An informal poll of my like-minded sisters and girlfriends tells me 80 percent of them are back in the dating game, chomping at the bit to vote in the November election, and briskly moving their money from dangerous places, like mutual funds, and into safe places, like gold. Or crisply turning it into Euros.

Liv Tyler and I, however, are on another path. At least that's what I feel after reading today's celebrity headlines. The pouty, pretty actress was reflecting on her split with Spacehog guitarist Royston Langdon, equating it to "the loss of everything."

Tyler says, "I feel neurotic, like Woody Allen. Sometimes I just feel like a crab without a shell."

Okay. Do I dare admit that I can relate?

Women often feel lost without their men, even when the relationship sucks. It can be lonely trying to make the house, bank account, kids, and social life all work.

With the whole financial and political world reeling, I feel paralyzed. Even though most of the times I manage very well, there are moments, even weeks, when I feel myself totter.

During these episodes, my money doesn't feel safe, and neither does my state of mind. It's a little too late for me to correct the fault lines in my newly embraced financial portfolio. Divorce has left me not only poorer, but also woefully ignorant when it comes to investments and how fortunes are made and lost.

I can only hope to survive by worshiping at the church of Suze Orman (who preaches that a woman, or at least she, needs only one pair of earrings) and FWW's own Jean Chatzky, especially her advice to go on a money diet (oh god, another diet), and her instructions to always open your financial statements, which may be just too much right now.

A year ago, I was flying high.

I've got a problem. I like my current job, a lot. It's fun and rewarding but it's also demanding and on some days it has a tendency to take over my life. Like, for example, when I work 14 days straight. My boss is a wonderful woman, I also like her a lot, as a person, but sometimes — as a boss — she sucks. Like today, for example.

I had been filling the role of administrative assistant (mind you I also do a lot of freelance writing on the side, and have only taken on a "day job" as a means to pay bills while Levi isn't paying child support) for a minimal salary when an opening came up for Activities Director (this is an independent living facility for seniors). 

The activities director position was advertised at 5K a year more than my position. Interviews were conducted and somebody was hired, but the day before she was to start, she called and declined the position. I thought about it, and told my boss I'd like to take it. She readily agreed and even added that it was great for me as the position paid more.

The new job has been even more fun, as I am allowed to be more creative and flexible with my time. My first paycheck was $100 more. I was super excited about that. I began to think of all the ways that I might finally be able to put a little bit of money away for Adrian, or for vacation, or just for something... 

Since I've been living hand to mouth, draining my bank account every week (down to pennies; I'm serious) this was pretty great, and I felt a huge wave of relief come over me.

Then today happened. The payroll company called this morning and told me that my boss had reduced my salary by 4K. (So, now I'm only getting 1K a year more than I was before.) They didn't have an explanation, and as she isn't due back from her vacation for two weeks, I won't be getting one anytime soon.

I'm pretty annoyed. I can't even imagine why she did that. Especially after we talked about it.

I'm thanking the gods I work from home and there are few places my two feet and my bike can't take me. Because every buck I put into my gas tank is food I don't buy at the grocery store.

Gas at the cheapie station is holding at $4.17 this week. Everywhere else in town it's closing in on $4.30.

At that price, one gallon of gas costs more than 70 percent of the federal hourly minimum wage, $5.85. It’s still two-thirds of the new federal minimum wage that takes effect on July 24, and it's more than half the highest state minimum, $8.07, in the State of Washington.

Consider that the lowest paid workers pump almost a whole day's pay into the tank every time they fill it up. Even people making a decent wage, say $20 an hour, are spending an entire morning’s work just to pay for gas.

It's the same all over. In our must-have culture, where most families have to have two incomes in order to survive, people from the top to the middle and on down, everything is being eliminated but the basics.

No one is immune. For single moms, it's getting ugly.

Christina McLaughlin, "KristieMac" wrote about the impact of rising gas prices on her blog for the Houston Chronicle's Chron.com. She posted personal experiences, giving thanks for the good fortune of flexible work and having enough to cover bills, while lamenting economic pressure and the nixed vacation she dreamed of taking with her daughter.

Canceled vacation plans, fewer outside-the-home activities, less eating out, and just plan less. One by one every extra is slashed to make way for gas and groceries.

