will discuss this thoroughly with you for quite a long time.

Then there is the fact Lisa now has a judgement on her record. She better be very comfy where she is living now because these shenanigans have ultimately black-listed her from renting any time soon again. Landlords don't appreciate tenants who have harmed another landlord. What is she going to say to a prospective landlord by way of an explanation about this judgement? Because I am pretty sure the "I am a single mom" defense won't work any better in the future than it did last time she used it.

Sincerely,

The Landlord

Musings of a Crazed SECOND Mortgage Holder

Marty Sunshine called the mortgage company today. The same mortgage company which called a SECOND mortgage due on a home we are significantly upside down on. The same mortgage company which holds a SECOND mortgage on a vacant property. The same SECOND mortgage company that has been asking for a ridiculous amount of redundant paper and for the past several months has found creative ways to say "hold on, we will let you know if we have modified your loan... eventually."

Last week this mortgage company asked for financial profit and loss statements for the first week of January, 2015. However, they did not want our bank statements for December. This week they decided they do indeed want our bank statements for December. Please send them over as soon as possible. Thanks.

"What happens if they decide they aren't going to refinance this mortgage?" I asked Marty tonight. I have asked Marty various versions of this question for the past several months, with him giving me some sort of happy rendition of, "It will all work out." Ironically, Marty won't let me ask the mortgage company this question. Nor will he ask them either. So, I really don't know what will happen if they get sick of this stupid fetchquest game they are putting us through.

 I have imagined all sorts of scenarios of what I would truly like to say to the bank. Unfortunately, every scenario seems to end with me facing a jury of my peers. My true peers of course, will be folks in a similar situation who managed to keep it together while they were randomly tortured by an impersonal entity whose sole purpose was to ruin rainforests and drive somewhat once-sane people crazy. Surely those peers will really understand.

I Am Pretty Sure He Only Listened When I Said I Am Buying Airfare

Luigi has passed me over to a new property manager dude at his office. And, because I am out of Mario the video game references (Mario, Luigi, Kirby and Daisy for those of you keeping track), we will just call this guy Slick Willy--or Willy for short.

Last week Willy and I played phone and e-mail tag, with him leaving me a message. Me returning it, giving him a reasonable range of when he could call to reach me and Willy ultimately ignoring my time frame and trying again when I was my most busy. Lather, rinse repeat.

Finally on Thursday we connected, with him beginning to tell me about what he felt needed to be "done" with my homes. I guess nobody over there warned him that I wasn't the average pushover, because he seemed a bit taken back when I corrected him and told him what I felt needed to be done with my homes.

First on my list is get my vacant one rented. Then find out why my tenant in Chalkville is moving next month and what can be done to keep her. Then update me on the eviction and destroyed home over there (I haven't written about that drama. Just not up to it right now). And then, when those meager tasks are complete, sell my home in Leeds. And, if possible, could you please give me comps on a couple of others. No hurry on the comps. I am just curious and would like someone else's opinion. What I didn't say was I wanted someone else's qualified opinion. But maybe I should have elaborated. My mistake.

Before hanging up, Willy shot through a good sixteen platitudes in about four minutes flat, promised me I would see all of the above and plenty more in my e-mail before close of business on Friday and wished me well. He may have sealed it with some sort of additional "you can count on me" speech. But I can't be sure.

I hung up our call with trepidation and fear, figuring that would be the last I would hear from Willy for a good three weeks. But, he didn't disappoint. He sent me all I asked for first thing Tuesday morning. Of course, unbeknown to him, I wasn't really available Tuesday morning. I was busy with 12 kids at a homeless shelter and didn't really get around to reading his e-mail until after noon some time.

Additionally, I hadn't exactly absorbed his e-mail when he called me an hour later with his version of great news. He had a buyer for my home in Moody. Yep. He found an investor who would buy it for $60k. He expected the contract any minute. Wasn't he just the best guy ever?

Maybe Willy is the best guy ever. Maybe he isn't. I do know nowhere did I say I wanted to give a home away for $60k. And yes, of course he could give me an offer on any of my homes at that price because it is worth significantly more than that.

When I started to explain to Willy I wasn't interested in selling the home in Moody for such a low price and I knew the house was worth more, he stopped me, giving me the same speech I share with those who think Zillow is a National treasure. Except I didn't use Zillow to find my comps. As a licensed agent, I have other tools at my disposal to run comps--even in other markets--which are more accurate than Zillow. Actually my cat could give more accurate comps than Zillow, but my true opinions of Zillow can wait until another blog.

