Let's Move On, Shall We?

My loyalties to Alabama football is solely built on self preservation. But please! Don't tell the gang down South.

On Tuesday, I heard from three folks, all independent of each other, who wanted to revel in Alabama's obscene 42 to 14 victory. One person texted me and said, "God was merciful, only making the quarters last 15 minutes."

Another sent me a text saying, "What a great game! You weren't rooting for the Irish were you?"

Yea, like I would admit it to these folks if I actually had a college football allegiance to someone other than the Tide.

Mellowing Out

Days until pitchers and catchers report: 35. Oh come on! You were secretly wanting to know.

I have spent the last week fulfilling my 2012 resolution: clean out my office. After a coat of paint (butter cream), it looks pretty wonderful right now. I tried to post pictures, but my aptitude for technology is akin to my aptitude for belly dancing and pole vaulting.

My office has been the source of a lot of stress over the years. And--dare I say it--there may be something to the whole Feng Shui thing. Paper paralyzes me. Overwhelmed, paper stacks up around me, waiting until I have the stamina to file. I am told it is psychosomatic by a pedantic someone who doesn't appreciate my overwhelm for the true handicap that it is, and instead finds my inability to handle paper as contributing to clutter.

Even after I took out the piles of paper (which are now sitting in the garage still waiting to be filed), I found other aspects a bit disheartening. My office represents a different time in my life. For example, I found brochures and marketing paraphernalia that was once used in our Accidental Business. There was a time when I had so many applications for rental homes that I sent out postcards, telling applicants I would let them know when capital became available. I found some of those postcards.

I found a lot of things that were once used when we were growing. We aren't growing any more.

Somewhere in time gone by--I realize now--I mistook "not growing" for "not thriving." Our company is no longer in the toddler years, needing constant attention. When I read back to my blog posts from years gone by, I am astounded by how much time was taken up by little things. When did I find time for anything else? No wonder we stopped growing! I didn't have time to manage and grow (and the housing collapse didn't help either).

If our business were human, it would be fair to say we are no longer in our early years. It has successfully transitioned into the mellowed existence of young adulthood. We no longer need the daily hand-holding, but instead need the philosophical conversations and the examination of values to help us blossom into full-blown maturity.

We have some of the daily issues still taunting us: vacancies (two right now), late rents and crazy people. That probably is standard with all rentals. The big picture isn't changing too much either: pay the bills, grow the equity. But I hadn't sat back until this week and realized my Accidental Business has grown. It is a constant changing entity that doesn't need the myopic management it received before.

I didn't realize how grateful I was for this transition until now. It is time to move on. My business did this years ago. I am just now catching up.

That Time Of Year

I would be remiss if I did not direct your attention--once again--to the fact that Alabama (State? University?) is playing in the College Super Bowl (or whatever they call it) today.

I can guarantee there is no reason to call anyone in Birmingham today, as they are getting ready for the big game. Tomorrow they will be hung over from celebrating. Celebrating is what I am expecting, as I have yet to see this team loose a bowl game. And if they do loose, I am certainly not calling anyone tomorrow!

Roll Tide, Y'all.

On a separate note, Diamond Jim's Oregon Ducks won last week. I thought I should mention that for equal time.

On a last, and possibly most important note: baseball season is right around the corner.

Random Correspondence

I don't make this stuff up. I don't need to.

I was cleaning out my office today and ran across these two little ditties below. I am sorry I only saved two. There have been many, many more.

A word about this first letter. It came just as you see below. The paper was folded in half with Marty Sunshine's name hand-written on the front.

For grins (and possibly to unload a home), I called the phone number. The first time I got a business voice mail for ABC Something Or Other--which had nothing to do with real estate, investing or anything of the like. The message said my call had been "forwarded" to this number. I didn't leave a message, but thought better of it. So, I immediately pushed redial.

This time I got a different voice mail. It was one of those generic "You have reached 2-0-5-XXX-XXXX" messages. I opted not to leave a message this time either. The third time I called was later in the day. I got a woman's voice mail. Her message sounded more like she was part of an escort service than a Michael Jones. I even double-checked to make sure I called the correct number. Yep. The last time I called, it went to a fax machine.

Sorry about that Michael Jones. I am sure you are totally credible.

This sweet postcard came from my AC company. They really are a good company, in the event you are in the market for someone to do HVAC service.

2012 Bucket List

Ok, I am writing this down in hopes I will remember--because I keep forgetting.

I need to pay property taxes tomorrow.

