That “Waterweld” stuff really works for a girl handyman job, I thought with a smug smile.

Though the neck of my faucet now looks like it has a gray growth on it (Waterweld doesn’t come in makeup-hip colors), I can overlook that, just like the big hole in the ceiling and the inoperable microwave that my ex tried to fix but abandoned once he realized that the part he needed cost oodles more than the $5 wrong part he ordered.

You see, having lost my job more than a year ago (Ditto for my ex, whom I still live with for financial reasons.), I can overlook a lot, including the potato bugs in my bathroom, which have nothing to do with home repairs. They, like my homeless-looking home, remind me of my sorry state of affairs.

The neck of my faucet, the victim of age and wear, deteriorated at the seams. For months, it has sprayed water onto the cheap backsplash the former homeowners had installed.

The backsplash is tile, but they just clipped the tile to fit rather than find the proper size or even use bull nose tile to finish off the edges. I had, or I should say still have, grunge growing on the back of my sink from the months of water squirting on it. The other girl fix, which actually lasted a while, was using metal (I think) electrical tape to plug the hole.

The kluge fixes I now do around the house, when I feel the inclination to do any, come down to an “it-will-have-to-do-for-now” attitude because of my jobless (read: poor) state of affairs. The back yard also needs work. It looks naked (no grass, just lots of mud).

Everything could use a good home lift, but I’m not counting on ABC’s Extreme Makeover, Home Edition to rescue the house joining the Earth like food scraps in a compost heap.

I didn’t let my vagina run wild and produce a dozen or so kids, and I wasn’t born with some awful medical condition that puts, say, a third boob on my chest. (I guess if I were a guy and had a second dick I’d be praising the Lord.) Those are the kinds of people Extreme Makeover picks. So, I doubt I’d qualify. (But follow this link to get an application.)

In the meantime, I’ll be turning a blind eye toward everything that needs fixin’. I’d rather look in the mirror and think about what it would be like to have a third boob, or any boobs for that matter.

Please enjoy her take on “The Night Before Christmas.”

Twas the morning of Christmas, I just downed an ale;
I grabbed Victoria’s Secrets to see what was on sale;
Panties, bras and a tawdry pink nightgown;
But I still can’t afford them despite the big markdowns.

I painted my nails red to celebrate the season.
Just couldn’t think of a better reason.
I’ll make up my face and suspend all my troubles;
For the next 10 days I’ll live in a makebelieve bubble.

I’m thankful to shelter the ex, kids and three cats,
Even though my former husband thinks I’m a dingbat.
With no full-time job in a year, I’m still reeling from shock;
It’s hard to stop for long and really take stock.

The mortgage can’t wait, and so can’t the bills.
No place to hide during winter’s big chill.
I’ve got a contract to carry me through another two months;
Then I’ll feel the weight of the next money crunch.

My advice is to take time for some sex—though hard as that seems—
Enjoy your adult toys and kids’ laughter and dreams.
I’ll take a moment out now, sneak out of the house,
No one will hear me except my ex spouse.

Hear the oohs, feel the warmth, light up with the glow
Of an orgasm so peaceful it beats new fallen snow:
Peace, love and goodwill, and hope burning bright.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

That’s right. If you’re not working, you’re jerking (off), or is that making your own beef jerky. I wouldn’t have known.

No turkey for Christmas, and you can’t afford lamb. Forget the HoneyBaked Ham. Time to glaze your own.

We should all be so lucky to be billionaire golfer Tiger Woods. He may have put himself in a position (okay, maybe a few) that has cost him some endorsements, but he’s not out on the street with a couch by the curb because of an eviction.

While some people say you should be thankful for your health, I say millions of American still pine for wealth.

So your “in list” may be my “out list,” but if there’s one thing we can agree on let it be more sex before text! Yahoo! Who cares what that means. But if you can’t figure it out, then it’s time you read Ann’s List.

There are more stars in the universe than grains of sand.

There are more people who are unemployed (15.7 million) than during the Great Depression.

Startling facts. Even more startling times.

In the months before Christmas (and all the other upcoming holidays), everyone is stirring about life in 2010, and resolutions will become more about finding a job, perhaps any job, then losing the 5 to 10 pounds packed on between Thanksgiving and year-end, though that is important if you are to catch a man (or woman).

But there is something about the holidays where people seek peace, unity and stability for their children and families. The expectation of gifts wrapped with bows underneath a tree or given after the lighting of each Hanukkah candle has been dimmed by the enormous rupture in our economy.

So how do we make peace with satisfying the expectations of others as well as ourselves? Well, sometimes we don’t, but the trick is finding a way that allows us to maintain our memories of Christmas’ (or substitute your own holiday) past.

