There’s a hill that rises on the edge of the town and casts a shadow when light is low. It holds its place against the wind and stands still and silent in the deepening gloom. But there it is with trees and rocks, dirt and sky. It needs no sign, no truth to grasp. I may tread upon its paths and breathe its breath. The hill does not need me though, it stands in place and guides the clouds.

Passion is like the lake with lapping waves, it comes, it goes, it comes, it goes. But with the wear from years of use, the bank recedes, the edges on the shore cannot maintain their keen and driving force. Pools will grow, subside, and leave behind the fertile ground. Passion lies in waters deep where light can’t touch, where seasons rarely see their change. Still, I won’t force you.

If life be misery, then let’s be miserable together.

For untold millions, friends hold the key to happiness in life and perceived social success. Sadly, there is precious little evidence to demonstrate that level of value in friendships. Don’t misunderstand me, I appreciate friends just as much as anyone else, but I don’t mistake a friend for an accomplishment.

Still, I have to wonder why I can’t always manage to be friends. My demeanor says welcoming sometimes and my sarcastic responses are not always biting, but I just don’t seem to convince the world of my intent. In my younger years, I assumed that my smattering of loosely held friendships were just an artifact of my strained ability to maintain relations with intellectual inferiors and went about my life with no regrets. Those years having gone, I realize now that my lack of practice with friendships has left me unable to convince my peers that I am friendly. I’ve tried shouting it (I’m fucking friendly!!!), declaring it (I’d consider being your friend…), and even demanding it (we will be friends!). In all, I’d say that the results are less than satisfactory and I’m left wondering why I even bother trying.

I’m told that for individuals like me who have difficulty persuading humans of friendly intentions, there is always the possibility of forcing those intentions on an innocent, well-meaning dog. I intend to put this theory to the test and go rescue a mutt from the humane society and convince this animal that, while I am his superior, I am still friendly and would like to be his friend.

Now, how do I train a dog to leave me alone?

And so without the need to study, let’s settle on a lazy pact:

We’ll all agree or feign as much to isolate the learned (the witch).

If in the course of everyday, we meet a soul who will not sway

and verbal pleadings fail the test…

then let us all remember this: a difference we can suffer not.

Let’s push on past the pleasantries and gaze upon the bolder tools.

The guilt lies with the dissident, she should have bowed, confessed her sin.

Our self-same Lord of everything has granted us the righteous path.

We’ll let you walk along our way just mind the rules, our choice of faith

As for this witch, this evil one, we must commence, the rules so state.

Of fingernails and parts impaled, the process shows the lengths we’ll take

to give a taste of hell itself with all the levels felt as one.

And so if torment will not turn the wicked from their fated path,

then don’t let’s ponder, no more debate.

Let’s burn the witch, or failing that, we’ll boil the bitch in bubbling pitch!

We’ve all been there before: finished reading the Twilight series for the sixth time and while dreaming of sexy vampires, you wonder what could possibly be next on your reading list? Let’s start by eliminating some of the obvious low hanging fruit. You’re certainly not going to read any of the latest memoirs or political screeds because you’re far too busy for such nonsense and I think that we can all agree that books like those are for retired people (emphasis on tired). Next to cross off is the romantic novel genre. Sure, that one series of books where a guy beats up his favorite lady and she can’t get enough had a good run and it seemed super empowering to say that you were fond of porn lit. If Ayn Rand were around, then she’d certainly have privately read the series a couple times herself and may have even penned a few fan fiction tomes bringing Howard Roark back to whoop some fair damsel’s ass unapologetically. Oh, and lastly, while we brought up Ayn Rand, let’s go ahead and cross off “The Classics.” This includes the objectivist herself, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Shel Silverstein, Herman Melville, Charles Dickens, Stephen King, and any other self-important pompous sounding author whose books are only available in hard copy with a collector binding.

So what does a discerning person like yourself read who needs to show not only that you do read, but also that you read better (lest we forget the Rhinestone way!)? May I suggest that you turn to a boring-ass biography? Now, before you fall asleep, let me remind you that what you are currently reading speaks volumes about you and wouldn’t you like those volumes to say things like studious, mysterious, classical (not that kind of classical), and other classy adjectives? The beauty of this system of reading (the Rhinestone method) is that you can be reading a flour-dry biography like Grant (Ulysses Grant, duh) while you’re instead reading whatever you actually feel like reading such as the latest brilliant (yet controversial) book by Amy Schumer or whatever; use your damn imagination. You always need to have one title of a boring-ass biography handy, so the only real struggle in this system involves learning the titles and names of the boring-ass individuals that these boring-ass biographies endeavor to document. You can rest easy knowing that no one would ever dream of reading a biography like Grant, so you can make some random crap up and you’ll be credible with no effort in the slightest. Just remember to keep it light and believable and always remember to remind everyone around you loudly that you prefer to read about a person in an honest to goodness book because you always learn more than any nonsense that’s written on Wikipedia.