Willy, who was expecting adulation and Heavenly praise for finding a buyer so fast for a home that wasn't in Leeds (and I didn't want to sell), took my reproach well. I did explain it wasn't my intention to professionally embarrass him by allowing him to find someone to bring me a low-ball offer (though I didn't "allow", but thought this might just ease the tension). I wanted a fair price for my homes. I don't want to give them away. Willy stammered though his explanation for way too long and I dropped it. I did suggest he could offer the same investor the home on Leeds, because that is the one I want sold. Just in case he missed that part of our conversation last week.

Willy didn't really have much else to say about my properties until I threw this bomb at him: I intend to fly out as soon as my eviction home is vacant. After a week of knowing this guy, I am thinking he would be much happier and would prefer I stayed right here.

Vacant

My Section 8 tenant moved out last week. She left the home in reasonable shape, though I am wondering what is wrong with the garage door and why she re-keyed the front door. It isn't wonderful, but not trashed either.

My new contact at Luigi's office tells me I can get about $150 more a month for this house--which is about what I was getting prior to the days it was a Section 8 house. Hopefully it will be rented soon.

Nope, Not Done

This is the stack of loan modification documents the bank has asked for in the past three months. It is two inches high. I measured.

Two weeks ago--in December, the bank asked for new financial statements, up to and including December 30, 2014. Last week they asked for new financial statements up to and including January 9, 2015. It appears the only one who is working on this damn file is Bliz--who keeps taking up her weekend to give me new financial documents.

Last week when the bank once again asked for updated financial documents they did not ask for updated bank statements. So, I didn't send them. However, I am guessing they will ask for them some time this week. Oddly enough, the bank gets pissy when I send over unsolicited paper--like bank statements--that I know they will ask for in a day or so. How dare I second-guess them?

In other news, the other loan this particular mortgage company opted to modify without our knowledge went though. The payment is actually $30 more a month. Yay us. Now if they would just finish this first one.

My Fifteen Minutes of Larceny

Approximately 67 minutes on December 23, after Bliz left on Christmas holiday trip to a very cold, Midwestern city, the mortgage company contacted us and gave us new demands. This, for those new readers, is the mortgage company which called due a second mortgage they hold for my home in North Centerpoint AND the same mortgage company which has decided to modify, then deny, then modify a first mortgage we have on the home in Chalkville.

Aren't you glad I caught you up so you won't be confused?

Anyway, what they wanted was more profit loss statements from me for the month of November and December. Mind you, we had already already given them this document back in November, and if they had just modified the loan back then, WE WOULD BE DONE WITH THIS NONSENSE.
But I digress...

Anyway, Bliz was on her way to some cold, windy, frozen Midwest city ready to enjoy her holiday, which didn't coincide with the bank's deadline of December 26. So, as I reported this to her she just texted back and said, "I will be home late Sunday night." Though I was frustrated with the idiots at the mortgage company, I was not really excited about Bliz spending her holiday helping me out with this last minute request anyway. Nobody else should have to deal with this fire drill.

Out of reasonable options, I sat down and started thinking about other solutions. Not to be deterred--after all, in the days before Photoshop I was pretty handy with layout and design. I optimistically took the old profit loss statement from November, put white-out tape on the dates and said to Marty Sunshine, "Yep, this will fool them." Mind you, the numbers hadn't changed, but we are talking about underwriters here. Surely they don't pay attention to such detail.

Unfortunately, we will never find out if underwriters do or do not pay attention to such detail. It turns out I am no longer handy with layout and design and the documents looked forged. So, we didn't submit them. Instead we sent back every other scrap of paper the mortgage company asked for, sans the P&Ls. This will not make them happy. But then again, nobody else is very happy about this either.

Make It Stop

The Alabama Department of Revenue just got around to noticing my now-defunct accidental business hasn't paid them any money in more than two years. They are apparently unhappy about that and took the time to write me a letter, expressing just how disappointed they truly are.

Never mind that when we closed our doors we told them the company was no longer around. Never mind that I responded to their first request for money six months after we went belly-up with another copy of our last tax returns showing that we are indeed no longer in business. Nope. They waited until the end of 2014, dusting off our file just to tell me, "We want your money. Now."

This time I just wrote on the envelope, "Return to sender. This company does not exist at this address." Perhaps the message will start to sink in.

