Another Diamond Jim Update

Diamond Jim weighs heavily on my heart. My now-former accountant, Jim and I became friends through some unusual circumstances. It ended up with a letter to the Arizona Board of Accountancy and another simultaneous letter to the Arizona Attorney General's Office on his behalf. I didn't write either with the intention of going to bat with Diamond Jim--in fact, he didn't even know until it was done that I had written the letters. Both letters were in protest to the way those around him were treating his business and subsequently, my tax files. But it was the beginning of a long friendship, that included getting to know his two kids and Marty and Buck even flying up to Oregon one May to help him retrieve his worldly belongings in a Uhaul.

I have helped Diamond Jim with three real estate transactions. They were all different categories of nightmare. In fact, it is because of the first house sale I got to know his son Junior. I spoke with him on the second occasion when Diamond Jim bought another home a few years later. Neither were good experiences. On his third sale, Junior ended up with a Power of Attorney to handle his father's real estate sale. It made the process much saner than the other two. Sorta.

Aging has gotten the best of Diamond Jim and, though he has yet to be diagnosed because of his own stubbornness, it is obvious to the rest of the world his memory isn't what it used to be. In fact, the last time I spoke with him at great length he was blurring the lines between reality and delusion. In the past few months, Junior has regaled me of his own stories that make me think Planet Diamond Jim is a lot more fun a place than the real world.

When Diamond Jim went to sell his last home it was because he was moving into an assistive care facility. He went with his feet dragging and all the hellfire and vinegar he could muster. And trust me. There was hellfire. He was mad at his children, his life choices and his realtor. I haven't spoken to him since last May when he got ugly with me and then pulled a completely nasty stunt.

I think about him often and I stay in touch with Junior. I think sometimes Junior is just relieved to have someone to vent his parental frustrations to. However, he has advised me not to contact his father. Apparently, Diamond Jim hasn't forgiven me for "stealing" his money. I didn't steal money from him. When his house sold, the mortgage was paid off. That's where his money went. Or, the way Junior has explained my existence, "Half the time he doesn't remember you and the other half of the time he is angry with you because you took his money and his house,"

This week was Diamond Jim's birthday, and I sent a note to Junior asking how his father was. Turns out, the e-mail arrived in his inbox at the exact same moment he was on the phone with the Mesa Police Department. Diamond Jim had walked into a home he bought back in 1989. The current owners weren't happy with him and Diamond Jim certainly wasn't happy to have other people living in "his" home. Unfortunately, the police let Jim go and did not hospitalize him, so Junior still doesn't have any way to properly get Diamond Jim the help he needs.

It is disheartening to see my once-brilliant friend struggle and go down this path. It is frustrating to be helpless and be able to do nothing to help ease his suffering. The guilt of not contacting him bothers me too. I would like to think of myself as a more compassionate person. Maybe compassion is staying away so Diamond Jim can work these things out for himself. Marty and Junior have pointed out compassion might just mean insulating myself from Diamond Jim and his subsequent unpredictable behaviors. I will never know. I will say though, the friendship I have struck up with Junior and his sister have been a wonderful byproduct.

I am Just Certain Nothing Could Possibly Go Wrong

Dee contacted me. She and her Merry Band of Felons are having the time of their lives in some dangerous neighborhood in the 85007 zip code of Phoenix. She wanted me to know she has changed her model. She will no longer be buying homes. She will now cosign for her "Citizens" (that's what she calls them). That way she won't have to put down 20 percent but instead her Citizen will have to come up with the standard 3.5 percent FHA mandated instead. A win-win? Right?

If I may: she is helping folks WHO RECENTLY GOT OUT OF PRISON by co-signing on home loans. We aren't talking about folks who may have gotten themselves in the clink for a simple DUI  charge, either. These Citizens have done hard time for more than 20 + years at a stretch for some social heinous crimes.

"What happens if they default?" I innocently asked. Actually, I was dying to know.

"Oh, they won't," she replied. "They have to have a job." Of course they do. I didn't bother to ask what happens if they end up back in the slammer or the other residents in the area have strong opinions of their new neighbors--a scenario Dee is very familiar with. Instead, I gave a non-committal "uh huh."

What I did tell her was to please, PLEASE talk to a real estate attorney. Please. Please. Please. I also suggested a few other ways to do this that I might know about that could protect her as long as she only buys no more than four properties and follows the Dodd Frank law. But, she wasn't too keen on my suggestions.

The rest of this story sort of fits in with the frustrating theme of my blog posts lately. Currently, Dee and one of her citizens are in the process of purchasing a property. I know this, because she called me to ask what I thought of the price. I am not the agent because this one happens to be a for sale by owner. Because I am so "helpful" she was sure I would be happy to give her comps and guide her on properly writing a contract. That's what I do. Apparently.

Here We Go Again

I had a buyer. They were all kinds of awesome. They are moving here from the midwest for a job transfer. They are selling a home and want to buy another home. All is right in the world.

