All You Need Is Love (and Sex and Cheetos), But Right Now, Mostly, Love

You guys cannot believe how it makes a girl feel to throw up a blog post after a year plus of not blogging and get hundreds of views, so many amazing comments and emails.

I feel like I stepped on a scale and lost ten pounds and you know how frickin' excited that gets me! I have so much to tell you guys, that I'm not just overwhelmed by all the love but all I have to fill you in on.

Today, I'm going to make it simple. I just want to talk about the intention of this blog and what got me back to blogging again. Um... my life sucks. In a way I thought it would never suck again after sucking so bad a few years ago.

It I might have let it continue to suck because in this case it was sucking to a less degree than last time that I did not realize the accumulative suckiness until I took stock in my life.

It was 4 weeks ago when my Mom told me my cousin had brain cancer. One week later, she was in the hospital and really sick herself.

I could add to that that I am currently jobless, boyfriendless, a bit of fat-ass-ness but that all seems to pale in comparison to these new set of circumstances.

When my Mom told me about my cousin, I started crying. That heaving crying that is really ugly, that starts with tears streaming and pretty soon you are making noises that most resemble a braying donkey but you are so lost in the words that you just heard that you have no room for self-consciousness or even sense to protect the person that is watching you be consumed with sadness.

I would like to say that I thought about my cousin, would he live or die? How was the surgery? When will we know the pathology?

But instead, I cried out, "I don't want to live in L.A. anymore."

If you think that is selfish, don't worry, being Catholic meant that I relentlessly flagrated myself for having such "all about me thoughts."

But later, when I really thought about it, say sitting on the floor of my Mother's hospital room floor for days on end, I realized there was some deeper meaning to my outburst.

What I really meant was, "I don't want to live this way anymore." Maybe there's a way you don't want to live - in a relationship that no longer makes you happy, in a job that doesn't appreciate you, scared about finances, upset that life doesn't seem to be as sparkly and fun anymore.

Because I am always looking in, hashing and rehashing, what was said, what does it mean, like I am some kind of CSI investigator of my own words and thoughts and intentions, I dissected it even more. I knew, had I been told, as my cousin had, "You have a brain tumor the size of an apple in your head and you could die" (which is probably not what the doctor said or he has a really bad bedside manner that he needs to work on, but that is kind if the gist)...

If I had been told - I would be very unhappy with what I had done with my life so far.

And let me tell you, that a realization like that, is a kick in the balls, even though I have no balls, but I have had many boyfriends that have balls say there is no feeling like it and that's what I had - a feeling that hurt so bad it could not be ignored.

It's like - you find out your boyfriend/husband/girlfriend/wife is cheating with your best friend and NOW here is the kicker - YOU HAVE TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT and that "doing something about it," is going to CHANGE YOUR WHOLE LIFE.

Like for me, I will either ignore this new found information and change my life because I can or I will bury my head in the sand and just move forward and hate myself, years down the line, because when I was young and able I could have changed my life but didn't and now there is this girl that comes from hospice care to feed me through a tube and during the commercials for my favorite soap opera, I think back to how with just a few FEARLESS changes, my life could have been AWESOME.

You feel me? So what I am saying is: I gotta fix my life. And the last time I needed to fix my life, doing those adventures once a week - whether it was pool crashing a five star hotel or indoor sky diving made me feel so SUPER STRONG that I could take on ANYTHING IN LIFE.

And I did and life was awesome. And that's what I want back. But not just for me but for anyone feeling this way.

In fact, I'd love to hear some ideas, for you and for me! They don't have to be huge. Just something that, if you did it, when you lay your head on the bed that night you might feel giggly and proud of yourself. So far mine are: get in the car and start driving until you can't drive anymore and then stay the night in that town, get pink hair (haven't pulled that one yet), redecorate your apartment in one day (this is something I have been dithering about on for years and BAM! I'm going to do it like I'm on some HGTV show), jump out of an air plane, go water skiing, over come fear of water before jet skiing...

Got some more adventures for me???? Write them in the comments section and I will add them to the bowl!

All You Need Is Love (and Sex and Cheetos), But Right Now, Mostly, Love

Introducing the Most Selfish Person in the World or "How I Was Told My Cousin Has Brain Cancer & All I Could Think About Was Me"

I'm back you guys. Remember me? The girl who within six months, lost her job, broke up with her boyfriend, lost a cousin in an accident and Mom went bat shit crazy bananas.

Yeah, that's me.

