Open Houses and Scaring the Neighbors

Last night my realtor pal, Sally, held what is known as a "Broker's Open." It is a fancy way of saying an open house for real estate agents, and let's be real here, any potential buyer who walks through the door. There was wine, cheese, crackers nuts and grapes served and Sally insisted I eat something, so I took a grape.

Confession: big, fancy homes don't impress me any more. This one was impressive. But there comes a time when one has seen just about everything out there.

Located in Chandler, it had an in-law wing that had been turned into two extra bedrooms and an exercise space. There were also three additional bedrooms and a fancy kitchen. My feedback to Sally was to remove the scorpion traps by the garage door. She will get an offer in the next week, I am sure.

I took Jane with me as well. We made it a girl's night, by stopping by and chatting with Sally, eating our grapes and filling out feedback forms Sally could give to her owners. Then we went to grab a quick bite. After we were done I dragged her to two grocery stores, because they were on the way and I didn't want to go out this weekend.

Jane and Mr. Jane are looking to buy a home. They want the East Valley. On the way back to her car, at 9:30 at night, I drove her through some neighborhoods that might work for her. She got to see what was there with my high beams illuminating the dark. This worked as well for her as it did for the neighbors who were out walking around enjoying the cooler evening, giving us wary looks as we cruised slowly down these quiet streets. At one point, after watching this poor woman jump out of her skin while walking her dog, we gave up. It was the third time I had seen her frantically cross the street as we drove by. No reason to frighten Jane's possible neighbors.

An Unexpected Vacation

Michigan in the Summer

Bonus Dad gave me a shout while I was out with the kids today. When was I coming to visit? That is a good question. You see Bonus Dad lives in Phoenix most of the year. About four months of the year he lives in a teensy town in Michigan on a lake.

Three years ago, when Bonus Mom got ill, I jumped on the plane and went to take care of her. It was my first trip up there in all the years they had been inviting me. For many reasons, I am sorry I waited so long. The following year Buckaroo and I went up there to keep Bonus Dad company as we all mourned her death from two months earlier. Last year I went up there for her memorial.

Though I am not unhappy about spending some time with one of my favorite people, I wasn't expecting to go back this year. Polly and I are still tossing around a time to make it to Montana. But right now it seems I need to squeeze in another trip. Polly, by the way, is totally ok with this. And let's face it, Northern Michigan isn't exactly a horrible way to spend a summer afternoon.

Fan Girl Follies

For those of you who don't know me, I am quite shy. A friend once said of me, I was the only person she knew who could comfortably live on a deserted island with a stack of books and not ever feel the least bit lonely. Even without the books, she's right. I do like people. But I prefer to interact with people in very controlled settings.

I bring this up because last week Mrs. Hufflepuff's brokerage was hosting someone from the real estate world I have often admired. Several months ago, he spoke at the WCR installation of officers. I heard him speak then. He was worth the price of admission. But that wasn't the first time I heard him speak.

Back in 2002, when I was writing for the real estate magazine while chasing one toddler and dealing with morning sickness 24 hours a day, I had the pleasure to interview this man. It is probably my all-time favorite interview, which is saying something because there may have been a teensy and extremely humiliating morning sickness issue that got the best of me. Our interview back then lasted much longer than it should have. I didn't care, I really enjoyed visiting with him. I left wanting to hear more.

He isn't the reason I became an agent, but talking to him that day 17 years ago sure was encouraging.

Anyway, when I heard Mr. F. was talking at Jane's office last week I invited myself along. There were about eight of us, and he provided a semi-private class on selling that I ate up. Other than Mr. F., I had been in the business longer than anyone in that room, but it was a learning experience nonetheless.

When it was over, he asked me why I came. After all, I didn't belong to this brokerage. I told him how I interviewed him all those years ago. Fortunately he didn't remember the unfortunate morning sickness. I shared with him that I always kept an eye on his career (which sounds a lot more creepy than I meant it to be). And when I interviewed him, I left that meeting elevated and inspired--which is exactly how I left last week's class with him too.

After the class was over, Mr. F., asked Jane to take a picture of the two of us. Jane told me if I didn't post it on Facebook, she would. And damn! She wasn't kidding. I insisted she take it down Sunday night. She agreed only if I had the picture up by Monday night.

