I’m a big ol’ fan of celebrations: parties, holidays, the “happy dance” that I perform in my room after I do my laundry and realize that I don’t have to wear ratty underpants anymore.  It doesn’t take much for me to throw my arms up in the air, and praise

Being a New Yorker is a little tough, all the time. Whether it’s the train that just left or coming up with the perfect save to that horrible interview question…. on the elevator going down, there’s always some bitty truth to the adage about making it here. But we do

Can a Broke-Ass Mom change careers and be a SAHM?  That’s what I’m trying to find out.  As I stated in my intro to the Broke-Ass world, I traded in my high heels for some Keen sneakers, my stockings for yoga pants, and my purse for a backpack all to

Don’t you wish that you could meet the person(s) responsible for the existence of money… so you could strangle them?  Wouldn’t life be much more stress-free? Sure, bartering would be an equal pain in the ass, but you’d still be living for yourself, instead of somebody else. I understand that

Today I had to give myself a time out.  With only one nap this week, my husband working late every night, and constant “Why?” questions from my son, any Broke-Ass Mom would need a time out.  We don’t have the luxury of jetting off to a facial, or a massage,

I’m smelling a slight stench coming from the direction of my armpits, and I suddenly realize that it’s not my son’s dirty diaper, or some food gone bad that might be lodged in our couch, it’s my sweatshirt.  I’ve worn it five days in a row now.  I can’t help

Shortly after graduating college, I found myself in an “identity crisis.”  I realized that I had spent the last four years of my life writing analytical essays about “thingness” or whatever other words I could add -ness to the end of, and over-using the word “utterly” to make myself sound