Chapter 1 – WTF was I thinking?
Chapter 2 – Shit always breaks, get over it.
Chapter 3 – My cute little asses are furry murdering midgets 
Chapter 4 – This turkey isn’t leaving.  A field guide to terding. 
Chapter 5 – I’m happy to help anytime, provided I can stare at your ass.
Chapter 6 – Are you ready to give up yet?
Chapter 7 – Fifty Shades of Strays, because you will die alone with too many cats
Chapter 8 – Suicidal Deer – gutting game for the squeamish
Chapter 9 – OMG, are you f*cking kidding me? Making peace with bad weather. 
Chapter 10 – Well pumps only break in two feet of snow.
Chapter 11 – Life is like a layup, you never run enough in the field until you’ve spent some time locked up in the barn.
Chapter 12 – If pipes break, it will happen when you are not home.
Chapter 13 – Great risk = great reward
Chapter 14 – Or great failure, one of the two
Chapter 15 – Hard work and dedication are not hot.
Chapter 16 – How not to hoist a 26ft ladder over a 20ft beam alone.
Chapter 17 – How to hoist a 26ft ladder over a 20ft beam alone.
Chapter 18 – Chainsaws can maim and kill.
Chapter 19 – You can’t wait forever for a saw-sitter.
Chapter 20 – How to rent a husband without pissing off his wife.
Chapter 21 – You can make friends with the wood stove, but dad will always want the splitter back before you are done with it.
Chapter 22 – You really can learn to fix anything if you are not too concerned with appearances
Chapter 23 – Anyone not gratified by challenge, hard work and outright impossibilities will be sure you are warped or weird or both.
Chapter 24 – You are.
Chapter 25 – Nights spent in, drinking and counting your cats are safer than nights out. Save your effort.
Chapter 26 – Always delete your internet search history, you never know when the cats might finally succeed in killing you.  
Chapter 27 – Never watch lifetime channel while you are drinking alone.
Chapter 28 – WTF was I thinking?  Obviously, I was thinking I could do anything I might have to.  So far, I’m still doing it. 

Appendix A – Sex toys, a comprehensive review
Appendix B – A beginner’s guide to your tool box
Appendix C – Drywall can be patched right, how the hole ended up in the wall is not important
Appendix D – A girl’s guide to nails, screws, nuts and bolts. Out of a 1,000 choices, you can get by on a farm with 10 or so.
Appendix E – Tools not to buy
Appendix F – Tools to buy.
Appendix G – A field guide to poisonous trees and plants. If it can kill them, your pets will eat it.
Appendix H – Sweeping the Chimney, it helps to whistle while you work.
Appendix I – Plumbing terminology simplified. Because WTF?
Appendix J – Electricity, when in doubt, shut off ALL the breakers.

I may not be a fairy tale princess
BUT

I know dedication. I know love. I know tolerance. I know loyalty. I know hard work. I know big reward. I know what it means to give yourself to something one hundred and ten percent. I understand I get no vacation days, no sick time, no benefits most days beyond the wind in my hair and the grass under my feet. I’ve slept in a cold barn three winter nights in a row to nurse a sick horse with nothing but a portable heater, a straw bale bed and a girlfriend as dedicated as I am. I understand responsibility and I know you don’t ever get a break from it. I’m happy to pick the hair out of my food, work more than I relax, sometimes spend more than I make, organize more than I clean, and endure weather no one in their right mind would ever walk out in, let alone ride a horse through.

My dad used to put people we worked with into three categories, those who would die for the company, those who would kill for the company and those who don’t care. He always said I was a ‘kill for the company’ girl. He would go into battle with me. That’s the highest compliment my father pays anyone.

When I bought my farm, I worked from home. I found it easy to handle the day to day responsibilities of taking care of so much, because I managed myself and my time to suit the lifestyle I always dreamed of recognizing.

Nothing lasts forever. Perhaps the saddest cold, hard truth of our existence remains this one fact. This Spring I received word my work at home lifestyle would be nearing its end. Blame it on whatever you like, I had to find myself quick and land on my feet.

I am on my own and I have grown very lax over the last ten years of easy living. I chose this life and all the responsibility for ten acres, three horses, two mini donkeys, six cats (I never said I was sane) and one dog falls on me alone. By the end May, I had no job. I’ve been on exactly one interview in my working life and I suck at the process. I had to file for unemployment for the first time in my working life. WTF may as well have been tattooed on my forehead. This seemed it could be my toughest year yet.

