Today call me half-assed and I swear I am not lying to you. I mean, we’ve all been burned by tangled webs, from spiders to Lady Macbeth (with or without the damn spots).
And keeping track of past falsehoods requires diligence which is anathema to someone who spends her life seeking less work for herself.
That’s right. I direct my whole-ass efforts—paradoxically—to locating short-cuts or avoiding proverbial needles in metaphorical haystacks.
Finding those sounds kind of hard.
So. In an attempt to counterbalance any recent posts in which I may have implied I’m a go-getter (good golly, I hate that term! Almost as much as I hate “good golly”), I’m about to cast a bright light on my slackerocity.
Slackerisciousness? Slackeropolisticology. Yeah. That’s it. Pretty sure.
What follows is a brief but no-doubt enlightening photo tour of my home as it looks RIGHT NOW without augmentation or adjustment.
Prepare to be dazzled. Or to feel sorry for my kids. You decide.
First off, a peek into the guest room where no one deigns to stay.
Perhaps because the bed is always covered in laundry. Yet there’s method in my madness! Or “I know a hawk from a handsaw!” It’s one of those. I’m pretty sure.
You see, I prefer to spread out items that may wrinkle and leave the crap I don’t care about (read: other family members’ clothing) to languish in the basket. One could argue that rather than wasting time sorting important from worn-by-others, I could simply fold everything.
To that person I say, “Don’t mess with madness. Or handsaws.”
They’re sharper than needles. I assume.
Moving on to the “office” (a former wet-bar that’s now a cabinet-where-I-shove-envelopes). Please note the complicated filing system:
Yes, I’m available to offer strategies on any and all of your organizational needs. Also, I can teach you to contact your power company to get the electricity turned back on.
Which is a valuable skill. I’ve heard.
Venturing outside, you’ll enjoy two lanterns sporting candles that have seen firmer days.
Does this make anyone think of E.D.? Of course I’m referencing Emily Dickinson. Because she would’ve used white candles. Sheesh.
And it’s not that I mind buying new candles. But I don’t want to clean hot wax off dirty glass. I’m simply too busy cramming unpaid bills into tiny cabinetry. Obviously.
Next up, let’s visit the kitchen featuring our Viking range which we bought on clearance three years ago. Unfortunately, three of the six knobs fell off within the first three months.
I know. I should’ve called the company for repairs. But I hate talking on the phone even more than I love ignoring problems. So it’s a win-win for everyone. Except us.
As we head upstairs to the bathroom, you’ll see duct tape patching the hole chewed into our wall by rats on more than one occasion.
Still, the dusty artificial plant (seriously, what the hell is that?) on the bathtub ledge below is in such bad taste you almost don’t notice the duct tape.
In the master bedroom, which I have been told is supposed to be some kind of sanctuary (I’m looking at you, Nate Berkus), I’ve given up trying to clean the pet stains. Here’s a shot of Bella sleeping near her most puke-alicious effort brought on by the perpetual spur to prick the sides of her intent: an over-sized bag of M&M’s.
Yes. I know chocolate is toxic to dogs.
It’s also pretty crappy for carpet.
Finally, cast your eyes inside my 12-year-old daughter’s closet. I know. Weird, right? She has no skirts or blouses. No cute shawls or sweaters. Not one hanger-worthy article of clothing besides three karate uniforms and a droopy pink sundress from Old Navy she’s never worn.
Now for you moms whose girls have closets replete with fashionable, season-appropriate, stain-free, ironed clothing, please know I’m not completely heartless.
After all, she has a fourth karate uniform languishing at the bottom of the laundry basket in the guest room that I would’ve folded but I ran out of time creating conjugations for slacker.
p.s. I almost forgot. Here’s the sum total of my decorating for Halloween:
Go ahead and feel sorry for my kids now.
And also, my apologies to Shakespeare.