Invasion of the Clutter Snatchers

Today the pod people finally came to pick up my stuff. No, not those pod people--the storage unit people.

I slacked big time in getting this taken care of, and I shudder to think what got ruined because of it. Those storage units sat out there for 6 weeks, 3 major snows and a whole lot of sub-zero temperatures. Can olive oil freeze?

The owner of the storage place has been calling me for the last couple of weeks, asking when I wanted the units picked up. I kept putting him off because I didn't feel like thinking about it. My husband finally chipped the ice away from the perimeter this morning and the big metal boxes full of our stuff are on their way to some secret underground lair to be watched over by magical yet fierce unicorns until we are ready to move into our new house....or something like that.

We got back the part of our driveway that my husband usually parks his behemoth of a car on. (I know it's a crappy picture, but I didn't feel like to looking for a better one.) Of course, it is costing me $100 a month to store the units (and most likely some hidden bullshit charges on top of that) for the privilege.

Up side: About 90% of the clutter in my house has been eliminated by utilizing those storage pods.

Down side: Eventually, they are going to make us take it all back.


I hope the unicorns take good care of my stuff.

Dream a little dream

When I went to ISU, I used Health Services for all my medical needs. The doctors were friendly and the facility was pretty nice as far as health clinics go. I was happy to have the place available, especially for my yearly lady bits exam.

The only qualm I had with the place was their choice of decor in the exam room. Among the magazines, cheesy "successories" posters and STD pamphlets was a poster. This poster was not on the wall, but rather strategically placed above the exam table. It was unavoidable, right there on the ceiling.

It was a Tiger Beat-esque poster of the Coreys (yes, plural).

Now, had I gone to college in the late 80's, this would have made a little bit more sense. This was the early 90's. Mr. Feldman and Mr. Haim were well past their sell by date at this point.

What was the purpose of having anything on the ceiling, let alone a dated poster of child actors? Comic relief or something way creepier?

I can only assume whoever put the poster up there thought college co-eds (still) found the Coreys attractive. Why would they want someone getting a very personal medical procedure to be turned on? Why would I want to think about washed-actors while someone had their hand up my snatch?

That's what parties were for.

One time, I should have kept my mouth shut

In 1983 a murder took place in my town. I didn't live here then, but I did read the book that was written about it (twice). It's a fascinating case made even more eerie by the fact that it took place in the town I live in. If you are a true crime junkie like me, it's a must read.

I used to be a hairstylist. Before I had kids, I worked really long (12+ hour) days behind the chair and I got to meet many interesting people from many different walks of life.

One night I had a new client who was referred to me by her sister. She had a really different name. Being a "Chaylene", I can sympathize with others saddled with a fucked up moniker.

We chatted easily and had a couple of laughs before I started cutting her hair. Halfway though the haircut, I brought up her name again. I'd only heard once before, I told her.

"Remember that Hendrick's murder in the 80's?"

"Yes."

"I read that book recently. One of the models that guy used for his business pamphlets had your name. Can you imagine what that was like. I mean, those girls must feel so creeped out knowing they modeled for a murderer!"

"Uh...that was me."


She found a new stylist after that.

Fair Warning

When I was in junior high, my best friend was a girl named Leigh. Her sister was 5 years older, and was a really good sport about hanging out with us sometimes. Once in a while, she would share some little known facts with us.

For instance, there is a bone in the penis. I mean, why else would they call it a boner?

Also, she warned us, never never NEVER eat ketchup in front of a boy. It reminds them of period blood, and they will get grossed out.

Let's just say I lost my virginity before she did.

Koo Koo Kachoo, Mrs. Robinson

This morning I realized I had forgotten to go to a baby shower I was invited to last week. I feel like a complete asshole about it too. I should call her and apologize, but I don't really have a credible excuse.

This afternoon I left the house a full half hour earlier than I needed to for my daughter's swim class. I have no idea how this happened because normally, getting us out of the house with minutes to spare is one for the record books. It did however work in my favor as I had the chance to stop by the grocery store to pick a few things I needed for dinner tonight.

I found a parking place right up front and pulled in. Not until my daughter was halfway out of the car did I notice that I had taken up a handicapped space. I quickly ushered her back into the car all the while loudly proclaiming to everyone within earshot that WE HAVE TO MOVE THE CAR! I PARKED IN THE WRONG SPOT! I didn't want anyone around me thinking I was some kind of deviant cripple-hater. True, I milked the "New and Expectant Moms" parking spaces for as long as I could, but this was different. I don't think mental illness constitutes a special parking space. I had to park elsewhere.

I used the self check out because my five year old likes to help me scan the groceries. While she was scanning and bagging (hey, she wanted to), I totally got caught checking out the hottie cashier a few lanes over. I hate when that happens.