Cue fantasies of a condo in Bali and a penchant for something more manageable. Cue regrets. Only one other time in my life have I been lower. I found myself lost in a sea of change and concern. I immediately updated my résumé and started applying for every job I could find remotely fitting my skill set. Twinkies may have gone by the wayside, but I was shitting them daily.

Thing is, it all worked out well in the end. I found a great position after only a month of unemployment for a great organization working with people among the most brilliant in my state. I commute now, but after a few months I’m adjusting. What looked like it was shaping up to be one of the worst years of my adult life may turn out to be one of the best yet.

I believe significant change happens at certain times in our lives because we are ready for it or we have reached a time where we need it to continue to grow. Whether we need to learn from something, grow out of something, or simply enjoy the moment, however fleeting it may prove to be, the best and biggest changes will come at the right moments in life.  When I study my own personal history, I realize everything has come to me when I needed it the most. Even though I worried earlier this year how things would ever be ok again, here I am four months later…getting by, albeit some days by the skin of my teeth.  Timing really is everything.  Shakespeare, despite writing the most depressing love story in history, was spot on about timing. 

Timing is everything. There is a tide in the affairs of men which when taken at the flood leads on to fortune.” – William Shakespeare

So 43, insignificant as the number may be, finds me taking stock of what I’ve done and what I am yet to do. I enjoy a wonderful life. I’m in a great place, surrounded by the right people, and I’m still doing what I love. It may be time to scale back a bit and it’s certain more change is on the horizon, but my accomplishments can’t be disputed. This change came at time I needed it the most, saving me from the quagmire of complacency I was hip deep in and failed to notice. I’m a lucky woman, even if there are times I don’t feel like one. Turns out 43 could be one of my most significant birthdays to date. I would have never seen that coming. 

So cheers to the years,
may they not pass to fast,
the only constant is change,
things forever rearrange
But with good friends by your side
And a fast horse to ride
All the love you can stand,
A random helping hand
Make the best of every day
Be sweet in what you say
Don’t scoff as time passes
Just get off your asses
There is fun to be had
Waste no time being sad.
The good times will always follow the bad.

And men, well let’s just say, they are no easier to figure out than we are. They step it up and slow it down, pull you close and then push you away. Getting to know someone can be likened to dancing with a new partner. You are unlikely to step in time with one another until your individual styles emerge, but the urge to protect your feet is immediate. How do you make it through all that dancing out of time in one piece without breaking your foot? If you figure it out, let me know. *limps to the kitchen to freshen the java*

So how do you know when it’s ok to let your guard down? What about showing interest? When is it safe and to what degree should you let a guy know what you feel? How do you trust what you feel is your heart speaking and not your vagina? Good questions which sorely lack good answers.  If you ask for too much, you may get nothing at all. Ask for too little and you risk losing his interest to someone more demanding. As for which part of you is speaking, well if you want him to want to be with you no matter what the day’s agenda holds, it’s probably your heart.  Otherwise, silence your lips, vagina. 

When I am training a horse, it’s easy for me to intuit how quickly he learns.  I set the pace of the lesson to his ability.  I can’t find a way to apply this logic to human interactions.  Our ability to learn and grow, like and love ebbs and flows according to our past experiences and what’s currently going on in our lives.  How do you know if you are too fast or too slow when the response remains inconsistent?  Save a horse, ride a cowboy, but don’t expect to figure him out right away.  It’s like Kramer’s version of movie phone, ‘Why don’t you just tell me what movie you want to watch????’

No matter what you do, too much, too little or just enough, you begin playing the dating game the second you start asking yourself the questions. The moment you no longer engage in coupled activities to kill time and you do it because you really want to;  you, my friend, are in the game. The stakes grow exponentially when you develop an honest desire for someone. And you better step lightly, especially in the forty something muddy puddle we are forced to date in, because most of us only have a few feelings left. The emotional cost is high when someone steps on one of them.

