Grievance Committee

I just found out the Grievance Committee meets next week. I have been sent two cases to review. The instructions are to just review the cases themselves, don't research anything else (like social media posts or anything about the agents in question). Because I am not, apparently, environmentally conscience, I ended up printing out about 300 pages from the two cases for me to look at. Next time, I will bypass the printing. It turns out I am not to even bring these pages with me to the meeting next week. Only my notes.

I have some reading to do.

Squee!

And, She's Back

I got a call from Inga yesterday. Last summer she and her husband had been talking with me about selling their home. They are past clients, but frankly Inga was a bit of a hard pill to swallow when it came to our working relationship. During our courtship last summer, Inga e-mailed me and told me they hired another agent and not to contact them again.

So I didn't. I did however write about their experience as I saw it. You can view the MLS (bad) photos here and see the outcome here if you would like. The pictures alone struck me as doom from the beginning. But then again, the home was overpriced and the listing stated there was no lockbox, making it difficult for buyers to see. So, there's that.

Anyway, Inga called me yesterday. Guess what! She is thinking about selling her home. Would I help her? Her first option was a family friend who has some sort of ponzi scheme he wants her to be involved in. She asked what I thought of it. I pointed out the extreme liability to Inga and her husband if they went this direction. I (hopefully) tactfully explained that there are ways this can work, but for the most part, those who get involved in this type of sale tend to be folks who are less sophisticated sellers and are unsure of real estate law. That's what the buyers are looking for. What he was offering wasn't illegal, but sleazy and could backfire and cause her a lot of headache. I cautioned her to proceed very carefully and discuss this with an attorney. However, if this guy really wanted to buy the place, tell him to get a mortgage and I would write up the paperwork.

Her second option was to just outright sell the place and be done. I told her what I thought it was worth (based on the last time I looked --which was last June). I asked her about her last sale and how it went with the agent. And by the way, did the agent have a professional photographer come in and take pictures? "You can do that?" She asked. Anyway, she told me it did not go well. The agent bad-mouthed the property to a potential buyer in front of Inga. She did a few other questionable things too. Now please keep in mind, I know Inga. I have worked with her before. If asked, the agent probably had a few things to say as well.

Inga said, and I so wish I had recorded this, "I regretted not using you right away." Nice words, but given the house was over priced and there were several restrictions to view the property, I am guessing it is best I wasn't the agent. Let the sellers cut their teeth on another agent first.

Later today I am going to send Inga a market analysis on her property. If she can't get Mr. Ponzi to buy it, she is talking about listing it. If she lists it with me, there will have to be a few ground rules set in place. Because I am not hanging my sign in her yard to announce to the world I overprice homes.

Truce In the Forest

I first heard this story on Christmas Eve, 2013. It is one of my favorites. I think it puts life in perspective. Even though we may believe we are fighting for the right cause, there is always something larger than what we champion.

In the grand scheme of things what truly matters? Fighting over politics with family and friends? Wait until one of them (or you) has a life-threatening event. Politics will no longer matter. Some jerk may have cut you off in traffic? But maybe what you didn't know is they are rushing their child to the emergency room (happened to a friend of mine as her son was fighting for his life).

The players in this story weren't committing treason, they were cognizant to recognize there was something bigger than a war going on. Fighting at the cabin that night was not going to change the outcome of the war. These men wisely saw the bigger picture.

There is always a bigger picture. 

"Truce In the Forest" by Fritz Vincken

It was Christmas Eve, and the last, desperate German offensive of World War II raged around our tiny cabin. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door...

When we heard the knock on our door that Christmas Eve in 1944, neither Mother nor I had the slightest inkling of the quiet miracle that lay in store for us.

I was 12 then, and we were living in a small cottage in the Hürtgen Forest, near the German-Belgian border. Father had stayed at the cottage on hunting weekends before the war; when Allied bombers partly destroyed our hometown of Aachen, he sent us to live there. He had been ordered into the civil-defense fire guard in the border town of Monschau, four miles away.

"You'll be safe in the woods," he had told me. "Take care of Mother. Now you're the man of the family."

But, nine days before Christmas, Field Marshal von Rundstedt had launched the last, desperate German offensive of the war, and now, as I went to the door, the Battle of the Bulge was raging all around us. We heard the incessant booming of field guns; planes soared continuously overhead; at night, searchlights stabbed through the darkness. Thousands of Allied and German soldiers were fighting and dying nearby.

When that first knock came, Mother quickly blew out the candles; then, as I went to answer it, she stepped ahead of me and pushed open the door. Outside, like phantoms against the snowclad trees, stood two steel-helmeted men. One of them spoke to Mother in a language we did not understand, pointing to a third man lying in the snow. She realized before I did that these were American soldiers. Enemies!

Mother stood silent, motionless, her hand on my shoulder. They were armed and could have forced their entrance, yet they stood there and asked with their eyes. And the wounded man seemed more dead than alive. "Kommt rein," Mother said finally. "Come in." The soldiers carried their comrade inside and stretched him out on my bed.

None of them understood German. Mother tried French, and one of the soldiers could converse in that language. As Mother went to look after the wounded man, she said to me, "The fingers of those two are numb. Take off their jackets and boots, and bring in a bucket of snow." Soon I was rubbing their blue feet with snow.

We learned that the stocky, dark- haired fellow was Jim; his friend, tall and slender, was Robin. Harry, the wounded one, was now sleeping on my bed, his face as white as the snow outside. They'd lost their battalion and had wandered in the forest for three days, looking for the Americans, hiding from the Germans. They hadn't shaved, but still, without their heavy coats, they looked merely like big boys. And that was the way Mother began to treat them.

Now Mother said to me, "Go get Hermann. And bring six potatoes."

This was a serious departure from our pre-Christmas plans. Hermann was the plump rooster(named after portly Hermann Guring, Hitler's No. 2, for whom Mother had little affection) that we had been fattening for weeks in the hope that Father would be home for Christmas. But, some hours before, when it was obvious that Father would not make it, Mother had decided that Hermann should live a few more days, in case Father could get home for New Year's. Now she had changed her mind again: Hermann would serve an immediate, pressing purpose.

While Jim and I helped with the cooking, Robin took care of Harry. He had a bullet through his upper leg, and had almost bled to death. Mother tore a bedsheet into long strips for bandages.

Soon, the tempting smell of roast chicken permeated our room. I was setting the table when once again there came a knock at the door. 

Expecting to find more lost Americans, I opened the door without hesitation. There stood four soldiers, wearing uniforms quite familiar to me after five years of war. They were Wehrmacht! Germans!

I was paralyzed with fear. Although still a child, I knew the harsh law: sheltering enemy soldiers constituted high treason. We could all be shot! Mother was frightened, too. Her face was white, but she stepped outside and said, quietly, "Fröhliche Weihnachten." The soldiers wished her a Merry Christmas, too.

"We have lost our regiment and would like to wait for daylight," explained the corporal. "Can we rest here?"

"Of course," Mother replied, with a calmness born of panic. "You can also have a fine, warm meal and eat till the pot is empty."

