"Clear out the clutter" seems to be a theme running through my mind these days. I'm tired of the papers, McDonald's toys and partnerless socks taking over my head.
Yes, I did just move a few months ago but, are you aware of how many useless things a 6 year old will get from school and/or pick up off the ground and bring home in one day??
The time has come to purge the junk beast. Here is a list of things I have found around the house...why did I keep any of these things, let alone move them?? Sadly, some things have been moved more than once and more than twice.
1. two Dollar Store flashlights with Dollar Store batteries that only worked for the first 5 minutes we had them
2. receipts from Canadian Tire for Armor All - was it ever a possibility that we might need to return this product??
3. enough bottles of hair gel and shampoo with less than 1/2 inch of product left in them to re-coif my high school graduation class
4. hair clips and scrunchies - just in case I ever decide to grow my hair out. Yes, scrunchies...gotta problem with that??
5. Kissing Potion lip gloss which I loved when I was 8. Please tell me why I would buy this at 28 years old and then wonder why it just didn't seem the same.
6. allen keys from nearly every piece of Ikea furniture we've ever purchased
7. mini keys to suitcases we haven't had in years - if we ever owned them at all
8. 7 Glade Plug-In air fresheners. Does my house actually smell that bad that I think I need to keep such a vast quantity on hand??
9. The indoor grill that broke 2 months ago
10. Any magazine that ever had one good article in it. It's time to face reality, I don't remember what that article said and I don't care that I forget what it said.
Are any of you struggling with this? Do you desperately want control over your home but then find yourself sitting on the floor for 3 hours with a stack of your children's "art" weeping over how beautiful/meaningful/sentimental it is? Please let me know. We need to unite as one band of pack rats and hoarders. We need to support each other and spread our tips and wisdom about how to get rid of our crap. Plus, if you are worse then me, I can laugh at you and feel better about myself. Get out the Kissing Potion, I'm reverting to my childhood!
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
The Misadventures of Rat-Dog
Well, it looks like my little doggy Lola may be finally back to normal.
If you are unaware, a week and a half ago, she had to go to the groomers. When I say she had to go, I mean that she was one huge tangle of frizzy, dry, smelly fur. Her nails resembled that guy from India who hasn't cut his fingernails in like 55 years and wears a burlap sack on his hand to protect them. (protect them??? I'm pretty sure the mental health authorities should be getting involved in the reasons why he has neglected this small yet important hygiene issue and why freaks like me say things like, "Craig, don't change the channel!!! After the commercial they are showing this guy with totally disgusting fingernails! They're all curly and yellow and brown and I HAVE to see them!!")
Anyway, Lola goes to the groomer. It is called Hollywood Dogs. Call me an optimist but when I picked them from the yellow pages I imagined pink walls, black marble floors and leashes with bling for sale. I imagined Lola would emerge with a posh attitude, pink ribbons in her hair and a diamond choker surrounding her now graceful neck whilst smelling of Chanel No. 5 or the doggy equivalent. Cut to reality: tiny room in a industrial park, odd sized dog crates stacked perilously close to the ceiling, hair from previous doggy customers everywhere and a blue bathtub circa 1954 stuck in the wall. The groomer appears in front of me from out of nowhere, as the creepy guy always does in horror films. Obviously this lady has devoted her life to the grooming of animals and has forgotten that people can also do some basic grooming. Her teeth were varying shades of beige, brown, yellow and I swear there was a tint of green in there too. I tried to look her in the eye, I promise, but my gaze kept slipping south while a little voice repeated over and over in my head "how long do you have to forget to brush your teeth for that to happen??"
She promises she will take good care of Lola. I know by this time you are probably screaming, "don't do it, don't leave her there". I wish I could say I didn't but...I did. She was a tangled mess and I figured a quick shave and she'd be fine.
Two hours later I get a call that she's ready to be picked up. One week later, Lola refuses to get out of her crate when I'm home alone. She sits in there all day and pouts. When Craig and Emily come home she is ecstatic, jumping, snuggling, eating (I told you, she won't come out when I'm home, so no eats or drinks during the day...totally cutting off her nose to spite her face). She voices her displeasure with me and my decision making ability by pooping on my side of the bed, not once, but twice. This is the only time she comes out of her crate when I'm home, to crap on my bed.
Fast forward 11 days. She is now back to normal but looks like a slightly overgrown rat. A rat with a ginormous bobble head. I don't know what Teethy did to her while she was there but obviously it wasn't pleasant.
Looking back, I see that Lola has learned something from going to Hollywood Dogs. She has officially asserted herself as a damsel from 1940's movies by pouting, acting like a martyr, manipulating and cozying up to Craig.
If you are unaware, a week and a half ago, she had to go to the groomers. When I say she had to go, I mean that she was one huge tangle of frizzy, dry, smelly fur. Her nails resembled that guy from India who hasn't cut his fingernails in like 55 years and wears a burlap sack on his hand to protect them. (protect them??? I'm pretty sure the mental health authorities should be getting involved in the reasons why he has neglected this small yet important hygiene issue and why freaks like me say things like, "Craig, don't change the channel!!! After the commercial they are showing this guy with totally disgusting fingernails! They're all curly and yellow and brown and I HAVE to see them!!")
Anyway, Lola goes to the groomer. It is called Hollywood Dogs. Call me an optimist but when I picked them from the yellow pages I imagined pink walls, black marble floors and leashes with bling for sale. I imagined Lola would emerge with a posh attitude, pink ribbons in her hair and a diamond choker surrounding her now graceful neck whilst smelling of Chanel No. 5 or the doggy equivalent. Cut to reality: tiny room in a industrial park, odd sized dog crates stacked perilously close to the ceiling, hair from previous doggy customers everywhere and a blue bathtub circa 1954 stuck in the wall. The groomer appears in front of me from out of nowhere, as the creepy guy always does in horror films. Obviously this lady has devoted her life to the grooming of animals and has forgotten that people can also do some basic grooming. Her teeth were varying shades of beige, brown, yellow and I swear there was a tint of green in there too. I tried to look her in the eye, I promise, but my gaze kept slipping south while a little voice repeated over and over in my head "how long do you have to forget to brush your teeth for that to happen??"
She promises she will take good care of Lola. I know by this time you are probably screaming, "don't do it, don't leave her there". I wish I could say I didn't but...I did. She was a tangled mess and I figured a quick shave and she'd be fine.
Two hours later I get a call that she's ready to be picked up. One week later, Lola refuses to get out of her crate when I'm home alone. She sits in there all day and pouts. When Craig and Emily come home she is ecstatic, jumping, snuggling, eating (I told you, she won't come out when I'm home, so no eats or drinks during the day...totally cutting off her nose to spite her face). She voices her displeasure with me and my decision making ability by pooping on my side of the bed, not once, but twice. This is the only time she comes out of her crate when I'm home, to crap on my bed.
Fast forward 11 days. She is now back to normal but looks like a slightly overgrown rat. A rat with a ginormous bobble head. I don't know what Teethy did to her while she was there but obviously it wasn't pleasant.
Looking back, I see that Lola has learned something from going to Hollywood Dogs. She has officially asserted herself as a damsel from 1940's movies by pouting, acting like a martyr, manipulating and cozying up to Craig.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)