Plan E

It took Mr. Wonderful 32 cell phone minutes to tell me he was moving out. I had gathered this the moment the phone rang, as why else would he be calling me?

He has bought the house he mentioned to me before. I am happy for him. Mr. Wonderful is truly a nice guy. He seems to have had a bit of a struggle in years past and presumably things are looking up. Now, I don't know for sure if he has had struggles--because I refuse to get too personal with the guy. But I can guess based on life circumstances which brought him my direction. And the fact that my home in Alabaster seems to attract either Ms. Shirley crazy folks or people in life transitions.

This house isn't hard to rent. The neighborhood is quiet. The house is cute. It isn't my nicest house, but it is in the top three. Also, I get pretty decent rent at this house.

Mr. Wonderful, of course, is blissfully unconcerned about what I am facing: finding another tenant. However, for this particular house, I had a plan.

Plan A: Mr. Wonderful would show the home to prospective tenants, helping me find just the right crazy person delightful person whose life is in transition to move in.However, experience tells me tenants shouldn't show homes. Ever.

Tenants mean well of course. But tenants who are moving out get busy and then take it personally when the folks who are looking aren't always reliable and don't show up. Also, tenants might say something that may cause misunderstandings down the road. And then there is that pesky little issue of tenants thinking they are doing me a favor--which they essentially are.

So, though having Mr. Wonderful help looks like the easiest solution, it probably isn't.

Plan B: This one is a bit tricky. You see, in the past Mr. 114--the next door neighbor--has often helped me with this house. This is a much better situation because I can pay Mr. 114 and then the relationship is somewhat even.

However, it turns out Mr. 114 doesn't live next door any more. Mrs. 114 still lives next door, but I don't know her. I was somewhat aware of this situation, as Mr. Wonderful is quite chatty, but I opted to play dumb and just see if Mr. 114 might want to help me out anyway.

When I contacted Mr. 114 I found out two things: first, he doesn't want to help me rent out the home next door to his ex wife. And second: well, let me just say this, I am a divorced dad magnet. I now know many more things about a casual acquaintance than I ever wanted to know.

Plan C: A former tenant contacted me recently wanting to know if I had anything available in the area. At the time, I told them Mr. Wonderful's home might be coming available. I promised to keep them apprised. Though this seems like an easy answer on paper--instant tenant! Please note: it was my third choice and there is a reason for this. I didn't hear back from them when I broached the subject again two weeks ago, so I let it slide and didn't shed any tears.

Let's just completely gloss over Plan D: Do it myself. Frankly, it wasn't really much of a plan. This house is too far for Carolsue to help me with. And, let's face it, even though I can manage it myself, I have two property managers who are already there and can deal with the crazy calls. Mario prefers managing homes in Shelby County. However, because of a gross miscalculation of my competence on Mario's part earlier this year, I preferred to go straight to plan E.

Plan E: call Kirby. It isn't anything personal about Kirby that he is my last resort. I happen to really like the guy. It is just that this house is far from most of the others. And, I am never sure how busy he happens to be. But I e-mailed him anyway. I gave him my best, "Gee, I know this is kind of far, but I have this super-cute house in Alabaster that needs the right tenant and I am ready to loose an additional percentage of rent to have you manage it--just in case you might want to."

Kirby got back to me in record time. He looked up the house, checked out my pictures and assured me it was every bit as desirable a rental home as I promised it would be. According to Kirby, he is already working on finding a tenant and hopefully I will get this home rented quickly.

In the mean-time, Mr. Wonderful happens to be on the hook for the rent until I find a new tenant. I know this because he may have reminded me of it in one of our 30 minute chats.

Reality Check

I won't bore you with the knock-down drag out details that make an MTV reality show look tame, but Mr. Partner and the Sunshines have been at odds for months. Mr. Partner's complaints are legitimate: we aren't making money.

My response is something along the lines of, "No $^%# Sherlock. How nice of you to notice."  In fact, I am quite shocked it has taken Mr. Partner this long to catch on to this little ditty.

And, let's be reasonable here: I assure you Mr. Partner has been informed of our undercapitalized issues every step of the way. He knows rents in Birmingham have decreased about 20 percent. Unemployment in Birmingham is around 19 percent. Match that with a culture that doesn't seem to care about debts or obligations and you have the perfect storm of landlord hell.

What I find interesting about our conversations with Mr. Partner, is how clueless he seems to be each and every time we talk. It's as if he completely forgets what was said or written to him from a week earlier. Instead, he retorts with astonishment, taking it as a personal affront that this is the first time he has heard that his money is being used for such things as property taxes and home owner's insurance.