But, what happens when there are no more extras to cut, no more plans to cancel? Me, I'm what happens.

Keep the ring! Wear it, don't wear it. But for God's sake, keep the ring! Sell it, have it made into a necklace.

Was your ring important to you? What does a wedding ring mean? You belong to someone? Wait, that would make it more like a dog collar and a rabies license wouldn't it? If lost, please return to Mr. so-and-so at such-and-such address.

Okay, now I may just puke. Did I say keep the ring?

But, you can throw away reminders, photos, papers. I tossed and burned those, too. It made me feel good. It was like shaking off the last really awful memories of a very painful and disappointing marriage. I was glad I did that. 

Of course, what about the photos with your ex and your children? What's that old saying, oh yeah, "that's like throwing out the baby with the bathwater." Yeah, I held on to those photos. It used to hurt to look at them. It doesn't anymore.

When you can look at the photos or the items that came into your life while you were married without feeling pain or sorrow or regret, you are healed.

I don't seem to care about anything related to that part of my life anymore. I am moving forward and onward and upward. I am no longer "anyone's" possession. 

Nobody owns me. I am my own person. I am free.

And, my fellow FWW visitors and bloggers .... me likey, me likey a whole lot! 

No one to judge me. No one to bitch because there isn't any tea made. No one to expect, demand, blame, cage.

This is something that I hadn't bargained for. It figures, since bargaining isn't my strong suit.

There comes a time in everyone's life when life-changing decisions have to be made. This time usually comes in conjunction with some drastic change of course: marriage, divorce, death of a loved one, change of job, completion of school, etc.

Sometimes, it's a welcome change, other times this transition is met with fear and anxiety. And still other times, chance can be a combination of the two, and can leave you tired, confused and, for lack of a better phrase, scared shitless.

I came to the realization a few weeks ago while perusing several Internet job sites that I have no real idea how to go about this. The jumping through the hoops is easy enough; update your resume, dress up, refrain from saying silly things while at the interview, and so forth. The problem I had was this: I have never been in a position where I have had to name my salary.

I know that throughout the years, I have collected a wealth of employable skills, and I now possess the education that many employers deem so very necessary, especially for the fields in which I am interested. What I am lacking is the savvy to put it all together and use it to my advantage.

I know it's never supposed to make sense all at the same time, but I can't help but wish it would, just once.

Yesterday, I was about to leave my door to our Debbie Does Divorce live taping at The Heartland Brewery in the Empire State Building in NYC when Fran, my trusty right hand, takes a look at me in my brand new suit and blurts out, "Oh No". Oh No...is not a good thing to hear when you're rushing out the door. Oh No what? "You still have the security sensor on your jacket!" I felt a wave of nausea coming on.

I was so proud I had spent Sunday buying myself something fresh and springy to wear. I rarely lay everything out the night before to go anywhere, but I was so impressed with myself I just had to. There it was, a cream/brown combo linen suit with matching necklace, earrings, new shoes, and even a watch to match the belt.

There is no other outfit in my closet at this moment. How did I miss this? How did I get out of the store? How did I not feel this gigantic plastic contraption under my left armpit. Now what? Find the receipt and try and figure out if anyone closer than the original store could remove it. Ever try and get a security tag removed at a gas station? I rarely get totally annoyed, but there are exceptions.... thus the moment I blasted back through the front door of the original store where I whipped off my coat and held up my arm to show the store manager where to perform the security surgery. Needless to say she was embarrassed. I did call first to let her know I was fully dressed, could not change, and I would be coming back in through the security sensor... which by the way, did not go off. Somebody there better call security.

In case you haven't heard, crying during an interview is considered bad form. There I was being interviewed by one of those deadly women in their late forties — beautiful body and face, $500 suit, $300 shoes, a real ball-buster and the General Sales Manager of almost 40 television sales reps.

Now, granted, I'm not beautiful (uh, by traditional standards I mean), but I can hold my own, and that day I dressed to perfection. I wore my most expensive gray silk and very hip pants suit with my dyed red snake skin four inch heels (tough to walk in I can tell you!) finished off with a matching bag and my day timer. Oh, yeah, I was poised to bust a few balls myself.

As I sat in the interview, and keeping in mind that there probably isn't a person on earth who has had more job interviews in one lifetime than me, I knew I was scoring big time. I aced every question. My body language was impeccable. Hey, if you change jobs as often as I've been known to do, you can't help but improve your interviewing skills.