The Internet has made it possible to maintain a holiday spirit with sites that strive to bring you the best for less. To wit, I offer a few suggestions that you may not be aware of. If you are and like them, no hurt in sharing.

The most intriguing site for saving money is Groupons. This site offers deep discount coupons in more than 30 mid-market and major cities, from Miami to Memphis to Minneapolis. If enough people sign up for the daily deal in a particular city, then the deal is on.

Enter your credit card number to buy the product or service in advance, and you get an electronic coupon in your inbox to use.

Groupons calls it “collective buying power.”

I signed up but have yet to take advantage of a deal, which range from discounted maternity clothing to spa treatments to tickets for dining and entertainment events.

Other dollar-saving sites:

SeatCity.com: Online ticket aggregator. I searched for tickets to the December 3 hockey game between the Washington Capitals and Florida Panthers and found three in a good section for $89.00 each. That’s about $10 less than the prices at TicketsNow. I didn’t complete the transaction to see if there were hidden fees, but that’s something to watch out for.

PricePlease: I love the concept—find a product you want to buy from its list of participating merchants and sign up for a price-drop alert. Only problem is that I found the sign-up process cumbersome. Sure, it’s easy to enter just your email address and click on a confirmation link sent to your inbox. But then when you try to log on it asks you for a password, which you’ve never set. Don’t know if it actually works but worth a shot. I’m waiting for the price to drop on an xbox 360 Pro Console.

CouponMap: Maps coupon deals in your Zip Code. Nothing fancy here—meaning you won’t find exotic coupons for a fancy champagne. But if you like pizza, subs and discounts at cheap Chinese restaurants, you’ll find a few bargains with strings attached, such as minimum purchases to buy a gift certificate for a meal at a steep discount. The site even throws in gas stations offering low gas prices in your neighborhood.

If you’ve found other novel, non-ripoff deals, please let Ann know at ann.powers@girlonthebrink.com.

Increasingly, I read about a lot of desperate people doing desperate things, such as selling all their stuff and moving from places like Detroit to greener pastures, aka Wisconsin.

Often, their poor pet gets left behind, or sold at a steep discount.

If I had any grass left in my backyard (died from too much shade and kid sports), I’d consider responding to the following ad:

“Can’t afford to take care of Donkey anymore. He’s in good health, very friendly and only mildly stinky. It is expensive to care for him, though. I am selling him for 500 bucks (Got him for $2,000). Totally worth it. You pick him up.”

But seriously, I don’t want another pet in the house. Three cats is enough.

We had five, but the mom and dad cat ran away. No joke. Their three children (stupid me for letting them mate—twice!) often get bored: No more moths and crickets to chase around the house now that the seasons have turned.

Even though this ad promises hours of delight for children pining for hamsters, I think they’d satisfy my cats in no time. Best part: The seller bought a taxidermy kit and stuffed them, so they’d last a long time. His ad reads:

“They are perfect for the kid who wants a hamster but you know damn well won’t take care of them. Just buy a cage, pose them in it and tell the kids to enjoy. If the kids ask why they aren’t moving just explain to them that happy hamsters keep still…my little kid lost interest [in them] and kept forgetting to feed them. One by one they dropped off. I couldn’t bear to flush these cute things down the toilet so I bought a taxidermy kit and stuffed them….”

And, finally, the longer Ann stays unemployed, the more she thinks that this mom’s idea to make a few extra bucks isn’t so bad.

She posted an ad with the headline, “Are you thinking about having kids? Teenager Kit!!!” For the super low price of $19.95, you can rent one of her teenagers and get the other free.

She writes, “Male teens can entertain for hours with games when you clean his room or look for missing dishes. I like to name these games ‘Find that dish,’ ‘There’s a fungus amongus’ and even friends and family [come] over to play ‘What’s That Smell?’ You may even have to guess if the boy is even home, which is why I love the game.”

“That’s a familiar face. I just can’t place it,” said my ex as I was straining to blow up my air mattress.

“It’s a small dick,” I said, referring to the little blows I was giving the valve.

“I’ll stay if that’s what you’re going to do,” he said.

We both laughed. Moments earlier, I had split an Ambien in half with a Swiss Army knife and told him I thought I needed to take the other half.

I had already finished a half a bottle of white wine in a pink plastic cup and eaten my share of the traditional campfire meal—hot dog, baked beans, and s’mores—all of which tasted like a, well, campfire meal.

At 9:29 PM, I was ready to hit the sack after hiking for more than three hours with my ex and two tween sons.

Our home for the night was campsite No. 4 at False State Cape Park in Virginia Beach. This trip marked the end of summer.