Rinse, lather and repeat.

Quite frankly, it is not just Mr. Partner's money that is being used for such endeavors. It is also Marty's and my money. It is also MY time. And, if I could humbly point out, I have at times worked two jobs just to ensure Mr. Partner's credit score stays intact and bills got paid. So, we are acutely aware of the cost and upkeep involving rental properties. Our kids know.  My bookkeeper knows. My accountant knows.

I am not sure what Mr. Partner expects at this point. Every year we have the same expenses: mortgages insurance and property tax. (And for anyone who feels pious here, Yes, I know buying an investment home for cash is the way to go. Crystal clear on that fact thankyouverymuch.). Every once in a while a potty leaks or someone moves out. It is the cost of doing business.

And, I assure you if I were to call Mr. Partner every time a tenant called me just to say, "Mr. Jones has a leaky faucet. What should we do?" Mr. Partner would come to the same conclusion I come to: get it fixed. He would make the same decision for his personal home too.

What Mr. Partner isn't saying is that property management costs us more money--money he wasn't intending to spend. This is true. Instead of consulting with Mr. Partner before I started putting homes in property management, I staged a coup. In fact, when the subject of property management first came up, Mr. Partner said no way. After a while, I found that the cost of property management is less expensive than the cost of turning over a trashed home--which is what I was getting because I was not able to effectively manage tenants from a long distance.

It isn't that Kirby and Mario get better tenants (in many cases they do), it is that there is someone right there and then who has the resources to hold tenants accountable when they move out. With me being 1,700 miles away, a tenant can take their family, but leave their garbage and make the latter my problem.

The situation with Mr. Partner has ebbed and flowed through the course of time, with Mr. Partner getting all partner-y and asking for financials and 8" x 10" color glossies every time he is asked to come up with his fair share.

And, if I could point out: we aren't making money on a monthly basis, but the assets have value. There are a few we could sell a few for a nice profit--but Mr. Partner isn't interested in selling. There are also a few we could sell for a reasonable loss too, but down the road they will again have equity.

Lest you think Mr. Partner is a complete jerk. He isn't. He and Mrs. Partner are pretty terrific people. When we started, he had a lot more landlord experience than I did and I greatly relied on his expertise. His experience, however, was managing local rentals--which right now I could do with my eyes closed and one hand tied behind my back. He has had his fair share of issues with local rentals too, but he doesn't manage as many in Phoenix as I do in Alabama so his problems aren't magnified.

We are coming to the end of another fiscal year and once again we need the funds necessary to handle his fair share of the property taxes. This isn't a shock to anyone but Mr. Partner. But I am sure he will figure out how to make this right. Because no matter how often he is shocked by what he is told, the reality isn't changing.

By the Time You Read This

I will be (or had been) sitting with my sister-in-law at some swanky mall on Wilshire Boulevard in Los Angeles. I don't care about the swanky mall (her choice for vacation destinations), whose Web site shows the same stores are also in the Phoenix Metro area. I certainly don't care about Los Angeles, which I have been waiting patiently to fall into the Pacific Ocean for quite some time (don't let me down Myans!). I do care about my sister-in-law, whom I love and adore and who took the day off to spend with Marty, the kids and I.

However, I know you don't come to my corner of cyber-space to hear about me being forced to spend Marty Sunshine's vacation in Southern California. You come here to read about the latest challenges I might be facing running an undercapitalized accidental rental business miles from my home.

There are a few items happening with the accidental business too. I have written several rough drafts of blogs that never were worthy of publishing. Perhaps after I get back from our Southern California Therapy I will feel like telling you about the demi-feud between the Partners and the Sunshines.

Or how Mr. Wonderful has designs that I am not thrilled about, and how plans A, B and C didn't pan out for me and Mr. Wonderful's home.

Or about how I was once again a magnet for another divorced dad--and keeping in the same vein how it utterly astonishes me when quasi acquaintances tell me such personal items about their lives.

Or, for that matter, how I feel about my Section 8 tenant leaving.

Or how I got another bill from Attorney Flip that is roughly equal to the National Debt from seventeen days ago.

Anyway, all these and much more to come when I am not so burned out.

Until next week!

Incompetence

Marty Sunshine recently asked me what obscure task could he help me with that would make my life easier. He was giddy with joy when I asked him to please find out about the property taxes. "That's all you need?" he naively asked.

Yep. That's what I needed.

You see, Jefferson County did not send me property tax notices this year. Some might think they did this because they are incompetent. They would be right.