Once upon a time, I built a mental list of rules. I would not call or text first, I would not accept anything but a properly requested date and they would be fetching me and taking me out, proper, etc. Aloof was the word of the day, every day. I followed a strict dating construct and I found myself disappointed to discover my rules didn’t improve the quality of my dating experiences. Like any crazy girl who is not yet totally insane, I ditched my rules and I’m going to do what feels right. I’m throwing my last few feelings on the tracks. I can only hope the light at the end of the tunnel isn’t a train.

When it comes to communication, human nature encourages us to hear what we want and believe it, whether it’s true or not. When the actions of another contradict what they say, the desire to rationalize the behavior to fit what we wanted to hear is overwhelming. My female readers will relate well to the effects of the estrogen rollercoaster we all ride in our prime. You are slowly creeping toward something amazing and then you top the hill and the rush of the sudden descent either exhilarates you or scares the ever loving shit out of you. We experience everything this way, the build to the descent to the often empty feeling at the bottom. The difference in what you feel when you land down low depends on the strength of what brought you to the top. How you feel at the bottom becomes directly proportionate to the action which brought you speeding down the hill. What you heard or didn’t hear along the way is of no consequence.

I don’t often watch chick flicks, but when I do, chocolate, emotion and a dislocated understanding usually watch them with me. I found myself at a low point one rainy Sunday not too long ago. Clicking through channels, I came across ‘He’s Just Not That In to You’. Not the best estrogen filled two hours I’ve ever spent, but ladies, so many truths within we struggle not to face. Why? Because they chain our fairy tale love story to the back of a pick up and drag it down a muddy back road, not just killing it but tearing it apart like a murder of starving crows.

And it’s all true. The fairy tale lies torn apart, so bloody it’s unrecognizable. The concept of ‘He’s Just Not That Into You’ can be applied to any relationship. Friendships, love interests, familial attachments, and our every day acquaintances, those relationships all live and die on our actions, not our words. Words, without corresponding action, mean very little. Creative, beautiful, poetic words are, but they are often spoken in haste, judgment, passion, confusion, desperation and the like. They have the power to lift of us up and tear us down in a single sentence. At the end of the day, they are the relationship Kool Aid we drink in the absence of action when we decide we really want to believe in something or someone.

Actions, when you finally listen, the cacophonous drone of their meaning will be all you hear.

Our technology today is so advanced the ways we verbally communicate have expanded and evolved into a less personal, more ambiguous form of what my generation grew up using. It’s even more difficult today to comb through the tangle of what you read and hear. What really matters is what happens. Pay attention to what happens. Is it what was promised? Two things to remember:

1. The people you should keep company with are those who remain true to their word.
2. There are two sides to every story, the truth always lies somewhere in the middle.

I stopped in to visit a friend. We were sitting on a bench by her chicken pens comparing bruises and cuts resulting from our impatience and an inability to look where we are going when we are in a hurry, which is always. This activity reminded me of ‘pitchfork toe’. Probably one of the dumbest things I’ve ever done.

I was splitting wood in flip flops. Yup. I know. I said this was probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. There was a pitchfork leaning against a tree in the area where I was working. I was throwing wood off to the side as I worked and wouldn’t you know, the pitchfork had slipped off the tree on which it was leaning and I was burying it with my pile of split wood. I took a break and as I walked by the wood pile, I stepped into the business end of that pitchfork wearing my flip flops. I ran one of the prongs up under my big toe nail about half way down the length of the nail. My toenail would die a slow and painful death, every day turning a new shade of the rainbow in remembrance of my bad decision. Pitchfork toe.  Cue bad country song titled “I’ll never wear flip flops for farm chores again.”   Moving on…

My friend says, “I have a story like that”. She proceeds to tell me she was hoeing. Yup. I’ve only heard the opening line and it’s already a much better story. She was hoeing in the garden and she really didn’t want to hoe, so she was complaining to her mom. Of course, she’s hoeing barefoot. She’s told to keep hoeing and she does, maybe with a little attitude, and accidentally hoes her big toenail off. Hoe toe. I’ve never seen her wear flip flops. This is obviously a lesson better learned early in life.

I’m reminded of the phrase, ‘presentation is everything’. A five star restaurant strives for a beautiful presentation even though the food, so exquisitely prepared with the finest ingredients, could stand on its own no matter how poorly presented on the plate. To some, the lack of presentation may devalue the meal entirely. For those who focus on the taste, an exquisite meal evokes a response of satisfaction and happiness no matter how well presented.

