My Mediterranean (Courtyard) Makeover
DIY, house and home, humor

My Mediterranean (Courtyard )Makeover

My Mediterranean (Courtyard) Makeover! I know what you’re thinking. This has zero to do with writing, acting, or new music. And… you’d be correct.

My Mediterranean (Courtyard) Makeover

It’s that time of year again where I shift my attention from that show business thing to some real life things. Enter,  home and garden, and a bit o’ that house-wifery lifestyle. Writers, and artists alike, from time to time, there comes a moment where you need to get out and live life. Whatever that means for you… find it, and do it. For me, it’s been reconnecting with that inner creative from your childhood, making things, creating things that really no one else would see.

As an adult, maybe this includes a failed loaf of bread, or a bad set of shelves made from cardboard, you know, something that had a lot of vision but execution was questionable. For me, that’s a peek into my  homemaking-thuglife.

Ha. Omgosh. *slaps forehead

While I have been constantly filling my cup with  filming and collecting b-roll like a maniac for quite a many months, (holy crap! Maybe two years worth at this point! Oyvey!) …getting situated to edit, organize, blog, pod’, and publish is very tasking, and ohhhh… so time consuming. 

And I tend to talk myself out of it…


<3 my work but take timely breaks!
<3 my work but take timely breaks!

It’s not that i don’t LOVE my time-honored crafts –    please don’t drag out the soap box – my cherished routines of the feathered penmanship – Oh Geez – the deep, inner thoughts I dare to dream – Nope. – the library’s pages dost thouThat’s it. – a ladder’s step up to a book’s dreamy lyrical hop scotch – What. Does. That… Even. Mean. Stop it.

Okay. Cheerio. The British accent too


Today, it was time to fill my cup in another way. My Mediterranean (Courtyard) Makeover! What’s with the cup references?

Hush. I’m trying to be poetic. Well, knock it off and get to the point.

Geez, your pushy this post. *shakes head

Today, I take to my creative unruliness within my bones and while pacing my boring – it is boring – truly boring – gosh, it truly is so boring – boring entryway. It was time to freshen up that space! I’ve been wanting to do something with this area for so long and so much so that last year prior, I began it’s journey from blah to Ah!

Ay there. Don’t forget to mention how boring it was.

First, with that old lady grocery cart. That is the most embarrassing utility cart ever to be put into production; but, ever so useful! It can carry a truckload of groceries from trunk to countertop in one trip and for that… I’ll gladly be coined a retired old maid; if need be! While the rest of you take fifty trips’ on those hauls, I’ll do just the one. Funk you berry much! *curtsy, and a wave

What was that? What. That? That what?

That “funk” thing. Oh! That! Yes, yes… I’ve been working on my vernacular to exclude words of the curse-related and swearing-kind. Ah. Gotcha. Okay then.. whatever, carry on.


The most fun for me during this courtyard makeover had to be hand painting a Greek-inspired textile rug. Is it technically a “textile” rug; since it was painted? Wait. What is a textile? It’s the pattern?

textiles are the material? Or the pattern?

No. It’s the material, I think.

My gosh, does it matter?

I think it matters. People who know what that word actually means; it will definitely matter. Ugh. Just move on from the textile thing. Yes, grand idea. 

 So, moving on without figuring out exactly what textiles are – material? pattern? don’t know – I already knew I didn’t want to spend another dime on buying rugs that just keep getting ruined. (I have Bruno, and the hubby. Between the two, fuhget about it. Dirt. Hair. Textiles. Pick your battles.) Plus, I just love how the Greek Isles harbor so much white and bright Cerulean Blue hues within their landscape.

My Mediterranean (Courtyard) Makeover

Hold on. You know what Cerulean Blue looks like… but still a no, on textile.

Adding a few touches, like whitewashed pots, raised, in multiple sizes placed strategically on/around the floor, the trellis accents on the walls with faux flower boxes to mimic that Mediterranean sidewalk and a few chairs and customized bench accented with those bold blue shades to present tied with a bow. It all came together – while an eternity passed – just one piece at a time. And I wouldn’t have changed the pace nor time it took to do so.

Oh! You know what I’d like to add to My Mediterranean (Courtyard) Makeover? Some bougainvillea. I LOVE those low maintenance, drought-resistant, pretty plants! I’m getting ahead of myself – again. Maybe next go round. *shrugs

Watch the quick transformation for My Mediterranean (Courtyard) Makeover Reel here:

This was just a precious diy project and now it is a lovely space for laughing, enjoy cafes, reading or just an eye-pleasing walk through as guests come to visit our home.

At some point, I have a sneaking suspicion I may throw a little more white paint around and add a few white columns around the space. But, for now, I’ll enjoy what I’ve done thus far; as its so pleasing now to enjoy my reading out on that courtyard patio with an iced, anything.

And, that is right where I want to be!

Enjoy the long form of My Mediterranean (Courtyard) Makeover video transformation here!

humor, mother's day, relationships, self-help

Hairy Goldfish

*twirling my mustache, giggling

Anyone with kids knows that the battle of the

“Put Things Away”

game is never-ending. Or a husband. Who leaves socks all over the floor. Or rubber bands. Huh? I don't know…So, when push comes to shove, I like to play pranks. Not only to prove a point; But, to open the eyeballs of said minor. And get them to PUT. THEIR. CRAP. AWAY.  Let the games begin!  The game is quite similar to jingling keys in front of a toddler to distract the tyke away from a hot stove. Just a tad more manipulative. Or passive aggressive. Actually, it's more like the- mommy's flipped her lid -game. We need sedatives - STAT. Who's doing all that sceaming? Oh. It's me. Oopsie. My bad.