The Germans smiled as they sniffed the aroma through the half-open door. "But," Mother added firmly, "we have three other guests, whom you may not consider friends." Now her voice was suddenly sterner than I'd ever heard it before. "This is Christmas Eve, and there will be no shooting here."

"Who's inside?" the corporal demanded. "Amerikaner?"

Mother looked at each frost-chilled face. "Listen," she said slowly. "You could be my sons, and so could those in there. A boy with a gunshot wound, fighting for his life. His two friends lost like you and just as hungry and exhausted as you are. This one night," she turned to the corporal and raised her voice a little, "this Christmas night, let us forget about killing."

The corporal stared at her. There were two or three endless seconds of silence. Then Mother put an end to indecision. "Enough talking!" she ordered and clapped her hands sharply. "Please put your weapons here on the woodpile and hurry up before the others eat the dinner!"

Dazedly, the four soldiers placed their arms on the pile of firewood just inside the door: three carbines, a light machine gun and two bazookas. Meanwhile, Mother was speaking French rapidly to Jim. He said something in English, and to my amazement I saw the American boys, too, turn their weapons over to Mother.

Now, as Germans and Americans tensely rubbed elbows in the small room, Mother was really on her mettle. Never losing her smile, she tried to find a seat for everyone. We had only three chairs, but Mother's bed was big, and on it she placed two of the newcomers side by side with Jim and Robin.

Despite the strained atmosphere, Mother went right on preparing dinner. But Hermann wasn't going to grow any bigger, and now there were four more mouths to feed. "Quick," she whispered to me, "get more potatoes and some oats. These boys are hungry, and a starving man is an angry one."

While foraging in the storage room, I heard Harry moan. When I returned, one of the Germans had put on his glasses to inspect the American's wound. "Do you belong to the medical corps?" Mother asked him. "No," he answered. "But I studied medicine at Heidelberg until a few months ago." Thanks to the cold, he told the Americans in what sounded like fairly good English, Harry's wound hadn't become infected. "He is suffering from a severe loss of blood," he explained to Mother. "What he needs is rest and nourishment."

Relaxation was now beginning to replace suspicion. Even to me, all the soldiers looked very young as we sat there together. Heinz and Willi, both from Cologne, were 16. The German corporal, at 23, was the oldest of them all. From his food bag he drew out a bottle of red wine, and Heinz managed to find a loaf of rye bread. Mother cut that in small pieces to be served with the dinner; half the wine, however, she put away "for the wounded boy."

Then Mother said grace. I noticed that there were tears in her eyes as she said the old, familiar words, "Komm, Herr Jesus. Be our guest." And as I looked around the table, I saw tears, too, in the eyes of the battle-weary soldiers, boys again, some from America, some from Germany, all far from home.

Just before midnight, Mother went to the doorstep and asked us to join her to look up at the Star of Bethlehem. We all stood beside her except Harry, who was sleeping. For all of us during that moment of silence, looking at the brightest star in the heavens, the war was a distant, almost-forgotten thing.

Our private armistice continued next morning. Harry woke in the early hours, and swallowed some broth that Mother fed him. With the dawn, it was apparent that he was becoming stronger. Mother now made him an invigorating drink from our one egg, the rest of the corporal's wine and some sugar. Everyone else had oatmeal. Afterward, two poles and Mother's best tablecloth were fashioned into a stretcher for Harry.

The corporal then advised the Americans how to find their way back to their lines. Looking over Jim's map, the corporal pointed out a stream. "Continue along this creek," he said, "and you will find the 1st Army rebuilding its forces on its upper course." The medical student relayed the information in English.

"Why don't we head for Monschau?" Jim had the student ask. "Nein!" the corporal exclaimed. "We've retaken Monschau."

Now Mother gave them all back their weapons. "Be careful, boys," she said. "I want you to get home someday where you belong. God bless you all!" The German and American soldiers shook hands, and we watched them disappear in opposite directions.

When I returned inside, Mother had brought out the old family Bible. I glanced over her shoulder. The book was open to the Christmas story, the Birth in the Manger and how the Wise Men came from afar bearing their gifts. Her finger was tracing the last line from Matthew 2:12: "...they departed into their own country another way."

My Christmas Gift

I met Mr. Reader Number Two (my Bonus Dad) for lunch this past Friday. It was his birthday and the lunch date had been made a week earlier. I had been looking forward to it for days, as I gathered all the items I had for him--an InstaPot (for his son and daughter-in-law, from his other son and daughter-in-law that had been living in my basement for six months), a Heinlein book for his birthday and a Far Side calendar for Christmas. Plus, I threw in a few pictures of Buckaroo and Polly, a loaf of pumpkin bread and a Christmas Angel tree ornament I bought for him in St. Louis. Bonus Mom collected angels. I gave him one last year and at the time made the executive decision he and I would be collecting them from this point forward.

Bonus Mom's Hematite Necklace

After he put his presents in his car, Bonus Dad surprised me with a gift. It wasn't wrapped and as soon as I saw it I started crying. Then he started crying. And the two of us stood in the parking lot of the Scottsdale Pei Wei sobbing. But to be fair, every time we get together we sob, no matter where we are.

Last year, when Bonus Mom's death was raw, Bonus Dad asked me if I wanted anything of hers. I said no. I can look around my home in any direction and see five things that remind me of her. I told him to leave it all for his boys and their families. I got thirty years of memories and a Bonus Dad out of the package. I thought I was doing pretty well.

A few months later, I happened to mention a necklace she wore once in a while that I happened to like. It was a comment which was really part of a larger conversation. I didn't think twice about it. Bonus Dad, however, went home and put that necklace in his drawer. He gave the rest of her jewelry to his daughter-in-laws and granddaughters. Except that necklace. He gave it to me instead.

The Committees

I selected two committees.

The Community Outreach Committee: It was a no-brainer for my skill set. Back in the olden days before social media, I did this kind of a thing for a living. Also, it was the committee I was originally asked to join. So, there's that. Plus, I wouldn't mind helping a few people along the way.

The Grievance Committee: I am kind of excited about this one. It is the agent-to-agent arbitration committee (when two agents squabble or there is a code of ethics violation, it goes to this panel). There is a bit of mandatory training that comes with this, such as refresher crash-course law, contract and agency classes. My hope is this committee will make me a better agent.

I passed on the Professional Standards Committee. I wasn't terribly interested and my realtor friend Sally (yep, that's her name) had been on the committee at one time and gave me a few horror stories. I am sure the other two committees will also have their cliques too. But I haven't heard horror stories about them. Yet.

One Year

A year ago today the Arizona Department of Real Estate gave me provisional permission to proceed forward with opening my own brokerage. At the time I was discerning whether or not I wanted to go forward, a couple of friends were so encouraging. One in fact, who is a friend of 30+ years and reads this blog on occasion was my biggest cheerleader. If you find this post, thank you my dear, dear friend for your loving words.

The move into the unknown was daunting, but I went forward and voila! a brokerage was born. In truth, 2017 in general was kind of a sucky year, but this was a wonderful ending.