So, I set them up with the Bulldog--my loan officer of choice lately. If she can't get a loan done, nobody can. But I wasn't worried. The wife was Joanna-on-the-spot, giving all sorts of important loan documentation necessary when asked, that will make the process run so much more smoothly when they actually arrive next week and we start looking. Did I mention all is right in the world?

Until Bulldog called me this morning. "Did you know anything about this open bankruptcy they have?"

Of course not! That is the kind of tidbit, that had I known, I would have told my clients upfront this wasn't happening. I wouldn't have bugged Bulldog and asked her to invest her time either. Working for a living usually includes a financial outcome that doesn't come from tilting at windmills. I do know if one has an open bankruptcy, they aren't buying a home. Once the bankruptcy closes, they aren't buying a home (with a loan) for at least two years. So I am guessing they will be renting.

Mrs. Sherwood Update

Mrs. Sherwood has a new home. She found out Monday and then promptly thanked me for helping her out by being a reference. I was tempted to ask her if she mentioned her upcoming move to Mr. Partner, then decided I really didn't want to know. I am glad to hear she is moving on. She was one of the bright spots of my adventures in West Georgia and I wish her well.

91 Seconds Later

They closed on their home in January of 2013 but for the past two hours they have been renting space in my head. On that day in January, three days before their home actually closed, the mother of the young couple was standing in front of me screeching, "Don't do me any favors!" I was holding a prepossession agreement--one of the two prepossessions I have done in my career. And even though this couple's worldly goods were in the U-haul that Friday and I had worked extra hard to convince the seller not to rightfully cancel the contract, take their earnest money and to please give this young couple just a little more time, which really turned into a month of begging the seller's indulgence, all goodwill was thrown out the window as this mother gave me a what-for. She called me all sorts of ugly, horrible names as I tried like hell to help her daughter buy a home they probably shouldn't have bought.

When I replay this scenario in my head once in a while, I tear up the prepossession, leaving them to sleep in the U-haul and walk away. But in real life they signed the prepossession agreement and three days later they closed on their home. The mother of this couple is still one of the most vial humans I have ever met. Ever. She is in the top three of horrible real estate clients I have ever had.  (Though she wasn't the client, her daughter was, but Mama controlled everything. Everything.)

Today I got an e-mail from the couple, "Hey, we are selling our home and you aren't the agent. Have a great day."

For the life of me, I can't figure out why they bothered to reach out at all. It is like the bratty preteen girl who tells all the other girls she is having a party but they aren't invited. At that point, would they even want to be invited? Thinking back about Mama, I am pretty sure I didn't want to be invited anyway. But why bother contacting me at all years later? What purpose does it serve? I don't go to a new doctor and call the old one saying, "Hey! Dr. Miller will now give me my flu shot. Have a nice day."

Tony Robbins says when something like this happens, give it 90 seconds and move on. After 1 hour,  58 minutes and 30 seconds after I started stewing, I wrote them back, congratulating them on growing out of their home and being ready for their next adventure. I wished them well. Then after unburdening my soul, I cheerfully opted to go on with my life.

Well, He Asked...

See how awesome this looks? I conveniently
left out the picture of the tile in the corners. 

For reasons too long for this bit of cyberspace, I decided to tile my closet this weekend. This simple project morphed into painting my stairwell and another wall. And I optimistically I thought it would take me one day. However,  project took two days (had to prepare the floor for tiling Saturday, tiled on Sunday).

The painting was something that had been on my mind for a while, and because I was already kiltzing my closet floor and the paintbrush was out, what the heck! What's another can of paint? Now, I need to expand the painting project to the other stairwell, the upstairs landing, the kitchen and Polly's bathroom. But that is not for today.

The latest robot creation by my nephew.
In addition to everything else I had going on Saturday,
I offered to babysit him last night. 

Marty cringes when I take on these types of projects. He is supportive, and helps me with the prep-work and controlling the animals. However, I don't let him actually help with the painting. Marty has an artistic style of painting that doesn't work well when covering walls (a little here, a little there...). Because he has clutter issues, I make sure to finish my projects, which goes a long way with establishing trust. But gosh! Now I am seeing other walls and rooms that need immediate attention.

Which brings me to Marty's latest comment, "Have you thought about finding a client?" His supposedly innocent question had less to do with finances and more to do with changes in his house. Knowing this, I replied, "Yes, and as soon as I do, we are replacing the floors."

Next

I just passed on a listing. Zillow says the house is worth $331,000. I ran comps six ways from Sunday. The best I could do was an optimistic $295,000. Then, even if I took a reduced commission, the owner would walk away at best breaking even and at worst writing a check. And that is before a buyer asks for repairs, closing costs or monetary concessions. Unfortunately the owner believes Zillow. I wish I did too. Pricing houses isn't easy, but this is an optimistic $36,000 difference. But, probably more like a $46,000 difference.

My kids like food with their meals, and this one would have cost me more than I would have made. I don't need to stick my sign in a yard to advertise I over-price homes for living and just don't know what to do. I can't think of any other message I would be sending to the general public.

