Reflecting

It infuriated me beyond belief when tenants would say, "I don't have the rent," and then stay in my house. Or, they would be short every month, but when I came to Alabama, they would have furnishings or toys much newer and nicer than mine because furnishings and toys are more important than paying for a place to live. I consider the contract to rent a home to be binding. I do my part, and I expect the person signing to to theirs.

I have been known to call these folks deadbeats, losers or worse. Some of them still make my jaw clench when I think how they stayed in my home, letting me (at times) work two jobs just so we could pay the mortgage company and the lawyer to evict them.

We work for what we have and we expect those on the receiving end to act accordingly. Yes, we have had some nice vacations, but they were paid for with cash. Ahead of time. I bring this up, because one tenant who was squatting in my home actually suggested if my family hadn't gone to California one year, we could have afforded her not to pay the rent. So it was our fault.

The reason I bring this up is because we are doing the same with our mortgage companies. Essentially we have become the deadbeats or losers. I struggle with this daily.

Marty Sunshine suggested it isn't remotely the same. When our situation became the reality it is, we told the banks immediately. We offered them the homes upfront. But they didn't want them. I understand our reason for going this direction was strategic. But then, one could argue, our tenants' reasoning for staying in our homes long past when they should have left could also be deemed "strategic."

In return for us breaking our contracts with the banks, we will be sued. There will be a judgement against us. We are unable to get loans for just about anything for years (if we want loans). We can't get a new mortgage any time soon either. My credit score alone has dropped 73 points in the past eight weeks. Marty Sunshine (whose name and credit is tied with more of these delinquent loans than my name), doesn't want to know how far his score has plummeted. Eventually--when the dust settles--we will most likely file bankruptcy. All because of a situation we couldn't control. Or didn't control properly. You pick.

But I don't see how I can call the people who did this to me deadbeats without looking in the mirror and seeing the same.

We Got His Attention

If you are a long-time reader of this blog, you might have gotten the impression Mr. Partner is rough around the edges. He is. He is also a savvy landlord and I have learned a lot from him through the years.

The biggest challenge we have faced with Mr. Partner is his memory has holes. We were rocking in the early years of the accidental business. Just rocking. He thought I was a genius. Heck, I thought I was a genius! Our business plan was spot-on and everything was going swimmingly.

And then it didn't.

And Mr. Partner didn't seem to comprehend "We have 12 vacancies, a dead water buffalo heard rotting the basement of one home and the FBI is zeroing in on a potential illegal Romanian gambling ring in another house." The crazies--and I promise you every story I write on here is true--started piling up and 1) a blog was born and 2) we ran out of money. Fast.

When approaching Mr. Partner with financial drama, generally what I would hear from him was, "Why did this happen? It wasn't like this back in 2007."

This is where it got interesting. Marty Sunshine and I always contributed first when I noticed our business bank account was running low. After a few months of financial juggling, we would ask Mr. Partner to match our contribution. Instead of just agreeing, or asking something reasonable, like how much did we contribute and when, Mr. Partner would ask for bank statements. He would then point out that our account on the first of the month had lots of money in it what happened to the money? That's true, but once the bills are paid, the money was gone.

Mr. Partner would also ask for income statements and balance sheets. Let's be fair, he is owed these items. They were also provided to him regularly. He didn't want the regular ones, but he wanted up-to-date numbers that did not reflect reality. Because financial statements tell viewer of what happened before, not what is happening right now.

However, in order for him to commit to putting a penny into the bank account, which was usually on the brink of us bouncing mortgages, he would insist upon seeing these reports. I would always call Bliz, beg her forgiveness, ask her to drop everything she was doing and please make the financials current and send them over to me. Then, once she sent everything, I'd pass it along to Mr. Partner who would scrutinize it and ask why we spent so much on dead water buffalo removal and couldn't we have found someone trustworthy to do it for $25?

Also, for those of you not familiar with balance sheets, the Owner's Equity category is a negative number. This always throws Mr. Partner because his negative number is closer to zero than ours. So, in his mind, it was he who put in more money. And again, before he would commit to making sure nothing bounced, Marty would have to explain this concept to him. The reason Marty did this is because I got to the point where I could not speak civilly to Mr. Partner.