I don't regret leaving El Jefe. Nobody needs that level of dysfunction. I am grateful for the experience. Perhaps if it weren't for him and the level of crazy that came from working for him, I wouldn't have figured out this was a direction I wanted to pursue.

I do miss having other agents around for camaraderie, support and accountability. Working in a larger-than-one person brokerage also means more leads, listings and potential buyers. I don't have that luxury as a one-man show, but I have enough work. I also have the likes of a few broker friends and colleagues who help me out on occasion. Mrs. Hufflepuff alone has been a great assistance. I have even called El Jefe once or twice and bounced an idea off of him--though that comes with an emotional price.

Even though I am on this brokerage journey, I am sill evolving and changing how and what I want to do. Don't get me wrong! There are still homes to sell. This past year, there was a point when I started exploring what else I wanted to do. It left me conflicted: how could I sell real estate if I want to pursue other interests? I recognize now that some of my upcoming projects are inter-related and not mutually exclusive. I might not make tons more money with some of my other projects, that's ok. I have done the successful thing. I am ready to help others and provide more meaning and purpose in their lives. Hopefully I will be successful with that too.

Closing Day

Doug the Favored Felon closed on his condo today. He was downright giddy when I gave him and his lady friend the key. I also gave him a Christmas wreath and a fire extinguisher as a housewarming gift. Our family fire marshall tells me the one I bought was for kitchen fires only. At any rate, Doug the Favored was gracious.

I skedaddled as quickly as I could after giving him the key for two reasons. First, I got the distinct impression Doug and his lady friend wanted a moment alone to explore their new home. And second, I wanted to cash my commission check before the bank closed. So, a win-win for all involved.

True story: the agent who sold us our very first house 20 years ago gave us a fire extinguisher as a housewarming gift. I recently found it and was told (again by the family fire marshall) that it was "the wrong kind" and "out of date." Please check your fire extinguishers. What? You can't find your fire extinguisher to check it? That's easy, please go get one.

Get It Right Already!

I have a bankruptcy. I am not proud of this fact. It wasn't a commemorative moment in my life, but it is branded into my memory. And to be fair, it might have been the biggest downer of 2017 had Bonus Mom not decided to take her last breath at the same time. Nothing has yet come close to that low point.

Anyway, my attorney and about three zillion others have assured me bankruptcies were created for the reasons we filed. The stigma is subsiding. But for the next several years I get to explain to people I pay why I filed in the first place. So, flashbacks are possible.

Right after our bankruptcy closed, one of our creditors filed a lawsuit against only me. This was highly illegal and I am quite certain they now regret doing so. Now to be fair, I didn't owe them money for two reasons: 1) my name was never associated with the loans in question. 2) OUR BANKRUPTCY CLOSED. But that didn't stop some hack of an attorney who violated Federal law and filed the papers anyway. That lawyer, by the way, is flipping burgers at some Burger Barf somewhere in the greater Birmingham Alabama area.

When the US Bankruptcy Trustee found this out, all heck broke loose and the bank who did this cowered in the corner, and chose to write a ginormous check instead of going to court for their gaffe. The man in charge of going after me in the first place was dismissed from his job and is hopefully cleaning the toilets at the local Burger Barf. But, the fact of the matter is, because of all this, our Bankruptcy was opened a month after the courts closed it while the Trustee sorted everything out.

Sometime this past autumn the bankruptcy closed again, with another one of our creditors making out like a bandit thanks to the ginormous check the bank had to write. Good for them! I hated stiffing people and businesses I owed.

However, it appears the bankruptcy has been opened a third time. At the time of this writing, nobody can tell me why.  But, it is open. To put life in perspective, I cannot buy another home until three years after the bankruptcy closes. So, that time frame won't start until the Trustees finally close this once and for good. This affects my taxes. It affects my mortgage. It affects my interest rate on the measly amount of commercial credit I have. It affects my FICO score. If I move and need to rent, explaining that I have three bankruptcies in two years looks sketchy--even if it is only because of weird circumstances.

I am guessing, though my attorney did nothing to reassure me today, that there was some sort of administrative error and it should not have been opened a third time. But sheesh. It is time to close this chapter for good.

Last Friday's Gift

I met Doug the Favored Felon, Dee and the a few of the regulars from her Merry Band of Felons for the walk-through of Doug's upcoming purchase this past Friday. It was a party, which started 45 minutes later, allowing me the pleasure of standing in a furniture-free 1,000 square foot condo in the cold December afternoon, with a drained cell battery and a slightly pissy attitude. However, when they all showed up (ALL of them), it turned into a party.

Now I must say, it seems everywhere Dee and her band of Merry Felons go, it turns into a party. And that's fine by me.

Perhaps there is a HVAC filter in here somewhere?

During the walk-through, Doug went through his soon-to-be condo, marveling at every little thing. He fiddled with the light switches and appliances. He played with the heater (there is no air filter, so I hadn't turned it on). He turned on all the faucets and recounted the windows--just to be sure they were all there. He smiled, giddy like a child right before summer vacation, as he talked about the colors he would be painting his sons' room this coming week. He pointed where the Christmas tree would be staged and told us about the upcoming memories he was sure to have.

He told us his plans, his hopes, his dreams. This is a fresh start for him. His divorce final last month, he has been granted custody of his young sons. He is getting married in a couple of weeks. This is a new life. To him buying this condo is more than just a place to lay his head. A few years ago he didn't have this kind of hope. It is a fresh start. And he was eternally grateful to Dee and I for helping him out and said so. Right before leaving the condo, we all congregated into the 5 x 6 kitchen, holding hands, while Seth the Felon prayed for Doug and his new place.

In addition to all that, at some point, we gazed with wonder at the amount of personal items the seller's daughter hadn't collected yet from the condo--a task that I had been harping on for weeks. Incidentally, this coming Wednesday, if you are looking for an old laptop, Christmas decorations, a signed letter (probably not an original) from a former US President, a Green Card or a plethora of other do-dads, I am willing to bet Doug the Favored will make you a great deal.

After the walk-through was over, we had a caravan to the title office, where Doug signed papers for an hour. The felons who were not involved with the sale came in too, offering him support, friendship and a new pen when the ink ran out of the last one. They even told corny jokes just to keep us laughing.

When all was said and done, I went to wish them well and a good weekend. I promised I would be calling on Wednesday when the condo closed, to meet him to give him the key. But before I could get out the door, Doug stopped me. He thanked me profusely for my help. The other felons thanked me for helping Doug. Dee and Mr. Dee thanked me. Then they ALL hugged me. I felt loved and appreciated.

It is moments like that which make grateful I have a job where I can help people.

They Made A Decision Yesterday

Well now, as soon as I posted yesterday's blog, I got an e-mail. I have been accepted for all three committees. Mind you, I said I wanted to be on one. But, what the heck. I can dither for a few days and sort this out.

I am pretty darn sure I don't want to be a committee member for all three committees. One. Maybe two, if it includes the grievance committee. I think I really want to be on that one. In the next few days I will figure out if the other two committees work for me and my life. My realtor friend Sally (yep, that's her name) tells me I really don't want the professional standards committee.

