I’m feeling very random today, and wordy. So is Zeb. He’s doing weird things to the dog.
My neighbor called to ask me if I had a bolo tie she could borrow. I was like, “You’re kidding, right? You want to know if I have a bolo tie? How about 200?” Zeb has an enormous collection of bolo ties because his father had an enormous collection and when he died Zeb brought them home. Now we have them. So yes, I have a bolo tie she can borrow.
I worship this woman from afar. When my kids are bickering at maximum volume, her children are playing violin/guitar duets on their front porch. Her house is always calm and organized and I have never heard her raise her voice. Ever. I’m not being bitchy here, I think she’s great and I wish that my house/temperament was more like hers. She’s a soft-spoken and gentle person. I’m, um, spirited.
I invited her to come over and pick a tie out and then freaked out a little when I realized that would be in 30 seconds. The house, as usual, is trashed. I’m actually okay with how trashed it is because it is truly a sign of progress. Zeb, Cato and Minion (our other employee) have been kicking ass at eBay lately and if they keep it up, my soon-to-be office sanctuary will be ready for me to move into within a few months. But this means that there are bags of clothes everywhere, either to be shipped, to be stored, or to be processed for sale. Garbage bags, grocery bags, shipping bags. They are everywhere. Again, this is okay but having my perfect neighbor come over … Viv Shaming.
I need to get over being so worried about what other people think. Is it really a surprise that our house is as chaotic inside as it is outside? Is a perfectly tidy house a prerequisite for liking me? You’d think I’d have gotten over this since I blog about it every day.
Where the hell does this come from? I’ll tell you.
My ex had some friends that weren’t very nice to me. The wife didn’t like me at all and one day she paid me the high compliment of, “What I admire about you is how clean your house is.” Thanks … I think. My worth was determined by the cleanliness of my house, like it’s the 50s or something. I got back at them a few years later. We were at a pub and I was well into my second G&T when she said, “We haven’t seen you in a while, where have you been?” I was blotto by then and blurted out, “Oh, didn’t you know? I DON’T LIKE YOU!”
Oh my God it felt so good. Since then she’s been much nicer to me and I actually like her now. She was even nice to me after the divorce, probably because it meant she didn’t have to see me anymore. Ahhhh, truth!
Enough of that, here’s my stuff for the day.
I’m pulling stuff off the porch (on the floor). We have a nice house and two very nice vacation rentals, they are pristine inside. The problem is when a renter approaches the house he might think he’s pulled up to the Clampett’s place. I worry that our house is akin to Indian medical tourism. The facilities are great but half of the “tourists” freak out and go home because of the shit they see on the cab ride over. So I’m trying to clean it up.
I’ve run the Title9 9K every year since Testy was born. They had a wonderful tradition of handing out a necklace at the finish line, it’s the best keepsake ever. Small, compact, meaningful. Then last year they handed out this stupid, fucking water bottle. Ironically, the sticker on it boasted “Click and it’s Closed!” unless it isn’t, in which case it leaks all over the place. I will likely keep those necklaces forever, this thing however is RECYCLED.
These tiny toys went in the bucket. It’s hard to let these go, they were from such a sweet time. DONATE.
I went all the way and did two more junk drawers in the kitchen. They’ve only been established for a year so there was less crap to purge. I’ll call it 20 items.
Ironically these clothes are made for young women. No one under 40 could possible know who Daisy Fuentes is. She used to be a VeeJay on MTV. What? MTV showed music videos? Since when?
I am SO PSYCHED to get rid of this. I’ve been carrying these divorce documents around forever and they are the kind of thing I wish I could get rid of, but what if something came up and I had to prove that my ex and I are actually divorced? Shit like that happens, yo.
For instance, years ago Zeb got a call from the Denver police department saying that there was a warrant out for his arrest. He went down to the station and was booked for kidnapping. Another man, with his exact same name (that never happens, two people having the same name – I googled his name and got 1,420,000 hits), was accused of kidnapping his girlfriend and locking her in his apartment.
Said woman filed a report and the intrepid Denver PD looked in the phone book, found Zeb’s name and arrested him. Pay no mind to the fact that she knew her attacker, provided his information and description (not insignificantly, he’s BLACK and Zeb is NOT), and social security number and said, “You’ve got the wrong guy. This is not my boyfriend.” Still it cost Zeb $3000 to have his name cleared. Fast forward years later we were cleaning off his desk and came across the legal documents. He tossed the file figuring that it was handled. Only it wasn’t. He applied to have his name on the liquor license for his now-defunct nightclub and was denied because he failed to mention that he was charged with a felony.
He was like, “But it wasn’t me.” and the crazy liquor license woman was all, “But you lied about being charged with a felony you lying liar!” and he was all, “BUT IT WASN’T ME!” for like a half hour and he still never got his license because he didn’t have the legal documents to prove it. DPD never expunged his file, even though the court ordered them to, which leads me back to why I still have my divorce documents.
What if for some reason I had to prove my ex and I were divorced, like, if I was in the hospital and Zeb couldn’t see me because somewhere it said I was married to someone else and I didn’t have the documents to prove it and I’d be forced to deal with my ex and he’d be all, “But you cheated on me! You should give me more money!” and I’d be all dying and like, “For fuck’s sake I said I was sorry ten-thousand times! I am very, very, verrrrry sorry! Now can I please see my family before I lapse into a coma?”
Hell-To-The-No. Scanned. Saved. FOREVER.
Infant Aquatics Wet Suit (size MEDIUM) FREE and Magnetos. FREE.