My only explanation for all this distraction is my recently acquired infatuation with Justin Timberlake.

You think I'm kidding.

I should probably hide my 33 year old married mother of two face in shame for admitting this, but I won't. I have a crush on JT.

I can't help it. He's just so damn hot and young (and really funny). By the way, have you seen him dance? Don't tell me he can't do other things well when he can move like that.

My husband knows. He went out and voluntarily bought me the new CD for Valentine's Day. He didn't so much as tsk tsk when I DVR'd the Saturday Night Live which my crushy crush hosted. He even watched it with me, ignoring whatever it was I was doing under the blanket on the couch. I'm going to wait a while before putting up the life-size stand up....at least until we move into the new house.

So there it is. Apparently I have regressed back to adolescence. Who can blame me really? I mean, I wasn't even aware sexy had gone anywhere in the first place and here he goes, bringing it back. If that's not something to write home about, well you tell me what is.

Sunday Bloody Sunday

Yesterday I got a call that someone wanted to see the house. My husband took the girls to the gym with him and I stayed home to clean up and get the dogs out of here for the showing.

I tend to get a little insane when someone's coming to see the house. I don't know why I get so freaked out. Most people aren't looking at my furniture, paint choices or underwear drawer (Are they? Gross.). Most perspective buyers are checking out the "bones" of the house (ie; the furnace, water heater, roof, appliances, etc.).

Why do I feel like they are judging me instead of the house? It's like I'm getting ready for a date before people come over for a look. I get that same nervous giddiness that invariably turns to bitterness before they even walk in the door.

"Oh goody! Someone's coming to see the house! Must clean, must tidy up. I hope they like the house. I hope we get an offer this time. Oh shit, there's a piece of lint on the stairs. Where did this lollipop stick come from?! Why can't everyone pick up their own shit? I can't keep this up. How can I be expected to have this place perfect all the fucking time? Goddamnit! Fuck these people! If they don't like my house, they can suck a fat cock!"

Rinse and repeat.

I've just about gotten the pre-viewing clean up down to a science but, being in a half-crazed (and usually rushed) state of mind, sometimes things slip through the cracks. The last time someone came over, I forgot to take down one of the baby gates. It wasn't a big deal, and no mention was made of it.

Yesterday I was finishing up and getting ready to put the dogs in the car. This is quite an experience in itself. Pugs aren't generally known for hiding their emotion. When I get out their harnesses, they know they are either going for a walk or getting a ride in the car, both things that send them into a frenzy of snorting, panting insanity. I knew they were going to send dog hair flying about during the harnessing process, so I decided to get them in the car before taking the baby gates down and doing a final scan to make sure I didn't forget anything.

Part of keeping things ready to show is emptying out the upstairs garbage cans. I try to look around the house and pay attention to things I would notice--like empty garbage cans. I don't want to look at someone's used q-tips, so I figure most people don't want to see mine.

This week, to borrow a little junior high slang, Aunt Flo is here for a visit. I visited the upstairs bathroom before leaving the house and, not wanting to leave any garbage up there, carried my little "package" downstairs with me with the intent of putting it in the kitchen garbage (which is hidden under the sink). Before anyone gets all skeeved out, I did wrap it in toilet paper and then the cutesy pink plasticy wrap stuff on top of that.

I scanned the living room on my way down the stairs and noticed some toys behind the couch that needed to be stashed, so I set what I had in my hand on the little phone stand next to the stairs.

The realtor said she was coming over around 10:30 and it was coming up on 10:15. One last look around and I was out the door. Since my husband had the girls with him, I was excited to drive around by myself. Sure, I had the crazy dogs with me, but they generally calm down within a few minutes. I had downloaded the latest This American Life onto my iPod, and couldn't wait to listen to it. I was going to get a latte too. I might as well have been going on vacation!

I don't ask for much.

Ten minutes down the road, it hit me.

If I'm pretty sure no one wants to look at my used q-tips, I am damn sure no one wants too see a USED PAD on the phone stand.

A million things ran through my head. There was really no explaining this away. This was not a forgotten baby gate.

I looked at the clock: 10:25. I had to speed. The dogs jumped up to the front seat, sensing my fear. I worried that I would get pulled over and started picturing me trying to tell the cop the truth. Certainly they would be grossed out enough to let me go. Maybe I would get a police escort back to the house?

I pulled in the driveway and thankfully they hadn't shown up yet. I tore ass to the back door, ran inside and there it was.

Crisis averted.

We haven't heard anything back from them (yet), but at least I know it isn't because of a forgotten piece of garbage.

Shoe Porn

I'm feeling a little funny in my girl bits.

Fantastico!