So, I lugged all the plants indoors yesterday. Including those on Satan's balconey. It's a good thing I've built a little muscle mass on the Bow Flex. It's 34 degrees right now and the forecast calls for lower temperatures tomorrow.
I've learned my lesson. No plants on the balconey before Easter ever again.
Meanwhile, I'm having a sinking spell since I envisioned all my vacation activities taking place with me wearing sandals in balmy spring weather. Not so much in temperatures at the freeze point and below.
Feeling punky, I called Satan just now who speculated that the weather would likely rebound by the time I return to work on Monday.
No! Don't try and make me feel better!
I'm considering cheering myself up by organizing my linen closet.
I know, I am completely wild and crazy.
I was inspired by an article at Real Simple this morning. It is so appealing to think of all my sheets, napkins and towels in neat little rows. With labels! They even know how to fold a fitted sheet over at Real Simple.
I caught on to this website six or eight months ago (and probably several years after the rest of the world) and have even subscribed to the magazine. Just reading about being organized makes me feel better. Also, watching other people get organized in various TV shows like "Mission Organization" or Clean House makes me feel better. And I do watch these shows endlessly (much to Satan's chagrin).
I have to say, it never ceases to amaze me how the clients in these shows never seem to be ashamed of their incredibly messy, dirty, and disorganized homes. I'm not saying I've never suffered from these afflictions myself (because, Lord knows I have and do), I'm just saying that nothing would cure me faster than knowing a television crew was going to be showing up at my front door anytime soon.
I'd be all,
"The 'Clean House' crew is coming to help clean and organize my home! Fantastic!"
And then I'd frantically clean and organize my home before they got there.
Of course, none of the clutter victims profiled ever do this or they wouldn't have a show. I saw an episode early on where they were re-doing this woman's bedroom and, along with an endless supply of empty cat food cans (in her BEDROOM), there was actual cat poop in the floor.
NOT in a litter box, oh no. ON the carpet.
Cat. Poop.
On national television. In her bedroom.
Personally? If that were me? And millions of viewers had just witnessed a pile petrified cat turds next to my bed in the floor of the room WHERE I SLEEP? I would then just go and quietly hang myself in the barn. They would find me swinging from the a rafter with a note pinned to my chest that would read, "Sorry about the cat sh--".
Not this woman, though. She was all giggling and shrugging her shoulders and like, "Yes! I sure do love my cat!"
Ahem.
And here I should point out that I wasn't so upset by all this that I changed the channel or anything. Nope!
Perhaps that's the point of these shows. So people like me can sit sprawled on their couch, eating ice cream out of the tub, congratulating themselves on the fact that, while sure, there are beachball sized tumbleweeds of dog fur blowing about the house, and their fitted sheets are wadded up and stuffed in the closet between an old Twister game and a set of hot rollers circa 1979, and there MAY BE a couch under that pile of clothes the master bedroom (who can remember?), there are CERTAINLY NO CAT TURDS on the floor.
Of course, we don't have an indoor cat, either.
But, that's not the point, now is it?
I've learned my lesson. No plants on the balconey before Easter ever again.
Meanwhile, I'm having a sinking spell since I envisioned all my vacation activities taking place with me wearing sandals in balmy spring weather. Not so much in temperatures at the freeze point and below.
Feeling punky, I called Satan just now who speculated that the weather would likely rebound by the time I return to work on Monday.
No! Don't try and make me feel better!
I'm considering cheering myself up by organizing my linen closet.
I know, I am completely wild and crazy.
I was inspired by an article at Real Simple this morning. It is so appealing to think of all my sheets, napkins and towels in neat little rows. With labels! They even know how to fold a fitted sheet over at Real Simple.
I caught on to this website six or eight months ago (and probably several years after the rest of the world) and have even subscribed to the magazine. Just reading about being organized makes me feel better. Also, watching other people get organized in various TV shows like "Mission Organization" or Clean House makes me feel better. And I do watch these shows endlessly (much to Satan's chagrin).
I have to say, it never ceases to amaze me how the clients in these shows never seem to be ashamed of their incredibly messy, dirty, and disorganized homes. I'm not saying I've never suffered from these afflictions myself (because, Lord knows I have and do), I'm just saying that nothing would cure me faster than knowing a television crew was going to be showing up at my front door anytime soon.
I'd be all,
"The 'Clean House' crew is coming to help clean and organize my home! Fantastic!"
And then I'd frantically clean and organize my home before they got there.
Of course, none of the clutter victims profiled ever do this or they wouldn't have a show. I saw an episode early on where they were re-doing this woman's bedroom and, along with an endless supply of empty cat food cans (in her BEDROOM), there was actual cat poop in the floor.
NOT in a litter box, oh no. ON the carpet.
Cat. Poop.
On national television. In her bedroom.
Personally? If that were me? And millions of viewers had just witnessed a pile petrified cat turds next to my bed in the floor of the room WHERE I SLEEP? I would then just go and quietly hang myself in the barn. They would find me swinging from the a rafter with a note pinned to my chest that would read, "Sorry about the cat sh--".
Not this woman, though. She was all giggling and shrugging her shoulders and like, "Yes! I sure do love my cat!"
Ahem.
And here I should point out that I wasn't so upset by all this that I changed the channel or anything. Nope!
Perhaps that's the point of these shows. So people like me can sit sprawled on their couch, eating ice cream out of the tub, congratulating themselves on the fact that, while sure, there are beachball sized tumbleweeds of dog fur blowing about the house, and their fitted sheets are wadded up and stuffed in the closet between an old Twister game and a set of hot rollers circa 1979, and there MAY BE a couch under that pile of clothes the master bedroom (who can remember?), there are CERTAINLY NO CAT TURDS on the floor.
Of course, we don't have an indoor cat, either.
But, that's not the point, now is it?
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