In the horse show ring, presentation matters as well. A spotless, well trimmed, healthy, braided horse and tidy, clean, traditional dress are expected and required in most rated horse show rings. But what if the horse and rider best turned out can’t get around the course? The best ride, the best over all content, will always take the prize even if the overall picture isn’t the best in show.

Let’s get back to my less than fancy dinner. I didn’t use the finest ingredients, my presentation failed the high artistic standards required to classify my meal as fine dining. I remain happy with the end result and satisfied my efforts achieved my initial goal.  I no longer feel the urge to chew on my own fingers to stave off hunger pangs. 

Content, not presentation, matters most when one strives to achieve satisfaction and happiness. Had I attempted to impress another for the first time with my meal, perhaps my poor presentation and less than standard ingredients would have found my subject unimpressed with my effort. While human nature dictates the need to impress in order to gain notice, the great presentation will eventually be surpassed by the satisfaction achieved by solid, sustainable content. Presentation can matter, but happiness requires no fancy wrapping.

When it comes to dating and relationships, it’s tough not to have great expectations. After all, time and again we see the great relationship depicted in films. Even when these unrealistic expectations of love and happiness fall apart, the main characters always come back together, the offending partner offers a grand gesture of apology and the couple in question lives happily ever after. Real life plays out in real ways and the grand happily ever after is never realized, if it is, it’s based on hard work, pain and compromise. It’s never the happily ever after movies have taught us to expect. The cold hard truth about the work required to achieve such happiness is something we never see on film.

I like to think of myself as a girl with no expectations. The fact is I have very real expectations. I justify my ignorance of my expectations by convincing myself they are not expectations at all, but rules I use to avoid what I like to call ‘the great fail’. Those times when I’m left feeling devastated and heartbroken, hide in my shell and renounce the idea of ever dating again. The heroine in the film never lifted a finger; she didn’t change or make some grand gesture. She sat on her ass moping and stuffing her face with ice cream and chocolate and the man she felt she would love one day came to his senses. So when we want someone in our lives and they do something we perceive has screwed it up, we can just lie about and wait for them to wise up, right? Bullshit.

Relationships take work from both sides; they are full of disappointment and heartache. The reason? Expectations. It’s impossible not to have them and whether they are reasonable or not, they will never all be met.

I have done no market research on the expectations of others beyond the occasional observations of those around me in similar situations. So what follows is based on my own introspection, a laundry list of my own expectations, both perceived and real.

I like to think of myself as a girl possessing only one real expectation with regards to dating. I expect the man I am dating to set my expectations. How’s that for a circular reference? I want the man to set the tone and pace for the dating ritual, especially in the beginning, because personal experience has taught me men don’t want to be chased. It is their nature to pursue us, from the beginning they have been raised as the hunter/gatherers in the familial hierarchy. Some men may claim they appreciate the advances of a woman they find attractive. It’s my steadfast belief those men just want to get laid.

I wear the pants in my family. I am the man and woman in every aspect of my life from finances to household. I am not a very traditional woman, but in the realm of the personal relationships, I don’t want to have to be the man. I’m already one evolutional step away from having a dick and balls of my very own.

This expectation of mine, the only one I will admit I have, does exist and I perceive it to be a fair one. If he only calls once a week, I am neither surprised nor disappointed if he only calls once a week, right? I like to tell myself this works for me. The sad fact is I still want him to call more often and make more of an effort, but I don’t tell him. This hidden expectation I refuse to confront eventually leads to the disappointment I fool myself I can avoid with my ‘low expectations’. My laundry list of expectations can be summed up in one word. EFFORT. There is no need to make a list. The list changes depending on the man I am dating, but all my expectations take root in effort.

I’m not one of those girls checking off a list of qualities a potential partner must have. The only item I require to consider accepting a first date is an initial attraction to a man who makes an effort to arrange a first date. As I get to know someone, compatibility in other areas determines whether my interest waxes or wanes. But, when the first date goes well, my expectations start and end with…

EFFORT. I expect him to call more often, be more available, and show increasing interest as the weeks turn into months. If I feel his efforts waning, I bolt like a horse pursued by a plastic bag flapping in the wind. I am happy to play the rabbit to his fox in the great partnership chase. The sad fact is, the second I can’t feel his breath on my tail, I go to ground. Chase over.