I’m currently reading a biography about Percy Shelley and I can tell you that it is riveting. He seems like he should be quite the romantic based on his writing and while his amorous pursuits were definitely noteworthy, he just really desired a quiet life as a homosexual man in the country and he tried to fill that void with women, drinking, old timey drugs, and wild car races. All of it eventually caught up with him after that particularly bad accident. You’ll note that I’ve left you with a question you can’t realistically hope to respond to with anything other than a nod of the head and a knowing cluck. After all, who the hell knows who Percy Shelley is or what he (she?) did. You may call me a monster, but even Frankenstein could appreciate the brilliance of this system and would be quick to utilize it at parties and would be selling more houses than anyone else before you knew it.

It may come as no surprise to you that stretching is part of a successful Rhinestone Realtor’s© daily regimen. As a true believer in fitness, appropriate diet (lose weight through less eating!), and consciousness (you’ve probably never heard of it), I strive daily to ensure that all of my ligaments, cartilage, and other unpronounceable bits are supple and youthful. Let’s be honest, no one wants to buy a product from an ugly person, much less a purchase as important, and costly, as a house. My daily stretching routine is always a precursor to an extended session on the elliptical machine with an appropriately large mirror on the side so I can ensure adequate notice from other gym residents. I set my phone to record video and then ensure that I am properly framed while going through a variety of half-assed yoga poses, exaggerated hip spreading, and various other moves while maintaining an absolute disregard for everyone around me. That last part is vital to ensure that folks understand that I’m serious.

I know that exercise is not for everyone and that sometimes it is a struggle. I have on many occasions battled with a powerful thought while driving into the lot to go work out. The engine is just idling while I sit quietly at the crosswalk contemplating the idea of slamming the accelerator to the floor and hitting as many gym bros as possible before launching off the curb on the other side and just driving off into the sunset. Believe me, once you’ve imagined it in your head, it feels like you have to try it just once.

But I digress. Everyone should remember that before any random acts of violence, you should always get in a good stretch. You’d hate to pull a hammie while dropping the hammer.

The question that goes to the heart of every real estate blog is unfortunately existential, “Why would anyone bother reading any of this tripe?”

Naturally, any author’s instinctive response to a question like this is going to be filled with pejorative language describing their typical reader and that is far from the wrong answer. I think you’ll find that authors are some of the most self loathing individuals in existence and everyone knows that an author only writes what they’d like to read. In spite of this, sometimes an audience will actually show up to glance at an author’s ramblings and may even stay long enough to insult the author in a tart comment. Clearly, this is the audience that we bloggers must lure in with assurances like, “Click here to see how to get a house with 50 dollars down!” Now, obviously I have no idea how to buy a house with only 50 dollars down, but that sure would be neat wouldn’t it?

Before anyone accuse me of duplicity, let me remind you that honesty is in the eye of the beholder. So, then how should we be reaching out to our audience? I prefer to express my answer through an anecdote.

By the Hair of Zeus!

Now it happened one day that I was called upon by a client of mine to meet him at his home to discuss his options for selling it. He had naturally inspected the listings that were posted in various places online and intended to dictate to me the appropriate price for his house based upon his years of experience and hours of research. Granted, all of his evidence was based upon prices of homes for sale and not prices of homes that sold, but that is merely a trivial matter in this gentleman’s mind.

His name happens to be Elihu, which I assume to mean “dim mind” in ancient Hebrew. Now Elihu was more than just a loud mouthed pushy sort, he also aspired to be a connoisseur of over sized, overly furry, bad tempered mutts. As such, while he lectured me on the finer points of online marketing, I gazed about myself in wide eyed wonder at the blanket of fur that covered nearly every flat surface in the home.

There was enough fur coating the floor that this man had no need of a rug and had only to spread a binder on the thick coat of fur in order to cover his floors with a delightful dog hair throw. In my opinion, it looked like the mud and feces that (presumably) his dogs had been tracking in would work well for this purpose and he was already well on his way.

