I am not a Home Improvement Guru. I only played one on TV.

I am clueless when it comes to home décor. My “style” consists of a smorgasbord of stuff. This stuff had graced my white-walled condo for the past eight years. (Think post-divorce-on-a-budget refuge.)

As my 40th birthday crept closer, I developed an insatiable desire to nest and redecorate. Or, truthfully, to decorate. Period.

People who know me are always shocked when I confess that I have no eye for design. They know me as a creative person, and they naturally assume that this creativity translates to home décor. Not! My creativity shines through theatre, singing, fiddling around on the guitar, and (hopefully) my writing. I am not a visual artist. There is a difference.

Friends also bring up my 15 Minutes of Fame on the show Trading Spaces. If I were on a home decorating show, then I must know how to decorate. Not! On the show, I was directed to implement the professional designer’s ideas for short periods of time. The reality of this reality TV show was that the directors constantly called me away to film me flirt with Carter the Carpenter while the crew did the actual work. (Flirting equals good ratings, and I was happy to oblige.)

Fast forward to this most recent decorating journey. I tried to channel my inner Genevieve to discover how she would decorate the rest of my house. (My upstairs office loft is a sunny “French Country” a la Trading Spaces designer Genevieve.) Obviously, that didn’t work, but it did occur to me that what I love most about my office loft is its “yellowness”. Color transforms. Eureka! I would start my decorating project by literally coloring my world!

I hired a painter. He arrived for his consult with a magical fan of colors. He asked which colors I felt drawn to. Hurrah! The magical fan of colors was my oyster!

“Green is my favorite color, and red is a close second. I also love purple, and I love all shades of yellow. Let’s do it! Let’s color my walls and color my world!”

The painter chuckled a very grown-up chuckle. You see, in the grown-up world (and especially in the Southwest) it is important to stick to neutrals. Neutrals are safe. He asked for me to trust him on this one. After all, he was the Paint Expert. He has an eye for design and color, unlike someone else we know. We turned to the neutral section of my favorite colors which included brownish-green and grayish-purple. He took the fan away as I tried to find yellow. No more yellow! Did I really want my entire house to be yellow?

Hmph.

I asked him to leave the magical fan of colors with me. I poured over various shades of neutral for weeks. I invited friends to join in on the fun. Whenever I would turn to the colorful section, they would gently reign me in and lead me back to neutral.

“You can’t possibly paint your entire house yellow!”

“You can pick a color that pops for the powder room. That way, it’s not so overwhelming.”

“If you had kids, then they could experiment with color in their bedrooms, but neutral is best for the rest of the house. Neutral goes with all furniture.”

Hmph.

I tormented my mother with daily phone calls laced with detailed descriptions of neutral nuances. She threatened to disown me.

Hmph.

I visited the paint shop and ordered 30 samples. The paint shop people laughed at me. They told me that the painter should have known better than to leave the color fan with a customer like me.

Hmph.

With my paint date in sight, I had to make a decision and get back to the painter so that he could purchase the paint. I chose a brownish-green neutral. The painter was pleased. I then told him that I picked purple for the bathrooms and red for the kitchen. The purple bathroom idea was ridiculous, but a red kitchen was an outright assault to the senses.

“You do realize that the kitchen will need to be painted gray first and will then require FOUR coats of paint. It will double your cost! And we’re not talking about an accent wall here. It will be too much red. It will be nauseating! And this is where you EAT! Are you SURE?”

Geez. I had no idea that painting your kitchen red was so scandalous. Call me Hester Prynne. I had chosen a Scarlet Kitchen.

Besides, single women don’t eat in their kitchens. They eat on their sofas in front of their TVs.

I feebly answered, “Ummm….yes?”

“O.k. Don’t say that I didn’t warn you.”

Hmph.

Painting Day arrived. Since my painter also happens to be a family friend, I left him to do his thing while I was away at work. As quitting time snuck up on me, I began to dread going home. Negative self-talk hijacked my brain: “I am going to hate my kitchen. People in the Southwest paint their kitchens beige or taupe or swiss coffee. Am I having some sort of mid-life crisis? What the hell was I thinking?!”

