Nipped and Tucked

I recently decided that the blog needed a little face lift.

But in keeping with my broader feelings about plastic surgery, I’m pretty terrified of surgical change.  I didn’t want anything that was drastic or involved pain.  Or an unrecognizable result.  I guess what I wanted was just a little makeover — a fresher and better looking version of what I already had.

So here we are.  What do you think?  It’s a subtle change but it’s more me.  Bravo to Cynthia at NW Designs for understanding what I wanted.

I have a few other random nuggets for you, since my brain is awash in holiday weekend wine.

  • Since the whole of humanity — except for my family — seems to have a vacationy destination for Memorial Day, it seems that television programmers have saved all of their worst possible options for this weekend.  I mean, if you want to watch Throw Momma From the Train or Leprechaun 2, your time has come.  Or, you could watch Super Shark.  Not sold? Have a look at the compelling description below.

I mean, if this can be a movie, why can’t my life be a reality show?

  • I doubt that I’m the first one to bring it to your attention, but this marriage proposal is all over the Internet this week. If you thought you had a great “how I got engaged story,” I hate to tell you:  This guy one-upped you.  Big time.  If you need your faith in humanity restored, have a look.  And don’t even think about saying it’s cheesy — I call your bluff and know that you’re really grinning quietly in a corner while nobody is looking.  Or maybe I’m just projecting.


  • I also have a far less widely circulated video to show you.  Consider it an exclusive preview before it breaks worldwide.  If you’ve been here before, you know that I am not a “look at my cute kids on video” person.  I’m really not.  In fact, this might be a Fordeville first, so just indulge me in this isolated incident.  I know it’s 27 seconds of your life that you can’t get back, but it’s a holiday — and Moves Like Jagger: Pre-School Dance Mix, is great for the beach.
YouTube Preview Image

You have to respect how he really tries for those high notes.

Now that they have sealed the talent competition, we’re going to slather up in sunscream and conquer the bathing suit portion of the weekend.  In a pirate ship, naturally.


And tonight, if Super Shark does not have an encore presentation, I can only hope that Sharktopus will be on again.


Did you like this? Share it:

22 Things

You see a lot of lists flying around about things people have not done or would like to do in a lifetime. Bucket lists, I guess.

But this week, Mama Kat’s Pretty Much World Famous Writer’s Workshop asked us to list 22 Things We Have Done. And since I’ve been whining a lot about home renovations and hitting you all up for Breast Cancer Awareness Month support (it’s not too late, by the way), I decided this prompt was a nice light-hearted change.

Here’s the thing: I’m pretty unadventurous and cowardly in many respects, so you won’t see any high-flying, circus-like escapades here (unless you count giving birth to two very large babies).  But I can own up to the following:


–Got a Master’s Degree in Screenwriting.  During this time, I wrote two full-length screenplays and a TV pilot (none of which have ever seen the light of day).

–Agreed to be photographed naked.  Get your mind out of the gutter — it was for mandated medical purposes.  Yes, there are images of my pasty skin to thank for advances in melanoma studies.  You’re welcome.

–Pulled a bee stinger out of a screaming stranger’s eyelid with my fingernails.

–Went to the Super Bowl.  While seven months pregnant.  In a Biblical rain storm.  {Had to leave at half time — sorry.}

–Stood waist-high in the Missouri River to attempt fly fishing.

–Dated a man for five years, whom I had hoped to marry, without knowing he was gay.  Yes, really.  Perhaps more on that another day.

–Was told that I have a bad mouth. By a sailor.

–Danced to 70s disco music at a wedding with two legitimate, practicing friars. Robes and all.

–Lived in four of the five boroughs of New York City over a 16-year period. {Related: Had a lapsed driver’s license for almost a decade}

Said goodbye to one of my best friends way too soon.

–Stayed in an overwater bungalow in Tahiti.

–Attended a Congressional hearing.

–Had a blood clot found in my leg by a doctor the day before boarding a plane.

Got engaged in a bar. {OK, a wine bar.  Not a total dive.}

–Lost two grandparents within three weeks.

–Fell in love with a Spaniard while studying abroad.  And then spit on his shoes when he showed up in the US to tell me he knocked up another woman.  {Disclaimer:  I have not spit at anyone before or since that moment.  I have no idea what possessed me.}

–Had an ear infection treated by a local proctologist while on vacation.  Hey, you take what you can get on a Sunday in Italy.

