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Street Sign for One

I saw this and couldn’t resist.

When I see this, I think, as soon as you see someone using sign language in this neighborhood, your next thought is, “Oh, you’re the one.” It raises a few questions:

Why does this person just spend their days, roaming around enough to warrant a posted street sign?

Do you have to get a new sign if another deaf person moves into the ‘hood?

How do you know they are slow? What was their time?

Why are you “warning” me of this person? How much damage can a “slow deaf person” really cause? I’m asking because I’ve never seen one on a rampage.

Did you have a ribbon cutting ceremony when it was installed for “the chosen one”? Of course it would have been the quietest ribbon cutting ceremony in history…

If there’s only one person affected by this sign, why not just personalize it? “Slow Deaf Pete” for example.

I had to post this because it puts my sign below to shame.

Anyway, just had to share. Want more weird street signs that you can wear around and show off to your friends? Hit up durtbagz.com and grab yourself a new t-shirt.

Where is Wilmer, Alabama?

Some dude there is about to be the most popular guy in town. He just ordered a Durtbagz Triathlon shirt. He’ll probably get mobbed at the town diner tomorrow morning. Let him eat his eggs in peace, people.

So, as you have probably noticed, I’ve been rather MIA lately. There’s a reason for that.

Since starting Durtbagz.com, I’ve worked my arse off to get it off the ground. And by off the ground, I mean profitable. After almost two years of ridiculous set backs and working lame amounts of hours, I was completely burnt out. And still not profitable. And not in a happy place. Which is weird, because Durtbagz is all about being silly and fun. Well, working for free, with no profit in sight was not silly and fun.

So, I backed off.

I have a friend who’s a lawyer and real estate agent. We met in a tennis lesson and have been great friends since. We talk shop, while we play tennis, listening to each other and bouncing ideas off one another. It’s a pretty cool thing.

At the beginning of this year, she started complaining about how she couldn’t handle all of the business she was getting. She had quite a few listings and just didn’t have the time or manpower to handle all of the leads she was getting from her listings. She bitched about this problem for the next five months. I got tired of her bitching. And got tired of not having that problem.

In May, I called her and said, “I think I’m going to get my real estate license.” Her reply was, “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? Finally.” So, I did.

I’ve been doing real estate full-time since about late June. Turns out, I love it. I LOVE IT. And, I’m also really good at it.

This week, my friend and I are officially forming our team, iRealty. She is a short sale specialist and things are moving pretty fast towards being off the hook. Which, as the husband informed me, is bigger than off the chain, because as we all know, the chain is just a means to attach the hook. The hook is what you want.

I’m happy and I can already see my hard work paying off. I’ve got a buyer in escrow, as I write. I can see my paycheck, not far away. In two months, I’ve accomplished what I couldn’t in two years with Durtbagz. Am I quitting?

No.

But I’m not doing it full-speed ahead, either.

I learned a lot, in the process of creating Durtbagz.com.

*I learned I do not like working online. I don’t like not seeing/talking to my clients in person. I do not like hiding behind a laptop all day.

*I also realized that I don’t like a lot of social media. I hate Twitter; I think it should be called, “I’ll tell you how awesome I am or some random BS to waste your time.” I use it for entertainment purposes for my real estate side when things happen like, my client saw a dead body while we were out looking at houses, one day. That’s a true story, btw.

*I only like Facebook for two reasons: 1. apparently I like seeing what others are doing, and 2. I definitely like catching up with people I haven’t seen in years. I think it’s cool to have a Durtbagz fanpage, but I still don’t feel like I’ve learned how to use it to communicate with you guys very well.

*This blog…this effing blog. Do you have any idea how much of a time suck this blog is? It takes min of an hour, usually two, for one freaking post. Not to mention the time it takes me to come up with a topic worth writing. Hence, the rare, random posts.

*The people. People associated with online stuff, like social media or online advertising, or SEO or website design/development are a different breed than me. I’m not saying it’s better or worse, but it’s different. I’ve met some great people in this industry, but for the most part, I’m dealing with a lot of folks who are still angry that they were a nerd in high school, even though they are smarter and now more wealthy/successful than the folks that made fun of them. There are a lot of those out there, and frankly, they aren’t my speed.