I pulled into my garage. I slowly entered through the door that leads directly into my kitchen. My new Scarlet Kitchen which looked….absolutely fabulous! It was completely transformed through color. It was the Trading Spaces moment when the homeowner returns home and is moved to tears. I could not have been happier with my choice.

The next room I saw was the purple powder room with the chalkboard painted door. Unique and fun – what more could a girl ask for? I was pleased. My world was growing more colorful one room at a time.

I then moved to the rest of the house to check out brownish-green neutral. Yawn. I had just spent a small fortune and many obsessive hours to turn white walls into off-off-white-with-a-hint-of-brownish-green walls. What a buzz kill.

I needed to lick my wounds and regroup. There was no way that I was going to succumb to living in a neutral world. Turning 40 does not need to equate with neutral. Turning 40 does not need to equate with safe. Turning 40 does not need to equate with BORING!

I needed another consultation. I enlisted the expertise of Va Va Voom.

Va Va Voom is my larger than life friend. She’s got pizzazz. She’s got panache. She loves color. Va Va Voom has the soul of an artist. Va Va Room rocks.

She toured my home. She praised the Scarlet Kitchen. She dramatically noted that the purple bathrooms were “very Provence”. She became uncharacteristically quiet when she gazed upon brownish-green neutral.

“Hand over the color fan,” she instructed.

Va Va Voom then made a beeline for my living room and took down my framed Chagall print. “THIS is your palette!” She placed the Chagall print on the floor and whipped open the magical fan of colors. She began matching colors in the fan to colors in the print. These colors were not in the neutral section.

I mentioned peanut gallery suggestions of delegating color to powder rooms and kids rooms. I practically offended her.

“You can use color in all areas of the house. You just need to go for sophisticated color.”

Oooh. Ahhh.

Va Va Voom taught me the difference between sophisticated green and little girl green. She differentiated between sophisticated yellow and little girl yellow. I was in the presence of a Color Master.

Before she departed, Va Va Voom and I ultimately decided on two new colors from a different paint company: Marmalade for the living room and Freckles for the parlor. I hauled my cookies to a town two hours away to pay double the price for paint specially formulated by an artist. I spent another small fortune rehiring the painter.

It was worth every penny and every obsessive hour.

My colorful world now consists of a Scarlet Kitchen, Provence bathrooms, a Marmalade living room, and a Freckles foyer and parlor. The colors make each day a little brighter and a lot spunkier.

I ultimately chose a greenish-yellow neutral for the bedroom and a bluish-green neutral for the master bath. Neutral isn’t always a snooze. Neutral is often peaceful and restorative. Painting your home is like painting the canvas of your life. It’s all about balance.

Cougar Mania makes me want to yak

I am fed up with Cougar Mania. Enough already!

When this Cougar craze first swept our impressionable nation, I laughed along with everyone else. Haha! But as my mother used to say when my sister and I were overly obnoxious and just wouldn't let up, "It's starting to smell."

Cougar Mania is a fad, and like all 15 Minutes of Famers, it's time is almost up. Before we know it, we'll be watching "I Love 2009" on VH1 and thinking, "Oh, yeah! Remember that ridiculousness?!"

Here is my gripe: It seems as though "Cougar" has so thoroughly infiltrated our pop culture, that every woman over the age of 40 is now labeled as one. Just because I am 40 does not mean that I want to hunt a younger man, dig my claws into him, and drag him back to my lair. (Unless it's an evening of role play, and he is Batman and I am Catwoman. Meow!)

The Cougar stereotype is one-dimensional: an older woman looking for sex with a younger man. As in the wild, cougars are loners who only come together to mate. Now, I know that this is a tempting fantasy when members of the opposite sex are driving us up the proverbial wall. Wouldn't it be easier if men could just satisfy certain needs, and then we could just move on and hang with our girlfriends? Right. Like that would ever work for any length of time. Let's be honest with ourselves -- we are not biologically wired for all things Cougar.