I agreed to go because I wanted to make my kids happy. Thankfully, the wine and Ambien made me happier.

My ex and I lost our jobs about 10 months ago—the same time as our divorce—and our financial situation has forced us to share the same roof but separate beds. I think that (our living situation) will change soon because my ex starts work this week, and he said he’d pay my share of the mortgage so I could move out.

We arrived at our campsite less than an hour before dusk, which gave me enough time to watch my kids tumble in the waves of the Atlantic Ocean.

While they played, my mind drifted to the sleeping arrangements. I strained to imagine how all four of us would fit in the tent.

You must be thinking, Is she going to have sex with her ex?

I don’t blame you for thinking that. Our living situation falls into the I-don’t-know-how-you-can-do-that category, followed by a big roll of the eyes.

I counted on sleeping next to my kids—a buffer between me and my ex. I didn’t think he’d make it through the night because he snores, and my kids would kick him out once the sound of his snoring drowned out the sounds of nature.

Once I closed my eyes, I let my kids do their thing. Sure enough, their dad’s nightly racket roused them from sleep, and he ended up sleeping on a berm near the tent, leaving the three of us wrapped in the downy comfort of our sleeping bags. I ask, what’s not to like?

That would have to be the rain the next morning.

And that’s why I love not camping.

I’ve got a situation.

Girl On the Brink racing on bicycle toward a blind man poking his long white cane from side to side on a narrow sidewalk.

Think fast. What to do?

Holy shit. Get the hell out of the way.

Escaping physical danger is much easier to sight than something that’s unforeseen. When the chosen few discovered that toxic mortgages were about to pollute the nation’s economy, the average person had no idea that their lives would do a 180. I surely didn’t.

Since I was laid-off last November, I’ve learned to live with less because I have to. Nonetheless, I grip the vision that my life will return to when I could afford to line the entranceway to my house with clay pots brimming with flowers and buy my 10- and 12-year-old sons Billabong clothes.

As I leave my house this morning to walk my older son to school, we’ll pass pots of scraggly Nasturtiums I had planted from seed in the spring, and he’ll remark that his $3 T-shirt his aunt bought him was a real find.

We hardly say anything anymore about the humongous hole in the kitchen ceiling, which fell in after a leaky toilet from the floor above saturated the dry wall. After more than a year, the wooden beams and plumbing pipes are still exposed. I treat my few pieces of good furniture like jewelry: I won’t let them go.

Instead of jetting off to Atlantis in the Bahamas this Labor Day weekend, I’ll be shopping at Target for a $12 sleeping bag so I can go camping Sunday with my sons, and, yes, my ex, whom I still live with because he lost his job three weeks before mine, and we both couldn’t afford our own digs. [I'll preview my visions of that adventure tomorrow.]

Sometimes, I hope to have amnesia about this time in my life. I also hope to find a confident man who will see the strength behind my financial fragility and love me as much as I hope to re-love this nation as the best place in the world to live.

While I can’t show you, and you’d have to get to know me better, I can spread some lucky dust on you in the form of free concert tickets.

Between July 31 and the end of the summer, you can register and receive a free pair of e-tickets to attend one of nine concerts around the country, thanks to the Samsung at&t Summer Krush music tour, featuring The Offspring in San Francisco, T-Pain in New Orleans and Montgomery Gentry in Dallas. More acts are planned for Chicago, Los Angeles and Boston, among other cities.

In exchange for pitching this promotion, I get a free pair of Skull Candy headphones—a $20 value. Can you blame me?

Ann’s so into free stuff, especially when there’s no catch. Like tonight, the massage therapist at my gym announced to a couple of ladies, including me, that he was giving 10- to 15-minute massages in the back room. As soon as my 15 minutes ended on the elliptical machine, I knocked on his door. Busy. “Come back in 20 minutes, and I’ll give you a free 30-minute massage.”

Like, I was sold. I think there might have been a gender thing going on with him, er, her. When it was my turn, he said he’d prefer that I took off all my clothes (code for including underwear, too).

“You’re not a prude,” he said. “Oh, no,” I said. “Good, you know some people,” and he rolled his eyes to finish the sentence. Near the end of the massage, I rolled over on my stomach, and he asked if I wanted just my thighs, or thighs and gluts massa…. I said both before he/she could finish the sentence.

If this sheman copped a looked, I didn’t mind. I shaved. Lucky him, her. Whatever. I could have sure used those Skull Candy headphones!

Barbara has got that knee thing down pat when she weeds. If I were Barbara, I’d find a better use for it indoors while my significant other stands, holding onto his cane, or would he be propping himself up with his rolling walker? These walkers, they do come with brakes, don’t they?