So, early this morning Marty Sunshine went off to search for a phone number or any type of information whatsoever on Jefferson County's web site that would tell us exactly how much we owed. Three hours later, Marty was in a foul mood and no closer to finding what we had to pay.

There are no phone numbers on this site. There is no useful information on this site. In fact, the "old" way to look up properties--using the parcel ID number has been replaced by the "new" way to look up properties. The "new" way includes taking one's tax statement that was presumably mailed to them and typing in the "receipt" number one received on their tax statement.

In the event one didn't get a tax statement, Jefferson County has accounted for this: they have a message below the "tax receipt number look up" that says to contact their office if one needs a property tax notice. And then they give their physical address.

Marty Sunshine then went on to the most obvious way to look up properties: by address. Nope. This was a no-brainer to me, as the entire County has about four street names. For example, if you want to get to my home on King James Circle, one must go down King James Court, hang a left at King James Drive and proceed around the bend back to King James Court, until they reach King James Circle.

After about sixteen different searches, Marty found the place to input a parcel number--which has been how I looked up property tax information in the past. However, for whatever reason it wasn't working this morning. The noise you may have heard if you turned your head slightly in our direction was Marty Sunshine telling everyone how displeased he was that the parcel ID search wasn't working.

Eventually Marty settled for looking up each address by the name associated with the address. This is not an easy task when your last name is the same name as a county in Alabama and one's first name is probably one of the most common names on earth--as poor Marty's happens to be. Then there are a few homes titled to the LLCs also, those weren't as easy to find either, because instead of being classified as ABC Homes, LLC, they were listed in the system as (first name) LLC (last name) Homes (middle initial) A.

What we did find out through the course of this exercise is that Jefferson County has changed the parcel numbers for every single property we own. We now have the new parcel numbers so that this task will be much easier when I Marty does this again next year.

In the end, we decided that if we had just left everything alone Jefferson County probably would have sent us delinquent notices letting us know exactly how much we owed and what our parcel number happened to be. Or then again, maybe they wouldn't have noticed we hadn't paid.

Crying Wolf

One of the major byproducts of Landlordom is the level of astonishment I continually feel towards my tenants. Prior to the last 10 years, if you had ever suggested being a landlord includes providing free advice and/or solving personal problems of grown, (presumably) productive members' of society I would have laughed hysterically waiting for the punchline.

"No, really. The tenant expects you to what?!"

That said, I have been told all sorts of personal tidbits from tenants that blow me away, including but not limited to health challenges, love life questions, and lets not forget private issues that landed me a subpoena where I had to explain to a judge exactly what a tenant told me. And, let me tell you, the tenant was furious my memory was decent. And so was the judge.

I bring this up because of how I spent part of my weekend. My new refrigerator is coming this week. And, not a moment too soon. Sunday I spent the day cleaning up the melted goop in the bottom of my freezer. There is no question: this freezer is on life support (fortunately, the only thing being kept in this freezer at the time were ice cube trays, chocolate chips and bread). I figured this out myself. I took care of it.

Which brings me to Mrs. Green. A week ago Saturday she sent me a message about her refrigerator. I ignored it, wanting to see what "my refrigerator is acting up" really meant. However, I fully know I may eventually have to deal with this.  But here is the catch: I have heard nothing. Not text, e-mail or phone call. Nothing.

Contrast that to the Greens wanting me to drop everything and put a tarp on their roof last August. Given that I owed them a tarp at the time, I was still astonished at how little effort they were willing to go to in order to make sure their bedroom was protected from the elements. I would expect a similar panic if they didn't have a working refrigerator. But instead, it has been eerily quiet. Perhaps the refrigerator isn't really as bad as she suggested and she found her own solution.

Thin Ice

I read somewhere that the busiest time for plumbers is the days that follow Thanksgiving. That's going to be a problem for Mr. and Mrs. Green. You see, on Saturday, while I was at the orange big-box hardware stores that sells appliances, bolt cutters and grass seed, I got three texts from Mrs. Green.

The gist of the first two texts were to tell me that someone had stuffed an entire turkey down the kitchen sink when they weren't looking. And lo and behold! The sink backed up. The Greens had tried the usual methods of prayer, cursing and drain cleaner and now were on to drastic measures: letting the landlord know. And, what was I going to do about it?

In case, dear reader, you hadn't noticed it was the Saturday of a holiday weekend. There isn't a lot I can do. I am here. They are there. Getting on an airplane to jet over to Birmingham just to check out their sink is cost-prohibitive. So, I texted Mrs. Green back the only thing that made sense to me: call a plumber on Monday.