Nope. This Cougar thing does nothing for me. Of course, if it's your thing, then as the song says, "Do whatchyawannado". More power to you, girlfriend.

40-something+ Women of America, I propose we adopt a new mascot. Let's start a grassroots movement! A new trend! We don't need a Hollywood poster child! (Although we certainly will not turn one away if she volunteers.)

And who will serve as our beloved mascot? Ladies, may I suggest a creature from the animal kingdom who resonates with our true nature? A mascot who doesn't insult us, but actually empowers us? I hereby recommend Canis Lupus. A.k.a., The Wolf.

I think every woman needs to go to the bookstore pronto and purchase and read Women Who Run with the Wolves by Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes. (I am in good company. Maya Angelou thinks you should as well.)

In Women Who Run with the Wolves, Dr. Estes examines the Wild Woman archetype inspired by the Wolf. This archetype honors authenticity, freedom, and passionate creativity.

Think about wolves in the wild -- not the false stereotypes from fairy tales, but real wolves. Wolves are by nature relational creatures with a playful spirit. They are curious, intuitive, and devoted to their pack. They readily adapt to changing circumstances and possess great strength and endurance.

Dr. Estes beautifully links these wolf traits back to the Wild Woman archetype. The multi-dimensional Wild Woman embraces these qualities within herself and therefore lives authentically. This is about women reaching their full potential, not about hunting and snagging a man.

Mentally cast your vote now. Which mascot do you choose?

Cougars, VH1 called. They are holding their next casting call.

Do we really want 40 to be the new 20?

Today I turn 40. I bid a fond farewell to my Thirtysomething life at 7:07 p.m. EDT.

Courtney Cox purrs that 40 is the new 20. She looks hot, so we should all believe her.

As much as I admire Ms. Cox as a Role Model of Hotness, I personally think that "the new 20" is a bit of a stretch. I would never willingly repeat my 20s (the decade of "Is this the Real World? Holy crap!") I might be tempted to reenact my 30s (the decade of "We are sooooo Sex & the City. We have figured it all out! Well....almost all of it.") But relive my 20s? Really?? No, thank you.

Ms. Cox's latest Hotness Campaign is an anomaly. Our youth-obsessed culture wants me to freak out over turning 40. Frankly, I freaked out for most of 39. How unfortunate. About a month ago, I finally got a grip and snapped out of it. I remembered that a. I actually think for myself and b. I do not respond well to people telling me what to do. I am much too rebellious for that nonsense.

Dare I say that I am actually excited to turn 40? (I daresay. I do daresay!) It's true! I have been counting down the days to my birthday. I have unofficially dubbed the 40s as The Decade of Empowerment. (My friends in their 50s consequently named their decade The Decade of Who Gives a Shit?! So I assure you that it's all good from here on out, my friends!)

As I pondered this whole Decade of Empowerment business, I couldn't help but feel a notion of Late Bloomer entwined in there somehow. When I mentioned this to a Fabulous 50s friend, she asked, "How so?" To which I replied, "Because at times I STILL feel like an awkward middle schooler. Shouldn't I feel all grown up yet?" To which Fab 50 laughed, "Don't we all still feel like that to some extent?"

Why yes, Fab 50. Why, yes we do. We simply grow more empowered by the decade, that's all. We never want to let go of our Inner Child/Middle Schooler, whatever you want to call her. She keeps us fresh. She keeps us young. She keeps us hot.

And THIS is one of the many reasons why I am positively giddy about The Decade of Empowerment. Our Inner Awkward Middle Schooler is ready to blossom. In our 20s, she was trapped in existential angst. In our 30s, she was busy building a career, a life, and taking Internet quizzes to determine if she were Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda or Samantha. (I am Charlotte with a sprinkling of Carrie.) In our 40s, we have already tilled the soil, pulled the weeds, planted the seeds, and tended the garden. We are ready to Bloom.

P.S. I applaud Her Royal Hotness, but Cougar Mania makes me want to puke. To be continued....