We bought a house in Canyon Country, California, in 1996. In 2000 we sold it, and moved to Pennsylvania. And the real estate agent from that original ’96 transaction has sent us a calendar in the mail every year since. I’m not sure how she knows where we’re currently living, but we’ve received a calendar from her every January, starting in 1997, with her big Glamour Shots face on it.
She also sends invitations to pizza parties a couple of times per year. We actually went to one of those shindigs before we moved away (now that I think about it: WTF??), and it was kind of fun. It was all her once and future customers, drinking to excess and laughing it up. I wasn’t aware of such gatherings: people who share a real estate agent. It was bizarre.
But the woman had a motor inside her. She hustled more than just about anyone I’ve ever met, and I have no doubt she’s a millionaire as a result. After we bought the house she erected an elaborate sign in the front yard, announcing the arrival of “The Kay Family.” It was a little embarrassing, and I think it pissed me off at the time. But I admired the way she operated. She was ALWAYS working, with a big smile on her face, and also did things a bit differently.
Sure, she was a little crazy. OK, a lot crazy… In fact, the real estate agent in Crossroads Road is based on her. But she was able to harness it, and turn it into a positive. So far, I haven’t been able to do that. My crazy is just out there, flapping around. There’s no harness, no harness whatsoever. Plus, she works circles around 99% of the human population.
This year’s calendar is hanging near Toney’s computer desk, and I pass it twenty times per day. And every time I see the agent’s big fleshy airbrushed face smiling back at me, I feel ashamed. She causes me to take a long look in the mirror, and it’s not a pleasant experience. I’m capable of so much more. I know that, and her photo drives it home, again and again.
So, today I made a decision. Instead of just feeling bad about things, I decided it’s time to make a change. After I finish this update I’m going to march upstairs, take the calendar down, and throw it in the kitchen trash. Then I’m going to have Toaster Strudel. Strawberry!
Now playing in the bunker
Check out Dropbox! It’s FREE and fantastic.
I admire your resolve.
Way to go, Jeff! Freedom is its own reward. A strawberry Toaster Strudel (with extra icing) is a pretty good reward too.
A bold step big guy. We are with you and will support you the whole way. (Unless Tony gets pissed)
Average Jane says
I’d go with a cherry Toaster Strudel, but you’re on the right track. (Damn, it’s been a good fifteen years since I had one of those!)
One small victory for the less hard-charging crew! Thanks, Jeff.
I think the word “hero” is in order. Courageous, ambitious, and astonishing also comes to mind.
People like to talk about what’s his name walking on the moon. Big fucking deal, I say. I’d walk on it to if someone gave me a ride.
WB in OH says
Bravo Jeff!! One small step for lazy, one giant leap for sloth-kind!
Dave Parry says
Goddamn, what a great update.
I like the apple ones myself, but who gives a fuck. they’re all good.
better than those damned poptarts
Uncrustables. Wrong in every way imaginable, but so damn good.
Joe T. says
You had me feeling down until that last paragraph. You’re a regular M. Night Shammalammadingdong.
Rick in the UK says
+1 to this feeling and an additional fist-pump-in-the-air.
Fuck it, use two icing packets and leave a dry strudle for one of the secrets.
Jesus, Jeff. This is a terrific opportuntity to go out and buy another 2013 calendar. Might even get one on discount. Perhaps you’ve noticed that, while the number of print books and newspapers has declined in the maw of the information revolution, the number of narrow-focus calendars has approximately nonupled.:
Midgets of Tuscany
The Beatles’ Ex-Wives
Tramp Steamers of Singapore
Fjords of The Carolinas
Madonna’s Brunch Recipes
Racial Epithet a Day Calendar
Makeout Spots of Atlanta
The Kuban says
You forgot Yoga Dogs.
I rarely do this but I just LOL’d at work. Beautiful list, man…
Lawn Curlers of America
Boils and Sores
Peat Bogs of the World
Crack of Don Plumbing
As for the question of cruise ships, the only possible reason for puting yourself in close proximity to 1400 humans in a space actually large enough to support 17 families and 3 or 4 Adirondack reindeer, is to get into International Waters.