The one who got under the covers of her cozy bed and did not get out for a looooooooooong time. Who, once she did and decided to face the holy mess of her life and SWORE, once she was out of the many months... okay, year, funk she was in, would never, ever, never, never go back?

Still me?

So why does my life suck so bad?

And why am I talking about myself in third person?

The regular readers know I started this blog because I swore I would not meet another year anniversary of the death of my cousin without doing something about it. The "it" was getting out of bed. I was so down - as a lot of women get after a break-up, a divorce, losing a job - that I had succumed to the covers, laying here, stairing down the abyss that was my life.

It became so overwhelming, all those bad things - happening at once - that I didn't know what to do.

So I did nothing.

If you're new, you can read the posts here that document how I got out of that. Once I couldn't take it anymore, once I had grown hair on my legs that I could braid, and grew a second ass (getting out of bed to pee is not exercise), and many months of roots were showing, and I missed the sunshine and I missed the old me and I knew if my cousin, mother, ex, anyone, saw me this way that I would be even more deeply ashamed...

I came up with a plan.

One day a week, do something totally fun. Completely exciting. That would make me giggle and feel reckless, and get me out of my comfort zone and get back to the me that was the me before everything came crashing down.

I would pool crash, I would steal from the dessert station from the Four Seasons, I would test drive a Porsche, I would sky dive, I would rock repel, I would crowd surf at a concert.

Week after week, I pulled one thing out of my "Adventure Bowl" and I did it - no turning back, no being to scared, no "I'll just pick something else."

It changed my life.

I got out of bed.

I came back to myself. My life massively improved.

Massively.

Everything was chugging along great. But it was so great that I didn't have to possibly do these adventures anymore. Right? My life was full now. Great job, friends, great everything.

The Bowl gathered dust.

I got cocky.

Like when you lose ten pounds because you exercised and ate five servings of vegetables everyday just like a good American following that food pyramid and all of a sudden, you start to slip and slide and soon, you are not packing lunch anymore and "I guess I could have a few fries" and why have a diet soda when you could have beer and pretty soon a sensible breakfast isn't egg whites but a cheese and onion bagel with cream cheese.

(Which is currently what I am eating right now. And even the server didn't get it. Why would I want cream cheese when I'm already eating a cheese bagel? Skinny people don't understand me.)

Anyway, I slipped and then I slided.

And then one day, I found myself at the bottom of a hill, bloodied and unconscious, after a fall. Being lifted out by fire men. And after being bedridden for over a month, I wondered, maybe if I didn't give up those adventures and maybe if I had stayed connected to myself, maybe I would know how to deal with a life blow like this.

Only I didn't.


To Be Continued in the Next Post...

I promise to update this story tomorrow - with full details about how I fell down a hill, broke my shoulder, found out my cousin has brain cancer and my Mom got sick again and how I am going to rededicate myself to the big ol' Bowl of Adventure and get my life back on track again.

Introducing the Most Selfish Person in the World or "How I Was Told My Cousin Has Brain Cancer & All I Could Think About Was Me"

Reading This Blog Post Will Take Unsightly Inches Off Your Hips and Thighs

Thanks for all the well wishes when I was sick. (I'm convinced it was "Pigeon Flu" due to the filthy feathered family that has burrowed it's way into my roof. Feathers are coming out of the ceiling fan, people!)

Anyway, it really meant a lot. It made me think about how when I started this blog, my biggest goal was to GET OUT OF BED and here I was, super sick, stuck in bed.

But what was cool is... I didn't have any of those weird fears, like this time spent in bed sick was going to lead back to the time where I couldn't get out of bed due to, in six months, losing my job, breaking up with my boyfriend, a death in the family, having to move back home when my Mom got sick, freaking out about finances and growing a second ass due to my affinity for eating all things Frito-Lay during my malaise.

That made me think how far I've come: to someone, who just over a year ago who literally had to make a pact with myself to get out of bed during daylight hours, and as a way to slough off the blues, forced myself to do an adventure a week would jolt me back to living life the way I knew I wanted to. (Check out any of the entries that start with "Adventure Bowl" to read those.)

Now fast forward and everything I hoped test driving a Porsche or flying on a trapeze or posing as a bride for the free cake (!) or pool crashing would do for me, has done that and 1000x more. I lost 20 pounds, I gained an awesome job... like dream job status, I ended some (bad) friendships, I made some new fierce ones, I try new things all the time, I started some great volunteer work and most of all, I don't wear pajamas 'til 3pm anymore.