Anyway, as we all know, be careful what one wishes for.

Maybe They Will Make a Decision by the end of March

For something to do, and as a way to give to my vocation, about six weeks ago, I managed to fill out the application to join one of the local realtor association committees. I was asked and encouraged to do so the head of one of the committees. I was told they "seriously needed volunteers." Anyway, with almost 16 years under my belt, being a designated broker and a high-producing agent, I expected to be a shoe-in--even if it was for a grunt position somewhere. After all, who doesn't like ready, willing and able volunteers?

There were three programs, which caught my eye. I said I only wanted to be on one of them, but I was required to pick several. I picked the community outreach committee (which is what the person chairing encouraged me to join). They help other agents who have critical needs, as well as do the fun events in the community. Second choice was the grievance committee--I would hear about agent vs. agent disputes--like agent arbitration. I thought it sounded fascinating. As a designated broker, I figured I had a shot, because they were only looking for brokers. Third on my list was the professional development committee, which puts on classes for agents. Real estate education is on my mid-to-long term bucket list (as a teacher) and this might be a place to start.

When I mentioned this to my friend Sally (yep, that's her name), she said the committees are cliquish and unless I am one of "those" types, I wasn't likely to be on one. She should know. She went down this path a couple of years ago. She joined a committee and was immediately sorry she did so. Not terribly surprised, I felt fully warned.

Anyway, I have heard nothing back from anyone at the association. I am guessing I am not as qualified as I thought I was. Or perhaps I just don't hang out with the in-crowd. Either way, it doesn't look like I am wanted or needed for this particular pursuit.

While I desperately search for significance in what I am doing, I am recognizing helping others through the realtor association may not be the path I am supposed to be on. And that's ok.

Nelly

Perhaps Captain Picard Speaks for All of Us

I met with Nelly today. She was a referral from my very first real estate client, more than 15 years ago. Anyway, Nelly has a house she wants to sell. And could I meet with her and list the place?

If it were only that simple?

Nelly did not know anything about how to sell a house. She had no idea what it was worth and wasn't sure where to begin. So, before I met with her, I did my homework and got a fair idea of what she could expect. There was a model just like hers for sale that had been "updated" and I had set an appointment for us to see it so we could compare (for the record, new paint is not "updating").

Anyway, when I got to Nelly's home, she mentioned she didn't live there any more. She had bought it a couple of years ago by herself. She had a boyfriend at the time who helped her with the down payment but they didn't work out. The now ex-boyfriend lived there alone. As we stood in the driveway, she sweetly told me that there was a slight hiccup. He knew we were coming, but all of the sudden the locks were changed and the garage code was different. She had been calling and texting, but he didn't answer. No matter, she was sure he would get back to her as soon as possible.

I suggested we go see the house down the street for sale and get an idea of what she could expect her competition to be. As we were touring the other place, I asked if her ex-boyfriend had a lease. No. Was he paying rent? Actually, he paid half the mortgage. Every month, Nelly gave him her "half" of the mortgage and he just automatically paid it. Was he anxious to sell? Yes.

The story about the guy got weirder. He had claimed the mortgage interest on his taxes for the past couple of years--not allowing Nelly to do so. However, he is not on the loan. Nor is he on the title to the house. Nope. He has no rights whatsoever to this house. And she is paying him to live there, whether she realized it or not. And to be fair, now she realizes it.

By the end of our time together, I am pretty certain Nelly understood her ex-boyfriend may not be as cooperative as she thought he was. She promised me she would call a lawyer (I gave her the name and number of mine) and an accountant. I hunted down the title office that handled her closing and asked her to call them to get her settlement statement (the ex-boyfriend has it and "can't find it."). She has no idea what company holds the mortgage to her home or if it is truly being paid. She has no idea if the homeowner's association is being paid regularly. And let's not even talk about taxes and insurance! I pointed out if her ex doesn't pay any of these, it is her credit and future that is ruined.

I have no idea how this is going to turn out. Actually, not true! I pretty much do have an idea, and it won't be pretty. Anyway, I won't be listing her house at this time. And that is probably for the best.

Bad MLS Pictures--The Going Up Edition

When I set out to find today's MLS photos, I didn't have a theme in mind. However, a theme found me. I recognize the need to put interior photos in every listing. But sometimes they just aren't necessary. I would be willing to bet every potential buyer figured out long before today these properties don't come with an elevator.

One of my biggest frustrations with these photos is that 1) they aren't necessary in the listing, as they aren't adding value and 2) the photographer (agent) didn't even bother to review the picture to make sure it was worth posting in the first place. The seller is paying for a service and in some cases, I think they may have gotten a raw deal.


Not one, but three photos of the same staircase. Imagine the prospective buyer looking online. "Oh look darling! We must buy this house. That staircase is simply delightful!"

This photo below makes me want to be on the stairs and hold on tightly.  

Note to agent: if the flooring is filthy, just don't. 

I honestly don't know what to make of this. Visually it looks like the staircase is ending smack-dab at that door. It also looks like an awkward space because the flooring changes. Additionally, this is the only interior photo in this listing.

I kind of understand this picture. The unit is upstairs. There is a terrace (that overlooks the parking lot).

PUT THE VACUUM AWAY BEFORE TAKING THE PICTURE!!! Thank you. 

Is the wall two colors? And is the floor crooked? 

Here is the fun fact about this photo below: it is a downstairs unit being sold. 

I don't know what that blue line is at the top of this photo. The ceiling? 

Just tilt your head a touch. As an added bonus do you see the arm? 

Another homeowner who keeps the vacuum on the staircase. It is an epidemic I tell you!

Turn Up the Heat

Update on Tracy's lack of heat. Less than 36 hours after following my advice she had a brand new heater installed in her house. She also has a new contact at her property management office. And, as an added bonus, the designated broker of the property management company is probably getting a bunch of documents together for a Department of Real Estate audit.

A Happy Little Post

Today was a rough day with a very happy ending. Here is a link to something cheerful. The video is a minute long. If you are a parent, or have parents, you definitely should watch it.

Click Here

Nobody Ever Believes Me

Doug the Favored Felon called me this morning and asked with a panic in his voice, "Why does Zillow say my home is still for sale?"

I may have sighed a little too loud, because all of the sudden Doug the Favored recalled our chat at the Cracker Barrel a few weeks ago. He said with a voice that suggested sudden inspiration, "Zillow isn't always accurate, is it?"

NO IT ISN'T! IT ZILLOW A DATABASE THAT HAS SUCKERED MILLIONS OF FOLKS INTO THINKING IT IS AN ALL-KNOWING ORACLE THAT CAN TELL ANYONE ANYTHING ABOUT REAL ESTATE. INCLUDING ANNOUNCING TO THE GENERAL PUBLIC A HOME IS AVAILABLE WHEN IT ISN'T.

But, what do I know.

Suck it Up

A year and a half ago, I was gifted these lovely rental clients who are everything one wants in rental clients. Except they live 45 miles away from me. And they have a snake. I have written about them here and here. A few months ago, they started looking for another place to live, and decided they were better off just staying where they were than trying to find a new rental for no other reason than they wanted the challenge of moving. Plus, they have to convince some new landlord that having a snake is a really great pet.