When virtually nothing exciting was legal, it made sense to head out to where government was skinny and everyone else was busy eating. Say you were a pair of gay guys from Mongomery. Hell, you were illegal just standing there, and once you headed for the bedroom, you were downright felonious. If the state or local government wasn’t after you, the local Klan, posing as good little churchworkers or Tea Party organizers, was right there to run your ass out of town or up to the cemetery — your choice. Time to head for the seven mile limit.
But all that has changed. My own state and several others now offer inter-faith, inter-race, same-sex marriage and even honeymoons. I mean there are packages.
So why become intimate with Norovirus when you can actually BE intimate more or less in public in the beautiful state of Washington. Come to Washington. Hell, we come here all the time.
Love this comment!
I hate Real Estate Agents.
Next time you get an invite to the pizza party, send back a note with your regrets you can’t make it but ask her to have two large supreme (or whatever) delivered to your house. Include the phone number to your favorite pizza joint there where you live. I get the feeling this crazy chick would do it. Please keep us posted on that if you do.
The Kuban says
Holy shitballs Batman! I was born and raised in good ol’ overcrowded, can’t-build-out-so-build-up, Canyon Country!!
Strawberry sounds about right. I would not have pegged Jeff as a Maple Man. But seriously – shtrudel? zum Toaster?
I wonder where the practice originated of real estate agents plastering photos of themselves all over. If I hired someone to sell my house, I’d want her to post pictures of the house, not of herself.
There is a local pizza chain here that has a standing special, and I quote from the advertising flyer: “Buy 1000 XL pizzas and get 1000 LG pizzas FREE”. I have not called their bluff.
Lee Harvey Ramone says
Fukkin “A” right strudel-man: Take charge of yer life!
Please take not that I did not double-space after the colon
Great post! I believe I actually lol’d here at the office. I’m so inspired by your newfound resolve I think I’ll take a nap.
All I can think about is “Real Estate Pin Ups”, cheesecake and strudel. I’m a mess.
Root 66 says
Throwing away that calendar is an excellent first step toward recovery. I would suggest replacing it with a Mayan calendar, but unfortunately they don’t go to 2013…
As far as Toaster Strudels go, I prefer the Cinnabon ones. The ones with sausage, eggs and “cheese” aren’t too bad, either.
Dave's not here, man says
mmm… someone at work just told me about a restaurant that has sausage-wrapped eggs, deep fried. Or Egg wrapped sausages, I forget. I just know about sausages, eggs, and deep fried.
T. Farty McAppleass says
My pharmacist (read “doctor”) didn’t have any calendars with his face and helpful tips as to how I can be a better customer plastered all over it. I know because I asked.
you’re a miserable fuck! I would have sent one of the kids up to throw it away .
The NAPA store here gives out calanders each year featuring pictures of car problems. Cracked blocks, dead corroded battaries, radiators spewing steam, rotted out mufflers and exhaust systems, a dipstick showing just the very tip with a dot of black oil, worn out sun baked wiper blades and an alternator belt seized around the power steering belt. What a depressing photo journey of how fucked up my stuff might be. An entire year of that shit.
When I was in college we had an “auto hobby shop” where one could go and do some DIY car repairs. It had a Wall of Shame where people would hang up their broken car parts: shattered clutch discs and the like. I contributed a cracked-in-half synchro blocking ring, and the infamous Distributor That Cut Itself In Half.
Interesting typo in the first paragraph of this article on Velveeta. Jason may be of the opinion that that it isn’t a typo at all.
The world is changing. Ten years from now cheese fuckers will be a protected class.
In Wisconsin its already there. And one county in Montana.
Ha!! Ok, ya had me there for a bit… Or??? Maybe you are actually reflecting. In any case this post had me thinking about my lot in life…Damn this is supposed to be a comedy site right? Yee Haw!!!
My grandfather and I used to watch Stan Musial on the CBS Saturday Game of the Week; he was a deadeye hitter and a sure fielder. By all accounts he was also a gentlemen off and on the field. He managed to play 22 years, hit .331, and not get thrown out of a single game. Sometimes when I’m feeling old or tired or both, I wonder if we’re running out of gentlemen.
Not as long as you’re around, jtb.
hot fuzz says