Busywork

Marty did indeed get in touch with someone at the mortgage company. Sadly, the first customer service rep was probably lamenting being fired for being too friendly in her former job at the local Motor Vehicle Department. As it was explained to Marty, the bank wouldn't have denied his loan modification if he had just sent in the paperwork they asked for.

"I am under the impression we turned in everything that was asked for," Marty innocently stated.

"Well, you didn't. We sent you another letter asking for more," replied Miss Congeniality.

When Marty said he did not have another letter in our files and neither he, nor I, remember seeing another letter. All this savvy future diplomat said was, "That's not my problem. We sent it to you."

Twenty minutes and another customer service representative later, our file was re-opened and Marty was given yet another set of demands required of us. Mind you, none of this would be necessary if the bank hadn't called the loan due. They are causing our busywork. All of it.

And, because there is still some rain forest left, the bank has decided to "help" us and is (without our consent or knowledge) modifying another mortgage we have with them. They are requiring more paperwork from us, and could we please do this as soon as possible? Thanks. It also turns out saying, "This is utterly unnecessary, please leave this mortgage alone. We are fine," is not an option.

The second home in question--the one where the mortgage company randomly decided we needed to change the terms of our loan--is in the LLC Marty and I own without a partner. Though I received a denial letter from them last Friday--the first I heard this home's mortgage was under scrutiny--they are apparently only modifying this loan as a favor to us. However, I am not sure what exactly the "favor" is in this case. At any rate I stand corrected: they did not call this loan due. However, I am not sure what it means when they have already "denied" a loan modification for a home that does not need one, nor where we asked for any type of changes. What happens if they deny us again? Where does that leave this particular mortgage on this new home?

Fast forward a couple of days. All of the subsequent paperwork the mortgage company has asked for has now--again--been faxed to them. I did suggest to Marty that he may want to explain to them that if they had not bothered us to begin with, none of this would have been an issue.

Denial

I may have mentioned we had a mortgage called due?  I received this love letter from the mortgage company today telling me what they really think. 

Despite the fact we sent them our tax returns on three separate occasions, Bliz jumped through a ton of hoops to take care of some financials they asked for and Marty and I have provided them with our private bank statements, business bank statements and DNA samples from our fathers, it wasn't good enough.

And to add insult to injury, this bank has now called due another mortgage on a different home. For the record, we pay our mortgages on time. We do what we are supposed to do. And apparently that isn't good enough.

Lunch with Mr. Partner

The American Medical Association recommends adults over a certain age get a colonoscopy every ten years as part of an overall wellness and healthy-living lifestyle. I believe this is also the same guidelines for me meeting with Mr. Partner.

Last week, I spent a few hours writing up a State-Of-Our-Alabama-Nonsense report. I carefully took time to put in lots of information, including but not limited to, the second mortgage we are trying to convince the bank to let us refinance, the flood at my Section 8 house and a litany of other items that I have just not had the lining stomach to write about.

Though I loathed doing so, instead of letting Marty Sunshine meet with Mr. Partner and discuss my fabulous report, I opted to tag along, figuring Mr. Partner hadn't bothered to even glance at my hard efforts. Marty was encouraged by this, given I would be a fresh voice, provided I could hold off the snark--which I wasn't promising.

The main item on our agenda was that I wanted money. Let me back up, we pay our home owner's insurance in July out of pocket. Property Taxes are due, also out of pocket, at the end of December. Additionally there are a few other bills that deserve some attention by the end of the year. Since 2008, all parties have had to put a few dollars in here and there, with Marty Sunshine and I putting in money first and Mr. and Mrs. Partner matching us when we get around to telling them it is time. This generally results in Mr. Partner being completely astonished this venture isn't profitable and citing some completely obscure 2007 scenario which will include us being in the black. Mr. Partner will then be reminded that 1) 2007 was many years ago, 2) we changed our business strategies when the housing market took a dive and restrictive owner-financing laws took affect, as a result we are now dealing with vacancies and turnovers, and 3) we go through this ever year and it should not come as a shock.

Generally when we have these conversations with Mr. Partner, he is not open to selling any home  where we won't make a stellar profit. In all fairness, he isn't keen on vacancies, repairs or property management companies either. Somehow last week I managed to convince him that it is in our best interest to sell a few undesirable properties. On the list were a couple of homes that just don't cash flow. Though we don't want to sell them all at once, for fear of capital gains issues. Not that I am expecting him to remember, he did also acquiesce to a few capital improvements. In the end, I got the exact item I came for: a check from him, so that I don't have to figure out where I was going to get the money to pay the property taxes. And hopefully I won't have to attend another meeting with him for an additional 10 years. 