So what happens, now? I’ll keep doing this on the side until I can afford to hire someone to run it for me. At that point, the only responsibility I want is to come up with new signs, write a blog post or two, and thank our customers.

It feels good to recognize what I like and I don’t; my strengths and my weaknesses.

So, there’s that. I will write more blog posts; I won’t abandon it. I’ll try to make them funny, although I know I don’t always bring it. Durtbagz.com will continue, and someday, it will be a household name. Hopefully, I’ll be splitting my time between being a ski bum and golf, by the time.

Hi gang. I’ve been completely MIA lately due to the fact that I have another job, and it rules.

However, not to completely bail on you, I’ve found some clips you need to see.

I know they have nothing to do with Durtbagz.com, but you laughed, right?

That’s right. Did you really think the Head Bag Lady couldn’t top a fat Kevin Fedderline? Have some faith, people. I created the market for weird street signs on bags and funny novelty shirts. Do not under estimate me.

This happened to me a couple of days ago. I saw it first hand so there is no hear-say involved.

I’m walking through the parking lot of my gym, when I look up at the tanning salon across the street. I love looking at this tanning salon because I like to look at people that are dumber than me.

I look up, expecting the usual stream of blond girls or thick-necked guys with bandannas around their heads. But I got more than I expected on this trip. I got an extra treat.

There was a girl, getting out of a cab to go tanning. She had to take a cab to get to the tanning salon. Um…

Shall we break this down? All righty.

1. We live in Arizona. More specifically, the desert part of Arizona. We are unintentionally tan for free, year round. The fact that people are so concerned with having the best tan possible that they will pay money for it, is just stupid in this city. It’s just stupid. The end.

2. Not only does this person pay to have a “special” tan, she also apparently has to pay to get to the place to pay to have a “special” tan.

3. How do you spell “desperate”? I think it’s “t a k i n g  a c a b t o t a n”.

I can’t make this stuff up.

You can thank Scottsdale for providing you with entertainment that kicks Kevin Fatterline’s fat ass.

So, have I ever mentioned that writing a blog is sometimes a total pain in the ass? It is.

Especially when I have nothing clever or snarky to say. And then I went to Wal-Mart.

walmartgreeter

First let me start by saying that if you are new to Durtbagz and have no idea what they are, we are funny novelty shirts and bags, designed with weird street signs. Go see for yourself, because that’s the last we’re talking about them for the rest of this post.

Second let me say that as a rule, I do not go to Wal-Mart. It takes something very out of the ordinary to walk through those doors, and something even worse to get me to drop coin in there.

This qualified for the second degree of extreme: A new litter box for the kittt-eh that lives in our house, that came with my husband, who I’ve been trying to pawn off on some other family for years, who runs when I try to pet her, and jumps on my head when she jumps on the bed to get away from the wiener dog that’s trying to hump her. Her nickname is  “Beat it, kitty”.

Obviously, not worthy of anything other than the Wal-Mart.

I haven’t been to Wal-Mart in a long, long time, so I was wondering if anything had changed. I don’t know why I ever thought that could happen.

The whole trip was typical, complete with situation that occured at the checkout counter.

Of course, the guy in front of my had his credit card denied. I was actually surprised, because this guy looked like me; seriously out of place. Because we were both wearing shoes and happened to be under the “grossly obese” weight designation.

Anyway, after running his card multiple times, he calls his bank, only to find out his account number was stolen at a restaurant he’d eaten at, two days before. They froze his account because of the insane amount of charges that happened in that amount of time.

I’m actually feeling sympathetic for this guy, because while this is going on , he’s apologizing to me about keeping me at Wal-Mart longer (I told you we were of the same mold). I didn’t realize my own hell was about to start.

So, he’s off dealing with the card, but my stuff can’t be rung up without a manager clearing out his order. While we’re waiting for that to happen, the cashier asks me if I have a cat. This is a great question:  the only thing I’m buying is a litter box.

I stop for a second, weighing the outcome if I say no. I say yes.

She proceeds to tell me about her dog that she had that just died. This goes on for a while, until she’s in tears. I’m thinking this can’t get much worse and that’s when I start hearing about her rabbits. How, they’re fixed but they still do it like…yeah. And this was HILARIOUS to her. I mean, what’s not hilarious about that?