When I posted it, I instantly broke out into nervous hives. I may be a fan girl of Mr. F's--and I really am--but I am still a shy fan girl who regularly questions why I chose such a social field to go into.

I Was Just Asking for a New Slumber Room for Aunt Mildred and Uncle Monty

Those brass faucets!

My real estate pal, John, and I held a house open last week for an agent friend of his. His friend met us there and then left. The dude is one of those car-sales types that has no respect for anyone who doesn't kiss his butt. I doubt he will ever ask me to hold his house open again, and that won't hurt my feelings.

What I am here to tell you is about the house. Located on 130th Street in Scottsdale, it is probably about $20k under what it should be listed for. There is a good reason for that: It was tastefully decorated in 1988. Imagine if you will, beige, beige, and beige. Couple that with travertine tile and 1988 brass fixtures. I swear it looked like something you could have pulled out of Vegas' Venician Hotel back in the day.

The listing has been on the market for 30 days, which is ancient history in this market. I asked the agent if he were open to feedback he could provide the seller. He said "Yes," but turns out he really meant, "NO!" I thought if the appliances should be updated (black, 1988) and perhaps, maybe six or seven of the gloomy 4' x 5' portraits on the walls were taken down, it might make the home feel a bit more inviting. You know, if Scooby and the Gang didn't need them, the seller could probably keep up the other 17 if necessary...

That didn't go over well. The agent explained he already cleared out so much stuff in this home. So, buyers could just deal with the pictures. That would just be the way it would be.

Fair enough, it isn't my listing.

Also I suggested (and John immediately jumped in and agreed) that perhaps the shrine containing Aunt Mildred and Uncle Monty could be moved away from the front door and perhaps into an unused bedroom. And if the seller were willing to move them, perhaps they also might be willing to remove the garish angel statues watching over them? The agent wasn't open to this either, so I stopped.

When people did come into the home, John or I would purposely stand in front of the shrine, allowing the folks to take in all the gloomy pictures. We figured if potential buyers had to look somewhere, the portraits were a better selling point than the shrine.

Here is the listing description by the way. I am not sure what I think of it. I do think he might have mentioned the pool was heated, plantation shutters and granite countertops. But, then again, I rarely sell homes in Scottsdale, so what do I know.

If the pillared window and beautiful front door didn't catch your eye, wait until you enter this elegant home. Walk through the doorway to find a tiled entry way with a cozy living area and pillared dining area. Walk through the arch to find a large kitchen which overlooks a family room and fireplace. The kitchen, with lots of storage space, has a gorgeous breakfast bar/island, elegant countertops, and a desk nook. 3 bedrooms are down the hall, one of which being a homey master with another fireplace. The open bathroom features a walk in closet, private toilet room, walk in shower, double sinks, and a tiled soaking tub. The master room, and the family room, have sliding glass door access to the spectacular backyard, complete with pool, patio, and spa. .This 3 car garage home stunning

The Deal of the Decade

I should preface this by saying I am not involved in this "sale."

So, here is Inga's grand idea.

She has independently found a 1975 mobile home and she is in love.

Here are the facts. Barry bought the property with seller financing from Maurice back in 1993 for $48,000. Barry died some time ago, leaving $10,000 left on the mortgage. He gave the property to Maria, who has been making payments but there is no will and title has not transferred. Therefore, she has been paying the mortgage of a dead man.

Maurice died recently, leaving the property to his niece Elizabeth. There is no will and she claims she is owed the rest of the mortgage. She is collecting money for a trailer she does not own from someone who doesn't owe it.

Additionally, Maria, who lives in the property, owes the water company upwards of $5,000. She also owes the owner of the land (because it is in a mobile home park) $10,000.

Maria wants Inga to pay off the water and the land lease and take over the payments of a mobile home that she does not own.

So let me recap. The owners are dead. Maria lives there without legal claim. She wants to sell it and have someone pay her incurred debt as well as take over the payments she is not legally responsible for making. Maria is paying Elizabeth, who also does not have legal claim and is not owed a penny. They both are saying this mobile home belongs to them. The tax records say otherwise.