Tracy's heat has been out for weeks. The property management company, who is an affiliate of a very large and prominent brokerage, has been unresponsive. It turns out no technician will fix the unit--it is beyond repair. And the landlord is refusing to pay for a new HVAC system. Her house is so cold that the snake is now hibernating all the time. And to be fair, it has been a pretty chilly November.

Anyway, last week, the property management genius told her to, "Suck it up" when she called to complain that she was going on two weeks without heat. "It isn't like it is snowing," he wrote her. Yep, he put this in writing.

When Tracy called me last night and told me this story, I took in a breath of air and counted to ten before I replied. My Arizona Tenant-Landlord knowledge is purposely rusty, as I really don't want to ever do property management again. Besides, I already passed the broker test. So, I can safely let that information flee from my brain. What I do remember is that it is against the law in AZ for a tenant not to have heat or AC and the landlord/property management company not to remedy it by a certain number of days. I guarantee three weeks exceeds the number of days.

What I told Tracy was to call the Arizona Department of Real Estate. The government organization exists to protect the public, not the real estate agents. Also, the AZDRE happens to have a sadistic relationship of cat and mouse with property management companies. I then recommended calling the designated broker of the property management company in charge of her home. Let him know you have contacted the AZDRE. Forward him e-mails from the maintenance man (I provided her with the DB's contact info). And yes, do it in that order. Then, sit back, rent bleachers and sell popcorn for the upcoming fireworks.

My guess is she will have heat in the next few days.

Working Together

Last week, when Doug the Favored Felon ended up under contract with a contingency he was to be divorced the day before Thanksgiving. It just so happened, I was to be traveling that day, making the entire process of me working with Doug and the other agent a complete and total pain in the neck.

There is a joke among agents that the more inconvenient the time to work on real estate, the more urgent it will be. This is not an exaggeration. More than once, I have conducted business in 2 feet of the Gulf of Mexico, just because it was the only place I could get reasonable cell service. I had three sales going during Bonus Mom's memorial service back in July. And I was in no condition to talk to anyone. But my clients and the other agents involved didn't care.

In the case of Doug the Favored Felon's sale, the selling agent didn't want to tie up the house for the holiday weekend with my client if he couldn't perform. I can't say I blame her, but she wasn't willing to bend and even allow me to get to my destination before she pulled the plug on the sale. So, to make this work for my buyers, we left the night before, allowing me to get to a computer the next day during office hours and write up an addendum.

As it turns out, all went well. Doug is a single man now. The other agent, realizing the sale wasn't in jeopardy chilled out Thanksgiving Eve and finally agreed to allow me to turn in my paperwork during business hours this past Monday--like a sane, civilized person. Her willingness to work together made it easier for me not to get totally pissy when I found a glaring error in something she wrote up.

Unicorn Shopping

So Nicholle called me Monday. She was in tears. She was breaking up with her boyfriend of 12+ years and taking her two kids and three Chihuahuas and moving out no later than this coming weekend. And by the way, she makes $10 an hour right now, but is getting a raise to $12 an hour in a few weeks, so she could afford a "nice" place.

For those of you who did not graduate from my landlord-tenant training program, let me just jump to the final exam: this just sounds like a train wreck waiting to happen. Nicholle is ill-prepared, under capitalized and is trying to find a unicorn. I know unicorns exist, but not at the expense of my time.

It just so happens, I am familiar with Nicholle and all of the other Nicholles out there. But in this case, I do know her personally (and she should have left the boyfriend years ago, but that's another story). I am also familiar with several of her life choices from the past. I simply cannot help her and keep my sanity.

Her major non-negotiable was that she wanted to live in Surprise, AZ. That just happens to be 54.7 miles from my house. The only two properties I actually found (there were two!) paid me $55 if Nicholle passed the background, pet and credit check and took the condo. Plus, she needs to make three times the rent in order to qualify at all. She didn't believe me when I told her this on the phone, so there was no way I was going to drive that far just to prove to her this wasn't going to happen.

At any rate, I did send her the phone number and names of the two agents with the listings I found in Surprise. Perhaps one of them knows where she can find a slightly used unicorn.

In Other News

Doug the Favored Felon is Divorced. Home inspections are later this week.

The Pineapple Squish-Fest

A couple of weeks ago, the East Valley Chapter of the Woman's Council of Realtors had their officer installation. Jane invited me (omitting the slight tid-bit it was a $35 entrance fee for the honor of watching this Squish-fest). Mrs. Hufflepuff was being installed as the Grand Poobah, and had orchestrated a pineapple-themed event in her honor.

Pineapples--someone painted the gold glitter paint
on the fruit and called it a centerpiece.
There were pineapple salt and pepper shakers (nobody used)
and pineapple table runners. There were
also other pineapple-centric stuff in other places. 

Seriously, pineapples. There was pineapple juice served. There were a variety of pineapple-type foods available to eat. I had none, as I am allergic to the damn fruit. But, apparently pineapples represent women because (and I am not making this up) they have "a crown, are hard on the outside and sweet in the middle."

And who says the woman's movement hasn't progressed in the past several millennia?

There was a great speaker--someone I admire, who has been in the real estate industry for 55 years. I first met this man back in 2002 when I interviewed him for the magazine I worked for. I may have had a teensy case of morning sickness in his office the day I interviewed him. But hopefully he doesn't remember. And even if he does, I didn't introduce myself this time around. In truth, hearing him speak was worth the price of admission.

I should also mention there were probably as many men at the Woman's Council of Realtors installation as there were women. Perhaps they were spouses (Mr. Jane showed up for this). But I think a few are regulars who come just to troll looking for a date.

In addition to the pineapple take-away, there was the introduction of past-Poobahs, speeches by several of them and lots of polite clapping. The exiting Poohbah had a long and heartfelt, tearful goodbye, promising to all of us in the room she would be right there for Mrs. Hufflepuff. Then they hugged.

There was a lot of hugging.

A lot.

There was an awards ceremony too. Jane was publicly thanked for auditing the WCR books last year. It was insinuated there might have been some financial shenanigans in the past and Jane may have personally caught something nobody wanted caught. Anyway, she got an award for it. And that was pretty awesome for her. I clapped loudly, because that was something significant that I am glad (for them) was addressed. It isn't a big surprise. If anyone could find financial shenanigans, it would be Jane.

Jane's Well-Earned Award

Then came the actual installation of officers--by the way, Jane is now the new Treasurer. The person running the meeting called up the new officers to the front, and as they started walking, she gave a lengthy description of what each officer was going to do. The officer (who was still walking to the stage) was to say, "I will" or something along those lines, but they were busy trying not to trip and make their way up front, so I have no idea if they even knew what they were agreeing to. Once the officer (who said "I will") got to the stage, they got some sort of trinket and a hug.

Mrs. Hufflepuff's lengthy description wasn't nearly as a long as her acceptance speech--which was too bad because the meeting had started a half hour late and I had an appointment I needed to get to. However, I was sitting in one of those awkward places, where getting up and leaving would have been impolite or caused a mutiny from all of us who wanted to leave. Or both.