Finally, the story ends with her one bunny looking like he’s wearing a tuxedo, so of course, she had to name him “Bandit”. Duh, what else do you name a bunny that looks like he’s wearing a tuxedo, complete with wingtips? Yes, she actually said that, “complete with wingtips.”

Thankfully, the fully neck-tatooed manager swung by and my gigantic litter box and I were free.

When I got home, said kitty was sitting there, staring at me. I told her, “You better love this thing, you have no idea what I just went through for you.” She raised her little kitty paw, flipped me off, and ran away. That means she likes it.

So, we’ve been out of town the last two weekends. Both places were full of exceptional people watching. Since I was saturated for two consecutive trips, I have a few tips to keep you looking Durtbagz-ish and not stupid-ish.

1. Men need sleeves. There’s just no way around it. Keep your sleeves, guys. Because without them, your pits are just crevasses of flab and hair.

2. Keds. Really? Keds? Here’s a rule of thumb: skinny shoes accentuate the cankles.

3. There’s only one thing worse than a perm and that’s a half grown-out perm.

4. Tucking your t-shirt into your jeans does not make it a dress shirt. There’s still no collar and I doubt number 8 (Old Dale) would have wanted his number that tight against your Bud belly, anyhow.

5. I can’t even believe we still have to cover this one: fanny packs. You people are got dam killing me with this. First off, if I told you I had a craptastic fashion accessory that was a) ugly, b) inefficient, and c) added weight to your belly, (since none of you actually wear fanny packs on your fanny), you’d never buy it. Yet, you did. Millions of you did.

Since that’s not really advice, it’s just me being snarky about people looking stupid, here’s some real advice.

Know someone who uses a belly-fanny pack? Buy them their very own Durtbag!!! They are proven to shave 9″ off of you waste and can carry 47 times the amount of a fanny pack.

Or, what about your neighbor who has managed to go sleeveless for the entire winter? Send him a subliminal message and put a Durtbagz t-shirt in his mailbox. Hairy, flabby pits GONE. Just like that.

The Keds I can do nothing about.

Ironman: True Durtbagz

That's not going to help his time.

That's not going to help his time.

Next weekend, one of our Durtbagz is competing in what is not his first Ironman competition, up in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. You da ho. I’m sorry, there’s no way I can say Idaho and not say that.

Not only is he doing a freaking Ironman, he’s also raising a butt load of money for my friend’s endowment at MD Anderson. See, Tim (said Durtbag) is also very good friends with Megan, the one we lost in January. He’s not just raising some cash to be able to say he donated, he’s raised $27,000. You read that right: $27,000 is what this guy has raised. Holy cannoli.

This isn’t the first race he’s done to raise money. Here’s a clip of Tim and Team Megan at the Hospital Hill run that happened in KC last weekend.

Anyway, in honor of Tim and his what he’s doing for Megan, and the fact that we finally got our Triathlon bags and shirts over at Durtbagz.com (woo hoo!), I thought we’d go back in time and look at where the Ironman competition came from.

People are crazy and have too much time on their hands so they decided to kill themselves and do an Ironman. The end.

Well, there’s a little more to it.

Back in the late 70’s, these people out in Hawai’i were having the debate of which type of athlete was in better shape: runners or swimmers. An article in Sports Illustrated ran about the same time, stating that Eddy Merckx, a cyclist, had the highest ever recorded rate of oxygen uptake and therefore, was the fittest athlete in the world.

To settle the debate, John Collins, a Naval Commander in Hawai’i suggested that they combine the three already existing long-distance races in each of the categories into one, and boo yeah, Ironman.

There a are a few more details to how the race became exactly the mileage it is today, but you get the point.

Collins was going to change the race into a relay event, but Sports Illustrated an another article, this time a 10 pager on the Ironman. After it ran, hundreds of people contacted Collins about participating and he ended up keeping it “as-is”.

Before the race, each participant received a 3-page flyer, covering the distances and routes. On the last page was handwritten, “Swim 2.4 miles! Bike 112 miles! Run 26.2 miles! Brag for the rest of your life“. It’s now their trademarked slogan.

Today, there are Ironman competitions all over the world, with the world championships still held in Hawai’i, every year.

The next natural step looks like it would be getting the competition into the Olympics. If I had to guess, I’d say that process would look a little something like this.

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