The first time I googled myself (go ahead…giggle. I’ll wait.) the top hits were for some guy named Kim Brown, who just happened to be a serial killer. Definitely not me because, well, I’m not a guy. Any other similarities are purely coincidental.

There are over 3800 Kim Browns listed on LinkedIn, and I’m one of them, although because that site kind of annoys me, I’ve barely visited. If you insist on finding me there, don’t bother with the following keywords:

• Realty Maven
• Serial Killer
• Oscar Winner
• Marie Kondo
• I ❤ LinkedIn Club

 

 If you run into me out in the world, you may find me wearing one of these hats:

• Gardener (You get a full 60 mins/hr weeding. You can’t say that about therapy.)
• Server (Because I’m okay with getting paid to bring you good food and a killer martini.)
• Slightly obsessive grow-your-own preservationist (You know, because freezer, and canner, and dehydrator, oh my!)
• Laughter junkie (Because what if we’re all just one laugh ahead of becoming a serial killer, hmm? Something to think about.)

 

Some of the hats I’ve tossed in the back of my closet:

• Real Estate (I spent a lot of money on this one, and I wanted to love it so badly that I wore little else for six years, but no matter how I wore it, it just never fit as well as it should have.)
• Secretary (Before there were Admins, way back in the 1980s, there was me in all my “9 to 5” glory. This hat fit me fine, but I never really liked it.)
• The one that matched all my Size 8 clothing
• The one that matched all my Size 10 clothing

 

Stuff most folks know, but in case you don’t:

I’ve been married to the same guy for decades. I’m not sure how, given the fact we’ve broken just about every marriage rule. My favorite? Never go to bed angry. GTFO. We’ve lived together for close to 35 years now, and never is a long damn time.

Then again, we have two kids, and I thought they would never grow up. And then I blinked and they’d flown the coop. #ohbytheway, Empty Nest? Utter Bullshit. They leave a lot of crap behind.

For the last 17 years we’ve lived in a seriously remuddled old farmhouse. Our dream was to whip this baby into shape, using all the tips, tricks, and know-how one can acquire from reading This Old House, Country Living, Family Handyman and that copy of Fine Homebuilding I swiped from my OB/GYN’s office. We looked at this place three times before finally asking ourselves “Why not?” when we really should’ve been asking “Are we out of our fucking minds?“

And we live with that.  Every.  Single.  Day.