This is like, a life, I could have never seen a year ago for myself.

So I am going to continue doing what I've been doing, carving out time for me to surprise myself with something that ("cheesey" alert) gives back to my soul. It's weird, but I am telling you, if you go ride a ferris wheel today, you will be smiling for week.

Giving time to yourself, doing unexpected things - you will be shocked what it can do for you.

Fears will be overcome.

You will let go of things that don't matter.

You will laugh more which will attract good, fun, caring, loving people wanting to be around you.

You will stop complaining because the happier you are the less you complain. Also, the happier you are, the more you want to stay happy. So you become solution oriented. You fix problems as they come up because you don't want them to interfere with your happiness.

You get rid of things you don't need. Possessions don't make you happy, the life you create does.

You begin to see people more clearly. That's a hard one. But it will force your hand to see who can stay and who has to go.

You start to feel if you can do this (your little adventure of the week) maybe you can do anything. When you set goals and attain them, it pushes you on with confidence to make new, bigger goals.

So, what am I saying?

I'm saying, yes, I am still going to do my weekly adventures and I'm still going to write about them. It excites me (dork-ily) BEYOND WORDS, if this can be the change in a year with me, how much more can I change? (Exciting!) But right now, the biggest way to get back to myself is to take some time for myself. Time to write other projects I want to write, time to travel and do things that I haven't had space for because I have been so busy with the blog.

I'll keep checking back here. I always read comments and I promise to respond if you guys have questions or anything. And I promise, in the future, there will be a new blog, too. It has meant so much to me that so many of you have written me to say you relate to what I went through and have been inspired by my journey. Love, love, love you.

Okay, why aren't you running out to go ride a ferris wheel right now????


This post is dedicated to BEAUTIFUL READERS. You're the ones I like best.

Reading This Blog Post Will Take Unsightly Inches Off Your Hips and Thighs

You Probably Shouldn't Mention To Oprah That I Once Wanted to Tell Her To 'Shove It'

This is a phone call between me and a good friend... so I'll refer to this person as GF.

Me: What's up?

GF: Okay, I didn't want to say anything but I thought that the post you wrote about finally realizing the importance of writing in your gratitude journal was really awesome.

Me: Awww, thank you.

GF: And... I have a friend of a friend that knows someone who used to work for Oprah and I am going to get them to get your post to "O" Magazine!

Me: (unsure) O-kay...

GF: You don't seem that happy. THIS IS OPRAH! The Oprah! What if she loves it? What if she has it published?

Me: No, that'd... that'd be great.

GF: You know, I really went out of my way to call around and see if I could even attempt to get it to her people and now, you're not exactly acting the way I thought you would.

Me: It's just... I guess if I had known, and believe me, I know you did an unbelievable thing, but if I had known, I would have changed the title of the blog post.

GF: What was it again?

Me: "Sometimes I Really Wanted To Tell Oprah To Shove It."

GF: (long silence, then): Uh-huh.

Me: No one who works for Oprah is going to recommend to Oprah an article where someone says they once wanted to tell Oprah to "Shove it."

GF: No, they are not.

Me: Which means...?

GF: I probably wasted a lot of time.

Me: You kinda did.


But I still looooooooooovvvvvvvvve you for it. With extra Os and Vs... that's love I never give out.


This blog is dedicated to the awesomeness that is housesitting.

You Probably Shouldn't Mention To Oprah That I Once Wanted to Tell Her To 'Shove It'

Look Who Lost 20 Pounds By Her Birthday

I'll write longer soon. Just wanted to check in and say I had the BEST birthday ever... the festivities started last Friday night and they continue tonight with dinner and drinks near by.

And the best gift?

When I stepped on the scale yesterday (the real birthday)... I couldn't believe I am now down 20 pounds.

I was kind of surprised as I haven't been the most rigorous with my program of late. Fried ravioli and wine anyone?

So... here's to hallelujahs, happy birthdays and half off jeans at Old Navy. I already need a new, smaller pair!

Look Who Lost 20 Pounds By Her Birthday

Sometimes I Really Wanted To Tell Oprah To Shove It

Around the time my cousin passed away and my life was falling apart and I was eating a lot of 7-11 danishes; I was scheduling my day around Oprah because if anyone was going to make everything okay, it was Oprah.

Only Oprah, didn't make everything okay. Oprah made it worse.