–Missed most of my own bachelorette party after foolishly thinking those chocolate martinis at dinner were not that potent.

–Worked my first job in high school as a kitchen girl in The Holy Mackerel Seafood House.  The best seafood joint in town (OK, maybe the only one). I pulled live lobsters out of tanks and de-veined hundreds of shrimp every night.  I didn’t get many dates after work.

–Danced competitively for most of my childhood.  No, not like the kids on Dance Moms.  Well, except for the false eyelashes.

–Attended somewhere between 35 and 40 U2 shows from 1987 to 2011.  I lost count.  I hope to see 50 more.

–Gave my heart away to a pug named Señor.  He is my first child.  Even if he resents me for bringing home two human kids.


* * *

There you have it.  Pretty tame, right?

If you have a vote on which one of these I can expand into a full-length future blog post, I’m all ears.

Most importantly, this was a fun distraction from the plot to maim my General Contractor.  Which reminds me, I have to go research a few things.  {Let’s hope this does not result in #23 on a future “Things I’ve Done” list.}

Mama’s Losin’ It

Did you like this? Share it:

Crashing the Party

I totally owe you guys an update on the basement renovation.  And by “update,” I mean complete and total lack of any progress.  I also mean regression.  And anger.  And approaching the worst case scenario scale of the project.  Because I don’t remember signing up for the floors buckling in my living room — a full story above said basement work.  Or doors that don’t fit their frames anymore on the second floor of the house, accompanied by cracks in the wall.  Or a side of my house fully exposed to the elements.  Without heat.  As we approach the season of dropping temperatures.

But let’s save that for another day.  Who needs bad news going into the weekend?

Because, in the meantime, I’m really excited to have done my first guest posting gig.  Can you believe someone entrusted me to put content on their site ?

But Jennifer over at Take2Mommy did.  How nice is that?

Jennifer is a fabulous blogger and almost New Jersey-ite.  She has the dream gig of working from home, and writes about her adventures raising her two sons.  I’m crashing at her place today to talk about alternate career paths in my future and I’m really grateful that she let me stop by.

So please pop over and show her blog some love.  And pray for my basement renovation and sanity.  Because both are hanging by a thread.


Did you like this? Share it:

A Year of Oversharing

It’s birthday time for one of my babies.  Not the human ones, or even the dashing pug.  But this baby here, on your screen.

The Fordeville Diaries turns one.

In full disclosure, the blog’s birthday was yesterday, but it obviously didn’t feel like a celebratory day.  Plus, I’m all for extending any sort of birthday celebration past the technical date, so here we are.

It would be a little obnoxious to actually have a birthday cake for my blog.  So, instead, I plan to bury my head in a tub of my favorite ice cream tonight to celebrate properly.  After I raise a glass or two, naturally.

Over the course of the year, there have been 128 posts here.  Some were better than others.  If you want a little walk down Memory Lane of what people read the most, they are the Greatest Hits over on the right side of my site.

I wish I had a screen shot of the first version of my blog.  It was pretty pathetic.  I knew nothing except “Hey, lemme go out and get a WordPress account and see what I can figure out.”

Why?  Because I love to write.  And chat.  And tell stories.  And sometimes overshare.  Plus, I have no journal, so it would be nice to have a record of some sort of what goes on around here.  This also gives my husband an opportunity to call Bullshit on me when I inevitably exaggerate the truth at a later point in time.

So I gave blogging a go.  I didn’t know if anyone would read, except my husband — because I made him.  Then, friends, old and new, came to Fordeville to visit — mostly because I begged or blackmailed them.  Family was next — mostly because I guilted them into it.  But then — then — something funny started to happen.  People I never met came to visit.  OK, maybe some of them were looking for the Brazilian auto parts manufacturer named Fordeville.  But whatever.

And, whether people were reading or not, this became my outlet.  My non-paying job to which I’ve held myself accountable.  My other baby.  I tell it most of my secrets, I protect it fiercely and I try to nurture and grow it as much as I can.  I spend a lot of time here behind my keyboard, and I enjoy the hell out of it.

I learned a ton in a year.  It was a whole new world.  Things like Search Engine Optimization, and the addictive qualities of Twitter and Instagram.  But also that Blogland is a real and vibrant place with some amazing people.  And, yes, a few strange ones too.  Just like real life.

