All posts by


When I read the sales pitch for starting your own blog, I was super impressed by the potential to earn 6 figures.  Quit my job and become another Internet success story, the 21st century American dream. Sign me up, the sooner the better.

Shortly after jumping in impulsively, I realized you have to have valuable information to sell your blog.  Something like how to find a good handyman.  Forget it, never gonna happen.  Or a how-to website on how to do the stuff you will never find a handyman to do.  Or something easier like how to lose 50 lbs., marry a rich and handsome man, or win the lottery.  I got nothin’.

Obviously I can’t get rich selling my art…hence the term “starving artist”.  Maybe I could write a blog about being happy, without a handyman, rich/attractive spouse, millions in lottery winnings, and being a little on the plus size.  I could rename my blog The Happy Starving Artist, The Happy Loser, Mundane and Proud of It???

By the way…I did finally find a handyman. On Angie’s List (a 6 figure website).    He cut through two of my floor joists.  Now my floor feels jiggly. I am afraid of falling through the floor, the need to lose 50 lbs has become a urgent need.    Then he bent the crap out of my air exchange dealy (OK, maybe that is not a real word…HECK this ain’t scrabble leave me alone spell check).  Now I need another handyman to check out the work this guy did and maybe fix it.  But at least the air conditioner repair people can get under my house now.  YES that is right no central air.  The weather man is saying things on the forecast about heat dome.  You want heat dome?  Come to my house I am living under my own personal heat dome.  No central air all summer long. BUMMER  You would think the pounds would melt off, walking into my own personal sauna each evening…but no.  Just hot and plus-sized.  Several people have asked, “Have you ever thought about selling your house?”  OR maybe you should move.  Obviously, they are reality based individuals that can see finding a handyman is highly unlikely.   Apparently realtors are much more accessible.

I’ll bet realtors make 6 figures.

At least my house is a delightful shade of pink.


RIP Cardinals


This hand towel was given to me by the cardinal killer’s owner.  I thought it was pretty ironic, considering her cats have made my yard a no-fly zone for cardinals.  Perhaps she should have embroidered RIP below the cardinal.  Maybe since I wouldn’t be seeing any live cardinals, she gave this to me in remembrance of cardinals.  Maybe there were no hand towels embellished with cats.  Maybe she kept the cat hand towels for herself.

She would probably be disappointed to see I am using the Cardinal Christmas towels in July.   Joy to the World, Peace on Earth…unless you are a cardinal.

In Your Face Cat Loving Handyman

So, I was thinking…is it really easier to lose 50 lbs. than to find a handyman?  Would it be easier for a woman to find a handyman if she lost 50 lbs.? Would men beg to repair my wood trim, if I were trim?

If I publically vow to lose 50 lbs. in front of the whole wide world, then the pressure is on…no turning back it has to happen.  Like Oprah, she bought stock in Weight Watchers, she’s on TV talking about this is her year – she is going to lose weight.  SHE HAS TO DO THIS OR DISAPPEAR FOREVER.  Imagine a world without Oprah.

I particularly like the commercial where she says, “I’m on Weight Watchers and I eat bread everyday.”  First off, high five Oprah, you and I the only two women in America eating gluten.  Hey, good thing she bought stock in Weight Watchers instead of Sarah Lee.  Secondly, she knows when she says bread, we picture a big yeasty hot roll with butter oozing out the sides. (yes, sign us up)  Forget about it, she is talking about a piece of dry toast with a crappy hard boiled egg on top.  Unless her whole meal is the hot roll and some zero point lettuce. I know all about point penalties for the good stuff.

Yep, I did Weight Watchers.  It does work.  But I need cookies.  For example you eat a 100 calorie cookie on a 1200 calorie diet, that is 1/12 of your food for the day.  You eat a cookie on WW, that will set you back about 1/5 of your food allowance for the day.  I NEED COOKIES!!!! Cookies make me happy.  Points- WW’s subtle way of saying you are on a diet, what the heck are you doing eating an Oreo, eat a 0 point apple.

Maybe, I need to abstain from cookies.  Perhaps I could get a sponsor, call them up when I walk by a group of Girl Scouts hawking cookies.  Confess my weakness for cookies at a support group that promises anonymity.  Engage in other activities to distract me from cookies cravings.  Like blogging about cookies?

I can do this.  In your face elusive handyman!  I am losing 50 lbs., marrying a rich attractive man, and winning the lottery.  I DON’T NEED YOU ANYMORE!!!  Where ever you are…probably out fixing some cookie-deprived-size 5-cat loving-slinky gal’s porch.