Oprah was telling me that the key to solving all my problems during the downward spiral of my life was... (wait for it, wait for it...) for me to keep a gratitude journal.

Where I would write down what I was grateful for.

And I was thinking, "Is she f*&%ing kidding me?"

Supposedly, keeping this journal was supposed to make me concentrate on all the wonderful things I did have and not focus on the things I didn't (ya know, like a happy, healthy family, boyfriend or job).

It really made me resentful someone so rich, who had access to anything she wanted in the world, was telling me that what I needed to do to get happy was to go buy a $1,000 Kate Spade lamb skin journal and list all the things I was grateful for.

(PS, she did not tell me to buy a $1,000 Kate Spade lamb skin journal, that in fact, probably doesn't even exit. But when Oprah held hers up, it resembled something luxurious and that probably cost more than my monthly rent. And I cannot confirm, though I am probably sure, there is one less pink lamb in the world.)

Then, my therapist, who obviously went to the Oprah Winfrey School of Psychology, told me to do the same thing: Keep a Gratitude Journal. I imagined her watching Oprah and taking notes, "Tell all patients to make a gratitude journal, bill them $100 dollars."

I was BEYOND furious about this. Really, this is the best you have for me? I mean, I am really falling apart here. (7-11 danishes!)

But I did it, I wrote in my damn journal, because I'm a good girl and good girls do what they are told.

Now those were dark days and I just could not find anything to be grateful for. Somedays I would just write, "My dog." My therapist kept telling me that a day would come that I would have more things to be thankful for.

(She heard that on Oprah and was just praying it come true, lest I fire her and move on to a therapist that was watching Dr. Phil and was at least going to tell me to, "Get real about my life.")

So there I sat with my journal and wrote that I was grateful for my dog and the day that would come where I would not having to go to therapy anymore.

Then, I don't know how, but things started to change. I started noticing that everyone around me was complaining so much. About the little things. Things that to me, felt trivial. I felt like I knew what real problems were. They are people dying, watching your loved ones suffer and losing the ability to provide for yourself.

I started getting involved in a social network where people are dealing with illness and sometimes, terminal illness. They worry they won't live to see their children graduate grade school, they are having their home foreclosed on because their disease is so expensive, a teenager is asking for prayers for her sister who needs 7 surgeries that week.

And then I woke up.

Any of these people would trade their lives for mine, like I wanted to trade my with Oprah. To them, I have everything.

And then I realized, I have A LOT to be grateful for.

Tomorrow is my birthday and I can't think of one thing I want. That is the definition of a person who wants for nothing. How could I not see to be grateful for that?

Now I shoot things off in my gratitude journal like Oprah's favorite student. It was by seeing the things other people take for granted that I could see what I was taking for granted in my own life.

I started to see with wider eyes, the people in my neighbor hood collecting cans just to eat. A listing in the paper about a foreclosed home made me think of the family that lost the roof over their head. A friend losing their insurance because they lost their job made me feel lucky I could go to the doctor.

So I wrote and I wrote and I wrote. Health. Shelter. Food. Friends, really great friends. Family and family beyond just my family, that I could turn to if things got financially bad. Health insurance. Clothes. The ability to take care of myself.

Oprah.

Mostly Oprah.

It's kind of changed my life.

Because when you are not bitter and you are not feeling sorry for yourself, you get a lot done. Positive things. And then more positive things come your way. And then your life is swirling into something better than you imagined... it becomes something you could never see that you could create in the days of thinking you had nothing.

I'm not saying all dark days are behind... but I don't want to tell Oprah to shove it any more. And I haven't for a really long time.


This blog is dedicated to letting go of bad things so some more good things can come in.


You know what makes the perfect holiday gift, besides bourbon? This post! Send it to some friends by using the little email envelope icon below!

Sometimes I Really Wanted To Tell Oprah To Shove It

Let's Have A Contest!

Here's the deal... the adventure that I picked from my Adventure Bowl is to go hot air ballooning. I can't wait!

The thing is, I am so crazy busy, there is no way I can do it now. I mean, I could if the hot air balloon had Wi-Fi so I can work on my laptop. But I'm just guessing that will take away from the experience.

So instead, I'm going to write something fun and light AND will involve a contest where there will be cash and prizes. Okay, not cash... I just liked the way "cash and prizes" sounded. Like a real game show.

And technically, it's just "prize" and not "prizes" so I'm basically a big ol' tease.