Inga asked me what she should do, but first she said, "Don't tell me to run. That's the only advice I don't want."

I said run. Don't look back. This is not the only home out there at this price (actually, it probably is), but there is a reason the price is so low. Maria doesn't own the home she is trying to sell and has no authorization to sell it. Plus, it is quite possible the mobile home park has put a lien on the property. And while we are at it, why should Inga pay Maria's late payments? I didn't check to see if the taxes had been paid, but let's be real. Also, the trailer is more than 40 years old and may possibly have 40 year old issues. Let it go. Move on, before Inga gives her life savings to this woman and never hears from her again. Barring ignoring me which, let's face it, she will, seek the counsel of a real estate attorney (who will also tell her to run).

Inga Called

Inga called me. She "needs" to buy a house was what she left on my voice mail. I did text her, telling her I would call her tomorrow.

Last week she announced that she had signed a lease on an apartment. Plus, last I heard she didn't have a job, nor were her taxes filed. So, I am pretty sure she doesn't qualify for a loan. Also, I know how much money she got back from her home, which she split with Liam. So, unless she is buying a used mobile home for cash somewhere in the desert, she isn't buying anything.

Yea... I just figured this out. I bet it is a used mobile home. Oh dear.

I suspect I will be referring this one out

.

Jane's Creepy Appointment

I should begin with Jane, just like myself, was uprooted the few months between grade school and high school and dragged unceremoniously to a new life. In her case, it was a small town in Northern Arizona. Unlike me, she only went to two high schools. We met up again when we both came back to the high school we were supposed to have started at for our Junior and Senior years.

The back story is to tell you about Jane's adventure last week. She drug me along and I am kind of glad she did, after all, I wouldn't have anything to write about. Anyway, Jane got a facebook message from someone she knew in her first high school. She has not heard from this guy in 35+ years. He now lives in Phoenix and has equity in his home and wants to know what to do.

Carl greeted us in this questionable West Phoenix neighborhood with a big smile and a squeeze for Jane and a look of astonishment for me. He is in the middle of a divorce ("My ex thought she could just quit working and stay home all day, so I kicked her out."). Carl showed us around his house, as we picked our way delicately through the nightmare of hoarded junk scattered everywhere ("It's the ex's".) while he waxed nostalgically with Jane about their two years of knowing each other until 1984. I could tell Jane didn't recall 90 percent of the people or memories he mentioned, but that didn't stop him from merrily chatting about the good old days.

His house is one of those cookie cutter types that were slapped up in the early 2000s (note: don't buy homes built in that era, folks). The place was pitch black inside, and that was after the curtains were open. Seriously, I don't think that house had been cleaned since the early 2000s. The back yard was an interesting homage to the Oklahoma dust bowl, with more dust and not a live plant in sight.

Carl's current plan is to take his home and convert it into a rental. He said he owned it outright (he doesn't) and it is a "gold mine." He then wants to buy several more and do the same with them. Except his credit has a teensy issue ("My ex did this to me!"). Plus, he needs to get the money together to clean and repair his current home. Then he needs the money to purchase a place to live, so he's thinking, "a few months."

While all of this was going on, Carl engaged Jane in stories about how he is "moving on" from his future ex-wife and when was the last time she saw the "gang?" (She said she doesn't really keep in touch with anyone from those two years, except now Carl, who found her on FB). And had Jane done something different with her hair since they last saw each other? (It was longer, redder and poofier back in the 1980s).

The only time I interjected was to tell him I was gravely concerned about the amount of chemicals I could see in the proximity of the gas hot water heater. We couldn't get to them, mind you, without scaling a mountain of metal, trash and whoknowswhatelse, but clearly, this was a significant fire hazard in the making. Carl ignored me and kept on chatting up Jane.

Our biggest hiccup on this tour came when I opened up Carl's adult son's room. Right there, sitting in plain sight was a crap-ton of blank real estate forms. Jane casually asked about them and Carl's answer was, "My son is a realtor." Yea... like Carl is going to hire Jane when his flesh and blood, living in Carl's home is a licensed agent.

As we left, I said, "Sweetie, this isn't going to happen." I was referring to Carl and Jane becoming an item. But she took it as helping Carl with real estate. We are both right.