The third consecutive text message in her trilogy was to tell me that her refrigerator wasn't cooling or freezing. Coincidentally, I happened to be making an emergency refrigerator purchase at the time of Mrs. Green's texts. But this one was for my home. My 27 year old side-by-side is making funny noises and the ice cream is mushy. However, mine has been on the fritz for weeks. If Mrs. Green knew about her refrigerator for any length of time, she shouldn't have waited until a holiday weekend to tell me.

Given that the Greens--who are perfectly delightful tenants most of the time--expected me last August to get on a plane, fly to Birmingham, purchase a tarp at the hardware store, find a ladder and put the tarp on their roof, I am not inclined to offer up any feedback on the whole refrigerator thing.

I examined my options. I could purchase a refrigerator which she would hate. Or, I could tell her to look for a used one and bill me (knowing full well they would expect me to get on a plane, pick up the refrigerator and deliver it to their home). Or, I could just completely ignore her last message and see how serious her situation really is. Which, is what I decided to do for now.

The Divorced Dad Magnet

Mr. Wonderful is my tenant in Alabaster. He is a prominent business owner (so I hear) and seems to be an an all-around great guy. I really like him in a professional, Southern-friendly kind of way.

Recently, the City of Alabaster tried to extort money from me. I asked Mr. Wonderful about the legitimacy and he assured me that yes, they could do that. If you are so inclined, you can read about this experience here.

Fast forward to some random time in recent memory. Mr. Wonderful e-mailed me. Apparently the City of Alabaster has changed their minds and is no longer in the business of extorting landlords. He sent me a link to the aforementioned extortion page. Lucky for me, our LLC hasn't had the money to pay anything, and I hadn't complied anyway. At least now I am officially off the hook. 

However, I found it interesting how the dialog went with Mr. Wonderful. He sent me the story, with a brief explanation about why he was contacting me.

I thanked him for thinking of me and told him I was relieved this new rule had been enacted.

He wrote me back, re-iterating how awesome this is.

I thanked him, once again.

He wrote me back saying, once again, how this is just totally ducky.

I re-read our correspondence, making sure I wasn't missing anything huge, like there is a water leak, rent will be a day late or there is a herd of wild hedgehogs inhabiting the attic that need my immediate attention. When I didn't see any reason other than he is just being totally nice, I again thanked him and went into detail about the depths of my gratitude, but this time I cc'd Marty Sunshine.

Marty Sunshine's solution to said correspondence was to snicker. You see, for what ever reason, I am a divorced dad magnet. No, no--not in a home wrecker sort of way. But divorced men seem to gravitate to me in a sisterly, girl next door kind of way.

And, to make matters more awkward, Marty Sunshine thinks this is amusing and doesn't have a problem with these folks striking up friendships. I think he is totally ok with it merely for his entertainment. In fact, as Marty is reading this post over my shoulder, he is telling me this blog entry really doesn't convey the level of divorced dad magnet that I really am--whether family, friends, church or Alabama. They find me.

They always find me.

Which brings me to a few weeks later. Mr. Wonderful called. He has a possible steal on a home and wants to buy it--which translated to he is actually in the process of buying it. I gleaned this last nugget as Mr. Wonderful kept me on the phone for about 30 hours going over how carefully he will honor his lease if he buys this house. He also filled me in on ever single neighbor in his caulde sac.

He reiterated all of the above about sixteen more times as I stood on a rickety farm chair with a bic lighter desperately trying to make the smoke detector go off so I could feign another excuse to get off the phone. Hey! Don't laugh, short of hanging up on the poor guy, I was totally out of legitimate ways to cut off the conversation.

As a rule, brought to you by years (YEARS I tell you!) of experience, I don't make friends of my tenants. Mr. Wonderful is a top-notch tenant, quite fascinating and I actually have some legitimate business items I would like to discuss with him if he weren't my tenant. But right now he is my tenant. And, it is time to let Marty start answering my phone.

Random Bama--The Absentee Edition

The e-mail's subject line said, "potential tenant, no section 8". In the event Opal, Kirby's assistant, was afraid I wasn't going to respond to her e-mail, she shouldn't have worried. Telling me she had a potential tenant for Ms. Kathy's former home was something I couldn't ignore.

The tenant in question has now moved into the home and has already whined about minor maintenance issues that need to be addressed--like all of the stuff Ms. Kathy left in the shed. I was temped to tell Kirby to toss it over the fence, where she is currently living, but opted to remain silent and let him figure it out.