Lately, I've been addicted to Facebook, mostly fascinated by how INSANELY personal some people's status updates are. Really? You want your boss (and other potential bosses) to know, "I really shouldn't have gotten black out drunk the last four nights."

That one is for real.

How about, "I really want more of what I got last night. Mmmmm." Yeah, we know you're not talking about Christmas chocolates. You're a whore. I'm sure a very nice whore. But still a whore.

So this is the contest, I want each of you to make up the most ridiculously funny, inappropriate and outrageous Facebook status report you can. The one that makes me and my friend S, who is a comedy writer too, laugh so hard we pee our pants a little, WINS.

The prize, it's gonna be good... bath stuffs. If you're a guy, not bath stuffs. Maybe a canned ham, instead. Maybe some old thing in a my apartment I just want to get rid of... like a naughty Chihuahua.

Kidding, ya can't have him.

Okay, you have until Wednesday, December 17, 5:00 PM (PST) to come up with the best-est one you can. Multiple posts are okay.

Here are some of the ones I made up:

FACEBOOK STATUS

1) is freaked out that she dirty danced with her uncle at the wedding last night.

2) just learned the dangers of mixing white wine and Xanax at the company Christmas party.

3) drunkenly shaved off my eye brows last night and I am FREAKING out.

4) just slashed my ex-boyfriend's tires. Oh, well! Maybe he shouldn't have slept with that slut he works with.

5) thinks the guy I took home last night might be dead. Blue lips aren't good, right? Oh, hey! Anyone up for chocolate chip pancakes?

Good Luck. I can't wait!!!!



This post is dedicated to chugging cappuccinos and exciting deadlines.

Let's Have A Contest!

How To Scotch Tape Your Dog To The Bed

I know I owe you a post about my unexpected in-town vacation. But listen, # 1, I have something else to blog about and # 2, I am so going to disappoint you my story about the ten man shower.

See... it was a shower that could fit ten men in it. At no time did it have ten men in it. Although at one point, me and this guy were in the shower together.

Only, he's gay and I was just showing him how awesome the view was from the bathroom.

Yeah, it's way sadder than you could ever image. I wish I had a better story. I wish I had slipped a Tylenol PM in some cute guy's drink down in the lobby bar and then used a wheel barrel to scoop him up and deposit him in my ten man shower - which by the way, had a built in bench in it because the things that are supposed to go on in the ten man shower - you need resting for...

Yes, I am aware of the orange level of pathetic-ness on this one. Hence, the not writing any more about it.

Here's the real drama.

My dog Cooper, who I have an admitted unnatural attachment bordering on a Maury Povich guest appearance, got really sick while I was gone.

Apparently, before he was dropped off at my friend's house (he could not come to the hotel with me because it's in the downtown area and he is so spoiled he does not poop on concrete), he ate one of my Thyroid pills.

I must have dropped one on the floor.

The signs of Cooper's trouble included, and I hope you are not eating your lunch, explosive diarrhea, throwing up, uncontrollable pooping on expensive couches, foaming at the mouth and hiding under a guest house.

I whisked him off to the vet and was mortified when the blood test came back the next day to say Cooper had eaten one of my pills. It was my fault. I was officially a bad mother. (Though I was so glad I had just given him a bath and cleaned his ears - to me that was the dog equivalent of wearing clean underwear to the hospital.)

There was a lot of guilt, crying, fretting, beating myself up. I was scared he was going to die. And I was so insanely grateful that he didn't. This dog means everything to me. In a way that could be used against me in a trial.

Now that he seems okay, of course, I am out of my mind with worry about what else might be lurking on the floor that I can't see that Cooper might eat.

That's when I came up with the idea of scotch taping him to the bed.

I think it's a good idea. Even better than dosing a cute guy with a Tylenol PM and kidnapping him via a wheel barrel into a ten man shower.

My pup's weak now, so scotch tape will work. As he regains his strength, I might need something more durable to tape him to the bed with. Like duct tape. Of course, that might hurt his fur so...

I'm thinking first, I put him in his sweater, then I duct tape him to the bed. Then I can just remove him in and out of the sweater so he can go to the bathroom when he needs to.

Then again, I could just... you know... vacuum my entire apartment.


This blog is dedicated to knowing it could have been worse. And having a little fun with something that scared the hell out of me. And mustard garlic pretzel bits.

How To Scotch Tape Your Dog To The Bed

Posting Tomorrow...

