Destruction

These are a couple of the photos from Monday morning's tornado. I believe these were taken by Mr. Little's and Mrs. Green's home.

By the way, Mrs. Green is safe and sound.

I have heard from Ms. Angie a few times with updates from the area (in addition to Carolsue's updates). Her place of employment was flattened. So, no job for Ms. Angie.

Carolsue tells me my bank branch over by her has one wall left standing.

I Recommend Tossed Salad Tartare

I have to tell you, I am just not feeling the love with this new diva tenant on Fox Circle. The week she moved in, she sent a big long report of all the items Kirby needed to do: including, but not limited to, taking the lock box off the home and stop advertising it. There were other items along this line as well, but they weren't nearly as significant as removing the lock box from the hose bib.

The reason I know about the list is that I get a copy of the "work order" each time she calls.

And then there was the issue with the utilities. The tenant didn't bother to turn on the water and electric in her name until I had them turned off. Classy.

And yesterday. I got another work order from Kirby, telling me the tenant's oven does not work. And because of health issues she has to bake everything she eats. Of course she does! She has to bake her milk. She has to bake her ice cream. She has to bake her salad.

So am I to understand, a tenant who has been in this home three weeks just now realized the oven is not working when she is baking all of her food?

My reply to Kirby was to suggest she make sure she turned on the gas to the house in her name. Maybe then her gas oven would operate correctly and she could go back to baking her food.

Tornados

I awoke on Monday to find a text from Carolsue. Tornadoes had touched down near her. And near Ms. Angie, Ms. Sherwood, Ms. Green and Mr. Little. And probably near a few others from what I have since read.

Ms. Angie was quick to get back to me when I sent her a note asking if she was ok. Yes. Yes she was. And by the way, thanks for the new roof! Mrs. Sherwood took several more minutes. Her home is on a hill, and if nothing else, she would be safe in the basement. And she was.

Kirby happens to live in the area hard hit, and I got in touch with him, in time for him to tell me he was fine (also, proving he CAN get back to me within 24 hours--I will keep that in mind for the future, but today isn't the day to ponder Kirby's skills).

I haven't heard from Ms. Green or Mr. Little. From what I can tell, they were really close to the epicenter of the whole mess. If you feel inclined, please say a prayer, light a candle or just send some positive vibes to them. Hopefully they will get in touch with me soon.

Update: Mr. Little got back to me. He said there is "signifcant damage" about a mile north--which is exactly where Mrs. Green lives. No word from her yet.

The Top Five in What?

This past week, I have tried to get the water turned off at the Fox property, as my tenant has moved in. This brings up a couple of burning questions:

1) Why hasn't the tenants gotten the water turned on to their name immediately?
2) The water was on at this house? I never got a bill.

The first issue is one for Kirby to deal with (and trust me, he has heard plenty about it).

The second one was a bit more unnerving. You see, I do not recall turning on the water at this house. I remember turning on the electricity. I remember Marty Sunshine turning on the gas. But I do not recollect ever spending an hour of my life to make sure there was water on at this house.

But no matter, I want it turned off anyway. So, I did what any reasonable person would do who wants utilities cut off: I call called the company responsible. In this case, the Birmingham Water Works.

The Birmingham Water Works boasts they are "one of the top five water companies in the country." The top five in what, I don't know. Neither did the woman I spoke with on Tuesday of this week when I specifically questioned why "one of the top five water companies in the country" cannot handle my simple request.

You see, when I called to turn off the water, I was asked to verify I really indeed was the account holder, and not some manipulative witch trying to wreck havoc on the poor person living in this home. And, for the record, oddly enough, the last time I went to the Leeds Water Board, I almost had the leader of the redneck mafia's water turned off accidentally and nobody at the Leeds Water Board blinked. And they aren't even in the top 10 water companies in the country.

But, I digress. Back to the Birmingham Water Board...

This particular incident has been going on a week. With me giving the name the account is under but not being able to provide the correct sequence of numbers that coincide with the name on the account. According to the customer service advocate at one of the top five water companies in the country, the number on the account is not the last four digits of my social security number, nor Marty Sunshine's, nor any of the four tax ID numbers in my possession. So, they refused to turn off the water.

"Is it possible somebody made a mistake on your end and entered the information incorrectly in your system and that what I am telling you is correct?" I asked, utterly exasperated. The customer service advocate sort of grunted. Apparently they teach grunting in the charm school offered for all employees of Birmingham Water Works.