The fur did not stop there though. It also coated all of the surfaces in the kitchen! Elihu was presently interrupting my observations by asking if I’d like something to drink. I like to think that the look of disgust on my face was answer enough for Elihu, but he was not named Elihu for his subtlety and insisted that I give him a verbal answer. I politely declined for the following reasons. First, Elihu is a disgusting boor and I would not chance that he has washed his hands in the last week, second, his kitchen looks like it serves as an adequate abode for any aspiring entomologist, third, the dog fur.

This fur blanket on the counters was more than I could comprehend in one glance. I had to sweep all along the kitchen’s length to take in the mass of swirling shag that stuck to the counter tops and the sides of the refrigerator and stuck in balled up greasy globs in the corners.

Elihu fetched a glass out of the cupboard above the sink. It is important to note that this sink was also full of dirty dishes that extended back for probably a week. As he drew down the glass, he brushed a few wisps of hair off of the rim and proceeded to fill it with some sun tea substance that he insisted was delicious. I wished to violently dispute this claim but remembered that I was here on business and wondered how I was going to present Elihu’s home to anyone with a straight face.

I proceeded to ask Elihu when he might have the home cleaned up and ready for showings. He casually explained that the home should be ready to show already since he’d spent the last week cleaning and tidying up. As I strolled through the kitchen gazing upon all the gleaming surfaces that clearly showed all of Elihu’s many efforts, I stirred from my reverie to the sound of skittering claws and at least two dogs rushing in from the back door where Elihu had allowed them in. Elihu made no attempt to control the beasts and they proceeded to rush me at full speed and leap up onto my person, making every effort to scratch and slobber every surface that they could reach.

I’m told that dogs can smell fear, but the real question is whether they can smell rage. I suspect that they do have this ability as they both seemed to shuffle away sheepishly, snuffling the oddly clean footsteps that were tracked in on the filth. This was about the time that I glanced over at Elihu who stood there chuckling lightly.

The dogs settled themselves comfortably on a dirty brown sofa (original color unknown) and Elihu invited me to have a seat in the living room while we discussed listing his dog kennel for sale.

To converse with Elihu only means listening absentmindedly while he jabbers about everything he knows regarding selling homes including how it would be best to violate fair housing laws in order to secure “decent” folks for the neighborhood. At some point I made the mistake of glancing at his face only to see that he has a dog hair attached to his lower lip and every time he speaks, the hair is wiggling up and down.

This had gone on for too long already and I could no longer fight to insert a word here and a breath there. I stood up and handed Elihu a packet with instructions to “Look that over and let me know what you think.” The real meaning of course being, “I must go, you’re disgusting.”

As I edged toward the door with Elihu continuing his incessant blather, I extended my hand to politely exit. I opened the door and as I stepped out onto the stoop Elihu thanked me for coming by and then stopped and gave me a piece of advice: “Ya know, next time you really ought to remove your shoes when going in to someone’s house.”

First, we can all agree that eating fat or sugar is stupid and should be better left to those who would benefit most from an eating disorder. That narrows the options to something that would satisfy, but not leave you feeling like a domestic farm animal. Next, we’ll eliminate any carbohydrates because obviously those will give you cancer. Finally, I like to eliminate any sources of gluten because I feel like there is established science that demonstrates a link between gluten and autism and I have been a long time opponent of autism. I think we can all agree that autism is a scourge on our community that has gone unchecked for far too long.

After eliminating what I can’t (or shouldn’t) eat, I arrive at the obvious selection of a cigarette. Having a cigarette is not only calorie free, but also a welcome distraction from the hunger pangs that may be bothering me since next week’s meal is a little further off.

To prepare my cigarette, I like to retrieve a freshly sealed pack and unwrap the plastic on that pack. This first step may be unnecessary as you may already have an open pack in which case, you may proceed to the next step. Next up, I will slide out a cigarette and tap it lightly on the end to pack the tobacco a bit before using a lighter (you may substitute a match in the event that you don’t have a lighter) to ignite the cigarette while puffing slightly on it.

If you’ve followed the instructions properly, then you’ll have a delightful smoking experience similar to the one pictured here:

Let me say that I am not one to pick fights over ridiculously petty disagreements, but when I explained this to the fat lady waiting to order a venti hot cocoa with 4 sugar packets and an extra 10 ounces of whipped cream, she just would not let it go. I calmly let her know that it was extremely petty to fight over since I was merely ordering a drip coffee (no empty calories for me thank you!) and I would appreciate it if she would just let me slip by her while she decided on how many cake pops she wanted to go with her heart attack in a cup. The whole sordid affair was further exacerbated by the dolt behind the counter. She refused to serve me until Poppin Fresh had made her order and even threatened to make me wait for the customer after that.

