Thursday, July 09, 2015
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.
Wednesday, July 08, 2015
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.
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.
Saturday, July 04, 2015
Wednesday, July 01, 2015
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
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."
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."
Wednesday, June 17, 2015
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 16, 2015
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.
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.
Thursday, June 11, 2015
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 10, 2015
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 09, 2015
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.
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.
Monday, June 08, 2015
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.
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.
Sunday, June 07, 2015
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.
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.
Monday, June 01, 2015
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 26, 2015
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.
Well, now it is a short sale.
I have been in discussion with some dude known as an "Ass
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 Ass
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 Ass
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 Ass
Monday, May 25, 2015
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.
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.
Sunday, May 24, 2015
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.
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.
Saturday, May 23, 2015
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.
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.
Saturday, April 11, 2015
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.
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.
Friday, April 10, 2015
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 08, 2015
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.
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.
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