________________________________________________________

Speaking of Section 8, my first foray into a Section 8 tenant is coming to an end. My tenant had two pit bulls living at my home and several months ago I asked her to remove the dogs. Pit bulls and home owner's insurance don't go hand in hand.

The tenant gave two month's notice and will be leaving at the end of December. Kirby asked if I wanted to do anything to entice her to stay. "Not sure I can offer much." I replied. I wasn't about to reduce the rent and she couldn't have the dogs.

So... starting January 1, I will have another vacant home. I am not sure I will accept another Section 8 tenant. I have some thoughts about this, but it will have to wait for another blog.

________________________________________________________

You might remember Mr. Wonderful? I owe you a blog about him too. He is truly a wonderful tenant. However, he is buying a home. Because he is so darn wonderful, he is honoring his lease until it expires or until I find another tenant.

This house is easy to rent, so I am not too worried. Just sort of annoyed I have to turn it over again. In addition to that, Ms. Shirley--the tenant who lived in this house before Mr. Wonderful--painted sample colors on just about every wall in the home. It still hasn't been painted. Mr. Wonderful just didn't care. But it strikes me as something a future tenant will probably care about.

________________________________________________________


My tenant in Fultondale came through. They paid, but not without a bit of cardiac arrest from me. Fortunately, the note I sent Kirby that Friday said "please don't make me go into the weekend without an update on this situation. It just won't be fair to my family," was received by an update on Friday afternoon and another one Saturday morning--letting me know they did indeed pay. They also renewed their lease.

October Surprise

It is no surprise that for the past several Octobers I have managed to get mind-blowingly sick. I wasn't shocked when it happened this October. Instead I was annoyed beyond belief. I still am annoyed (and still under the weather, for that matter).

However, this year, as I have been laying around, wishing I could run, knit and sleep I was reveling in the fact that All Things Alabama were more or less under control. Yes, Ms. Kathy's former home is vacant. I expected that, though if I was going to have the money for the mortgage has been nagging at me. But this year, with the help of good tenants, two property managers and Carolsue on the ground, I haven't really needed anything and have been able to focus on getting well because all other minor pesky issues could wait for better health.

So, imagine my astonishment when I woke up today to find out that one of my tenants hadn't paid rent! It is one of Kirby's properties. I had gotten a seven-day notice on them earlier in the month--right before I had taken ill. I had been in continued correspondence with Kirby since then, but nobody on his team had the presence of mind to tell him, or for that matter me, that rent is now 26 days late.

The house in question is not in Mr. Partner's LLC, it is one Marty and I own solely. So, there are different challenges with this.

I have contacted Kirby, explaining my ultimate displeasure with his person who dropped the ball and didn't keep me posted. I also asked for an update by the end of today, explaining that nobody wants to deal with me if I have to play "what if" over the weekend.

Nobody.

If there is some sort of silver lining on this one, the tenant in question tends to come through. Hopefully they will do so this time. If not, I am not sure I have a plan B right now.

Give'n Take

For the most part, Kirby and I have a reasonable relationship as long as we aren't talking on the phone. Which we never do because Kirby is totally incabable of returning my calls.

But, we do e-mail, with me fully understanding that e-mails at the month-end are not going to be answered in a reasonable amount of time. Kirby manages 200 homes. I know he is busy. Month-end is even busier.

In the past few weeks I have e-mailed Kirby a lot of questions: did the tenant on Fultondale sign another year lease? How far along is the repairs for the home in Moody? And speaking of which, how is the whole rental ordeal going for the home in Moody? Has the new wing on the home in Pinson been added? And I have a modest proposal for the tenants living in the home in Leeds. What do the tenants think of my idea?

All of these have been met by an empty e-mail in box. And, then all of the sudden Kirby wanted money for the home on Moody. I was happy to send what I owed, but it came with a small price. I wrote him, telling him I sent the check, and in return I would like an answer or three.

That doesn't strike me as too much to ask.

Today's Safety Tip

If you are a landlord, might I suggest getting a PO Box where rents and general correspondence will be sent to? This way your tenants don't know where you live if things go South. I am not saying anything will happen, but safety first. K?

Oh yes, even if wish to counter this post by proclaiming how you have some sort of fabulous direct deposit system in place, I still recommend not giving out your address to future former tenants. Just saying...

Empty Tank Of Gas and No Patience Left

So, this week two random people found me and wanted me to help them rent homes.