The best part is that you guys read it.  And some of you even come back.  A lot.  Even though I have never met some readers in person, I know a lot about you.  Others, I’ve been lucky to meet at blog events.  Even after that, they still came back here to read more.  That may be the greatest mystery of all.

And some of you even comment.  The comments are Blogging Gold.  Seriously.  Every single one is like a little present that says “Oh, look — there is somebody out there who pretends to give a rat’s ass about your stupid basement renovation, your borderline neuroses and your suburban tales of woe.”  So, if you take the time to come here and read, thank you so much.  Truly.  And if you take more time to comment, well, you only have yourself to blame that I keep writing — because you are an enabler.  And I love you for it.

So.  Here’s to the blog’s first birthday.  It has been a true slice of life.  In no particular order:  I left my job.  I renovated my house.  I tackled suburbia.  I drank wine.  I called my husband a hoarder.  I obsessed about a bunch of stupid shit.  I traveled.  I drank wine.  I went mental over a U2 show.  I cleaned up puke all over the East Coast {see “I traveled”}.  I cursed a lot.  I drank wine.  I watched my kids grow a year older.  And I felt my heart split in half when I lost one of my very best friends.

There’s much more to come.  After all, the basement is still torn apart.  The kids are off to pre-school.  I’m still drinking wine.  And I’m *this close* to going on a kids-free weekend trip.  So, if you’ll have me, I’d like to stick around and keep you all posted.  Because I have a lot more to learn and I feel like I’m just getting started.

In the meantime, let me do something for you other than give you my huge thanks:  If you need an excuse to eat a bowl of ice cream tonight, do it for the Fordeville Birthday Bash.  Go ahead and have another scoop.  Don’t forget the chocolate syrup.

And the celebratory drink(s).


Did you like this? Share it:

A Cake, A Guest and A List

Happy Friday, everyone!

I am knee-deep in preparations for this Sunday, which is both Easter and my son’s fourth birthday.  For this combination of  events, I will be hosting 30 people at my house.  In full disclosure, this stresses me out and makes me an unlikeable, certifiable maniac for the other poor souls who live with me here in Fordeville. 

Adding to my stress is the seemingly minor request made by the birthday boy.  Ever attentive to specifics, he has asked for not just a dinosaur cake, but a green stegosaurus cake with red plates on its back.  Righto.  Good thing I happen to have that exact configuration handy. 

As if. 

I can cook — but I’m not what I’d call a stellar baker or cake decorator.  So, amidst the various other preparations for Sunday, I’ll be somewhere between laughing at myself and throwing a cake pan against the wall within the next 48 hours.  My money is on the latter. 

I can’t promise any photos of the final product, but let me take a moment to share two photos of what my cake will not remotely resemble.  I will also go through this exercise with my son tomorrow, just to manage his expectations.

Cake I Can’t Make #1:  This is way out of my league on so many levels.  Cole is a lucky boy to have someone create this for him.  Cole does not live here. {photo:}


Cake I Can’t Make #2:  A tad more realistic but still — repeat after me — not going to happen.  See that priceless look of joy on this child’s face?  How sweet.  If you get a final cake photo from me, it will likely include a look on my son’s face of utter confusion and resentment because his cake looks like a chihuahua.  Or a generic orb.  {photo:}


This might be a good segue to tell you about my guest post today over at Theta Mom, where I discuss my leap from corporate minion to stay at home mom.  It occurs to me that, had I made this transition years ago, I may not be in this specific state of panic over said stegosaurus cake.  Anyway.  I’m really grateful to have contributed this guest post — and if you’ve been around for a while, you know I think so highly of the Theta Mom community.  So, please, check it out.

And I can’t leave you for the weekend without updating you on the intense town pool wait list scenario.  Thanks to everyone for all of the support during this trying time (and also for the additional conniving suggestions on how to climb the list — you guys are a crafty bunch).  I’m pleased to report that I did not have to resort to many of my proposed, borderline unethical tactics to secure a spot.  It appears that enough people died, went bankrupt, moved away or suffered from abject social alienation to relinquish their memberships to my advantage.  Score.

Here’s how the big news went down.

My husband showed up in the family room waving an envelope in his hands the other night.  I was on glass number two or three of red wine after a long day of chasing down the stegosaurus cake pan.  The envelope, with its return address from the town’s Recreation Office, produced total anxiety; I swear, we both felt like it was a college admissions flashback.