Lisa gave no indication of being a warm, touchy, feely person. She was balls to the walls success and all business. She fired the questions. I volleyed the answers. It was going perfectly. I knew she would offer the job to me.

And just as I was internally figuring out what sort of base and commission structure I should plan on asking for, BAM! She hit me with the oh-so-wrong question of, "I guess it's been a little tough with the divorce and Hurricane Katrina..."

Since the divorce, Stinky likes to make a trip once a year up here to show his gracious generosity by using his credit card to purchase socks, underwear, shoes, and school supplies for his son and daughter. He will not pay one red cent in child support throughout the year, but in August he gets to come up here and play hero for the day. Last year, I did something I never thought I would do - I took advantage of his credit at a major department store. See, since he was with me, but hated to shop, we just filled out the credit card form right then and there and the lovely clerk gave me a slip of paper to use until his card arrived in the mail.

Did I mention that Stinky is a little on the ignorant side? I think he just doesn't care enough to pay attention sometimes. If it isn't something he is interested in, he ignores it. Shopping is one of those things.

The following week, and after he'd left town, my daughter had decided she didn't exactly like a particular outfit and Joseph still did not have his much-needed shoes. So, I did the unthinkable, but, trust me, I did a whole lot of thinking before I promptly marched myself up to the department store and exchanged the one outfit for three more, bought my son's shoes and a couple of more shirts and bought myself a few things, too, using that little slip of paper. After all, the last name on the card was "Woodard," and I still use that as my legal name (for the kids' sake).

Let me tell you something. When you're divorcing an abusive maniac, you don't think about your financial investments. I know. I know. I should have. But I just wanted out and the best way to accomplish that at the moment was to give him everything. He's one greedy guy.

However, in the divorce agreement that his lawyer drew up there was absolutely nothing stipulating that he had to pay, well, anything. Nothing. Nada. Zip.

Naturally, the judge threw that out and warned the attorney to come back with a plan for child support or she'd do it herself. (Frankly, I think Stinky's lawyer was just making sure she had another reason to bill him another grand.)

When all was said and done, the agreement stipulated that Stinky pay for my car (roughly $380) and that he pay the car insurance of about $50 a month and give me a check or cash for another $300. The sum total for two children was $750 a month. Don't do this.

Enforcing this kind of discombobulated agreement is nearly impossible. And, once the car is paid for you have to coax your ex to turn the title over to you, not an easy task with Stinky, as it seemed the car was the one thing that he still held over me. With Stinky it was always about control.

And, if you happen to live in another state, as I do, and you're driving around with an expired Mississippi tag because you cannot get a Tennessee tag unless the car is in your name, and if you find yourself sitting at a red light with a motorcycle cop on your tail, chances are very good you will be pulled over.

Up until that day, you should have seen the ways I managed to avoid ever being in front of a squad car — takes some real talent if you don't want to break the law.

Let me tell you something. If you make a really horrible mistake, and try to re-kindle for the children's sake, and you move back in with your ex after you've divorced, it's best to not combine your finances this go round. And if, in the process of the rekindling, you both decide to buy property, best make sure it gets put in your name, too.

Of course these are very big words coming from a woman who simply said, "Sure, you can have complete control of the money," and "No, I don't mind if you spend the money I make buying and paying for property that you put only in your name. I trust you." Gag!

So, you see, what you have here is a woman who totally did all the wrong things yet somehow managed to move through them and eventually come out on the other side in tact, relatively speaking.

After the divorce, my credit had gone straight to the toilet. The question wasn't, What's my credit score? The question was, Can you have a credit score in the negative? But the first year I was back with Stinky, I made almost $80,000, and in south Mississippi, I can tell you that's a good bit of money. And I gave it all to him because, as I mentioned earlier, I was an idiot. So we bought the land with my good money and his good credit.

When I left him that final time, I was in a bit of hurry, as all women leaving abusive men usually are, and I took only what I needed to survive: my children and our clothes, my hardback books and my favorite cookware. If you have clean underwear, a pan and a spoon, you're good to go.

Still, after a month or two, I knew that I had to return to the "scene of the crime" and retrieve some of my other things that I could have lived without but didn't want to.