I can't tell you what Mrs. Hufflepuff said, but I am sure she promised to make it a fun year. She gave a lengthy history of WCR. She also thanked everyone from the very first WCR Poobah to her three year old son. And when I say thanked, I mean, it was a personal, heart-felt thank you. For Each.And.Every.One.Of.Them.

I am not joining the Women's Council of Realtors for a myriad of reasons. I will go to meetings when Jane insists and perhaps visit a couple of happy hours (Jane has been insisting on this too). They have a few community events worth noting as well. I am sure Jane or Mrs. Hufflepuff will let me know if they want me there. But, no. In general, I can't wrap my head around this group.

Bad MLS Pictures--The After Dark Edition

I must get around to telling you about last week's Academy Award Show Woman's Council of Realtors' officer installation ceremony. But not today. Today is being upstaged by these pictures. Be sure to check out all of the pictures, preferably without impressionable children in the room.

Here is the link. 

Here's to a Successful Divorce (This Week)

Well, Doug the Favored Felon found a house. Except his divorce is not finalized. Fantastic. Additionally, Dee and Mr. Dee are co-signing and they are on a cruise in some foreign country. We wrote the contract Friday night. They left Saturday, insisting they will not have internet. That doesn't work when one is in contract negotiations. I managed to catch them Sunday before they got on the boat and had them sign off, with them assuring me, this was the last they would hear from me for a week, so too bad if there were more legal papers to be addressed.

Additionally, though Dee is all kinds of awesome, she is giving Doug the Favored Felon real estate advice. Let me take that back, she is giving him bad real estate advice. And what's worse, he is insisting it it wonderful real estate advice and instructing me to follow his wishes. True, that's part of my job, but I would like to think that I have slightly more credibility than Dee.

Doug the Favored asked that his contract be contingent upon his divorce being finalized. That's all well and good, but he doesn't go to court until the day before Thanksgiving. And just because he goes to court that day, doesn't mean it is finalized that day. I can't seem to get Doug and Dee to understand this particular tid-bit. Because I have no crystal ball, nobody knows what this will bring. Will the judge catch legionnaire's disease and miss work, extending his court date? Will Doug's soon-to-be-ex-wife suddenly have a change of heart, and rush in, asking for reconciliation? Will there be a pot luck in the courthouse lunch room and all cases that day will be delayed, or rescheduled?

These are all reasonable questions--especially from the other agent who was none-too-happy to see this contingency either (and I hated looking like a fool writing such nonsense). After all, she was getting a great number of showings and the house is priced less than $150,000. Why settle for Doug's baggage? If I were her, I wouldn't have stood for such shenanigans either.

What I would have preferred was a contingency of the soon-to-be ex-wife signing a Disclaimer Deed, which was less time sensitive and necessary for the loan, hence protecting Doug. Actually, what I would have really preferred is he waited to buy a home until after this week, and certainly after Dee and Mr. Dee were back in town to sign off on a legally binding contract. But, I couldn't seem to convince him of such things.

The negotiations for this particular point went back and forth all day Saturday, with me knowing what would eventually happen, but having to stick up for Doug anyway because that is my job--even if I personally disagreed. Finally he caved and the great compromise was reached. The selling side said Doug has until this Wednesday to get divorced or the contract was cancelled. Can't say I blame them.

At this rate, we shall see what will happen. I have warned Doug, the selling side has no sympathy for his situation and if he doesn't have a divorce decree in his hands in time for Turkey dinner, he will be homeless. I don't think he believes me, which is sad, because he is about to find out what happens when one takes advice from an optimistic someone who has given him well-meaning but bad advice.

Robbie

Robbie and I got together last week for a glass of tea and to catch up. Robbie is a friend, investor and all-around nice guy. He and I have a few similar interests and our Venn Diagram of life keeps interacting. So, we met.

What we got together to discuss is a mutual project we are starting. However, the discussion turned to real estate, which isn't a surprise given he has heard my life story. He is in the early stages of investing and he was picking my brain for useful items so he could grow what he is doing. That's all well and good, but I am not his agent. His agent is Bryan--
someone else who's Venn Diagram of life keeps interacting with mine.

I explained to Robbie I wasn't giving him investment advice--though I was answering pointed questions with my knowledge and experience. So, call it what you will. We talked for an hour or so and hopefully he came away with a game plan.

My next call was to Bryan to tell him I talked serious investing with his client. Bryan was cool--I knew he would be (and I told Robbie I would be calling Bryan after we talked). But that doesn't change a perceived and potential breach of ethics if Bryan wanted to look at it in another way. I doubt I told Robbie anything Bryan hadn't said, which made it easy. However, I took a different approach than Bryan.

In the end, I suggested Robbie wasn't ready to jump into bigger and better. He needed another few units under his belt if he wanted to maximize his investments. Then, he gave me a great compliment, "I would have had to have paid more than $10,000 for this advice if I had gone to a seminar." True, but in this case, Robbie got what he paid for and I got a glass of tea, a great conversation and time with a friend.

Out of the Quiet (For the Moment)

It appears Dee, sensing I was enjoying my semi-sabaddical, panicked and sicced her Felons on me. Two of them (Doug the Favored Felon and a new dude) now want to see homes right now. The guy who was ugly to me last week seems to be off the radar. And that's ok.

So this week I am showing Doug the Favored a home. Of course it is under contract--which means someone else who is ready, willing and able has already put an offer in. Dee wisely told him if Doug if puts a back up offer in, it has to be contingent upon his potential (no court date set) divorce. Oh if it were only that simple. I wish Dee would stop giving her Merry Band of Felons legal real estate advice.

The new dude who called me today, asking me to jump on a home 50 miles away that is also under contract, isn't prequalifed, nor has he had the benefit of my pre-home buying seminar. So, until he does both, we don't look. Perhaps I will suggest that to Dee so she mentions that tid-bit to him.

A Quiet Space

What do you call it when you are still active within your profession but not earning money? Volunteering perhaps? With agency laws in place, that isn't exactly what I am doing because that would land my behind in front of a judge. Instead, what I am doing, is sitting quietly in my office after Buckaroo and I have gone through his school work, contemplating what I want to cook for dinner. My phone isn't ringing and that is fine by me.

What I am also doing is offering to serve on a few real estate related committees (I haven't been picked yet, so who knows?). I am working on a specific real estate related certification. I am taking classes. And, I sort of agreed to join the Woman's Council or Realtors because Jane is going to be on the board. So is Mrs. Hufflepuff. Maybe I will net a trip to New Zealand out of it. But probably not.

I am also letting Scott, my graphic artist put together my latest newsletter, which will go out in a week or two. I have post cards to go out when I feel up to it as well. Will these net me clients? Maybe. It is fine if it doesn't.

A few months ago, Marty told me he was ok if I slowed down. I wasn't as ok about it then. I am more ok about it now. There is a certain amount of ego attached to starting a brokerage and keeping it running. The fact is, I have been profitable and I can still be profitable if I slow down. I am not closing up shop, just taking a breather for the first time in almost 16 years. Essentially, I am not actively seeking clients for a while (no open houses!), but if one lands in my lap, I will be happy to help them. I also have the Felons, one of whom still wants to buy a home from me.