Me:  “It’s so soon.  I don’t know if that’s good or bad.  I’m thinking good, especially after the Caddyshack Baby Ruth story I told at the pre-school bake sale to scare them off.  I had a prime audience.”

Him:  “Yeah, but the envelope is not fat.  Remember with college admissions, the fatter the envelope, the better.”

Me:  “Crap.  You might be right.  But do colleges even send letters by mail now?  It’s probably all electronic.  Did you know there’s a writing section on the SATs and now and the scoring system is different?”

Him:  “What are you talking about?”

Me:  “Why couldn’t they have the writing section when I was in high school?  I would have fared so much better.  My whole life could have been different.”

Him:  “How many glasses of wine did you have?  Open the fucking envelope.”

And then.

I love that they are so aware of the bullshit tension they’ve created, they actually positioned the letter to open exactly as I photographed it above — leading with a big, dorky Congratulations.  Like I passed some character screen (we all know that would have been dicey at best) or a written exam. 

But whatever.  I’m in.  I’m #251 no more.

Let the summer begin!  As soon as I figure out how to make this stegosaurus cake.

Did you like this? Share it:

A Day of Yay



Big days and great days don’t always go hand in hand.  But today, they do.

A lot is happening this week.  Yesterday, I wrote about this being my last week of work and making the decision, after many years and countless conference calls, to stay at home with my kids.  So, in order to avoid the awkward sentimentality of goodbye workplace tears, I am procrastinating and packing up my office into boxes as you read this.  Hopefully, my fabulous brown heels will appear somewhere in the mess and make it home with me.  Along with my favorite pen — which magically makes my handwriting not resemble that of a serial killer.  Oh, and I need to find the Post It notes that say “You’re not the boss of me…Oh wait, yes you are.”

They can keep the rest.

And, at the risk of sounding like a Ginsu Knives infomercial…Wait, there’s more!

Today, in addition to packing in corporate life, I’m the Featured Blogger over at Theta Mom, which is a huge honor.

When I first started blogging about seven months ago, Theta Mom was one of the first sites I came across to find a fabulous cross-section of women writing about their lives.  It’s an amazing resource and community, and one where I continue to learn new tricks of the trade on a regular basis.  If you’ve never checked it out, please do – stat!

Heather, the Head Theta Mom, really tapped into something tremendously valuable and continues to evolve and build it every day.  I’m so grateful to her for the tools she has provided, and for featuring my blog today.  So, if you’re new here via Theta Mom, welcome!  And thanks so much for stopping by. 

That’s a lot of excitement for one day.  You can see how it’s like my birthday and Christmas, all at once.  And maybe Arbor Day too, because that has always been underappreciated.

So grab a coffee, a cocktail, a fizzy water (maybe even with lemon) – pick your poison – and toast a Day of Yay over in Fordeville.

And if you have any extra packing tape, send it my way.

Did you like this? Share it:

False Advertising

I did a little costume change here on the site — what do you think?

I was ready for a new design and something more customizable.  Something more me.  I thought.  Until my husband pointed out the following, upon seeing the new look.

“It’s really nice, but it doesn’t reflect your writing style.”

“It’s muted and elegant — so what the hell are you talking ab–   Oh.”


“See what I mean?”


“Don’t get me wrong.  I like it — it looks nice.”

“Whatever.  It’s going to have to represent irony or something.  Because an impatient and salty looking site is not going to be easy on the eyes.”

“Uh, OK.  Do you want red or white with dinner?”


I hate to say this — and I don’t often do it in writing, aka on permanent record — but he’s kind of right.  I guess my eyes go after things much prettier than my mouth expresses. 

Now it’s like false advertising.  Bait and switch.  A sucker punch.

New visitor:  “Oh, look at the pretty Fordeville site.  I bet she talks about good manners, sunshine and folding napkins into swans.”

{Crickets, followed by site exit}

So maybe it’s not entirely reflective of my writing, but that’s OK.  Too much me might be overkill.  And I love the makeover.  Hats off to Cynthia at NW Designs for sticking with me while I tortured her with questions about shades of blue, degrees of damask and social media plug-ins. 

I have some fun up my sleeve this week — so this was a good way to kick things off.  Hope you like the elegant and muted side of Fordeville as much as I do.

But no promises to make it seep over into my writing.  That will likely stay in the salty and impatient camp.

{Oh, and if you’re still seeing the old site for some reason, refresh your page.  If that doesn’t work, please tell me.  And then forget everything I just said in this post.}

Did you like this? Share it:

Sand, Meet Toes

It’s finally here.  Vacation.

