Diane Laney Fitzpatrick

writer, blogger, crafty woman

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Diane Laney Fitzpatrick

There Was This Massage Chair

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I was getting what was supposed to be a run-of-the-mill pedicure recently and long story short, I got intimate with a massage chair.

We’re pre-long-engaged.

The whole whirlwind romance almost didn’t happen. I had never had a manicure/pedicure at this salon, so I was just meeting the nail tech, Jackie. Naturally I told her my entire life story and all fingernail and toenail related experiences, just to catch her up to speed. The fact that I got my first manicure when I was 40. My daughter’s criticism that I have an unhealthy attachment to the same shade of sheer, pale pink polish. My friend Robin’s infection-for-life from going to a bad salon in Florida. That time I got Black Plum on my toenails and wore it with orange sandals and it worked; it worked so hard. My disappointment in my last mani-pedi, in which the nail tech complained that I wasn’t “holding my hands right” until I seriously thought she was going to slap them with a ruler. And, of course, the time I went to a salon in Dallas for a simple pedicure and ended up getting an unsolicited neck massage from a creepy, small man.

“And, you know, I don’t let just anyone massage my neck,” I told Jackie. She needed to know this about me. “I have enough back and neck issues. I just don’t want some stranger creeping up on me touching me. I mean, seriously, dude, hashtag me too. Just paint my toenails and let me get the hell out of here.” [Read more…] about There Was This Massage Chair

Let’s Slam Each Other and Call It Middle School

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I couldn’t find hide nor hair about personality books on the Internet, so I was almost sure I had dreamed them. It wouldn’t have been the first time I was the only one to be so sure that something was a thing, only to find that I was overruled by reality. But I distinctly remembered personality books, these homemade booklets we used to put together in middle school and pass around for our friends (and frenemies) to sign.

“Do you remember personality books?” I texted my friend The Other Diane. “Because I think I dreamed them. Remember, they were made out of stapled notebook paper and each page had a question to answer and then there would be a kid’s name on the top of the page and we’d have to write what we thought of them.”

“I do,” she wrote back. “We got comments like funny or smart. But the popular girls were tuff. Sometimes they were called slam books, I think. What a bad idea.”

So I googled slam books and sweet Mary mother of Jesus they actually were a thing. And it was a bad idea alright.  Slam books, personality books, whatever you want to call them were everything that is wrong with tweens, public schools and paper waste all bound up with i’s dotted with hearts and obnoxiously round loopy handwriting.

The fact that they weren’t in Mean Girls makes me wonder what’s going on in Hollywood these days. I mean, I know Tina Fey is younger than me, but did she grow up after the ’90s? Even my mind, sick with having watched too many British psychological thrillers, would be hard pressed to make up this stuff. [Read more…] about Let’s Slam Each Other and Call It Middle School

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

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