In which I will be talking about the importance of friends, in-town vacations, hotel roof tops with water beds, sneaking in your own champagne, eating Doritios for breakfast, how trash baskets double as ice buckets for beer and wine, giggling in a ten man shower is good for the soul and the memory of apple pie on a paper plate falling in the hotel lobby will always make me burst out laughing and mostly...

how unplanned things can be the best things.

Posting Tomorrow...

Beautiful Disaster

I highlighted where Part 2 starts because I like you.

My boyfriend once told me I was a "beautiful disaster." I didn't mind because I just heard "beautiful" and that was it.

Also, because it's true.

In work life, I am super organized. I am copious, I know where everything is. It's right under neath that pile of binders, scripts, notepads, post-its and pens that have no ink.

Yeah, disaster.

I'm cool with my work life way of being because it works for me, meaning, it does not hold me back. I always get my work done and always on time. I like having everything I need around me... I'm good with it.

Now, where being a disaster affects me is in my personal life. I would like to not have you over right now because I don't want you to see that I am a perfectionist... but in a bad way.

See, I can't recycle magazines. I have to sort them by theme and then by those themes, divide them into piles according to which hospital, clinic or dialysis center I will bring them to. I can't take clothes to Goodwill, that's what everybody does. I am a perfectionist so I have to scour out the most random shelter and bring them there.

But not until I have sorted them between stuff a teenager could wear (that goes to one shelter), stuff a woman could wear to an interview (that goes to a different shelter) and day-casual (that goes to a shelter all the way across town, the one with no parking... but I'm definitely going there... one day.)

Yeah... perfectionist.

Well, "perfectionist" until I am completely overwhelmed by piles and boxes and random bags of clothes.

If you knock on the door and I let you in, do not look surprised.

PS, the perfectionist in me wants you to know that my place is super clean. You just can't tell because you can't take your eyes off the pile of "Shape" magazines that are stacked to the ceiling.

So I have this talk with my shrink because life has really turned around amazingly for me recently. I have a great job and my butt is shrinking in ways that make me say "Yes!" with a fist pump when I try on my jeans.

I feel good. I want everything to look good.

I have this wish for this place that I live in and love and this is not it. I read "Does This Clutter Make My Butt Look Big?" by that organization guy who's always on Oprah. I get that this is a problem.

One issue is I am sentimentally attached to stuff. For instance, when my Dad was really sick when I was 12, we had to get 10,000 signatures from people in our state to protest that my Dad was going to get kicked off his health insurance because they didn't want to pay for his expensive, life saving, take his heart out and replace it with someone else's surgery.

When it was all said and done (we got the signatures, we won, he got the surgery), my Mom threw out the reams and reams of paper with people's signatures.

And I crawled into the garbage to get them.

Beautiful. Disaster.

We stood outside of churches, grocery stores and gas stations to ask people to save my Dad's life. And they did. And I wanted to be close to the people that had done it. That made my Dad be alive.

Maybe that's what all this perfectionism in donating clothes or magazines or other things to "the right place" is all about. I want the people I'm donating to, to feel cared for. Like some busy person rushing into that Stop N' Shop all those years ago made me feel by taking the time to sign that petition.

Part 2

Long story short. I xoxoxo my new shrink but when I talked to her about my weird "donation" hoarding she pegged me as possibly slightly ADHD and said some people cannot be expected to organize for themselves because they are "too genius."

OH, COME ON!

I mean, I lapped it up... but even I know that is bullshit.

She was trying to convince me to hire someone to organize me and my possessions and all of a sudden I was having some kind of freaked out vision of all my stuff being laid out in the drive-way while a camera crew from "Oprah" filmed me while I cried over an old Ritz cracker canister that I couldn't part with because it had too much meaning to me.

When someone tells me I can't do something, I become quite determined that, "Yes, I can."

I decided to go all Obama on my living room. Here's what I did:

I got some colored masking tape and I taped off 10 zones of my living room. All of a sudden everything became a manageable 2 x 3 area which I could attack daily. I had to be merciless and when I couldn't be merciless it went into a "Deal With This Later" box.

Everyday I have to deal with one zone. Buh-bye, off it all goes to be donated or recycled or thrown away.

I realize if someone walked into my apartment and saw masking tape lines everywhere, they would think I'm crazy but what's crazier - figuring out a way to do this myself AND overcoming a huge hurdle or having to pay someone $300 or $400 bucks to do it for me?

You let me know what you think. I'm about to tape square boxes all over my bedroom floor.

Genius.


This blog is dedicated to eatin' pants.

Beautiful Disaster