And while my kind relatives stay at our house to hang with the pug, we will be out in the sun.  Well, covered in hats, sensible sleeves and SPF 5,000 (residents of Fordeville tend to burn under a 50-watt bulb, so I take no chances — the look is sort of Beekeeper Chic). 

Anyway, the point is this:  We’re outta here, people.

I have no doubt that there will be many an entertaining nugget to share from vacationland, but I’ll do so afterwards.  Because I’m taking a week off from life.  That means from work.  From laundry and household upkeep.  From home renovation and decorating projects.  From everything but my family.  Oh, and not from cocktails.  OK, and probably not from The Twitter, because, well, I just can’t.  And it’s too much cruel fun to tweet real-time photos of my adventures (cue mass exodus of followers).  

So, where does this leave my six loyal readers?  Lest we fear the Earth will stand still on its axis without any new content (as if), I have lined up some fabulous guest bloggers to entertain you in my absence.  Friends of Fordeville, if you will.

My intention was to really span different types of writers here.  But they have two things in common:  Great writing and wit extraordinaire.  They consist of a newbie to the blogosphere, a broadcast journalist, a beer brewing aficionado and a seasoned parenting/mom blogger.  It’s a little like an updated line-up of this familiar crew. 

One of them even took me to a prom in 1989.  I won’t tell you which one — yet.  But it wasn’t the mom blogger. 

These fabulous folks have agreed to address some very critical issues in my absence.  Not Egypt.  Or malaria.  Or temporary custody of Charlie Sheen.  Or even the mastery of IKEA assembly instructions.

No, I’ve asked them to give serious thought to two questions — one meant to optimize my vacation, and the other meant to ease my transition back into real life when I come home. Because it’s all about me. Well, at least in this domain that I pay for.    

1)  What is your must-have vacation cocktail?   

2)  What show *must* I record on the DVR while I’m away?  

I told you, it’s heavy duty stuff. Because my life is, for better or worse, often reduced to a nice drink and some TV at the end of a long day. So I may as well operate in style and expand my horizons beyond a glass of Sauvignon Blanc and Keeping Up With the Kardashians PBS. 

So please welcome my bloggy friends while I’m gone. And wish me luck on the flight with The Two Toddlers Who Never Sit Still.

Did you like this? Share it:

Define Stylish

Well, folks, in the spirit of the Hollywood awards season, let us add a new statue to the pile.  This morning I received an email from Margaret Reyes Dempsey {Conjuring My Muse} saying that she had named me a recipient of The Stylish Blogger Award. 

Clearly, Margaret has never met me in person as she thinks about the term “stylish.”  Today, for instance, I am rocking a ponytail and jeans.  Again.  But I remain flattered since she is a fabulous writer. 

Since this is the first — and very likely, the last — blog award of my life, I will of course abide by the award rules, which are as follows:

  • Present seven things about yourself
  • Name about a half dozen bloggers you think deserve the award
  • Contact those people
  • Create a link back to the person who gave you the honor

So here are seven things about me:

1.  I still tie my shoes with two loops (aka Bunny Ears).  I can do it the adult way but only if forced to prove it.  And then I have to double-knot to make it hold.

2.  I become nervous if I hear more than one song in a row by the same artist on the radio — as in, I fear that artist has died and mass tributes are ensuing.  If this happens with U2 songs, I am especially panicked.  Unless it’s Two for Tuesday or time for Perfect Album Side — then my mind is put at ease. 

3.  I know all of the words to “American Pie” and feel that you should too.  If I could carry a tune, it would be my karaoke song.

4.  I wink involuntarily.  It’s not a tic but just something I do out of endearment without realizing it.  This has caused more than one instance of confusion in the workplace.  But no litigation — yet.

5.  I love casinos.  I’m not a high roller but could be very happy spending hours at a $5 roulette table.  Remember, always cover the zeroes.

6.  I have a Master’s Degree in Screenwriting.  See where that got me.  If you can’t tell, I’ll spell it out for you:  I sold out to The Man doing corporate PR so that I could repay my related student loans in perpetuity.  As a result, I have no time to write screenplays, or even go to the movies.  On a related note, my favorite film is Annie Hall.  And, in what some consider a criminal act, I saw Star Wars only once, in the theater, and never saw the rest of the series.  Also, I categorically don’t watch epics of any kind.  Or anything with Keanu Reeves.