There are a few projects I want to actively pursue. One of which is just being a mom and not having 27 other things on my plate. This luxury wasn't an option even two years ago when the accidental business was still kicking around. There are other activities on my plate too. None of which I am prepared to discuss right now. They are more like passion projects and they excite me. 

This sabbatical may last a week. It may last a month or more. I like this quiet space I have carved out and am going to enjoy it right now.

I Can't Make This Up

Today is election day in the United States. I am sure there is someone, somewhere in a box who didn't get the message. Most likely that one box-person doesn't read this blog, but in the event they do: today is election day. Go do your part.

And to add a bit of levity to a politically-charged climate, or in case you live in Vermont and are unsure whom you should cast your vote for when it comes to Governor or Senator (I think she is running for both?), please watch this video. 45 seconds is all you will need.

I promise.

Prepare to be amused. Or horrified. Or grateful you don't live in Vermont. Or all of the above.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FfCoa2J3ZOo

Felon Updates

I was gone last weekend but apparently not forgotten. One of the felons, Doug, wanted to see a home. He sent me a text on Saturday with a note that I needed to show it to him "ASAP." The home had 14 offers and sold for $15,000 over asking price, cash, before I managed to make it back to this side of the Continental Divide. He said he understood and was gracious about losing out on the whole thing. Not to be cynical, but he wouldn't have gotten it even if I was in town. It turns out Doug really can't start looking anyway because his divorce isn't final, and more to the point, he doesn't have a court date. Arizona is a community property state. This is kind of a problem.

The other felon was less than kind when I spoke with him today. It is all my fault he hasn't found a home. It isn't his crazy requirements, plus his insistence to only live in a 12 square mile area or the fact he refuses to live in a place that doesn't have a two car garage. Nor is it the fact he doesn't have internet so the entire process takes days longer than it should. And let's not even start on what the probation requirements are for this man! Once he finds a place, it has to meet another set of standards. But no. Simply, he "can't afford" the homes I send him.

I asked if he would like to broaden his search or even change his criteria? No. He just wanted to complain and blame. I recommended he speak with his loan officer and see what kind of payment would make him feel comfortable, given he is already prequalified for significantly more but doesn't want to spend more than $100,000 on a property. "You'd think any competent realtor would be able to tell me this and not make me call a loan officer," he grumbled.

Yep, you'd think, but no. Not even the incompetent ones could reach into the recesses of Mr. Felon's brain and pull this one off.

Because I "can't find anything" that suits him, he is now thinking about a manufactured home. I didn't break it to him that he would need to have a 20% down payment for that. Why bother? He isn't going to find a manufactured home (e.g., trailer) that someone will give him a mortgage on for $15,000. I guess I will just fail him there, too. I think I will just let him find out for himself.

Bliz

Bliz was kind enough to raise such a wonderful daughter who invited me to her wedding last weekend. It gave me a chance to enjoy fall weather, see a beautiful bride and hang out with my most favoritest human in the world. All is good.

But this isn't a blog documenting how much wine I can consume in a weekend, now is it? (For the record about three glasses). It is a blog about the adventures of rebuilding our lives from financial ruin of our accidental business. Bliz plays a big part in that. The accidental business part, not the financial ruin. She had to look on helplessly as a spectator to our train wreck.

Bliz was my bookkeeper for the accidental business. She was also my confidant and on one occasion, my travel companion to West Georgia where we spent a silly weekend doing I don't remember what. She is the reason I started blogging. She would have been my alibi--at least she was willing to do so--on the 376,981 occasions I was ready to strangle Mr. Former Partner.

For all of the above, I will be forever grateful.

This past weekend I got to relive why I adore her so much. She reminded me of the fun times we had with the business. I guess there were good times, but I may have blocked them out, as the sting of failure still lingers. But four days with an amazing human being like Bliz and I might be ready to take on another accidental business down the road. Maybe.

The Home Buying Meeting

A few years ago, I started having mandatory meetings with future buyers. My feeling was, if they couldn't sit down for 30 minutes over a cup of coffee and discuss their home buying process, the legalities of shopping for a home and my role as their agent, it was probably not going to be a good fit. My thinking is, I am going to spend a portion of a million dollars on where I will be living for a few years, I might want to know a thing or two about how I got there. I would like to think others would too. Besides, with the crazy real estate market, a lot of buyer decisions are being made very quickly with very little time to think. It is better to know upfront what the consequences are of those decisions.

At first, my mandatory meetings weren't mandatory if I had a client I had represented before or if they were someone who had purchased a home in Arizona before. But, now they are. Period. And I have to say, my clients are better educated and have their expectations set early*. It makes for a smoother sale.

Usually.

This past month, I sat down with two of Dee's Felon Friends and talked with them about what the process entails. Both were gracious and sweet. The information is overwhelming, and I admit, a bit of a brain dump, but I think it is necessary. Both agreed with the previous statement. Today when I met Doug at the Cracker Barrel, he asked if I had any questions of him--specifically his past. No I didn't. I had met him a few times before and is my Felon of Choice. I would rather know the man who is rebuilding his life than the one he used to be.

Hopefully today was beneficial and the rest of the purchase process will be quasi-smooth sailing. There are a few hiccups right now. He was thinking of changing jobs (NO!). Turns out his divorce isn't finalized (a problem). But he is prequalified, has a down payment and wants to move forward with his life. Today was that first start.

* For the record, the "home selling shows" on television are fake and buying a home in the Phoenix metro area is nothing like this.

Brett

It is Monday afternoon. I still haven't reached Dee--and I can't imagine she will be thrilled with my news. I am not happy to give it to her. Of course, Dee is one of those awesome types who doesn't blame the messenger/real estate agent because she has a slight mess. I am grateful for that. You would be astonished at the number of folks who would hold me personally responsible for what I am about to write. 

Brett was my termite guy go-to for years. Actually, he was my home inspector's go-to for years. A super nice guy, he owned his own pest control company. About three years ago, on Christmas Eve, his wife was involved in a tragic and freak accident which changed his world. Now the sole parent to his 3 and 6 year old, he started outsourcing his work. He hired a staff and stayed home to raise his kids. He still owned the company, but it was apparent to him he needed to be Daddy right then and there. 

In the past few years I spoke with him once in a while, including last July when Dee had the home she was buying treated by Brett's company and they missed one side of the house. Brett took care of everything as cheerfully for me as he had for the past 15 years. A week later, he had a tragic and freak accident and his babies--now 9 and 6--are orphans. 

One of Brett's in-laws, who lives in Texas and apparently knows the value of pest control companies in the greater Phoenix metro area, turned down two "low" offers that I am told were right in line with the going market for purchasing pest control companies. Word got around that this relative was taking over and nobody from this point forward has any interest in buying his company. Which brings me to this question: what is the pest control company truly worth? He worked out of his house and had some letterhead, chemicals and employees who have since moved on. 

