Life Choices

Disclaimer: If I have ever helped you rent your home or if I have ever helped your find a rental, I love you, cherish your friendship and this post has nothing whatsoever to do with my experiences with you. For the rest of you: I hate rentals. 

So Carla and Doug, who have been living quite contently in their little condo for three or four years have decided to stretch their wings. And, given they only listen to those smarter and more hysterical than me, they want to sell now while the getting is good and then buy during the next housing crash. 

About one-third of the value of their condo is pure equity and their payment is less less than 10 percent of their take-home pay. No matter, they want out now! Therefore, they have tasked me with helping them find a rental. That way they can spend more than 40 percent of their take-home pay on rent, have zero equity and wait for the market to implode. Not that I'm the least bit judgy. 

Of course, there is this tid-bit comes with headaches for yours truly. The first twelve homes they sent me to see all had more than four applications on them. I know this because I talked to twelve agents. There were a few other homes in the mix but those agents don't answer their numerous voicemails/text messages and/or don't have voicemail at all. At any rate, none of them will be getting Doug and Carla's love. 

I tried a different tactic, I started asking agents if they had some rentals coming on the market soon. A few did. But none met Doug and Carla's criteria--which was fine by me. 

Oh yes, I should mention there is another hiccup in this whole scenario. Many years ago before Doug's frontal lobe was fully developed, Doug spent a few years in prison. Now then, before we all jump to wild conclusions, Doug is not the same person he was all those years ago. He is a family man--he even has sole custody of his children! Doug pays taxes and turned his life around. However, his background check will show the inevitable. Therefore, when I started talking to the agents about future properties, I was doing my best to sell Doug as the awesomist dude around (all the while wishing he would just get his record expunged).  

El Jefe might have a property coming up. He thinks the landlord would be chill with Doug's past. That's promising. However, the tenants living in the potential upcoming property aren't moving out very quickly. Last night Doug and Carla put an application in on this house--sight unseen--with the idea if the tenants move out, AND the owner approves, AND they like the place, it could be theirs. That seems like a reasonable life choice given the circumstances, but I can think of a few better. 

Assume Nothing

There's a lot going on in the Sunshine household these days, so I was distracted when I got an e-mail yesterday. It said, "We are selling our condo can you help us find a rental?" First, I didn't recognize the person. Second, I forgot that's kind of what I do for a living. 

As I said, there's a lot of major distractions right now. 

Anyway, I figured out that the person writing me is a past client and the condo in question is one I sold them about three or four years ago. Their rental criteria is reasonable and 42 rental properties popped up on MLS--which means only four of them are probably available. 

My folks have equity in their home and it shouldn't be too hard to sell--assuming I'm the listing agent, which I suppose I shouldn't assume. 

Please Don't Sell Your Back Yard

I got an e-mail from Jeanie. She did call the city about that postage stamp piece of land that had interested her. She wrote to tell me I was right. The land was illegally subdivided. I was pretty sure a homeowner can't sell off their back yard. Also, the person who illegally subdivided is long gone, making the chain of title a bit wonky. 

Jeanie also told me the City said the land is pretty much too small to build a structure. Even if this plot would work, the city requires that the front of the house be 25 feet from the street, 15 feet from the back fence, 10 feet from one side and 3 feet from the other, leaving a space of 17'x17' to put a structure and a covered parking spot (city is requiring a covered parking spot). That means, before covered parking--which if I were the owner I would conveniently forget about under the circumstances, many homes in this neighborhood have no parking--would be 289 square feet. 

Incidentally, I just took a peek. This plot of land is now marked "Pending" in MLS. Now that the City is aware, someone is going to have a potential headache on their hands. But it won't be Jeanie.  

Jeanie

Every so often, I get a random call from a stranger, asking for help. Yesterday is was Jeanie. She has a doozy too. Her son is currently incarcerated in another state. He gets out next year. Then, he needs a place to live. Given the nature of his crime, finding him a rental is probably out of the question. Landlords--especially in this market--have standards, and past sins are a barrier to entry in the renting market. I suspect even landing an apartment might be a bit of a stretch for this guy. 

Because of the nature of his crime, one Jeanie swore was a "mistake," Jeanie's HOA will not let him live where they live. I suggested that perhaps Jeannie might be willing to buy something for her dear son to live in. A possibility, but prices are through the roof and where? 

Jeanie's idea was that if she could buy some land, perhaps they could stick a tiny house or a mobile home on it. She sent me a vacant lot for sale behind the State Capital and asked what I thought of this. Oh... how I hate that question. 

The lot in question was the back yard of another bit of property, that looked to be sold off relatively recently. I am not sure how zoning would feel and told her she needed to get their approval before she did anything else. After all, this might not be a legally subdivided plot. I also told her to make sure power and water are on the property. It will cost a lot of money to run sewer pipes to raw land. And then I dropped this gem on her: I would not represent her in a land sale. I have sold land in the past, but I know enough about this bit of crazy to realize she needs someone smarter than me to help her with it. 

We ended as friends, with me offering to help her find someone who will assist her in buying a $20,000 plot of land the size of my basement. I also suggested she drive around that neighborhood to make sure it is suitable. Because, I am suspecting she may change her mind.  

Babs

Babs has asked me to help find her a rental house. I didn't say no. But I'm not totally invested in doing this. But first, if I have EVER helped you find a rental or rented out your home for you--I am not talking about you. I promise. 