Given the long duration—seven months and still counting—of not having a full-time job, I’m resigned that the garden kneeler is one of many items I’ll have to live without in my old age. Let’s just hope that my trailer, which I’m counting on to still afford, is upgraded with cushy shag carpeting.

Living with less was on my mind as I flipped through the SkyMall catalogue on a recent flight to Waco, Tex. Other items that are most definitely out include the Indoor Dog Restroom for $149.95. That contraption lets your pooch pee on artificial turf that sits on a plastic insert for “easy clean up.” Grass still seems like the best alternative, if I can get to the door on time.

But I’m more of a fem feline, so I’d feel worse if I couldn’t afford the $69.95 Adjustable Feline Scratcher Platform, which you can position at an angle or lay flat. My cats have an instinctual urge to claw at the couch, however.

I’ll also have to do without the Birdwatcher’s Motion Activated Camera for $199.95, a weather resistant gizmo that detects motion and automatically snaps digital pictures of birds. I guess I’ll just have to sit in my rocker and watch the birds for real, because isn’t that what old people do? Watch birds.

I hope that I’ll be able to afford the $99.50 foot pedestal that mounts at an angle on a shower wall so I can shave my legs. I’d really rather not have to sit on my ass with my toes near my nose. I’ll probably have arthritis.

And, I’d would love to splurge on the Palm-Frond Fan blades. Old people seem to like ceiling fans because they’re on their backs a lot–sleeping in their polar fleece footie pajamas. I think the palm leaf-shaped ceiling fan blade covers would be more visually stimulating than traditional wooden blades, and they seem like a bargain at $139.90 for a set of five. They’re also not juvenile like the black-and-white mobiles for infants, even though you’re supposed to revert to one in your eighties.

Since I won’t be able to move to someplace warm like Florida, maybe I should look into saving for the Swamp Beast Crocodile Garden Sculpture for $75. Imagine the look of surprise when neighbors see this more than yard-long croc peeking from the steps of my trailer. Or, I could add subtle sophistication to my poor status with a pair of Regal Lion Sentinals of Grisham Manor for $198. But they’d probably clash with the croc.

Boo hoo. What’s a poor girl to do?

ANN’S NOTE:

Oh, to be rich for a day. And why not? Andrea, my photographer friend, and I were in Antigua for the 42^nd annual Stanford Sailing Week regatta last April when a fleet of super yachts graced the harbors on the southeast side of the island.

The goal: Get on one. With a little advice from the event’s media representative, we learned that we needed to “walk the docks” and ask for the skipper of the boat we wanted to get on. The rep supplied the list, and we were off. After two tries, the tactic proved a bit more complicated. Half the time the skipper had “just left.” It was always “come back” at another time.

By 5:30 pm that day, I had made contact with Mark Fitzgerald, skipper of Sojana, a 115-foot super yacht owned by British millionaire and America’s Cup backer Peter Harrison. Of course, I had no idea at the time. It was just a really big boat and looked luxurious.

“Can we race with you?” I said. After showing our media credentials, the answer was yes. “We’re pushing off at 8,” Fitzgerald said. That was PM because the race course was from Guadeloupe to Antigua, and we needed to get to the start point the night before, which would take close to five hours.

We walked back to our current accommodations—a stripped down racing boat known as a Farr 65—to get ready for an overnight stay on Sojana. I had never been on a Farr before when I arranged for us to stay there (for free). Never did it cross my mind that I’d be sleeping in a bunk that was no more than 2-feet wide with a mattress as thick as a seat cushion. We also didn’t have any running water, and the cabin smelled of petrol. Forget electricity: There wasn’t any. Painted fiberglass lined the walls; wood would be too heavy for a racing boat.

We slung our sleeping bags over our shoulder, packed a few overnight necessities and headed back to Sojana, thinking we’d sleep on deck. Once on board, the head steward treated us to down-filled comforters on twin beds. We brushed our teeth in Villeroy & Boch sinks and groveled over the other detailing: air conditioning, cabinets filled with custom china and mahogany paneling with exotic ring patterns of inlaid burl wood.

The race began under cloud cover and light rain until we distanced ourselves from the shore and set out on one sailing tac for the race back to Antigua. The race felt more like a luxury cruise because it was a straight run and lacked the fast-action maneuvering of racing around markers in a figure-eight course. Standing on deck, with only the shoosh of waves hitting the sides of the boat, I wished we were on an around-the-world course.

In four hours, 35 minutes, Sojana crossed the finish line, placing second, and I got an awesome new set of tan lines before returning to “real” life.