After the 10 minutes of the, "It is really me, now turn off the *%$#^&%! water" and her answering me with a, "Not unless you know the social security number or tax ID number on the account," I gave in. As a parting question the customer service advocate asked me if there was something else she could do for me. I chose to answer with only, "Turn off the water." Which she didn't do.

Nor did she recognize the sarcasm.

Somehow Kirby did get the water turned off this week. However, I am still waiting for a call back from the supervisor of the Birmingham Water Board. Perhaps she will be interested in taking a page from one of the country's top four water companies on customer service. But I am not holding my breath.

Two Down

It appears Mario AND Kirby have managed to rent my houses. Or at least most of them. Currently Kirby is also in heated negotiations with "nice folks" who want to rent my home in Pinson. Hopefully these nice folks will work out.

Geez! Its Not Like It Was Baseball

When I saw Diamond Jim Monday evening, he had the big BCS college football bowl game on. Apparently if Alabama won, it would do detrimental things in the college football standings to his Oregon Ducks. Diamond Jim and I agreed to disagree on who should win, as it is better for me to keep my pseudo allegiance to Alabama whole.

Around 9:30 Monday night, I found out Alabama had won the big game. I found out because I received two texts from two separate parties in Birmingham about that time. One just said, "roll tide!!!!!!!!" The other went into greater detail about fireworks being set off and lots of partying in the streets. Apparently a happy crowd over yonder.

Good for them.

You Know the Words

Today is the big BCS college bowl championship big game. Alabama is playing Louisiana. For those of you who really need a team to cheer for, let me give you a tip: "Roll Tide" flows off the tongue much easier than, "Go Louisiana."

I will not be watching the game for one simple reason: it isn't Diamondbacks baseball. But please don't tell the gang in Birmingham. They would be so hurt.
I am guessing there is probably no reason to call anyone in Alabama today. They are all getting ready for tonight's game and no business will get done over there anyway. There is probably no reason to call anyone tomorrow either. If Alabama wins, the folks in Birmingham will be celebrating through the week. If they loose, everyone will be in mourning.

How I Spent My Weekend

Friday, I hit the ground running. I managed to fold six loads of laundry, other household chores, feed children and handle the meager home schooling lesson I had planned, with me directing the kids to figure out how to split subatomic particles on their own, with only youtube instructions. Meanwhile, I managed to spend an enormous amount of time on the phone, between real estate clients and agents, trying to get two contracts ironed out.

Friday was also the onset of Girl Scout Cookie season (if you want cookies, let me know and Polly will call you), and I am one of the two people in charge of said cookies and that required a bit of handling too. Additionally, I am running next Thursday's Girl Scout meeting, so I was researching easy recipes to teach 11 girls ranging in age from 5 to 12. Oh yes! I just found out we can't use the stove in Girl Scout meeting place. So "cooking" is now going to look a lot like fruit salad and finger sandwiches and a lot less like the homemade pretzels we were going to make.

All the while, I was waiting impatiently for either Marty Sunshine to return home for lunch or the dirt we payed to have delivered to show up. As soon as Marty was home, I was out the door, racing to my client's office 20 miles away to give her what I had: a bunch of papers for her to sign. I got back in time to find 14.5 tons of dirt in front of my home, blocking the sidewalk and part of the street. Incidentally, 14.5 tons of dirt is about 20 feet in circumference and 10 feet high--just in case you are curious.

Marty Sunshine worked from home Friday afternoon, so I started shoveling 14.5 tons of dirt onto our front yard for the next hour. Polly and Buckaroo helped, by sliding down the dirt hill and bringing me the wagon to fill.

My dirt shift ended around 2:30, and I went in to start my y'all job. After my y'all job, I went to Home Depot with Marty, bought a wheelbarrow and together we went back to shoveling, raking and moving the 14.5 tons of dirt the house elves hadn't bothered to touch in our absence. We stopped long after dark, with me crawling into bed to get ready for my next y'all shift mere hours later.

Saturday, my day started at 4 a.m. I worked for y'all. I showed homes and I shoveled dirt (Marty Sunshine asked me to add, that he shoveled dirt all day Saturday and did the majority of the shoveling work, not that anyone for an instant thought otherwise).