Now then, I hate rentals. I hate them for a variety of reasons, but mostly because the average renter carries around baggage they don't want to share with a potential landlord but they do wear their sense of entitlement on a neon sandwich board for the world to see. Most renters (not talking about you, friend with the cats) feel that looking for a home when they are on the verge of being homeless is a shopping experience that should be savored, week by week. That's all well and good if 1) there were several homes to choose from, but as I might have mentioned, we have an inventory issue right now in the Valley and 2) I get paid about $50 when all is said and done for the three weeks of being lied to and treated like garbage by said potential renter. 

I've had potential rental clients forget they had felonies, bankruptcies, questionable animals, no job and bad credit--even when I've repeatedly asked prior to going out looking. 

Which brings me to Babs. Babs is a 20+ year acquaintance. She doesn't drive. Though she's in her 60s, adulting doesn't seem to be her thing. My take is her life is a bit of a train wreck, but that's only from what I can glean from the big red flags she throws down every time I talk to her. 

Babs wants me to find a, "house with a pool in a nice neighborhood," for under $1,100 a month. I've repeatedly told her I don't decide what a "nice neighborhood" looks like for her. I've also told her what I can find for $1,100 a month doesn't have a private pool--unless you count the blue plastic thing you can get at Wal-Mart. Incidentally, what she can truly afford is $800 a month. 

About twice a week I throw together a list of what I find and send it out. She rejects them all--as would any sensible individual who likes intact roofs and neighborhoods without gang graffiti. 

I've told her to please look at Craigslist, apartments and other types of sources as well as my list. Babs says I'm not trying very hard. She's partially right. I have a reminder on my phone. Twice a week I pull up the MLS and push a button. That's as much work as I'm willing to put into Bab's search until I see more of a realistic commitment from her. 

Introvert Retreat

A morning walk in the desert.

My Writer's Retreat ended last week after 9 days, with a 48 hour break in between where I went home, did laundry and cooked dinner. 

Lilly Harvesting
Saguaro Fruit

During my time away, I managed to make it through the entire book of edits, only to decide it needs more finessing. Think of it like a lump of clay and I'm chiseling away, hoping my sculpture doesn't have an extra large nose, or no nose at all when I'm done. The writing exercise was worth it. But the book needs more love than the nine days I offered it. Right now, I'm burned out on those characters and plot line. Sometimes stories need to brew longer. 

Of note, Lilly's property is situated nowhere near anything. And for whatever reason she wanted the perimeter gate locked at all time. Given it is her house and the price is right, I had no objection. This gave Marty a sense of relief, after all, I was by myself and if some crazy wanted to get me, the locked gate might be another layer of protection. 

However, if some crazy truly wanted to get me, first, they would have had to know where I was. And then, they would have to drive about 15 miles off the Interstate, through the mountain pass, off the main road and then on to a rickety dirt road, past the water tower to the locked gate. Then they had their choice of either scaling the perimeter fence--part of which had razor wire on it or patiently wait until I came waltzing outside to unlock the gate. If they chose to scale the fence, they'd have to deal with the cholla cacti that was everywhere. Then they'd have to come get me, which would be pretty simple as I didn't have cell service. If they wanted to harm me, they'd still have to figure out how to traverse the cholla a second time before hopping back into their vehicle and retracing their steps, because the gate would still be locked.

Additionally, there were signs of life: bunnies, ground squirrels, hawks and what Lilly and I euphemistically referred to as the "extra-large bobcat prints," that ended on the back porch (see pictures below). Not gonna lie, it shoved my fear of snakes to the back burner to think about large cats so willing to come up to the house. Oh yea, there were fat snake tracks too. But I didn't see one up close and personal.  

The invitation is open to try this writing retreat again. It is a lonely existence and I might in the future. Right now I'm enjoying being home. Even this introvert needs people once in a while.  

Bobcat tracks

This "bobcat" print spanned about nine inches.
The tracks went from the edge of the property and ended at the kitchen door. 

This normal sized bobcat print spanned
about three or four inches. Of note, the tire tracks were fresh--I'd returned an hour before the picture was taken, so I'm guessing I had a visitor. Also of note, normal sized bobcats don't frighten me. I've seen plenty in the wild. Mountain lions scare the crap out of me and I've only seen one in the wild.  

Can't We All Just Get Along?

Words to Live By

I will not be attending this month's Grievance Committee meeting. After reading over the cases, I'm kinda sorry. So far (the meeting is next week), we've been given four cases to review. And though I won't be attending, I still needed something for blog fodder. 

We have TWO cases about mean names, hurt feelings and unprofessionalism from other agents. TWO! 

And one of the agents in question was kind enough to put his thoughts into writing, calling his fellow agent a stinky-poopoo cacahead, and a few other tasteless things. In my opinion, this is a violation of Article 15 (which basically states treat each other like your elderly grandmother is coming to dinner). I'm sorry I won't be around to hear the discussions. 

The other case is just as bizarre. Agent Bea said a bunch of nastiness about Agent Alex to a third party and there is some thought that was why the Agent Alex's buyer missed out on the home. I'm perfectly sure it wasn't because there were six other offers and the buyers weren't the best one. It couldn't be that. However, there are those who could verify Agent Bea did say, "Nanny booboo!" and therefore, again, a violation of Article 15. 

It seems to me, that it is perfectly ok to keep one's opinion to themselves. I'm wishing more agents would try that.