So, Dee, and the myriad of other customers who had termite warranties from Brett are out of luck. And that really stinks, because Dee has termites at the house she just purchased. Plus she is out of town and doesn't know her termite guy is no longer in business. Today I called the State and asked a few questions, like what is a customer who has a warranty for pest control when the company closes its doors supposed to do. Wayne the Bureaucrat put me on hold twice and then gave me the name of Brett's insurance company. No phone number. No contact info. Just a name. He said, "good luck!" and hung up as quickly as he could. 

All of the above will need to be explained to Dee. This isn't my job to do this. But I have the info and Dee needs her house treated, so I did it. I suspect what will happen is Dee has to pay out of pocket for her home to be treated--just like all the other customers who had termite warranties with Brett. 

At the Crazy Train Depot

Mrs. Hufflepuff sent me an e-mail inviting me to join the Woman's Council of Realtors. I am marginally interested. Actually, marginally is a stretch. Actually, interested at all is a stretch. I went to one meeting and found the speakers to be offensive. Plus, it struck me that there were more men there--trying to pick up women--than women. Plus, why have a "woman's" council? I mean, why not just have a council?

Jane is now treasurer of the local chapter, which nets her a trip to Boston in two weeks. She has also gone on a few other trips in the name of the WCR, but from what I can tell, that's where the membership money goes--trips for officers. I am being cynical, I know. I am sure they do something else in the community and I am just not seeing it.

The truth is I don't know what I want to do--but not about WCR necessarily--I mean about life in general. I say this often and it gets me nowhere. My inability to make a decision about my future is weighing heavily, but I am still not moving forward. Nor am I committing to any new path that might move me in any direction. It is an endless frustrating cycle that I can ride to the end of my life if I am not careful, which does nothing for my anxiety about the fact I have yet to make a decision about my future. See how this works? It is paralyzing.

I want off this crazy train. I am not sure the WCR is less of a crazy train. Perhaps it is parked at the Crazy Train depot, and it is one path I can look at. But then again, maybe I could hop on, become an officer and get a trip to Hawaii out of it.

Bummer for Them

Remember those Midwest folks from a couple of weeks ago who wanted to buy a house? They couldn't keep their story straight and might have omitted some pretty specific details about their lives, which caused them not to buy a home? You know, the ones who went out with another agent to find a rental home after conveniently forgetting the truth when I took them out to buy? Yea, those folks.

Well, those folks are also selling their home in the Midwest by themselves, because real estate agents cost too much. They are saving a bundle I am sure! However, they had a teensy hiccup with their sale and called me today. They had questions that only a real estate agent could answer. And, given I am one, why not ask me? Certainly I wouldn't mind.

Just for the record, I minded.

Anyway, my answer was for them to call their attorney (who I am sure will be happy to answer their question at his hourly rate). I am not licensed in their state nor have I been hired to represent them. And frankly, they got themselves into this mess, not my problem. Okay, I didn't add those last two sentences, because Karma and civility need to be practiced even with those who don't deserve it. But darn! I sure thought it.

Anyway, their sale is swirling quickly out of control. It is causing stress. And by the way, they lost the rental home they were looking at here--because, I was told, the agent they used didn't go to bat for them. With all of the drama, they have one added feature: no place to live here and they are about to be homeless there. Good luck to them.

Can We All Agree A Bad Idea is Still A Bad Idea?

Did millions of Americans not learn their lesson in 2004? Please! No. Just No. Just because something is shiny doesn't mean you should pick it up.

Thousands line up for zero-down-payment, subprime mortgages

www.cnbc.com

Magdalene Altidor lost her home to foreclosure during the subprime mortgage crisis, but this week she was first in line at a four-day event in Miami where borrowers with poor credit were offered no-down payment, low interest rate loans.

"I left home, it was about 4 a.m.," she laughed. "I'm ready to purchase a home."

The event is one of several being held in cities across America this year, run by the nonprofit, Boston-based brokerage Neighborhood Assistance Corporation of America, or NACA.

"It's a national disgrace about the low amount of homeownership, mortgages for low- and moderate-income people and for minority homebuyers," said Bruce Marks, CEO of NACA. "In the loans that we've originated in the past 6 years, zero foreclosures."

Marks and NACA were front and center during the subprime mortgage crisis, holding mass mortgage modification events across the country with banks and servicers. Bank of America was there then and the bank is with NACA now, backing the program with $10 billion in mortgage commitments.

"It's total upside," said AJ Barkley, senior vice president of consumer lending at BofA. "We have seen significant wins in this partnership. Just to be clear, when we get those loans with all the heavy lifting here, we're over a 90 percent approval, meaning 90 percent of the people who go through this program that we actually underwrite the loans."

Borrowers can have low credit scores, but have to go through an education session about the program and submit all necessary documents, from income statements to phone bills. Then they go through counseling to understand their monthly budget and ensure they can afford the mortgage payment. The loans are 15- or 30-year fixed with interest rates below market, about 4.5 percent.

"That's what's going to help people who've been locked out of homeownership to really become homeowners and to build wealth," said Marks.

Critics of the program argue that with no down payment, no skin in the game, these borrowers have no reason not to walk away should their homes lose value. That's what happened during the financial crisis. The difference in this program is that the borrowers cannot be investors. In order to get the loan, they have to live in the home.

"People have skin in the game in a real way," said Marks. "The people that walk away are higher-income people who look to homeownership as an investment, just like buying stocks and bonds. Working people look at their investment in homeownership for their family, for their neighborhood, for themselves."

Quentin Carswell is a first-time homebuyer who tried to get a loan from a traditional bank.
"They tell you they have a lot of first-time homebuyer programs, and then once you get there they tell you these outrageous numbers. It's hard for normal class people to afford to get into a house, and you know put $20,000, $30,000 up for down payment. That's a lot of money."

He and his girlfriend were in line early in the morning as well, prepared with an armful of financial documents.

So far more than 10,000 potential borrowers have shown up at various NACA events in cities like Charlotte, North Carolina, and Atlanta, according to Marks, and more are planned. NACA receives a $3,000 commission on each loan.

Timothy Trumble | 

NACA Online Operations Potential borrowers who are participating in the NACA Homeownership event in Miami, Florida.

  While the Veterans Administration offers no-down payment loans to veterans and their families, there are few other programs like this. Most low-down payment programs require mortgage insurance, which can be costly. The NACA program does not.

Following the financial crisis, lenders locked up, requiring much higher credit scores and at least 3 percent down payments. The subprime mortgage crisis was precipitated by lenders offering no-down payment loans with short-term "teaser" rates as low as zero. They asked for no documentation, and sometimes tacked interest onto later years of the loan, so-called, negative amortization loans. The NACA loans are all fixed rate with full documentation.

Another big difference today is the housing market itself. Home prices have been rising strongly, and there is a critical shortage of entry-level homes for sale. If a borrower finds themselves in financial straits, it is far easier today to sell the home quickly.

Altidor is confident she can make the low, monthly payments this time around. A small price, she says, for something far more valuable.

"I think a home, 10, 15 years from now, that's an investment," she said. "Homeownership is freedom."