In case you are unaware of how much I hate using my real estate license for leasing homes... Never mind. It is close to the Holidays. I have a gaping hole where a dishwasher might someday again go (I really miss my dishwasher) and I can sure use the money--even if it works out to less per hour than I pay Buckaroo and Polly to wash the dishes (which is nothing).  

Anyway, I had nothing but time and a full tank of gas this past week as I agreed to show homes.

Sam and Diane were an interesting couple. I spoke with Sam on the phone and he told me what he was looking for. The good news is he wanted Mesa. The bad news is the only places one can find homes in his price range are in neighborhoods I don't normally frequent in the daylight. And, in the event you think I am exaggerating, our first rental home was a block away from the house he and Diane fell in love with.

This ordeal bled into Friday morning at 7:45 a.m., when I met Diane at the bank parking lot near my home to exchange her application and credit check money for my smile. She and Sam had dutifully filled out the the entire application and all of the various questions such as, "is there anything that would keep us from renting to you such as a felony or eviction?" They had put "no" on both.

The other couple, Dan and Sandy, also called me about the same time this past week. They were moving here from out of state and Sandy was going to be in town for precisely 18 hours to find a home. They wanted anywhere but Mesa (they had heard how bad some of the neighborhoods are). The catch: they wanted a three month lease.

There is an expense involved with a tenant moving out. No matter how clean they may leave the home, there is turnover cost for landlords. Also, there is the cost of marketing the home and having it vacant once again. No sane landlord ever takes three month leases. And if they are desperate to do so, it is for a serious premium.

So, Friday afternoon, Sandy shows up with her mother--bless her heart. I am sure her mother is a lovely person. Her mother has never lived in Arizona, also just flew in for this excursion, is a self-professed negotiating maven and doesn't really have any interest in social graces. Momma was careful to let me know how things would be going down with her daughter's home hunting adventure--completely bypassing the me and reality of the East Valley rental market.

Given that I found precisely four landlords in a metropolitan area of two million who were desperate enough to buy my sales pitch about three month leases ("This way you will have a tenant through the Holidays!"), I didn't think there was much hope in securing a home for Sandy. Plus, three of these homes were in Arizona's second (or third, depending upon who you ask) largest city: Mesa.

It was the third home Sandy fell in love with. It was in the Mesa. It was cute. There was no negotiating price or terms. Sandy filled out the application, we sent it to Dan back at home for him to sign and we waited.

Meanwhile, back to Sam and Diane... Sadly, their credit check did not agree with them, there was an eviction reported. And, when I called them Friday afternoon to tell them there seems to be a bump in the road, and perhaps we could get to the bottom of this whole eviction thing, as it was certainly an error? Sam's answer was to fly off the handle, jump in his car and let the poor leasing agent at the apartment he used to live at hear how they have messed with his life by falsely filing an eviction against him.

Of course, I only heard snippets--all from Sam, who was very proud of his actions. The challenge was, he needed these folks at his former apartment to fix this error, and they weren't inclined to jump through any major hoops at 4:17 p.m. on a Friday after he had just read them the riot act. Go figure?

At the same time I was fielding calls from the property management company handling Sam and Diane, I was also politely chatting with Sandy and trying to stay on Momma's good side, while waiting for Dan to return the lease application. At one point, I just looked Sandy in the eye and said, "You've never had an eviction, right?" Sandy seemed somewhat shocked anyone would think such a thing.

The long and the short of this is Sandy and Dan were approved in mere hours. It was the easiest $1.28 per hour I ever made. Sam and Diane are enraged and don't know what to do. Hopefully they can channel their energies to stay out of jail long enough to find a home. At this time they are out of people to abuse, as it is the weekend and the property manager who has their application won't be available until Monday to field their calls.

I know what to do: get busy enough selling homes to fix our undercapitalized issues so that I can finally retire from rentals. I'm thinking these tenants are crazy.

Random Spam--Head in the Sand Edition

Oh, you know you've made it big in the blogosphere when you get random spam comments that aren't about body parts or the medications they are supposed to support.

Here's my latest. It sure beats telling you about the humongous bill Kirby sent me to get my home in Moody cleaned up. I dare Ms. Kathy to call me. I double dare her.

"Your furnishings, utilize a little bit of duct tape to elevate and eliminate these. It is really tough to picture that."

"I really fondness for the matter you shared. Thank you pro rearrangement."

A Small Kindness

Attorney Flip sweetly sent me a newspaper article about the Late Attorney Jon's family. It is an old story, written several years ago, but it shed some light on the Late Attorney Jon's life. Just when I thought I was putting Jon's death behind me, this stirred up new emotions.

