Closing in on one full year of homeownership. I can’t believe it. It blows me away, like all of the expenses incurred as a result of said ownership. What a year it has been. Full of some downs and more downs, with the ups just lightly tossed in there like an average chorus to an already bad song. I’ve survived this, I am stronger, and I am certainly happier, and the good things that did happen have made life a good place for me to be right now. But, when my ex moved out, she took everything.

Mind you, it was hers to begin with; I threw away my one box of pots, pans, and mismatched dishes once we decided to take on the doomed project cohabitation, and so I had nothing when she left, which is fine. I needed a fresh start, and I certainly didn’t need any dishes. Dinner is on cardboard or encapsulated in Styrofoam for this guy. So, when the split happened, I was forced to redecorate. Great! There is one problem though, and it’s been well documented in this column over the years, and that is that I am Shane Kinney, and I don’t have a clue.

I really don’t. Asking me to decorate your apartment is about as good of an idea as asking Jessica Simpson to recite the alphabet. Neither can be executed without anguish, discomfort, and not unlike trying to start a lawn mower after a winter inside. It spits out a bunch of noise but never happens. And having me be the interior designer is as doomed as the Hindenburg. What a great idea, to have me decide what floral patterns are needed, or to have the new Britney (Jessica) attempt English, but these efforts will go down like that blimp, but hey, she will still look good, and I’ll still have my couch. I guess that’s all that matters.

I just have no concept of decorating. I can write you some music, or words, or a joke, or I could romance you, or make you feel special, but if you want to know what color goes with that color, keep moving.

But speaking of people to have no concept of the power of enunciation, Bob Dylan himself once attempted to proclaim, “The times, they are a changing,” or something like that. And believe it or not that crusty old harp blowing crawdad was right, because I went shopping the other day, and it was great!

Oh that’s right. I got these nice new dishes that I never use, new silverware, curtains, and I even got a matching set of stuff to redecorate the bathroom. I am not kidding. I was able to coddle this together all by myself. Granted, my house still reeks of a bachelor pad, but at least I have curtains. And you know what? It looks damn good. I’m pretty proud.

I know I’m going to sound like Sally Struthers here, but your help is still needed. I am a complete jackass when it comes to home decoration, but I have a credit card. So, if you are willing to pick it out, I will pick it up, but you have to tell me where to put it.

It may not be much, and the decorations work together about as well as (insert your favorite band that broke up due to personality differences here) well, you know. But the bottom line? It’s mine. It’s my house, and that’s all that I care about, until something breaks. Who’m I gonna call?