Often, I tell new agents not to be desperate. Not all clients are created equal. Spending all of my time with a seller who will require a lot of attention takes up space in my life that could be reserved for clients with more realistic expectations. Honestly, I don't think this seller is ready to sell. Maybe the stone cold truth will make a difference and he will come back. Or maybe some clueless buyer will believe Zillow, buy the place and all of the property values in the neighborhood will go up.

Speaking of Flashbacks

This time last year I received a 2-inch thick envelope from some court in West Georgia, letting me know I was being sued by a bank who held the mortgage to three of my former properties. Now, this was interesting because 1) my name was not on the mortgage note of any of these properties. Only Marty's, and he wasn't being sued and 2) we had included this bank in our bankruptcy--in fact, this bank was the the reason for the bankruptcy, but that is another story. This bank waited until two days after our bankruptcy closed and then started their proceedings. I am pretty sure that violates Federal law. My attorney agreed. I also complained that this was a personal assault and not standard business practices, which is what I had been saying to my attorney about this company for more than a year. The US bankruptcy trustee happened to agree and voila! A lawsuit was born.

None of this new lawsuit involved me, but once in a while I would get letters from the bankruptcy court letting me know what the trustee was doing. Unfortunately for the bank, bankruptcy laws are followed, even in West Georgia. In the end, the trustee seized the property the bank was holding me accountable for. They sold it at some heinous price and someone somewhere got a bargain. There is another reason the price might have been a low-ball, the house could have been vandalized or squatters could have been living there for the past couple of years. But that is just a theory developed from intelligence guided by experience.

After the trustee sold the house, a letter went out to all of my former creditors saying, "hey do you want some of the cash we got from the house we seized? Not you, stupid bank who caused this mess. You get none..." Anyway, one particular bank did shuffle forward and they were rewarded the trustee's purse. Of all the creditor's who could have asked for the money, I am glad it was this company. I liked them and hated to bankrupt them too.

I am told the foolish attorney who filed the claim against me has been punished for suing me personally after the bankruptcy was over with. I am also told the bank's asset manager who made my life a living hell on several occasions since 2014 is now standing in the unemployment line because of his little stunt.

I hated filing bankruptcy. It was humiliating and not the way I wanted that accidental business to end. The entire process burned at me and there ended up being a lot of charred remnants of that time, but also a few blooming flowers that came from the ashes. I am glad someone I owed was paid off.

Flashback

There are certain topics that are not allowed in the Sunshine household. We don't speak of that dark time, when I was managing a gazillion homes. We refer to a particular state as "West Georgia" and we never, ever utter Mr. Former Partner's name without expecting a string of profanity out of my mouth as soon as the sound hits the ether. Ever.

Mr. Former Partner has been out of my life for the past two years. To keep my karma intact, when the accidental business broke up, I left everything organized and ready for his leadership. In less than four days after he took over, he made a mockery of what he had, while managing to ruin his reputation with the locals in West Georgia. He had three long-term tenants. Mrs. Roebuck moved out within a week and a month later he begged her to move back in. I know this, because I read his e-mail (she said, "Bless your heart, no."). Ms. Angie, was kicked out within two weeks, and that just turned my stomach into knots when I heard. Only Mrs. Sherwood braved Mr. Former Partner's misguided Machiavellian ways. Two weeks into him managing his own homes she sent me a message, "I don't like him." Too bad she hadn't boned up on my former blog, though all it would have done was intensify her position.

To be fair, I wasn't a fan of Mr. Former Partner either when all was said and done. The day he wrote me, complaining, "I had to take vacation time to manage these properties," I laughed manically. He used to bitch that I shouldn't have been paid for managing our houses. According to him, the business, "ran itself."

Asshole.

Mrs. Sherwood sent me a text today. She couldn't take any more of him and was moving out. I found this odd. Mrs. Sherwood paid on time and maintained the property better than all my other tenants I ever had, combined. Why on earth would he want to annoy her? Seriously, she was the best tenant we ever had. The reason for her text was that she was wondering if I would give her a landlord reference. She said she was uncomfortable asking Mr. Former Partner to help out with this one. If I were a betting woman, I would guess she hasn't bothered to tell him she is moving out at all, but that's none of my business.

I did give Mrs. Sherwood a reference. I said truthful things. They were all nice. She was an awesome tenant who had stayed for more than 10 years. She was honest and trustworthy and an all around pretty amazing person. I wish her well and hope she stays in touch.

Bad MLS Photos--The Crooked And the Olaf

It is fair to say I spend less than 5 minutes looking for bad MLS pictures. That how rampant they happen to be. What really disturbs me is some seller somewhere hired their agent to market their home and this is what they got. These are all different properties, by the way. Here are a few gems. 

Dear Lazy Agent: ROTATE, DAMN IT! 

This one is crooked and I still don't know what they are selling. There are only drone pictures (all filtered, so the agent paid for this) in this listing. I think it is supposed to be of the property with the blue tarp in the back yard. I think. 

And finally, is it me, or does Olaf look like he is ready to take a bite out of the potty? 

Introvert Party

I am having an introvert party. You are welcome to join me. In your own home. My phone is off. Baseball is on. I am binge reading a murder mystery series. After a busy August for my entire family, it is time for some relaxation.