My husband thinks I need to omit “The Big Long Turd” bit in my bio over there on the right. He said that if our landlord ever reads my blog that they might not think that was so funny and they might ask us to move. My reply…

What should I call it? The big long Baby Ruth?

I called about an old house for sale with two acres. The realtor prefaced our conversation by telling me it needs a lot of updating. Yes, I know, cut to the chase lady, how much?

Stupid. Who is going to buy that? Am I the only person that thinks this is absurd to the nth degree? Am I living amongst a bunch of millionaires and not aware of it? When did living out in the woods where life is quiet, but so Gall Bladder inconvenient become a place only for the wealthy and, God help us, the hungry land developer?

I just don’t get it. I must be the only one that doesn’t get it. I’m irritated.

How hard do you think it would be for one woman to change the land values in one area? What would I have to do? Start a weird rumor….people that live out here start growing extra teeth. Something like that? No?

What if I showed up on the seller’s doorstep with a pie? Would he lower the price? What if he saw my pretty chickens and cute children and beautiful house design and how well I can do a pirouette?

Would it be too bold to fling myself at his feet and weep like a helpless animal shot in the back and left to die, cold, hungry, bleeding from my wound, foaming at the mouth. Pleeth, Pleeeeeeth, thell me your land cheeeeeeeeap. Have merrrrthy. I don’t. Have. Much uugh…time.