What I Discovered Two Weeks Ago

I know there are several readers who have a pressing desire to know this tid-bit. In Birmingham Alabama, in order to have a "gas pressure test" done at a home, one has to get permits from the city.

As of Today, 121 Days.

Last week I found a handy-dandy site on the Internet, which will conveniently tell me precisely how many days until April 6, 2015. For those who do not know the enormity of that particular day, it happens to be the Diamondback's opening day (they play San Francisco, for anyone who might keep up on such things). It also happens to be the day before Carolsue's birthday--so please start your shopping now.

Let's just say, that's what kind of Alabama week I was having. Lucky for you three readers it means a month or two worth of blogs while I try to sober catch up.

Every home I have has some sort of memorable tenant in them. Most of whom have received a nod or two in this blog. One of my more memorable "tenants" was a woman who received keys for the rental home and a notice from her doctor to proceed directly to the hospital and not to pass "Go" within an hour of each other. The tenant had an emergency double mastectomy and never moved in. Last I heard, by the way, the non-tenant survived.

I have a home in North Centerpoint. At one time it was Wayward's home, who was asked to leave. At another point, Ms. Robin lived there and moved to somewhere else. Then it was vacant and the economy was icky and I begrudgingly agreed to take a Section 8 tenant, whom is still there. I have been unhappy with this arrangement since the get-go.

In 2011, Kirby and I toured this home to find out that this tenant had a new Cadillac Escalade and a new Chevy Suburban. Though she didn't have a job or any outside obligations, both of her small children were in all-day childcare, leaving her to bask in the luxury of of her fine furnishings and amazingly exorbitant electronics. The day Kirby and I viewed this home, I commented that I don't live nearly this well. "She doesn't own anything in the home," he replied. "I have rental places calling me all the time tracking her down." And my ulcer grew larger.

Fast-forward to 2014. Luigi is now my property manager and Ms. Section 8 has repeatedly called him, threatening to move out if I don't "honor my word," which she states, ranges from me agreeing to (in 2011) to painting the house to installing new flooring--which, by the way, was installed in 2010. About once a month, she lords this over me, as some sort of veiled threat. Frankly, she did this to Kirby for years as well.

In this past October she called Luigi complaining her home was filled with an infestation of roaches, and what was I going to do about it? I replied back by saying she might want to get some bug spray. She then sicced the Section 8 people on me making the home somewhat uninhabitable and the Section 8 folks then said they weren't going to pay the rent on the property unless I made some repairs that she caused. At that point, I asked Luigi's folks just to send her a note asking her to move at the end of her lease.

I guess she didn't expect that.

As much as I wish I could tell you the story ends here, it doesn't.

On Thursday, Luigi's maintenance guy called me. He started out by introducing himself, which I thought was odd, because 1) we have talked numerous times this year and 2) his name came up on my phone as someone I had programmed in there. For about 10 minutes he beat around the bush, telling me there was "water leaking" out of a shower at Ms. Section 8's house and what did I want to do about it.

"Isn't she moving out?" I asked. "Can't we fix it when she is gone?"

His response was to repeat his comment, each time a bit more condescending, letting me know that I, the little woman, just wasn't grasping that water was dripping. I finally got sick of this particular game on the third go-round and directed him to call Marty Sunshine.

What Maintenance Guy managed to convey to Marty was really that a pipe broke inside the wall, Ms. Section 8 was barking about "toxic mold" and was threatening to leave if I didn't fix it right then and there. Marty authorized to get it fixed, but I did let Maintenance Guy guy know in the future he wouldn't have to jump through as many hoops if he had just been straight with me.

Also on Thursday, I discussed many, many, things with Luigi, including Ms. Section 8. Apparently, there was some talk from her that she wants to stay. There was much ranting from me that she HAS TO GO.

If Ms. Section 8 doesn't leave the home in the same condition she found it, then she doesn't have a voucher for the next landlord who wants her--which means she doesn't get free money. I'm ok with that too. This was my first, and hopefully last, foray into Section 8 housing. I was getting less than market rent and there are a lot of hoops to jump through. Here's hoping to a winning season with the next tenant.

