Monthly Archives for
September 2010

Remember that family I got all weepy over a few weeks back after I went on that bender- I mean, was feeling super sentimental and appreciative of my own family? Well all the good vibes my readers were putting out to the universe worked; we are under contract for a lovely single level in Chandler in their own daughter’s neighborhood that really is just the closest thing to perfect we looked at the entire time we were out perusing the housing market.

However, now that I know you all have the ability to control destiny with your minds, I would like to request that you use your powers for evil instead of good.

Check it out: The house we are under contract for had an appraisal done, as all houses being purchased with mortgages require. This appraisal came back at almost $19,000 under the agreed upon purchase price. So that was pretty sucktastic. I spent 45 minutes on the phone with the indignant seller explaining to me why the house IS worth the agreed upon purchase price until I could literally take it no more and interrupted the poor guy to point out that of all of the people involved in this transaction, I was the one who needed to be convinced of this fact the very least. The buyer absolutely needed convincing, the appraiser who made the low call to begin with could use a giant dose of convincing, but I actually didn’t have any emotional ties to this issue except in that it needed to be dealt with one way or another to move forward in the transaction. Buddy, I KNOW it has granite counters, an undermount sink, bamboo floors and a putting green in the back. The confusion you’re having right now stems from the fact that you don’t realize I don’t actually care.

When a house doesn’t appraise for the agreed upon purchase price the contract allows for the buyer to cancel the contract within five days and retain their earnest money. Depending on the market and how it relates to the sanity of the people involved (IE: In 2005 everyone was totally insane and would regularly waive appraisals because none of them came in at anywhere close to purchase price. Which should probably have been our first clue that all of this was headed nowhere good) sellers will sometimes drop the purchase price to what the house has appraised at and the deal will move forward. So initially when I heard this house didn’t appraise, I had high hopes that this would actually be a positive for my clients and they would be able to purchase the house for almost $20k less than they had agreed to. Unfortunately, the seller was adamant the house was worth the original purchase price and was willing to put it back up on the market and risk another low appraisal if we didn’t agree to waive it.

This led us to door number two: which was to dispute the appraisal with the lender. I’d actually never done this before and had heard horror stories about it taking weeks and a first born child to push through the system. The lender assured us it was a 72 hour process and we could keep all of our offspring, though, so we submitted new comps that supported the original price.

Lo and behold, 71.5 hours later the appraisal comes back adjusted up $15K. This is where your mental super-powers/vibes come into play. The deal is looking good. Turns out my buyers were totally in agreement with the seller that the house was worth what they had agreed to originally pay. My clients are happy to move forward with the adjusted appraisal and have been thrilled with the care they have been so far receiving at the Mayo Clinic. They are ready to move in to this new house and get settled so as to begin the healing portion of this whole journey so far. That much is all lovely and happiness-inducing. Yet, I still have a ginormous bone to pick with the appraiser.

Mr. Appraiser, Sir, can I just ask who on earth you felt like it would benefit to lowball this appraisal in the first place?

The seller? Nope, it makes him want to poke his own eyes out.

The buyer? Not even a little bit. He found a house he was willing to buy and was happy with the price and now you’ve blocked his ability to get a mortgage.

The lender? You almost cost him the revenues from a new loan.

The housing market? If this sale fell out of escrow it would just be another house on the market, adding to the glut of inventory.

The economy? Yeah, right. Because another house NOT selling creates jobs and revenue for the people. Oh wait, the other way around: it doesn’t.

Me? Not at all. I’m a touch cranky because of the extra hours of work you created for me that involved disputing the appraisal and listening to sellers on fire about the value of their property. I also could have done without the heart palpitations over potentially losing this house for my clients who really a lot super wanted and needed it.

So basically, you said “Nah, it’s not worth that much.” And we said, “Really? Cause we kind of think it is…” and you said, “Oh, well, OK, I guess you’re right.” This INCENSES me because I can only imagine how it could have all gone differently with different clients.