At 2 p.m. I washed off the dirt stuck to me, and once again went back out again, to negotiate a contract. An hour and a half later, I was on the phone, explaining to the agent, my clients agreed to the terms and conditions set forth by the contract, but if she could give me until 5:30 to fax her the contract instead of 5 p.m., it would afford me the opportunity to actually attend church with my family this evening. Was that a possibility?

And with her blessing, and me asking her her not to take the backup offer she has in place, I managed to scoot my buns into the pew in time to see Buckaroo the Altar Boy, carry the crucifix down the aisle as mass started.

I also managed to get home by 5:27 and get the contract faxed back over. Marty and the kids went out for dinner, I stayed home and moved dirt, with them arriving around 8 p.m. for a nice family game of Clue.

Today I am working on taxes. And in the event you are also curious, the pile of paperwork for several LLCs, and corporation, self employment and other ancillaries are about 20 feet in circumference and 10 feet high.

That's How He Rolls

I heard from Mario on Tuesday. It looks like he has an application for my house on Hysteria Lane. He managed to get it rented in less than two months, and in December--the worst month for finding a renter.

Oh yea. He totally rocks.

In Other News...

Along with Ms. Shirley, on Monday, I sent a rare text to Ms. Angie asking where my rent happened to be. It isn't rare to text Ms. Angie, as I prefer communicating with her this way. I actually understand what she is saying. It is rare Ms. Angie is late on the rent.

What I got back was a text from Ms. Angie, telling me rent was going to be late because she had used part of it to buy Christmas presents for her grandchildren. My reply was, "What a coincidence! I was going to use that same money to pay the mortgage on your home."

In no less than 47 seconds after I sent the text I received a frantic call from Ms. Angie. I believe she was apologizing and explaining I would see rent this week, but I can't be sure. She said something about being sorry but the rest was lost in the translation. I just cannot decipher Southern black woman when Ms. Angie is upset.

When things seemed to be square between us, Ms. Angie then started talking very quickly again with her thick drawl. She did this for another 15 minutes or so, with the only words I completely and utterly understood were "drive-by shooting" and "next door."

Yep. No mistaking that.

I am certain she told me nobody was hurt and the folks were caught. Or at least relatively certain. I might text her later just to be sure.

The Games Ms. Shirley Plays

As far as tenants go, Ms. Shirley is acceptable. She keeps the place in good shape. She doesn't have pets. My biggest complaint about her is the once a month game of getting my rent check. I half-wonder if she gets some sort of satisfaction out of me calling and hunting down what is legally owed. 

Ms. Shirley is one of those who knows more than she lets on. Once in a while, she will say something out of the blue about one of my homes--actually mentioning the location by the street name, giving me the distinct impression she is stalking me. Or, she would be if I was living closer. However, I have often wondered if she has found this blog. It wouldn't surprise me, given some of the things she has let slip over the course of several years and her slight fascination with my business.

So, if Ms. Shirley is reading this today, this one's for you. Or, it is about whomever now has your phone number--the same phone number you have had for four years.

I sent a text out to Ms. Shirley today asking when I can expect December's rent. It isn't as if this is a new concept to her: I ask every month because she can't be bothered pay on time or volunteer the information on a regular basis. However, this time I got a reply back asking who wanted to know. When I replied, "the landlord" I got another text feigning registering confusion. My reply was, "I'm not in the mood for this today."

Now then, if I hadn't spent several hours prior paying bills and coming up with creative ways to make Kirby pay for his inability to rent out my homes, I might have been in a better frame of mind. But I did spend the morning juggling around this and that to make sure property taxes were covered. And, I did spend the morning googling how to make this (for Kirby). And I really, really wasn't in the mood for games.

I would be willing to give Ms. Shirley the benefit of the doubt, that perhaps she had changed her phone number, if the person who texted me back had identified themselves as NOT Ms. Shirley. Or, if the person who has the number I have always associated with Ms. Shirley hadn't called five times in a row immediately after I sent my text.

Or, if I hadn't gotten an e-mail from Ms. Shirley telling me when rent was coming less than three minutes after I had received five phone hang-ups in a row.

That's not an odd coincidence is it?

A Funny Thing Happened On My Way to the Zen Garden

I haven't written of late, because I have been focused on other things that are not in Alabama. Some of it is real estate. Some of it is life itself. And then there is the fact Sue Grafton's latest novel hit the book stores (it was awesome by the way).