Maybe I Do Need Knives


If you know me, you know one thing missing in my kitchen is knives.  Maybe, it is an irrational fear I have.  Watching those Ginseng knife commercials with the knife slicing through the can.  Well, geez, I don’t want to cut my arm off.  Then those stupid Freddie Kruger type movies.  Imagine Freddie busts into my house one night…he says “DARN” (he says it really scary), I forgot to bring a knife.  In my drawer he is going to find some weird potato peeler, a dull paring knife, a an assortment of steak knives (don’t you feel safer already?).  BUT if I had the chef’s set of knives he would be deciding between the meat cleaver or butcher’s knife.  Of course it would be a pretty funny movie if he were trying to off someone with a pizza cutter (that’s what would happen if they were making the movie at my place).

Anyway, I had to use a bread knife that Miechelle (stop it spell check, I am pretty sure that is how she spells her name) left behind at my house.  One carefully buried in a drawer…so that I would feel safer. IMG_2952

My slice came out bigger than I wanted.  So, I was forced to eat this huge piece of watermelon.  Now I feel like a human water balloon.  If you dropped me off the top of my house, more than likely I would explode.   Which is how knifeless Freddie would probably have to kill me.  Yes, Freddie and I, masters of improvisation.  IMG_2953

The Rules for Handymen

There are many things easier than finding a good HANDYMAN or even a mediocre handyman.  For instance, losing 50 lbs., winning the lottery, or finding a husband that is both rich and attractive, all a piece of cake in comparison.

No kidding, what is with these guys?

I think there must be a book called, “The Rules for Handymen.”

The Table of Contents would read:

  1.  Never give anything away for free-no one is going to buy the cow…
  2. When a prospect calls, always be the first to hang up.  Leave them wanting more.
  3. Never return a call immediately, don’t appear too eager.
  4. Better yet, leave a few calls unreturned.
  5. Say things like, “I sent you an email, didn’t you get it?”  You don’t want the prospect to think you are totally disinterested.
  6. When you do agree to a first meeting be a little late.  You want to appear busy and in demand.
  7. Brag a little about your past jobs, let the prospect know you are worth waiting for…
  8. Talk about your other clients, let the prospect know there are plenty of other fish in the sea.

Yeah, I think you are getting the picture…the handyman has you at his mercy.  He knows there is no way you are ever going to be able to hammer that stupid nail in without it getting all bendy.  He can sense that welding a power saw is one of your phobias.

Here are the mistakes you (OK I) make, thus letting the handyman know you are needy, really needy, verging on desperation.

  1.  You leave a thousand messages on his answering machine.
  2. You say, “I haven’t heard back from you, did you lose my number?”
  3. You cyberstalk his social media, trying to figure out what he has been up to, since he hasn’t been up to YOUR house.
  4. You complement his work, hoping that you will score points by showing admiration.
  5. You give him all of your contact numbers and emails; then include a few family and friends’ numbers that will always know where to find you.
  6. You call him.  He says, “I thought by now you probably found someone else.”  You assure him there is no one else.
  7. He says there are other jobs ahead of yours, but you are on the list.  You gush and express how happy you are to be included on his list (silently hoping it is a short list…that there really is a list…thinking of the list you are putting him on).
  8. You join Angie’s List hoping an online service will help you find what you are looking for…

Honestly, I did not even make this stuff up.  Like every single American woman, I fantasize about someday having my gutters replaced, windows repaired, leaky roof fixed…Someday, not today or tomorrow, but someday.

Don’t even get me started on my heat and air man…we definitely have a love/hate relationship.  I suspect he is a cat lover.

The Cardinal Murderer


This is the cat I was talking about, you know the cardinal murderer.  See how it looks at me with its calculating, steely, cold blue eyes.  You can tell she barely tolerates me.  I’ll bet a cat wrote the book, “The Borrowers”.  Thank goodness mice-sized people are only fictitious, otherwise I would have joined the others in the killing field.

I know some of you probably think the cardinal had it coming and it’s mother should have been watching it closer. However, I am on the on the cardinal’s side.