I don’t want some dryer sheet stuck to my leg, but I want to rest assured from one date to the next his interest is growing. I want to know he will go out of his way, change his schedule now and then and make me feel important. I want effort. Don’t tell me you love me after a few months, just show me you could, one day, far down the road or I’ll stop running.

EFFORT. I know I want it and I can’t deny it. Call more often than I have grown to expect, make a date on an atypical night, take me someplace special; arrange some sweet surprise. Prove you are still interested, you think I am different and worthy of your effort. I am, after all, pretty damn amazing. But remember, the more effort you make, the more I will expect. Oh, I’m sorry; did I imply I have no expectations?

Sex and the City once analogized men and women to a taxi cab’s availability light. Women drive around and always have their light on; we are always ready to meet the right guy. Guys sit around with their light off forever, switch it on when they are ready and the next fair they pick up is the one they will make the effort for. There is nothing special about his choice but her timing. She was there and his light was on.

I’ve decided there are a few points we need to clarify. I’ve written you an up to date list of house rules. I suggest you heed these warnings, nine lives may seem like enough, but a few of you are running out. Accidents do happen, so I suggest you save a few lives to account for the injuries you sustain during blind stampedes through the house (like the times you forget you’re playing in a bag, wind up stuck in the handle and scare yourself), your miscalculations while attempting to jump on things you shouldn’t, and the likelihood you will knock me down at some point and I’ll accidentally crush you.

1. No part of my person shall be used to propel your forward motion at a high rate of speed. I must survive your childhood if you want regular meals to continue. Get the hell off me. I’m running out of Band-Aids.
2. If it’s not dry, crunchy and served in a small dish, it’s mine. Get the hell off the counter.
3. All the bacon is mine, especially the bacon cooking in the frying pan, whether it’s done or not. See rule #2 and get the hell off the counter.
4. Moths and other flying insects are no danger to the occupants of this house. Breaking glass, however, often leads to stitches. Stop breaking my shit. Get the hell off my furniture.
5. Furniture covers cover the furniture for a reason. Stop uncovering the furniture. See rule #4.
6. The toilet seat is for serious business, not a source of amusement. You do not fit when I sit. Keep your claws in when my pants are down. Get the hell off the toilet.
7. The toilet bowl is not a kitty pool. In the event an untrained house guest leaves the seat up, you should refrain from swimming in there. Dirty cat paw prints on the bathroom sink are unacceptable. Get the hell out of the toilet.
8. The bathtub drain, while understandably unique to other drains in the house, is not a cat toy. Stop stealing it. Get the hell out of the tub.
9. I shower alone, no exceptions. See rule #8.
10. I’ve seen you attempting to ‘flush’ the toilet. Unless you are actually going to use the toilet, leave it alone. Get the hell out of the bathroom.
11. Litter, while amusing to kick out of the pan onto the floor, is meant to cover your shit. We don’t want to smell your ass even if you want to smell ours. Keep it in the pan.
12. Shitting outside the litter pan to justify kicking the litter onto the floor is unacceptable. See rule #11.
13. The screen door design and construct may lend itself to easy climbing. Just because something is easy to climb does not mean you should climb it. Get the hell off the screen door.
14. Sleeping on my face creates the danger of suffocation. While my early demise may seem like a reasonable escape plan, I assure you no one checks on me regularly. There is no guarantee you won’t starve to death before my body is discovered. Yes, you could just eat me, but I assure you I don’t taste like chicken. Corn fed is a term, not a guarantee.
15. Weaving in and out of my legs while I am trying to walk through the house creates the danger of tripping which could result in blunt force trauma to any one of us. See Rule #14.
16. The desk and keyboard are off limits unless you plan to sprout thumbs, restack my papers and learn how to use spell check. Get the hell off my desk. I have to work efficiently or we’re all going to starve.

I’ve covered the lolly column in the basement with sisal rope to meet your climbing needs. I’ve built you a hammock under the desk for your relaxation purposes. This is the full extent to which I am willing to go to rearrange my living areas for your comfort. Further attempts to redesign the house will force me to impose access restrictions.

P.S. I’ve left instructions in my will you should all be put on the street to fend for yourselves if you are in any way involved in my untimely death. Just saying.

Sincerely,
Sweet Ass Management