In all fairness, Mr. Partner would always oblige, match our contribution and say things like, "This will be the last time I ever give another dime to this LLC."

One time, when I knew we were on a fast track to bouncing every mortgage payment, I sent him a saccharine-sweet note, letting him know that if he didn't match our contribution immediately, it would be the homes in his name where the mortgages weren't paid that month. And that was fine by me. Another time, I may have accidentally on purpose not paid the property taxes on a home with the mortgage in his name. But hey! We didn't have the money and Mr. Partner was being stubborn.

This tenuous relationship has lasted for years. Marty--bless him--has always been the peacemaker between Mr. Partner's obnoxious insinuations that I have run the company into the ground and me promising a painful and cruel death for the man if he didn't do his part. And, there has been more than one occasion where I have pointed out to him that I go to Birmingham on my own dime (at his request) and I take the calls, shield him from the plethora of drama and a LOT OF OTHER STUFF HAPPENS because I do it and he doesn't. And I am willing to trade jobs with him any time.

In the past six months or so, things have shifted. When we came to Mr. Partner and explained the bank called the mortgage due for our home in North Birmingham and the home in Pinson is beyond reasonable repair he listened. We then told him Marty and I were willing to let the homes go. It would be our credit trashed and we would probably have to file bankruptcy to clean up this mess. Though we weren't excited about this prospect, we had consulted a lawyer and a few other experts (on the LLC's dime) and it appeared it was the only recourse we could see to solve this mess. The banks weren't going to play and we did not have the money anymore.

Mr. Partner offered to help out with whatever financial necessitates were needed. And we appreciated it. But it didn't change the realities. This wasn't something we could just write a check to fix. We asked him to think about if he really wanted to do that. And he asked us if we were really sure we wanted to "strategically downsize." We were sure. And frankly I think Mr. Partner was sure too.

Since then, Mr. Partner has been very conciliatory. "Anything you need," he has told me almost weekly. When I warned him the insurances were due this month and it was usually Marty and I who handled this, he said not to worry, he'd cover it.

A couple weeks ago, the three of us went to lunch to discuss the state of affairs. I made a few jokes about our credit being shot and our impending financial meltdown. I joked because at this point, one can only wallow in the miasma of doom for so long. It is the decision we made. And so far, I feel it is for the best. I realized afterwards my comments made him uncomfortable, but that was certainly not my intention. But that said, it seems that Marty and I being willing to let these homes go to get this monkey off our back has certainly made an impact on him.

Functional Dysfunction

Every July, since the first year of our accidental business, most of my home owner's insurances happen to be due. Don't ask me why, but the majority of our gazillion homes we bought through the years were purchased in July. So here we are.

Also, because of strategic business decisions of years' past, we pay several of our insurances (and taxes, but that's December's issue) out of pocket. And, because we have a gazillion properties, traditional insurance companies stopped insuring us long ago. So five of our homes happen to be lumped into two commercial insurance policies.

This is where it gets a bit messy. Unfortunately three of the five homes in these two policies are homes Marty and I own without a partner. In the event you aren't completely confused and are still reading this: one policy holds three homes (two are Marty's and mine and one belongs to the LLC we have with Mr. Partner) and the other commercial policy holds two (one is Marty's and mine and one happens to be the home we have a short sale on--but it is in Mr. Partner's LLC).

Additionally, paying these two clunky policies is a bit of a chore. The money can't be co-mingled. So the Solo LLC can't pay Mr. Partner's LLC's policy without a lot of excessive journal entries and insanity Bliz just hasn't signed up for.

There are other insurance policies on our other homes out there, but these are the two policies tend to be most maddening. Once upon a time when Bliz had more free time, she would patiently sort through this, figure out which home's policy cost how much and then pay these particular bills for me. But one year she gave me some veiled threat of mutiny and a quadrupled hourly rate if she had to figure out how to disperse the money for these five homes.

So, this job is now mine. And now every July I have to dedicate several hours to figure out the login to the insurance Web site and guess at the password (because it is something unconventional like !obn0xious1) so I can actually read the policies and decipher the payment amount per home. It takes less time to read the entire Harry Potter series than figure this nonsense out.

I have to tell you, it would be genuinely nice if the insurance company would actually just mail me the policy and the bill like I have repeatedly requested. But, they don't. It is a fight I fought and lost. And at this point, I know what to do, where to look and just have adjusted my life accordingly.

Then there is Mrs. Sherwood's home's policy. This policy is from a different insurance company and they never send me a bill either. And again, I have asked and got tired of loosing this battle. There is only so much rejection I can handle in one month. But to their credit, they do send me a cancellation notice if I don't pay it. There have been numerous years I have had to call the insurance company begging to be reinstated (and suggesting if they had sent me a statement in the first place I would have taken care of this). Ironically, the only other time they send me a bill is after I send them $300 or so around July 12. Only then will they let me know exactly how much I really owe.

The biggest challenge with this process is, of course, that we are under-capitalized And, when one has under-capitalized issues, paying several thousand dollars of home owner's insurance is a bit of a challenge. So every summer we start a campaign to scrape together the money. Generally Marty and I make up the difference in July and Mr. Partner handles the money for the taxes in December. It is a simple dysfunction we have all grown comfortable with.

However, this year things were different. After I settled down last week do figure out what needed to happen, I discovered we had just enough money in the LLC to cover our insurances! You know, the way it should have been all along if things had gone smoothly. Sadly, the reason the money was there  this year to begin with was because we aren't paying for the two homes we are giving back.

The Non-Relationship Manager

The home where we are doing a Deed in Lieu of Foreclose (the house in Pinson with the charming wrap around front porch, for those of you keeping track) has a first and second mortgage. The process is maddening. There are times I feel like dealing with it, and times I don't.

We have been in contact with both mortgage companies since the beginning of the process. This has not stopped the second mortgage company from calling us twice a day, which they do. Last week, when they called for the first time one day, I needed to talk with them. You see, they had sent us a certified letter that we opted  not to accept. So, I wanted to find out what they wanted.

When "Mark" called last Thursday, I was in a cheerful mood. As soon as he identified himself, I said, "I am so glad you called. Would you please put me through to the asset manager. I need to speak with her."

At which point, Mark put me into the main phone system where a computer admonished me for being late, told me how much I owed and told me they would like a payment immediately thankyouverymuch, and if I wanted to speak with a human being, please press 2.

Apparently my relationship manager (Laury, whom I have yet to speak with), was unavailable but someone named "Agent 26" came on the line. Still being somewhat cheerful, I was totally taken aback by Agent 26's demeanor. He was downright hostile. He pointed out I owed money. Why wasn't I paying it? Seriously, it is a second mortgage and can't I just give up my "daily Starbucks addition" and manage my budge better so that I can pay them the money I owe?

This was all before I even said why I wanted to talk to him.

By the way, I don't drink coffee, nor do I frequent Starbucks.

I didn't give him a sob story. I won't. But I told him the truth (because he finally asked why we hadn't paid): the tenant moved in, didn't pay, trashed the place and fought the eviction. We drained our savings trying to pay the mortgage and pay the attorney on the house where these deadbeats lived. We don't have the money to fix it up. That is the truth. All of this I conveyed with as much of a pleasant professional demeanor as I could muster.

Agent 26 replied, "So this is a short-term problem and we can expect your payment when?" And at this point there was really no reason to continue with the call. The two points of interest I did gleam from this guy was they will not do a Deed in Lieu. Nope. No way. No how (then we will go straight to foreclose--but there was no point telling him). He also told me the second mortgage company plans on suing us. Which I pretty much figured out by the twice-daily phone calls.

I never did get around to the crux of the call (what was in the letter they sent?). Nor did I say what I really wanted to tell him, which is: "Do you think after owning this home for 11 years we want this??" Frankly, Agent 26 wouldn't let me talk anyway. And by that time, I really didn't want to.

We're In The Money

So Kirby has sent me another offer for our short sale. This phenomenally wonderful offer is for $58,000. Sadly, this is a full priced offer. Hopefully the bank will be as thrilled as we are.

This Is A Fine How-Do-You-Do

Last summer I helped Kathy and Tony find a lovely rental home. The home in question is a modest three bedroom stuccoed home in East Mesa. The house isn't in property management, but it self-managed by the out-of-state owner.

I should explain--because it might give you a bit of context--the way the system in Arizona works is that I show the house, the folks interested put an application in and if approved, a few weeks later I get a check that equates to about $4 an hour for my time. So, I don't know who the owner is. I don't write the lease. And I don't have any details about the lease.

Fast forward to this week. Kathy called me. You see, her lease states that she is to deposit the rent money directly into the owner's bank account. Apparently, her lease also gives her the owner's phone number to call if anything happens. But the lease does not give a few other vital tidbits: like the owner's e-mail address or a physical address. Just in case.

After all, what could possibly go wrong? Right?

If you happen to be one of my three readers, you will be snickering to yourself, because you know that something wrong happens in situations like these. In this case, when Tony went to deposit the rent money last week he found out the account was closed. While standing in line while the Wells Fargo teller waited patiently, Tony called the phone number he had for his landlord only to find out it was disconnected. And after probing a bit farther with the teller (who could have just told him this to begin with), it turns out the owner is deceased.

And that's when I got a phone call.

Technically, Kathy and Tony have not been officially notified about the owner's death. In fact, after I dug around on the ole' Internet for a while I found out that 1) the owner had resided in Miami Florida, 2) He died in January, 2015 and 3) it was a "tragic death", though I don't have any real details about it. I can also tell you he was self-employed and had heirs.

There are legal reasons I don't want to get involved with this. It isn't that I don't like these folks, but there are legalities associated with my real estate license, so I am not advising them. However, I have told the where to go for the information they are seeking. I did tell them if it were me, I would hold on to the rent money and not to spend it. They owe the money. But then again, they are owed their security deposit when they leave if they have fulfilled the terms of the lease.

I called Kathy today to follow up her and see how she was doing with her new news (I was morbidly curious). At this time they have decided to stay--though their lease is up at the end of July. Their thinking is that someone will eventually officially notify them, whether it is a family member, the bank telling them the home is in foreclosure or a probate court.

They are also setting aside the rent money so that they can show they have tried to pay it. They have written a statement, attached it to this month's rent, saying the owner had refused to give them his address or any way to get in touch with them other than a disconnected phone number. They put that in the same envelope as the rent. I am not advising them on this one, but I did tell them to call me when they are ready to find another home.

So, fellow landlords, it might be a really good idea to give your tenants a few ways to contact you. And, it might be a good idea for your heirs to contact your tenants in the unlikely event something unfortunate happens to you.

Happy Independence Day

Here's a little ditty about perspective.

The Greatest

And The Game Continues

I am pleased to say I got the banks to stop calling my cell phone at all random hours of the day. In fact, there is now only one bank who calls us. Every day at 8:36 a.m. Depending upon my mood, I will speak with them. Though I have talked to the "asset manager" there a couple of times and am not sure why we aren't on the same page. We are on the same page with all the other mortgage companies. I am kind of impressed though. This company has the least stake in the game and they are fighting hardest.

The calls are always from someone who sounds like he or she is working in a call center. Their accent is thick and not an American English dialect I am familiar with. In fact, in whatever call center training they are getting nobody has told them about American English colloquialisms. I once asked one of them where they were originally from and she named a city I later figured out was "Santa Fe." She pronounced it "San-te-a-fe-a."

Lately, the calls are pretty standard. They announce who they are (today was Travis). They ask if I am who I am. I always reply with a dull, "Can I help you?" and they continue on with their script. About two minutes after they come up for air, the next time I am to interact with them is when the poor unassuming person on the other end says, "Is this a good time to talk."

I always answer "No," and they promptly ignore me and proceed to the crux of the call. It has to be part of their script, because they all say the same thing, "I have very important information to share with you about your mortgage. Will you verify your social security number please?"

At this point, I will either say a few random things. Usually I just say No. But I have been known to change it up once or twice and ask if they would like to give me their social security number first. Every time I do this, the person on the other end gets flustered. Yesterday she ("Jane" or "Jean") said, "I don't think you need my number." When I refused to give mine to her, she then asked for my address--which I did provide. Much to my surprise, Jane (Jean?) announced I was wrong.

Then Jane (Jean?) said that I was to get the real Mrs. Landlord to call her back because I can't verify who I say I am.

Today when I talked to Travis, before he could get to the part where he asked my social security number, I interrupted and asked for an asset manager. I have spoken with asset managers at this mortgage company before. Today's request was going to be to have these yahoos stop calling. Period. Sometimes when I ask to speak with an asset manager I am told there is nobody there with that title. One person offered me the call center floor manager. "Do they have the authority to make decisions about my loan?" I asked. No. They didn't.

However, Travis seemed to have his A game on. He offered to transfer me to the person I wanted to speak with. I told him she was assigned to my case and I would be happy to discuss this with her. After waiting on hold for a few minutes, I was told no asset manager was available but Travis' boss would talk to me. And then "Mick." was on the phone. His first question was to ask who I was, and why I was on the phone with him. "Your company called me. Don't you know?"

Apparently he did not. We went a few rounds of this before we parted ways. But no matter. This mortgage company will call later today: at 2:17 p.m. and then again tomorrow at 8:36 a..m. where we can have another go.

I Need a Go Fund Me Account for Bail Money

Flunky, the Property Management's Maintenance Manager texted me at 5:21 a.m. today. It was simply, "I need you to call me as soon as possible." My first biggest annoyance was the phone woke me up. The second was that I was starting my day with some sort of Alabama drama, that probably I couldn't solve, but would be required to partake in nonetheless.

And for those of you who wish to point out my phone could be elsewhere, or that I could turn my ringer off, I would like to point out that only polite people with true emergencies or crazy, rude idiots call at unholy hours of the day. So, yes, I keep my ringer on. And though I certainly don't want it to make any sort of noise at that particular hour, we are currently on alert. When you get to a certain age, your extended family tends call with tragic news. And sadly we are currently waiting for this call from my cousin back East.

When I was woken up, I did what any good passive-aggressive Landlord would do. I muttered something that meant, "bless his heart, " and did my darnedest to go back to sleep. Unfortunately, that wasn't in the cards. So, about 30 minutes later, before any type of caffeine was coursing through my veins, I was checking my e-mail, and guess what? Because I didn't call this dude back right away, he did the sensible thing and e-mailed me.

Flunky's e-mail said the home on Moody is having something dubbed, "moisture issues". For some reason that has yet to be explained to me, the only vendor in the greater Birmingham metropolitan area qualified to caulk a shower (because that is what it sounds like) was only available at 6:30 that morning and if I could please authorize this right then and there--even though I was not given a price--everyone could go on with their day.

If I did not authorize this, it would be at least another week before this moisture vendor could get into the home. And, according to Flunky, that would be detrimental because the "moisture issues" would then turn into "toxic mold". So, get back with him immediately,  Ok?

Of course, this e-mail was sent to me at 7:45 a.m. Alabama time. So, I don't know if this might be a home I have in a time zone west of me, or if one of Flunky's major deficiencies includes not being able to tell time. Or both.

Sleep deprived, annoyed and on the verge of plotting revenge on this jerk's sorry ass, I wrote him back. "Please give me a quote. Also it seems as if someone could probably go out there at some other time of day if the vendor isn't available to take care of this urgent matter."

And wouldn't you know, Flunky immediately wrote me back: "I never said this was urgent."

They Take This Stuff Too Seriously (But Don't Tell Them I Said So)

I happen to be a fan of Jeanne Robertson. She is funny and is one of my "go-to" folks when I am looking for a bit of levity. In an effort to brighten my mood yesterday, I looked on Youtube to see if she had any new (to me) material. I found the following clips.

War Eagle

Roll Tide

But more to the point, I have written many times about the Alabama/Auburn rivalry. It is real. And, it is a bit freakishly weird how absorbed somewhat normal people can be about their college teams.

Anyway, in case you aren't convinced the rivalry is real, here is an old blog about such things:

True Story

Enjoy Jeanne.

Random Whining

I had kind of an icky, teary day. So much of my life is upside down right now. Not just Alabama, but other things. I have some physical issues and some life issues that are taking precedence to all that is Yucky in the South.  I will be fine of course. But today It.Just.Got.To.Me.

Then I saw this.

