Diane Laney Fitzpatrick

writer, blogger, author and internet socialite

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What I Don’t Know About Cars

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It’s been pointed out to me that what I know about cars can fit into my bellybutton.

I hate to admit defeat, so I probably should learn, but I just have no interest.

And I’m interested in almost everything else other people have to say. I’ll strike up a conversation with every person sitting next to me on an airplane and come up with 25 custom questions about their profession, whether it’s software sales or speech therapy or training guide dogs for the blind. But when my seatmate was the owner of an auto repair shop, I prayed for turbulence. A heart attack — even my own — and a conversation-stopping call for a doctor on board. Anything but an upcoming conversation about transmissions.

“So, what do you drive?” he asked me.

“Me? A car.”

“What kind of car?”

“Oh! Right. Sorry. A gray one.” [Read more…] about What I Don’t Know About Cars

Hire me. Or not. Whatever. OK

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I’m starting a new little side business venture and once again am reminded that there is no place for someone like me in a regular business world.

I’ve decided to help solo and small businesses with digital and social media.  It’s a good idea, a good fit for me. I love organizational work and I love writing, plus I have a short attention span, which has made book writing reeeeaaally hard lately. Writing a 280-character tweet is about my speed these days. So yeah. Good idea.

The problem started when I had to take it off the drawing board and allow it to travel across the room to a conversation with real people.

This happened last week:

My writer friend: “I know I have to do more social media, I just don’t know where to start.”

My husband: “Diane can help you with that. She’s written a guide book and is ready to take on some clients.”

My writer friend: “Really? Diane, that’s great!”

Me: “Wellll . . . I don’t know. It’s not really a guide book. I mean other people can do a much better job than me. I don’t know anything about analytics. Or the law. But I won’t charge much. So . . .” {picks up wine glass and gulps it like I just failed the SAT} [Read more…] about Hire me. Or not. Whatever. OK

Magnets and Other Hazards of Quilting

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I had just come back from the Quilting Expo with my sisters, consumed with remorse over all the things I didn’t buy, including and not limited to a Batman pincushion, and I had this really great idea for a DIY quilt board for my sewing room. Instead of spending $300 on a quilt board that someone (who shall remain nameless for security reasons) bought at the Expo, a quilt board as smooth and sleek as a baby seal, that expands to fill a large conference room and then folds up into a child’s baton, I decided I could make my own for less.

“I think I’m going to make my own quilt board,” I said to my husband. He had me on Code Seafoam Green on the spending talk meter, since I had come in from the Expo with only two small bags. And other than the cost, there seemed to be no reason to fear this project.

What we’re talking about is a piece of felt on the wall. Felt: second only to the cotton ball in its likelihood to cause bruising. A fabric safe for preschools and day camps and the NICU unit. What could possibly go wrong? [Read more…] about Magnets and Other Hazards of Quilting

What I Read on My Spring Vacation

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I was leaving for a five-day trip and it was going to be a busy one. Sneakers packed for early morning walks, heels packed for evenings, and comfy flats for everything in between. If my ass was going to be touching a surface for more than a second it was going to be on a toilet seat. And even that would be rushed. We’re talking a busy trip.

So naturally I packed four books.

“Seriously? Seriously?” my husband said when he saw me packing my favorite under-the-seat carry-on, a Michelle Obama tote. “There is no way you’re going to get as much as forty pages read the entire vacation.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” I said. And by that, I meant: No kidding. Of course I’m not going to read four books. I’m not stupid. But I’m not so old and jaded to think that there’s just a glimmer of a possibility that I might find myself with some time on my hands, my phone out of battery, no one to talk to, but four novels at the ready. I also believe in the tooth fairy and that Roofer Steve will come back and clean up the mess he left on my garage roof three months ago.  [Read more…] about What I Read on My Spring Vacation

Tonight I Moderately Drink For . . . For Youth . . . Or Something

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If you’re trying to cut back on your drinking, you’ve come to the right place. I’m pretty much an expert on all the gimmicks invented for people who want to lay off the sauce. I’m not talking about quitting altogether; for that you have other, more experienced resources like AA, Saint Monica, and friends who aren’t Irish. I’m talking about reining in those “just a couple of glasses of wine” that turn into “I can’t find one of my shoes and, also, last night did I offer to host Thanksgiving in Key West? Because Facebook tells me that fourteen people have signed up so far.” Getting that back to “just a couple of glasses of wine” is the goal here.

The underlying mission is more specific. I belong to a growing mass of Americans who are learning that the effects of alcohol go beyond losing articles of clothing and overextending hostess events: Alcohol is starting to make us look and feel effing old.

I can’t be the only one who has looked in a full-length mirror in a well lit room and said, “Wait. This can’t be right. How did Great-Uncle Hank get in there?”

About six months ago, I began a Quixotic search for moderation. The Internet was kind enough to offer up tips and techniques, strategies, mantras and meditations, URLs for gross simulation videos showing what vodka does to your liver after only four appletinis, and pan-denominational prayers. I’ve kitchen-tested most of them with the exception of Sharia Law. [Read more…] about Tonight I Moderately Drink For . . . For Youth . . . Or Something

My Dream Life as a Walton Walk-On

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There’s a guy I grew up with who has an amazing farm and homesteading business, the kind of thing you might read about in a Booker Prize winning novel set on the prairie with a strong female lead, or Pinterest. He and his wife are always posting photos of the animals they raise and the things they grow and the fuzzy things she makes from their sheep and whatever else she can lay her crafty little hands on, without using a kilowatt of electricity. Some days, I can smell the homemade herb bread and the wood burning stove in their farmhouse just by looking at the crocheted baby hats she whipped up. There are no babies for miles. She just can’t stop herself.

I have become Kathy Bates-y obsessed over this couple and their farm. The fact that they started out as regular people is added intrigue. He was with me in the redhead alliance — population 7 — in our graduating class, and she was just another clarinet player in band. Forty odd years later and they’re Chip and Joanna Gaines without the  shiplap.

Last Christmas, while I was scanning the As Seen on TV gadgets to buy for my holiday shopping list, she was showing off a 7-foot-tall pine tree she had handcrafted from wool feathers, whatever those are. It was so beautiful. I cried a little bit. [Read more…] about My Dream Life as a Walton Walk-On