And of course, there has been nothing new worth writing about. All is status quo. More or less, with the more irritating items on my Alabama agenda sending me into a frenzy and then to my happy place to chill out for a bit before I can rejoin civilization.

This past week I found out that Kirby has known for a month that he needed the gas turned on for an inspection at the home he supposedly found a renter for. So, there is no renter at this time. And, the inspection still hasn't happened. The first he mentioned it to me was two days ago. Actually, he mentioned it to Marty Sunshine, completely bypassing me. I think this is because he might find me to be a tad bit of a loose cannon when he tells me he dropped the ball.

In all fairness to Kirby, I didn't yell at him. I left a politely bitchy message explaining that I was confused he was now bringing this to our attention--after knowing about this for the past four weeks and don't we have a property management company that is supposed to turn on the gas for us? And could he please clarify my confusion. Because there are nothing left to tend to in my zen garden/happy place and I am on the brink of a stresss-induced aneurysm.

And for those who are wondering why Kirby is still employed by me, it is simply because Mario hasn't proven himself any better--though, he does talk a better talk. Mario does return phone calls. Mario gives feedback. But Mario hasn't rented out my home on Hysteria Lane up to this point. Of course, it could be the time of year. But essentially, Mario hasn't earned the rest of my business.

For the past two days, Marty Sunshine has been calling the gas company and can't seem to get a live person on the phone. It looks like the gas won't be turned on until at least next week. And soon thereafter will be asking Mario to earn his keep and rent out Hysteria Lane so I can transfer everything else over to him and head back to my happy place.

Magic Words

So... I was working my "y'all" job Saturday--the job where I get yelled at by folks with poor planning skills who need trucks right now but didn't think to call in weeks ahead of time when they first found out they would be moving speak with people from all over the country, helping them reserve white and orange moving trucks.

That job.

Anyway, a woman from Alabama called. She was brisk and borderline snotty. And, she certainly wasn't in the mood for me to run through my script--even though I do it anyway because I am addicted to a paycheck. When she told me she was from Tuscaloosa, I automatically said, "roll tide."

She responded in same and the conversation went from snarky caller to a woman who wanted to invite me over for Sunday dinner. And yes, she reserved a truck.

Does Hallmark Make A Card For This?

Ms. Angie graduates from college today. Ms. Angie will also be celebrating Christmas in a few weeks. After that, she will watch her favorite football team (presumably) win the BSC College championship (roll tide!). After that she will celebrate her birthday, her children and grand children will also celebrate birthdays. Then there will be Christmas all over again.

And my gift to her, for all those events and many more to come is a new roof.

To Be Fair, If She Had Just Texted, "Roll Tide" I Wouldn't Have Raised an Suspicious Eyebrow

I got Ms. Kathy's rent check on Tuesday. I skeptically looked it over, wondering what could possibly be wrong with it. It was a cashier check--something I have forced her to resort to years ago. It was for the right amount. But it didn't stop me from muttering, "What is wrong with this?"

Apparently nothing.
I guess she really wanted to say Merry Christmas after all.

Roll Tide

I would like to tell you this is an exaggeration.

But it isn't.

Why am I Suspicious?

Remember Ms. Kathy?

For those of you who are new here to Sage Business, Ms, Kathy is my tenant who has been living in my home for three or four years now (I don't remember which). She only calls on the Friday of a three day weekend to tell me about some pending disaster which will immediately need a plumber or electrician to handle.

For a very long time, she would send me e-mails, long after the rent was due, making up some sorry excuse as to why she didn't have the money she owed me. One such excuse involved using her rent money to bail her brother out of jail. After several months of me cursing her name and Carolsue cursing her face, I got sick of the whole thing and let her have it. I used big words and essentially got it through her brain I was done with her shenanigans.

Since then, she has more or less behaved herself. I think there was an occasion last summer where she gave me heart palpitations for a week or so, but for the most part, Ms. Kathy and I have managed to co-exist with her paying the rent more or less on time and me being happy about it. We don't talk, chat or e-mail. Rent comes with some regularity and I cash the check. Its a very peaceful, low maintenance and high-functioning relationship as far as I am concerned.