I am sure the Late Attorney Jon would not have defined our relationship as "friends." We were friendly and I would go as far as to say there was a fondness between us. He did non-legal counsel things like setting up up introductions to the likes of Jack--who is now my business partner--and Legal Eagle. Back when we had a very different economy, the Late Attorney Jon helped me get in front of a big-time SEC lawyer and he was crucial in assisting me in fine-tuning the business plan we were promoting. So, though we weren't friends, per se, the Late Attorney Jon went out of his way to make me feel welcome in the South.

For that, I will always be grateful.

However, I have struggled with my right to grieve about Attorney Jon's death. I doubt he would have felt this way about my death if the situation were reversed. But, I do grieve. I think when one leaves this life the way Jon did, there are always unanswered questions for those who are left behind. I think of Mrs. Late Attorney Jon and their daughters and hope they find a way to be whole again. I think of Jack, the Late Attorney Jon's friend of 30+ years and hope he and the very dear Mrs. Jack are coping.

When I was in Birmingham this summer, Jack and Mrs. Jack talked with me about the Late Attorney Jon. At the time, I didn't want to share. I was specifically in Birmingham to take care of some business Jon didn't finish and I found it to be a slippery slope to discuss such things with Jack, as there was no way to do so without suggesting Attorney Jon had dropped the ball on me--big time (and I prefer not to think about the fact that the Late Attorney Jon was remiss with my files).

When I met with Flip last summer, I pointed out that the rest of those in Birmingham who knew Jon had already been given a chance to grieve together. For almost a year, they were able to share stories, smile and cry all in Jon's name. I was all by myself in Arizona. There was nobody for me to share stories, smile and cry with (Though they spoke on the phone once or twice, Marty Sunshine never physically met the Late Attorney Jon.).

In many ways, my trip last summer was to help me deal with my grief. It wasn't intended to be that way, it just happened. One of the more bizarre events that occurred was that I accidentally found Jon's final resting place while I was driving around Birmingham. As I was flying back to Phoenix after that trip, I got a lump in my throat and shed a few tears, probably for the first time in Jon's honor. And though I must have been quite a sight on the plane, I didn't care. The wave of emotions were released.

The article Flip kindly sent me was insightful. It gave me some idea of what kinds of challenges Jon had as a young adult. And in some ways, just the fact that Flip sent it to me, made me feel like I am not grieving alone any more.

The Guard Dog

Ms. Kathy frantically called me yesterday. She wanted to tell me someone was breaking into my home--she could see it all the way from her sister's house next door.

And what should she do?

Of course, when she called, I saw it was her and let her message go to voice mail. So, after I heard what she had to say I instantly called back and asked her to call the police if someone was breaking in.

When I pressed further, I found out that the home probably wasn't really being broken into. What was really happening was presumably that some real estate agent was showing the home and Ms. Kathy (or her sister) didn't like the looks of the man, mentioning several times to me the man in question didn't "speak English." Ms. Kathy made some sort of comment about how her sister didn't want undesirable people living next door to her and one can never be too careful.

Ain't that the truth! Who would want paying, law abiding citizens living next door, keeping up the property and paying the rent on time?! Speaking of which, Ms. Kathy also mentioned she hadn't "gotten around" to mowing the lawn before she left. I guess the two and a half months of living there for free was too taxing for her.

But the real reason for Ms. Kathy's call was to tell me Carolsue wasn't very nice to her last week. I am not sure what I am supposed to do with this knowledge. When Carolsue talked to Ms. Kathy last week, she was a heck of a lot more charitable than I was at that particular moment. And, more to the point, Carolsue is a lot scarier and Ms. Kathy took her seriously. Ms. Kathy certainly wasn't taking me seriously. However, I didn't share all this with Ms. Kathy. Instead, I gave her a dull "uh-huh," as there wasn't much else to say. Carolsue was effective; Ms. Kathy moved out. (Thank you Carolsue.)

Which brings me to Part B of Ms. Kathy's agenda, she innocently asked why exactly she had to move last weekend if I haven't rented out the home just yet?

I truly did not want to go into great details about how Ms. Kathy is stealing from me by living in my home for free. Instead, I changed the subject, mentioning the apartment complex called asking for a reference, and would she be moving this week to her new home? I never did get a straight answer from Ms. Kathy on that one. She said something about the apartment complex needing more "documentation" and left it at that. I'm guessing there is much more to that story--but I may never find out.

In the mean-time, I need to play nice with Ms. Kathy. She lives next door, and apparently is planning on defending my honor by driving off anyone she doesn't feel looks desirable.