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.”

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®.