Hysteria Lane Update

My home on Hysteria Lane is still vacant. To refresh your memory, I had a tenant who flooded my kitchen last February. The tenant was at fault for the damage, but still felt that I owed her a reduction in rent because the poor thing was inconvenienced for three days while the kitchen cabinet dried out. Mind you, she still had full use of the home. The entire incident was more expensive than the cost of your run-of-the-mill nuclear warhead. Fortunately I have insurance which covered most of it.

Because of this, the tenant stormed out in early July, never to be heard from again. At the time Mario was managing this rental. And frankly, he was doing a piss-poor job. In one month the home had been shown one time, with Mario telling me it was totally my fault it wasn't rented. After all, if I would just lower the rent to something obscenely stupid--even though for the past 10 years I had always gotten about $400 more a month--it would rent in a week.

In a moment of total bliss, I fired Mario and his minions last August and gave the home to Luigi.

In the past four months, I have gotten several applications on this home. Each one more questionable than the last. I finally asked Luigi's flunky (I am too tired to re-name these dudes right now) to only give me applications that were better than the first idiots I rejected.
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And when I say these potential tenants were "idiots" please understand, this is no exaggeration. One set actually lied on the application, including, but not limited to, not wanting to give her current landlord's phone number. When Flunky found the landlord, we discovered why: the idiot had been late on rent ever month. Next.

Another wanted $200 off the rent in exchange for a two year lease. Please do the math: I should take a $2400 reduction in rent for the privilege of letting these folks live in my home. I might have considered some type of incentive (half a month's off one time, perhaps?) if they hadn't been a train wreck on paper. I couldn't keep track of the number of people who would be living in this home or their questionable employment.

The latest applicant sounds somewhat sane. However, the husband has a sizable child support judgement stemming back to 2001. But, the couple was kind enough to tell the truth on the application, make decent money (three times the rent) and provide reasonable references. The good news is he won't be buying a home any time soon and--if approved, mind you--that might keep them staying there for a while.

Two Out Of Three Readers Just Can't Be Wrong

Well, two of my three readers this week innocently asked me where I had been. Here's the truth: I originally started this blog many years ago with Bliz in mind. She was my imaginary reader. (She is also my bookkeeper.) Then one day many years ago when I was feeling slightly vulnerable, I told her about this site. And, for about a year, she was my only reader. This was back in the olden days of the 2000s.

Technology being what it is, I now pretty much communicate with Bliz every day. However, we rarely talk about Alabama. Frankly, I have been avoiding Alabama (until this week) and would much rather discuss boys with her (nothing has really changed in the past 30+ years--except our "boys" are currently 16 and 12).

The other reason--and this one is slightly more of a concern, is that Marty Sunshine did something to my computer, making it necessary to hire a shaman and for me to become proficient in technological mumbo-jumbo in order to log into this site. If you are reading this blog, it means the money paid to the shaman was well spent--which is good, because I need my blog-therapy right now more than ever.

To ease you back into the drama of my accidental business, the mortgage that was called due a few months ago, is still called due. Although Marty and I have sent over everything they have requested to the bank, including a DNA sample from our cat, we are getting stupid requests from these folks. Now they want to see more papers. Though we sent them our tax statements for the past three years, they want to see them again. But this time, they want us to sign them. "They are signed," I pointed out to Marty. "We had to sign them when they were filed. Where are we supposed to put this new signature?"

He didn't have an answer to that.

The mortgage company also wants to see bank statements to bank accounts we don't have. Of course, the sane course of action would be to call the person who is requesting these items and explain their demands are slightly unreasonable and downright silly. But we aren't given a name, phone number or any type of distinguishing characteristics to find said, "mortgage representative." We are given a fax number, and asked to kindly turn in the papers of their choosing right about now. So, tomorrow I will fax over whatever they are asking for to make them happy--or at least what will make them be somewhat agreeable.

I really am not feeling totally reasonable right now. Personally, I would like to include in my communications, what exactly happens if we don't comply with their demands? However, Marty is asking me not to mention this little item. He is suggesting it might be a teensy bit argumentative, perhaps it is because I use a slightly more colorful vocabulary when he and I broach this topic in the privacy of our home. 

Here is my G-rated reasoning for my question. The mortgage company can't take the house. This is a second mortgage. All they can do is put a lien on the property--which they already have in the form of a mortgage to begin with. So, even if we jump through these hoops and they are unsatisfied, I am pretty sure we will be at a stalemate.