"What seems to us as bitter trials are often blessings in disguise." ~Oscar Wilde

________________________________________

Great accomplishments come from failures. Look at Post-Its, penicillin and vulcanized rubber. They all stemmed from the hope and ingenuity of other creations. However, right now, my biggest hope (other than being completely out of physical pain) is that I can look back on this in a year, month or even a day and laugh. But today, not so much.

________________________________________

Diamond Jim told me today that our tax implications aren't as disastrous as I expected them to be. There's a silver lining.

The Letting Go Process

So the Second Mortgage Relationship Manager called today just as they promised. What confused us, is that according to all of the documentation we have received, our Relationship Manager was someone named "Laury." But it was a dude named Mohammad who called us.

Though we had been told--and obeyed--it turns out we didn't really need to provide the second mortgage company with enough documentation to wipe out the Boreal Forest. Instead, we just had to talk with Mohammad who said what we needed to do was just ask for a simple piece of paper that we can give to the first mortgage company. And now we have.

Our next step is waiting while the first mortgage company decides if they will allow us to do a deed in lieu of foreclosure. Because they don't have to. However, the alternative is them spending the money, hassle and court time to foreclose.

Mohammad did ask why we weren't doing a short sale. I didn't answer him because 1) the call was recorded and 2) he wouldn't like the answer. We don't want the liability of holding on to the house any longer than we have to. The house is vacant in the country. It isn't in great shape thanks to those awful tenants who didn't do us any favors. Holding on to it longer can attract squatters, more vandals and other undesirables. We are liable for anyone getting hurt on the property. We are liable for any more damage. We are ready to be out of this. Or, as a friend explained, we just want to rip the band-aid off as quickly as possible.

One of the most positive moments of this particular conversation was that I managed to get him to take my cell phone off of their records so that I don't get any more calls. Actually, Mohammad said he put a note in my file that says, "Do not call." But I am not foolish to believe that will really be the case. But at least they won't be calling my cell any more. 

We did update LegalOwl today what was going on, as there will come a time when the dust settles that we will need her to negotiate the final judgments against us--that will be the next step. You see, getting rid of the house and trashing one's FICO score is just the tip of the iceberg. We can expect, especially with our track record, the banks aren't going to go away quietly. We expect there will be judgments against us and probably a bankruptcy in the next year or so.

And that brings up an interesting issue. As much as I would like to sell the Leeds house, we need to keep it through 2015 now. You see, we would prefer not to loose all the houses in the same year, as that causes one massive tax consequence we don't want to deal with. As it is Diamond Jim has warned me, with the losses we are facing (and subsequent tax issues), for me not to make too much money this year. Yes, loosing houses isn't clean. The IRS considers the difference between what the house ends up appraising for and what we owe as "income."

All of this I have learned in the past few months. I have gotten used to sighing loudly and rolling my eyes as the news just comes at us. Marty Sunshine pointed out that the only person who calls me a looser, failure, thief and deadbeat is me. And in my defense, I am calming down about this. I know there are other circumstances that have brought us to this point. And eventually I will sit back and do a lessons learned on this particular home and how it could have gone better. And I will also eventually work through my burning sense of abject failure. Someday.

Yippee?

We have an offer on our short sale home in North Centerpoint. $40,000.

Yes, you read that right.

But here is how the game works for Short Sales. The bank--who ultimately makes the decision--tells the real estate agent to price it any way they want. Once an offer comes in, the bank will then make their determination of how much they really want to sell the home for. The sellers (Marty and I) just sign papers and don't really have a say.

But none of this will happen until there is a true offer. Which we have now.

I am under the impression nobody thinks it will sell for $40k--including the person who put the offer in. I suspect Kirby had an investor friend do this so the bank will move on this. The investor friend would be happy to have the house--especially at $40k. Heck! I might even want to buy this house for that price! But realistically it will sell for more than that. Will the investor stay and find out? I have no idea.

But at least now we have an offer the bank can either accept, counter or reject. If the bank accepts. Awesome. Good bye house.

If the bank counters, the buyer can decide what they want to do. But at least a decision was made by the bank. That's a step in the right direction.

If the bank rejects, I think we will just wrap this up and go the foreclosure route.

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.