So then, imagine my surprise when I got a text from her Saturday. She just wanted to wish me a Merry Christmas and tell me she mailed off the rent.

That was it. No broken faucet. No electrical fire. No crazed former tenant was breaking in wanting to come come in and pine for his former home.

No nothing.

Just Merry Christmas.

Accurate and Utterly Useless

There is some old joke about a man in a hot air balloon asking for directions. He frantically calls down to someone on the ground, asking where he is, and the guy on the ground replies with something like, "You are in a hot air balloon." A completely accurate and utterly useless answer.

This past week, Ms. Angie had a roof leak. I don't have a roofing person. Carolsue, my Alabama go-to girl, doesn't have a roofing person. Mr. 114 doesn't live very close, and hasn't answered my call for help just yet (hopefully he will). But, in the mean-time I asked Kirby if he had a roofing person who could help us out.

His reply, "yes, give me the address and I will send him out to the house."

All accurate, and utterly useless. I would actually like to speak to this person, get an idea of his rates, coordinate a time for Ms. Angie to meet him there to take care of this. I don't want him showing up without my tenant knowing. My fault for not clearly explaining: do you have a roofing person I can speak with and coordinate an inspection with?

I'd ask Kirby again, but it is probably more expeditious to just wait for Mr. 114 to call me back.

I've Heard It All Before

If I had to give a list of top three least favorite tenants, Mr. Smith would be on there. Depending upon my mood and my criteria for the day, he vacillates between the ranks, but usually ends up third--only because he is the only one of the three who probably didn't commit a felony in my home.

Just for the record, I am not saying the other two did commit felonies. We are clear on that. Right???

However, Mr. Smith is the one I absolutely liked the least. Mr. Smith annoyed me to no end. He would call me on a regular basis to tell me I'm great, offer me building supplies and construction services I didn't want or need, and in general ran up my cell minutes with me trying to get him off the phone. This happened about once a month, whether I wanted to hear from him or not.

Mr. Smith could talk a good talk. And I suspect he always had the best of intentions. But he is one of those people who has big plans and bigger excuses. The only consistent thing about Mr. Smith was that he promised what he wasn't able to deliver. I was thrilled to get him out of my life--even if he did just move across the street. Unfortunately he made me go to court to do it.

And, when I went to court that fateful day I told the judge what he owed me and it is now a matter of public record. Where ever Mr. Smith goes, that will follow. And from what I understand, it is following.

Thursday night, I was checking my e-mail found a friendly note from Mr. Smith. He inquired about mine and my family's well-being and then he slipped in that he wants to make good on his judgement. And oh yes! He misses his Ms. Kathy's house. And by the way, he reproduced again. Another boy.

I sent the letter directly to Legal Eagle for her amusement, because that is all it will be. I am guessing if he has a job, a garnishment is possible. But I doubt he will 1) follow through with the job and 2) follow through with the garnishment. 

Today's Bittersweet Gem

Diamond Jim called me out of the blue last week to invite me to breakfast. I knew something was up.

You see, Diamond Jim and I go to breakfast about once a month anyway, but never by way of a formal invite. I usually end up calling him because I have gotten some obscure letter from the Alabama Department of Revenue (I so wish they would stop sending me random letters. Yes! I pay my taxes! No! I don't owe them.) or I bump into him at his office because I am there using his landlord's scanner. Our conversations go like this:

DJ: "Are you going to be hungry next week?"
Me: "I think I could be hungry on Tuesday.
DJ: "Better make it Wednesday. I am up to my neck in letter writing with the Alabama Department of Revenue.

So, Diamond Jim actually calling with a formal invitation was a bit unnerving.

I must say, however, I am really glad I have reached a point in my life where I can have friends the same age as my parents. Friends who are cool. And I am glad Diamond Jim can have friends the same age as his daughter--and those friends aren't 11 years old in his eyes. Because of him I can even stomach longish talks about college football.

Sort of.

But, back to our breakfast. Diamond Jim announced he is doing the inevitable. He is retiring after next tax season. Actually he tried to retire a few years ago, but it didn't turn out the way he planned. This time he is really, really, and for true retiring. In fact, he is even selling his house this time and moving out of state.

Though I will miss my dear friend, I know it is time for him to do this. But Diamond Jim is ready to enjoy his golden years, free of tax loopholes and the incompetency of the Alabama Department of Revenue.  I wish him all the best.