When I Costco, I typically buy the snack pack boxes. You know the ones, miniature bags of snack garbage the kids can just grab and go. Welp, I accidentally bought the Goldfish snacks that were in the oversized large bags instead the last time. Ah, I just love the idea of grubby little hands all inside the bag of chips everyone communally is going to eat from… *sarcasm. I’ll pour them out into a bowl. Or cut the bag down to the munchies so my hand doesn’t have to touch the greasy insides of it. It’s the O.C.D. And it’s quirky. So hush. I guess I wasn’t paying attention. Ironic twist of events? Not really. I tend to get sidetracked. Case in point: a mere two sentences ago. Anyway, Sir Interuptor-patomus…In Costco. And other places. In every place actually. Not just in Costco. I like butterflies. Chasing butterflies with glitter is always fun.

One would assume, when one is done using any item in the house, one would proceed to return said item to its original place. Especially food. Neat and tidy. Packaging closed and sealed up. Freshness bound. Organized. Hell, I’ll take the category, “Thrown in the Cabinet by a Timberwolf” for the WIN, Pat! As long as it was put back near its resting spot. It’s not TOO much to ask. Really.

So imagine my not-so-surprise when I find the large open Goldfish bag on the coffee table, not put away. I digress, at least it was rolled up. I exhale a huge sigh and head for the bag. Grab the bag. Pick up the bag. And the fucking Goldfish go spewing all over my living room floor. Out of the bag. Of course they did. On a carpet that which, was not, vacuumed. Of course it wasn’t. Which I had previously requested be done as well.  And wasn’t executed. BAH!


Tap. Tap. Tap. I’ll show you, you little monster you. I scoop up all the little yellow crackers and put them -bit by bit- back into the plastic sack. Hair. Debris… and all. Roll the bitch back up. And shove it in the pantry. Ha! Right up front. And I wait. Patience is a virtue. And wait. Something about a dish best served cold? Criminy, and I wait some more. What the hell. I freaking forgot about it. Well, a month goes by and the boy hasn’t said anything about the dirty food satchel. Hmmm.. maybe he’s not eating them. Nope. He’s been eating them because the bag moves around the pantry space every few days. Finally, last week, I ask him if he wants a snack, and I mention all available crunchy nibbles to choose from and my son says, “I haven’t really been eating the Goldfish because everytime I do I keep getting hair and stuff from inside the bag. I think we should write them a letter about it.” And there it was. The moment I’d been waiting for…

So, you have been eating them huh? Yeah. And I really think we need to write an onion letter to the company. Get some free – Let me stop you right there my young, darling consumer rights activist. You know how I’m always asking you to to put shit away? Uh huh. Well, one day, over a month ago… You didn’t put these fishies away. I always put them away. No. You don’t. Let me finish. And I picked them up and well… His face went from interest in my storytelling to obvious disgust. “Mom. I’ve been eating hair!” Yeah, that… well, here’s the kicker. You’re going to love this part. I also asked you to vaccum that week too. And well, you didn’t do that either. So, if you think about it. Had you swept the floor. There wouldn’t have been debris in your hairy Goldfish. Mom! You’re so gross! Yes. Yes, I am.

Moral of the story. He puts stuff away now. Wipes down my kitchen countertops. And has since learned how to use a mop.

Ah, victory.

humor, self-help

Potassium Pick-A-Part

Leg Cramp! Bananas 911!
Leg Cramp! Bananas 911!

I’m a banana freak. I eat em, mash em, purée them, put those yellow babies in bread and yes, probably choke em down… a little too sexily. I can’t help it. I’m a pervert. But so are you guys… speak for yourself. Alas! But, here we are. Ha! Pervs! I knew it. Bananas are also good for cramps (not lady cramps-the sugar in them will make your moody space worse-believe me I’ve tried), but these fruit sticks are good for leg cramps, arm cramps, brain cramps… things of that nature. Huh? Or, at least that’s the rumor. Not committing to the brain cramp suspicion; But, it could explain why there are so many bad drivers. So, imagine my surprise when I have been depleted from a midday romp, (uh *blushing… shhhh, everyone needs a lil momma-feel good time, *wink), AND I’m starving AND I reach for a ‘nanner… AND my calf seizes up. Ouch. Yeah, seriously, what the hell.  


I try stretching it out, downward dog style, and it doesn’t seem to alleviate it. Damn you, yoga. Maybe too much momma feel good time? No, that definitely cannot be it. AWAY. Silly. Radical thoughts. Still with my unopened bannana in tow, I grab a heating pad and flop on the couch for a solid twenty minutes. Hoping the heat of this electric walk-around-furnace will bring release to my lopsided dead leg. Nope. I give up on the portable heatery thing and I hobble my way to a nearby staircase and attempt an alternate the stretch of the calves event. As I pedal each foot up and down on the step, I don’t seem to be finding any letup. Hmmm, still not quite busting that bitch out. Blast it. I aimlessly cruise around the house venturing to “walk it off” until I acquiesce. And take a big belly flop onto the hard tile floor. My banana stumbles across with me, airborne until it finally plunkers down into my line of sight. On the floor. After a couple bounces. Adding a light dusting of bunnies to the peel.

I lazily reach for the yummy potassium-rich goodness, in all my exasperated glory and finally concede to munching down on this little crescent moon shaped treat. Chomp. Chomp. Chomp. And I hear a voice from above. Hello. Are angels singing? What are you doing. Is that you, God? No. It’s my honey asking me why the hell am I laying lifeless on the floor, slobbering all over a banana…

“Babe.. I had a cramp.”