Naturally, I demanded to speak to a manager. I refuse to kowtow to anyone and may have resorted to louder than normal tones while discussing the mistreatment that I had suffered at the hands of the barista (her name is Jill, of course). After I repeated that this behavior was something that I’d never in my life had to suffer, the manager had the audacity to interrupt me and ask me to leave!

If this wasn’t bad enough, it was raining outside and I got my hair wet while going across the parking lot. Granted, I did spend a little more time outside the door yelling and I may have even cried a little, but my day was effectively ruined by Jill, her manager, and the obese lady who started it all. That nasty bitch was incorrigible. She even went so far as to try to follow me into the parking lot. She can thank that rude manager for restraining her before I taught her some politeness through physical means.

I’d like to finish this by reminding the world that, while we sometimes suffer injustice at the hands of the clueless and the sad, we have to remember that there will be those ignorant multitude who just can’t grasp the higher level of reason and class that I apply to my everyday life. Don’t let yourself be mired by these fools. If you’ve chosen the way of the Rhinestone, then stand tall, demand the best, and f the rest.

Namaste.

I feel like now is a great time to introduce everyone to the car that I drive.  Please look upon the majesty of my oversized pickup that I use to drive to showings and pick up lunch at Chick-Fil-A.  Before anyone comments on my choice of tires for my truck, please allow me to remind you that where I live, the winters can be icy and snow can occasionally fall and so four wheel drive and minimum 30″ tires are required.  I get approximately 8 miles per gallon, but since I’m so successful with my real estate career, I could care less about the cost of fuel and everyone knows that global warming is a myth, so all you haters can just shut up.

This truck serves more than one purpose though.  It very clearly demonstrates my wealth and helps pedestrians remember that I’m way more important than they are when we meet each other in crosswalks or even on the sidewalk.  More importantly though, this vehicle is a menacing image when I roll up to your home and climb down out of the cab.  You may feel comfortable blowing off a lesser person coming to ask you about the rent if he is driving a Honda Fit and you would be justified in doing so.  With this truck though, you have no choice but to answer the door and admit all your faults in full detail.  It is obvious that the person driving this truck is a badass and if you happen to glimpse my velvet boots striding confidently up your driveway, then the badass image is cemented permanently.

As a bona fide Rhinestone Realtor® I rarely ever have to sully my swagger with such base matters, but when your rent is due, you’ll do well to not wait for me to visit you in my butt kicking machine.

That’s right folks.  It’s time.  Now is definitely the right time to make mention of the secret weapon that I reserve for special occasions like the second Monday in August or a particularly dry Tuesday in January.  Some may say that velvet has a special place in art and relegate it strictly to likenesses of tigers or loving renditions of Elvis captured in the middle of a wicked hip shimmy that will make your teeth sweat.  I disagree.  I say that velvet art extends beyond the semi-2 dimensional plane and belongs to the firm calves of a Rhinestone Realtor®.  If you’ll refer to the photo on the left, then you’ll get an idea of the type of aggressively fierce ladies who are dedicated to the passionate drama and paradoxical nature of velvet.

Sometimes a Rhinestone Realtor® will find herself in a situation that leaves her no choice but to throw down velvet style.  Such situations include the following: you wake up late on Monday morning and realize that you forgot to switch the wet laundry from the washing machine to the dryer on Sunday night because you may have been up late preparing last minute lease renewals that were due the previous week but you totally forgot until Friday night at 5 PM.  Far be it from a Rhinestone Realtor® to work late on Friday night because Friday night belongs to the stars and let’s face it, as a Rhinestone Realtor®, I am most definitely one of the brighter lights in the constellation.  Consequently, Sunday night was simply the earliest that I could get to it.

In tight spots like the one I’ve described, lesser agents might resort to a pair of leggings and a frumpy frock with a messy hair bun.  This is totally inappropriate though.  I prefer to go daring and grab my burgundy velvet boots and put some Queen on the boombox while finishing my look.  Be sure to wear the best pair of clean bedazzled jeans you can find and pair those with a sassy tunic or sweater depending on the season and don’t forget your badass aviator shades to fill out the look.  Now, you can strut into the office while barking orders on your phone and no one is wise to your laundry emergency.  Tenants will cringe at the sound of your boots swishing into the lobby to “discuss” their security deposit dispute and will be ready to run for the exit before they’ve even launched into their twentieth description of their home prior to their move in and how it was filthy when they  moved in and a straight up model home when they moved out.

Velvet is not for every day, but it is definitely for every Rhinestone Realtor®.