Appraiser: Nah, it’s not worth that much.

Clients with a little less market-savvy and a little more crazy-pants-ocity: OH MY GOD THEY WERE TRYING TO CHEAT US! Cancel the deal! Run away! I don’t care if they’re willing to drop the price I do not want that house!!

Thus, my Super-Powerful Readers, I would like you to turn your vibes over to that appraiser. I don’t want him to drop dead or get hit by a bus or anything, but I think this drama merits some kind of itchy horrible (curable) infection. Like pink-eye. Can we all just send our collective vibes over to the pink-eye fairy so that she makes a visit to Mr. Lowball Appraiser guy? Thanks. Love you always!

Dear Agent and Seller of House #3 I Tried to Show on Saturday,

I’m guessing you’re a new agent. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. We were all new once. And Seller, God bless you, someone has to be the first one to hire each agent. I wish you both all of the luck in the world. In fact, I thought (as did my buyer) that your house looked like a pretty good prospect for us. Good size, nice big lot, private pool, great price. It would have been super helpful to both our buying process and your selling process if we’d actually been able to get in to see the house; I’m just saying. Anyway, just as a complimentary service, I’d love to offer you a few tips to make your experience successful as Seller and Agent. Just a few things I’ve picked up in my travels that might help you get through this whole process without being screamed at or sued:

Seller – When an agent calls you an entire day before she wants to show the house, you really should call her back and let her know if it’s a good time for you or not. Even a text message is usually acceptable. Not replying at all leaves the situation open to confusion.

Agent – Many agents counsel their clients (and the agents showing) that if a message has been left about showing and no one responds, this means it’s OK to show. Agents also often put this specifically in their Realtor Remarks, although yours just says, ‘Call owner, then show,’ furthering the confusion. It’s a good idea to be more specific about whether I need to have actual contact with the owner to show (no contact means “NO” to the showing vs. no contact means “YES” to the showing) in your Realtor Remarks.

Seller – When you’re not home, you should probably shut your garage door. Or, if you are home and that’s why your garage door is open, you should answer the doorbell when it is rung. And if you’re trying to pretend you’re not home, SHUT YOUR GARAGE DOOR. When you leave it open and we drive up at the time I left you in my message almost 24 hours earlier, it presents mixed messages. “Is the seller home and just going to hang out in the backyard or walk around the block while we look?” “Did the seller leave the garage door open for us to go in that way to look?” And then when we ring the bell and knock loudly and no one comes to let us in, things become even more confusing.

Agent – There’s a box in the Showing Instructions section of the MLS info sheet that is labeled ‘Spcl Inst/Pets’. This stands for ‘Special Instructions/Pets’ and is the box you should mark if your seller owns a giant man-eating dog that looks like this:

OK, I realize this is actually a boxer, and I don’t want to offend all of the boxer-owners (or boxers who enjoy real estate websites) with my assumption that this dog thought I looked like a tasty lunch-time treat. However, during the 1.7 seconds I had to look into that creature’s eyes, after opening the lockbox on the front door, unlocking the door and making a quick visual sweep of the interior, I have to tell you, they contained a murderous glint. This dog didn’t have a ‘bark worse than his bite’. No, he didn’t bark at all, he just stood there silently and held my eye so that I knew with no uncertainty that one more step into his humble abode and I would be so much beggin strips for his belly.

So the point is, Agent, when your seller has an animal, MARK THE Spcl Inst/Pets BOX. Then we will know that if we haven’t talked to the seller we probably shouldn’t attempt entrance if we don’t want to get munched on by a dog named after the most violent modern day human sporting event. If a stupid agent does attempt to enter even though that box was marked, you can point it out to the judge when you and Seller get sued and hopefully the judge will grant you leniency. In our case, though, if I hadn’t seen the man-eater before stepping into the house, when my husband sued you for the wrongful death of his wife/babysitter/cook/housekeeper/child-chauffeur/bill-payer you would have had to pay billions and billions of dollars. Because that’s what I’m worth. Just ask him.

I hope these tips are helpful to you and that you learn from this lesson and avoid future confusion/death-by-boxer-munching.

Love and Kisses,

That Realtor Who Went Screaming Out of Your House at 11:20 Saturday Morning

PS – You might want to Lysol the front door handle and lockbox. Turns out I had the flu when I was trying to show your house. Oh you already touched it? And then ate a hamburger right afterward? And now you’re not feeling that well? Well… sorry. Your dog almost ate me for lunch. I guess we’re even.

Houses Shown: 30

Bottles of Febreze We’ve Gone Through This Summer: 4

The people who know me best know that at least 50 percent of what I like best about real estate is getting to know people and their lives. I confess: I’m a total voyeur. Yes, that was me peeking in your kitchen window eating popcorn while your family was having dinner last night, why do you ask? I just wanted to hear the ending to that story you were telling your husband about the guy at work who’s sleeping with his wife’s twin brother. It was fascinating.

Last weekend I had a fairly hellish schedule of three different sets of buyers, each with between 8 and 12 houses to see. Throw in the fact that approximately 50% of all of the houses had no power on (and thus, no A/C) and it was a recipe for exhaustion, dehydration and crabbiness by the time I got home. My husband just loves it when I stomp through the door, kick my shoes off into the middle of the room, demand a margarita (on the rocks, no salt) and collapse on the sofa (which will consequently require a thorough Febrezeing to rid it of my showing stink). Luckily he’s fairly used to this and usually has a drink and a snack already prepared. I know, you’re thinking, ‘Wow, what a sweet husband you have!’ but really it’s a self-preservation technique. He’s finally realized if he would like to keep his head attached to his neck it’s best to be prepared for my arrival on days like this.

Anyway, the only thing that kept me going during the showings last weekend was that I had three sets of ridiculously entertaining and likeable clients. I personally consider ‘quirkiness’ the seasoning of life (in fact, I like to think I bring it out in people; if you have a quirk, I will find it) and let me tell you, this was an adorably spicy group.

My first set of showings Saturday morning was with a brand new client couple and this was our first meeting. I’m always a little nervous on occasions like this. I worry that we won’t ‘gel’ or I’ll make some sort of weird, unfavorable first impression that will stick with them or something or that they’ll be total lunatics with whom I will have no desire to work. It’s like a first date. Luckily, by 2 houses in I was totally charmed and fascinated by this twosome. To begin with, the male half of the couple has a condition called Anosmia, which means that he can’t (and has never been able to) smell at all. When he told me that the way they discovered this was because when he was 7 or 8 years old and at school, one of his friends farted in a big group and everyone ran away but him and the kid who dealt it, and he turned to the kid and said, ‘That really smelled bad? Hmm, maybe something’s wrong here…’ I knew that I kind of loved him a little bit. Because anyone who can tell a story involving their own fairly serious medical condition and tie in someone else farting, is kind of my best friend. For the rest of the trip I felt the need to point out to him when a house smelled bad, just so he would know.

“This one smells AWFUL.”

“It’s ok, doesn’t bother me.”

I was also fully amused by the fact that he wanted some sort of a ‘man cave’ in the house we were attempting to locate for them, and she kept pointing to the most emasculating room on the property and labeling it the ‘man cave’. “Oh, honey, look, you can have a sweet little ‘man loft’!” Or “Look, this one is pink and has pictures of Snow White on the walls; it’s the ‘Princess Man Cave’!” They were too hilarious. It was a successful first date for me, for sure.

Sunday morning I took out a dear old friend and her husband and 1 year old. They were too fun and in general, it was low pressure. Their quirks tend to be of the good-natured, sarcastic husband/wife bickering variety, which I relate to.

Him: I’m not sure about this neighborhood. It’s a little sketchy.

Her: Why, because there’s Mexicans here? You do realize that I’m Mexican, too, don’t you?

Him: I didn’t say that! What are you talking about? I said NOTHING about Mexicans!

Her: You were thinking it, I could tell. And there was a brown skinned guy on the corner when we drove by. Our son is brown-skinned, you know. But you’re right, it’s a terrible neighborhood. Too many Mexicans. *

Plus, we saw one house that smelled especially awful inside and the husband pulled the neck of his shirt up over his mouth and nose while we walked through. The wife was like, ‘Really? That helps keep the smell out now, does it? Because it’s attractive and mature looking. Just so you know.’

Monday morning showings were with a couple who I’d been out with a couple of times before. The other showings had gone ok and I really liked them, although I couldn’t tell how the husband felt about me. He’s a police officer and I’d had them follow me to 5 or 6 houses the last time through the winding section of Ahwatukee where the streets all merge and unmerge and do unexpected things right up against the back side of South Mountain. I had inadvertently set up the tour so that with almost every house I had to make a left hand turn out into traffic. Usually I’m pretty good about having people following me, but left hand turns into traffic are my nemesis. I lost them at least twice and at one point was almost rear-ended by another car and got honked at. Humiliation does not even sum it up. When I apologized to them at the next house, the husband said, with a totally dead-pan face, ‘You’re lucky I don’t give traffic tickets anymore.’ I shook my head and giggled nervously, but honestly, he said it so seriously, I started to think, ‘Uh, oh, this guy is not at all amused by me. I am so screwed. And probably going to jail if this doesn’t all work out well.’

So on Sunday, when the husband sent me a list of houses they wanted to see, with a note about how he even put them in a showing order for me to save me time, I had to take one more attempt at an apology for my atrocious driving and wrote back, ‘Did you make sure to avoid all left hand turns into traffic?’ His response (verbatim this time, I swear) was, ‘I didn’t account for your vehicular shenanigans.’ And that was when I realized that not only does he totally have a sense of humor, he has one of those really dry, completely hard to tell when they’re kidding sense of humors that are my very favorite! Like Jeff Lewis on that Flipping Out show on Bravo. I think that email will remain one of my favorite client emails ever. You just can’t beat ‘vehicular shenanigans’. I may even have to have a shirt made, “Please excuse my vehicular shenanigans.”

The point of all of this is, that even when I work all weekend over a holiday and it’s 1000 degrees out and every other house smells horrendous or is carpeted in animal excretions, the people I work with make my job worth it. My clients are like my kids, worth their weight in gold, if only for entertainment sake.

*Conversation is not verbatim. And I totally made the last part up. Plus they were clearly mostly kidding. But they did have a hilarious discussion about a neighborhood and her Hispanic ancestry.

Number of Times I Changed Out Jonas’s Carseat In the Last 2 Weeks: 43

How Much I Kind of Hate Steve, The Mechanic’s Face at This Point: A Lot

Do you ever have days where everything is ludicrous? I feel like sometimes, ridiculousness and lunacy is like a big mass out in space, and the more of it you have, the greater the gravitational pull toward it becomes and more and more insanity gloms together until pretty soon it’s just a giant black hole of crazy. Generally, I’m right there in the very center of it, either with my head exploding or drinking heavily; depending on the time of day. Tuesday of this week was one of those days for me.

To begin with The GOV has been acting up lately. (I was reminded by a Twitter pal today that not everyone knows what the acronym GOV stands for. Apparently people may be under the mistaken impression that I have my own personal Jan Brewer that’s been in at the shop all week. I don’t. It stands for Giant Orange Van. Because it’s orange. And giantish.) We’re trying to stay away from the word ‘lemon’ around The GOV, but let’s just say that I suspect if you poured iced tea in the engine you might end up with an Arnold Palmer (you know, the drink with lemonade and iced tea mixed? No? Too obscure? Sorry.). We’ve had nothing but problems with the beast. Her latest trick is randomly not starting. This is super fun when it happens in front of a client’s house with my clients in the car. It really instills confidence in my negotiating abilities when I can’t even coax my own car into puttering to life.

And then, of course, when I took the GOV into the shop last week (after it sat, all night, out in front of my client’s house where it refused to start and then magically started the next morning) they ‘couldn’t replicate the problem’, which I now understand to mean ‘we think you’re insane and probably have automobile-hypochondria’. So I ended up taking the car home, having it not start again, and delivering it back to the shop with a frenzied ‘I am NOT crazy, find the problem and fix it!’ speech (because nothing comes off more sane than an ‘I am NOT crazy’ speech). The point is the mechanic finally decided the problem was most likely the starter and we scheduled the work to be done the following week. (“If it happens again in the interim, just keep trying to start it and probably it eventually will,” the mechanic told me, furthering my suspicion that the replacement of the starter was a placebo.)

So Tuesday morning, I got up at 5am so that I could be showered and dressed and have Jonas (who, let me remind you, is three years old and has occasional bouts with demonic possession, it’s sort of like occasional heart burn that flares up when you have a meatball and peppers sandwich, except occasionally his head rotates 360 degrees and he pulls the wings off butterflies) fed and ready to go to the car shop, which is 25 miles from our house. We had an appointment with the pediatrician for an ear infection check at 8:50am, and the car shop shuttle service ran at 7:30am or 9am, so we needed to be to the shop by 7 to be ready to take the 7:30 shuttle to my parents’ house (3.5 miles from the shop) so we could borrow my dad’s car for the day and head to the pediatrician’s office by 8:50. Amazingly, all of this went fairly smoothly, or at least as smoothly as wrangling a three year old in and out of vehicles (including at least 11 car seat removals and reinstalls) without him running off or getting squished by a car can. By 9:30am we were headed back to our end of town in my dad’s car to have lunch and nap and hopefully head back to pick up The GOV in the afternoon.

It wasn’t until I pulled into the driveway, with Jonas passed out in the back seat, that I realized I hadn’t taken the garage door opener out of The GOV. I had a house key, but of course, the top lock we installed on the inside of the front door to keep Jonas from getting out of the house in the middle of the night and burglarizing the neighbors, was latched, so I couldn’t even get into the house. I had no option but to turn directly around, drive the 25 miles back to the shop, wait 20 minutes for them to go back into the apparently giant room of cars waiting to be serviced and find my garage door opener (IT’S THE ORANGE ONE! Shouldn’t be that hard to find!), and then drive the 25 miles back home. I wasn’t at all considering jumping into oncoming traffic at that point, swear.

So then, when I got home, I realized I had a new voicemail on my phone (cell reception is really poor in my neighborhood, which is not at all inconvenient for someone like me who makes her living talking on the phone). Once I found the one spot in my house receiving any bars of reception and stood as still as a statue to get the voicemail, I realized it was from the negotiator at Bank of America who I’d been working with on my short sale that had closed the day before. The escrow officer working the file had sent me the final settlement statement that morning and it needed to be uploaded to the online document system so the file could be closed out. But, you know, I’d been dealing with the car/kid/garage door opener situation from hell since 5am, so I hadn’t had a second to do that yet. The negotiator was calling to tell me that BofA had received the wire with the $116,000, but had not received the final settlement statement yet, so he just wanted to inform me that if I didn’t get it uploaded in the next 3.5 seconds or so they would have to send the money back.

…? So wait, WHAT? Can we please just deconstruct that for a second? The property CLOSED ESCROW and was legally owned by the new buyer as per BofA’s instructions. The money, which was actually $100 MORE than they were expecting, had arrived in their hands. I had received my check for my work also. But because the final statement wasn’t uploaded within 0.5 minutes of the recordation, they were going to SEND THE MONEY BACK? That will really show us. Yes, Bank of America, I don’t have time to upload it today, so you can just send that wire right back. Actually, I’ll give you my account number and you can wire it right there. Thanks very much.

Plus, then my stupid car wasn’t done in the afternoon like they said it would be. But I had to drive back any way, with all three kids this time, because my dad needed his car back and we had to get a rental.

See what I mean? Black hole of crazy.