Reposted from Facebook:

I hear an owl outside, at first it is a scary noise. Then I wonder if owls eat skunks. Suddenly the owl is my friend. I am imagining a whole wildlife rock paper scissor game. Cats play a big part in this game, since I am always coming home and stepping over the corpses of their prey. Once beautiful cardinals, weird looking creatures, perhaps these are moles; all losers in the rock paper scissor scheme of things. I think I hate cats. They seem to have claimed my yard as their domain. When I come home they look at me with contempt and often glare at me. The worst is when I come home late…it is never good when something jumps out at you behind a flower pot. I wonder if owls eat cats (:
If you have a cat, or a houseful of cats, or have always wanted a houseful of cats; sorry no offense (but really what the *#!& are you thinking). The only thing that could redeem the cat is if they ate skunks. Then I could forgive their cutting looks.

Don’t Buy Any Green Bananas

I remember an old guy at my church once said he wouldn’t be buying any green bananas.   Have you heard that before?  Apparently it is something old people say when they think their days are numbered.

My problem is perishables expire before I do.  Which is a VERY good thing, not really a problem at all actually.  Thank GOD I am out living the perishables.  Anyway I buy milk that doesn’t expire for a couple of months, so I don’t have to waste perfectly good milk.  The longevity of milk is a mystery to me, how does a carton of milk even last 2 months?  Some of the milk is not even in the refrigerator anymore, freaky.

I have recently added another criteria to my milk purchasing.  When loading my groceries into the car, I picked up one of those flimsy plastic bags stuffed with 2 cartons of milk.  Of course the bag broke and the milk went crashing down to the pavement.  Causing me to use a PG-13 expletive (there were extenuating circumstances, I really like milk).  I was certain I would look down and see milk streaming out of the cartons.  No leaks, amazing.  One of the cartons had a crushed corner and the other had flattened on one side, no leaks.  I am sure environmentalist everywhere hate this type of durable packaging.  Me, I am selfishly relieved that my milk has survived plummeting to the ground.  My new favorite milk, Darigold, long expiration dates and cartons that can be slammed to the ground without rupturing.  Can you imagine that milk commercial, a woman in the parking lot slamming milk cartons on the ground. Other milks unable to withstand the fall.  Oh yes, buy this milk, never again lose a carton of milk due to incompetent bagging.


Home Sweet Home

My house is a lot like the ugly child that only a mother could love.  Only people wouldn’t actually tell you your CHILD was ugly right?  But people have no problem expressing an opinion about your house, or at least my house.  My little Charlie Brown Christmas tree house, it just needs a little love right?  OK maybe a lotta love.

What people have said over the years…

When I got a divorce:  “You got the house?  You must have had a really bad lawyer.”  I have to admit, it was hard keeping a straight face when my lawyer called referred to the house and assets as the marital estate.

At a party:  “So where do you live?”….”Really, we used to live there.  I hated that house, I was so glad to finally move.”  You know how later that night you come up with a witty response to a tactless remark?  Year later, I still got nothing.  I am forever at the party stunned and speechless.

Another time when talking to a friend about working on my house. She says, “Well, you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.”

What does that even mean?  I picture a medieval merchant selling counterfeit purses…hey, I have something special in the back.  The buyer inspects the goods and retorts, ” You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear”.  The phrase miraculously becomes wildly popular without the benefit of social media.  Centuries later uninspired people mindlessly continue to use this phrase. (yes, finally a comeback)

Maybe, I should have called my blog the sow’s ear.



Yesterday on the way to yet another Pet Scan I was thinking…I would have superpowers by now if I were a Marvel Comic.  When you are injected with a substance that has a half-life, you should at least be left with some cool quirk, like the ability to glow in the dark.

I have had loads of chemicals injected into my body. When they hand you a hazmat kit containing goggles, gloves, and a gown…followed by instructions on how to deal with a leak in the tube running from the pump to your body.  Well, by the time they finish you think it would be easier to get a match and burn the house down, just to be safe.

I asked how often does that really happen.  Apparently there was an incident with a cat….of course.  Probably premeditated.  No doubt the cat has superpowers.


My Two Cents?

A penny for your thoughts…my two cents worth?  Apparently those expressions were “coined” before the concept of intellectual property.  Anyway, left to my own devices on a 3 day weekend, I decide I need my own personal blog.  And here I am…feeling a little guilty actually.  I should be cleaning, involved in some massive DIY project, on a trip involving water sports, visiting grave sites, after all three day weekends are few and far between.  Yet here I am, after hours of laboriously building my page, sharing my intellectual property with the WORLD…yes the WHOLE WIDE WORLD.  On top of all of that, I had been sensibly working toward paying off my credit card. Yet instead of making a sizable payment here I am foolishly, plunking down some plastic to finance my blogging whim, not exactly getting the Dave Ramsey seal of approval there.

Anyway, welcome to my blog.