7.  My driver’s license misrepresents me.  See, my mother felt that I had hazel eyes growing up (they changed a lot) and insisted I put that on my original driver’s license application.  They are actually green — much more so as I’ve gotten older — but I cannot get the New Jersey DMV to ever change it.  To this day, it gets under my skin.  You can change your name, your address, even which organs you’ll donate — but not your eye color.  My eyes are green, damn it.

On to the passing of the baton and naming of names for The Stylish Blogger Award in my (non-hazel) eyes.  Some of these folks are in another league and probably have received bona fide, cash-oriented prizes, and therefore will probably miss the email I sent about my prestigious designation of their work, because it’s in their Spam folder.  But I played by the rules — here they are.

Kim Holcomb.  People:  This is a whip-smart woman and her star continues to rise.  She knows more than a little something about everything and says it exceedingly well.  She is a broadcast journalist in Seattle, a political junkie, pop culture maven and overall go-to gal.  A must-read.

Ed Marsh.  Beer purveyor.  Technical writer.  Ham aficionado.  Racing loyalist.  Foodie.  Tweeter extraordinaire.  You’ll learn something, I promise.

Constitution Lane.  A lovely collection of recipes, tales, obsessions (in a good way), travels and reading lists.  She does all of the things I wish I had time for and recaps them so nicely that I don’t have to do them after all.

Mommy Needs a Vacation.  I’m a mom and so I read a lot of mom blogs.  There are bazillions of them.  But Rachel’s resonated with me right away — not just because, I, too, need a vacation and love wine as much as she does — but because she’s a straight shooter, very relatable and an overall hoot. 

Wendi Aarons.  So funny, I nearly pee.  Every time.  Absolutely top-notch writing with a sharp edge.  Before you die, you must read her open letter to Procter & Gamble that was published on the McSweeney’s site.  I will say no more and let you enjoy it for yourself.

There you have it.  Tucked nicely between the Screen Actors Guild Awards and the Oscars, that about wraps up this edition of The Stylish Blogger Awards.  And we didn’t even get cut off by the music.

I have to head over to the after party now, which consists of a third glass of red on my family room couch while checking out my DVR archives for the week.  A more stylish blogger, you’d be hard-pressed to find.

Did you like this? Share it:

The Name Game

I am thinking of doing something rash and crazy to kick off 2011.  No, I have not decided to embrace prime numbers.   But I am going to get my own domain name and get out from under the WordPress URL.  They will still host me but I want to lose the clunky website address.

No problem, right?  Instead of, you would simply go to  How easy and freeing.

Go ahead, type in the latter to test it out.

Did you go?  No, really — do it.

Yeah.  You see my problem.  I don’t want to sell discount auto parts in Brazil.  No offense to the fine proprietors of The Other Fordeville, or La Otra Fordeville.  Urgh.  And they went ahead and bought both the .com and .net.  And, at the risk of stating the obvious, we all know I’m no respectable .org. 

So I need a new name.  Can you help me?

I want to stay true to Fordeville in some respect — here are some initial ideas:

Or should I cut Fordeville loose altogether and start with something fresh?  I don’t know about that — it would have to be pretty compelling but I’m open to suggestions.  This is worse than naming  my kids. 

I’m no marketing powerhouse.  Clearly.  I’m lucky I got this far with posting shit that six people read from time to time.  But, I know that some of you have a certain branding Je Ne Sais Quoi (or, as our Fordeville Brazil branch may say, “Eu não sei o quê”) — let’s dust it off for the good of my itty blog.  Help a girl out. 

To inspire you, let me share some of’s suggestions after they confirmed for me that the Fordeville Brazil guys essentially own me.  My two favorites were (as in, no charge, or I’m being held in a Cambodian prison?) and, for no intuitive reason whatsoever,  WTF?  I’m now in the sales business, apparently.  Let me get that widget up and running on the site asap, homeowners, so you don’t miss out on the January special.

So, look, I know you can do better.  And here’s your chance to knock that “do good for others” resolution off your list way early in the year.  In the spirit of full disclosure, I have no prize to give you for a winning suggestion, other than my gratitude and, if you consider my meager readership to be public recognition, even better.  I may be able to land you an internship at the Fordeville Auto Parts place in Brazil too, but no promises.

Thanks, guys.  Let me see what you’ve got.

Did you like this? Share it: