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Do you ever just wanna remake yourself? Like maybe you’ve always been that guy who wears crew-neck shirts, but you’re thinking, Hey, I could rock a V-neck. I know I could. It’s possible I could even make a deep V work.

Yeah. I feel that way all the time. My freshman year in college I thought I’d go for an entirely different persona. Instead of the ‘Liz’ I’d been going by in high school, or the childhood nickname I couldn’t seem to get rid of, ‘Mini’, I thought I’d introduce myself as Liza. Yes, Liza. Because, you know, people named Liza have to be sparkly, confident and awesome, obvs (this was before Ms. Minnelli kind of ruined the name by being primarily known for marrying gay men and forgetting to put pants on). Sadly, when it came right down to it, I just didn’t have the cojones to introduce myself that way. And there were too many people I went to high school with who also went to my college. They would have laughed their asses off at Liza.

Ultimately I’m glad that one didn’t work out. I have enough names as it is. It’s a total pain in the ass to remember what each person calls me already without throwing a Liza in the mix.

But the point is, I just love to remake my image. It probably doesn’t mean I’m actually any different, but I love to think that making a change to something I’ve always done one way or always worn one way, means a fresh slate for who I am. It proves I’m in control of my destiny. I’m whoever and whatever I choose to be. I still think I can be whatever I want when I grow up (that’s something that will probably never change).

So today I’m going here:

That’s right, I bought casual tennies. And even socks to go with! Anyone who’s ever known me will tell you I am a flipflop gal. In fact, I’m even more so a barefoot gal; the flipflops are just so they don’t throw me out of restaurants and 7-11s. This purchase of a casual, not-specific-to-athletics tennis shoe is a huge deal for me. But I think I can pull it off. It’s a new Me whose toes aren’t showing. Maybe the new Me’s a little tomboyish. Maybe she needs to run somewhere with no notice. Maybe she just sometimes gets cold feet. Or possibly she’s going to visit her friend in Colorado and thinks these would work for both wandering around Denver and whitewater rafting (without the adorable socks, of course).

(I know, I know, I’m about to get a flood of comments telling me my shoes are in no way appropriate for whitewater rafting, with or without the socks. When will you people get that I’m stubborn and I have to learn these things for myself?)

Whoever this new Me is, I’d like her to also be someone who doesn’t have a dozen tiny hand prints all over her previously clean sliding glass door:

But that would mean remaking myself into someone who does windows. I don’t think I’m ready for that extreme of a change. I’ll stick with footwear.

I’m writing this from a plane, because I’m all sophisticated and jet-settery like that. Today my day will consist of 4 plane flights and 9.5 hours of travel, only to end up exactly where I started. I’m delivering my older two sons to Dallas to visit their grandma and coming right home. Stop being so jealous of me, I know I have an awesome life.

The worst part about today isn’t the getting up at 4am or the waste of a work day. I actually have plenty to keep me occupied. I’ve already sent off an offer to a listing agent using the docusign app on the iPad, I have two seasons of Dexter to watch and the last third of The Book Thief to read. It’s kind of nice to have a day where I can do nothing but that.

No, the worst part of today is that I’m a nervous flyer so I will spend 90% of the day having this conversation with myself:

Nervous Me: Why does it feel like we’re going down? Is that normal, when the plane is all jiggly like that? That doesn’t seem normal. Does that guy across the aisle look nervous too? If he’s nervous, too, it probably means we’re crashing. Will they come on the intercom and tell us if we’re crashing or will I just be able to tell?

Logical Me: Stop freaking out; you’re being ridiculous. The plane isn’t just going to fall out of the sky. They build the wings so the air flowing over the top of the wings moves more quickly than the air under the wings, so the air underneath actually pushes up in an attempt to equalize the pressure and helps to hold the plane in the air. Remember? We learned about it at that aircraft field trip we chaperoned a few months ago. It’s called the Bertolli Principle.

Nervous Me: Bernoulli. Bertolli is the pasta. That’s right. So really take off and landing is the most dangerous part because that’s when you can stall and not have enough time to correct or pitch too far down, right? And then there would be the crashing and the dying.

Logical Me: Right… But that probably won’t happen. I think. Although it happened a lot on that flight simulator we did. Maybe we should ask the flight attendant if we can go talk to the pilot and find out how long he’s been doing this. Just to be on the safe side.

Nervous Me: That’s a good idea. Let’s do that.

I do have a new cool iPad accessory with me today to keep me cheerful, though.

It’s a protective sleeve I made yesterday. Because I had 4,375 other, more productive activities to complete. So instead of doing those I went to the fabric store, dug my sewing machine out from under the pile of crap that has collected on top of it in the last year and went all crafty on your ass.

I’m actually pretty pleased with how it turned out. When Jason got home last night he was all, “Where did you buy that; I love it!” and I’m only 60% sure he was saying that to kiss my ass because I was grouchy with him.

I would write out a tutorial for you on how you can make one yourself, but it would go like this:

Step 1 – Drive to the fabric store and pick out red and orange thread because you love red and orange. Get home and discover you already own every possible shade of red and orange thread because you love red and orange and that was a waste of $5.

Step 2 – Carefully measure iPad and calculate correct amount of fabric needed to make sleeve. Cut fabric. Hold fabric up to iPad and realize it’s totally the wrong size and not nearly big enough. Start over, this time without measuring and pretty much just guess on the size.

Etc.

And that’s not a particularly helpful tutorial. So instead, if there’s anyone reading this who’s interested in having a poppy decorated iPad sleeve made out of heavy duty Eco-friendly felt, leave a comment expressing said interest and I will pick a random winner to send one to (you know, if there’s more than one person interested). You can even pick between red and orange poppies and yellow and green poppies.

Did I mention I’m writing this from the plane right now? I <3 my iPad.

I’m having one of those weeks where I feel like I’m failing at everything. I’m trying to juggle 8430 things at once and I just don’t have enough hands (plus I’m a terrible juggler), so they’ve all rained down from the air to the floor around me and instead of picking them all up I’m about to just lay down and make snow angels with them. Does that give you a visual of my frame of mind right now or does it just make me sound like a lunatic? Because either way is probably appropriate.

So yeah. Instead of the real estatey rant I have percolating in my admittedly less-than-totally-sound brain, I’m just going to focus on the things that are currently making me feel cheerful. Thus, without further ado (unless ado has anything to do with lunch, then I would like more ado right now, please), here’s my list of Things That Make Me Happy Despite (Or Possibly Because Of) My Current Insanity:

1. My white-girl client who works in the corporate engineering world and emailed me this morning about a house she wants to see because it’s “phat with a PH.” And yes, I meant to put the quotes after the ‘with a PH’ part because she included that in her email. Even though she typed the word ‘phat’ so the ‘ph’ part is implied.

2. I lost the key to my mailbox over a week ago, so we haven’t gotten any new bills that are stressing me out because I’m not sure how I’m going to pay them in at least a week.

3. The house I showed yesterday that had signs in both of the bathrooms that said, “The owner has requested visitors not use the restroom.” My client noticed the homeowner also hid the toilet paper before she left to walk the dogs around the block to make sure we didn’t relieve ourselves in her toilet. I told my client it was her fault. She’s 5 months pregnant and she looks like a pee-er. She radiates the vibe of someone who if you let her in your house, she’s going to want to urinate. Can’t trust those preggos.

4. Despite the fact that I had two short sale deals that had been languishing like beached whales about to perish spontaneously sprout legs and attempt to eat me alive yesterday and this morning, I’ve managed to get them both coaxed back into the ocean where they belong and on track to close with little to no bodily injury sustained (except, of course to my sanity, which was questionable before).

5. In less than one week my tax appointment will be over. Between now and then there will probably be bloodshed and maybe even death, but at least I can take comfort in knowing my misery has an expiration date.

6. This guy was super cheerful when I drove past today:

No, not the guy on the freeway spraying weed killer. This guy:

See the portly surprised Cactus Man?

Apparently I unconsciously anthropomorphize stuff I see when I’m out driving and don’t realize it until they’ve become a part of my life and I start communicating with them out loud.

It’s not that weird.

From showings last week:

The lemon bars I could make with this tree. My muffin top is squealing with joy just thinking about it.

Oh Ceiling Fan, my darling, please don't cry. Someone will buy your house soon and you won't be so lonely anymore.

Not from showings. From my front yard last Friday at sunset:

Sometimes the clouds near my house catch fire and burn until the mountains are black. (See, I can be poetic, too. I might make this an emo-blog and start cutting myself.)

Real Estate Term of the Day (that I made up): The Magic Price

Definition: The perfect price on a house that allows it to outshine all of its competition. Once a house hits this price, all of the complaints potential buyers have made at higher price points suddenly vanish and it becomes the holy grail of homes. Agents will fight each other to get their offer in your hand. Buyers will waive appraisals. It’s like the sweet spot on a baseball bat; the type of pitch doesn’t matter, you know if the ball hits that spot, it’s going to be a home run.

Example: Dude, I just dropped the price on my Power Ranch listing $5K and we got 7 showings and 3 offers in two days… must’ve hit The Magic Price.

Can alternately be used as a verb: I just Magic-Priced that South Scottsdale house. It’ll go this weekend, I just know it.

Last week I hit The Magic Price on two of my listings. With listing #1, this produced a flurry of showings, then second showings, much talk of offers and then finally a contract! With listing #2, again it was raining buyers and phone calls and I got not one, but TWO contracts in the last 24 hours.

Consequently, things have been nutty around here. Twice this weekend my husband said, ‘Make it stop, please!’ to me about the constantly ringing phone. In our hilly North East Mesa neighborhood cell service is spotty at best, so I often give out our landline number to agents I’m working with when I know I’m going to be around the house for a few hours. This resulted in a veritable symphony of rings from my cell, the house phone, and the occasional beeping of a new text message received. To me it’s the sound of The Magic Price doing its job.