Closet accounting maneuvers, or why I couldn't find my Justin Bieber CD

Aunt Becky Bites The Dust – Or, Why You Should Be Glad You’re Not As Stupid As Me | | Mommy Wants VodkaMommy Wants Vodka

I'm going to insist that you read the post linked to above before you proceed any further with this reading. It's all right, I've got time.

Done? Good, now we can proceed.

If AB had never shared that, I'd probably never have the courage to do what I did yesterday: share with my sponsor and grandsponsor a taste of the ineer workings of my mind. I posted yesterday about cleaning out the closet, and it kicked off this rambling train of thought. There was also a matching rambling procession through the magic bus to go along with it.

The following is an excerpt from the email I sent my sponsor, which quoted the email I sent my gransponsor: (my grandsponsor's name has been changed to protect her anonymity)


I got to thinking, this morning, about this pair of grey shoes that I wanted to take to camp recovery to see if Paulette might want them, right? Actually, I've been thinking about this pair of shoes for a few days now, & how I wanted to give them to Paulette.

And so then I drank my coffee and did my morning blog post, which today wound up being about cleaning out the closet (probably because I have been thinking about those shoes)

And this is how my day went, mentally: (copied from the email to Paulette)

"Subject: long story

And in the hopes that you will laugh, you get to read it.
This is how my day has gone since my morning coffee & blog post:

Me: I really need to fix those Armani pants that got ripped by the fucking fence that keeps the dog from escaping

Myself: you need to hand wash your other things, too, because they'll line dry in 2.7 minutes in this 110+ degrees heat.

I: it's so hot the dog doesn't even want to play with you

Me: the dog doesn't love me anymore

Myself: now where the hell is that baby shampoo you bought for hand washing clothes?

I: I'm hungry. Aren't there some poptarts here?

Me: where's the sewing kit?

Myself: shit. You need to iron because that pile of clothing looks kinda trashy hanging there mocking you

I: where did the dog get that battery she's chewing on?

Me: the trash needs to be taken out


Myself: I like Justin Bieber. Where's that cd the boss gave you?

I: if you hand wash your dirty clothes & iron the shit that's mocking you there is no room in the closet

Me: Paulette might like those grey Vince Camuto shoes you know you never wear

Myself: yeah, Paulette's coming for camp recovery

I: are there any cookies?

Me: where did all these dirty dishes come from?

Myself: I hope they grant my appeal for one more year of financial aid.

I: the dog needs fresh water

Me: ok, pants are fixed, now what? Ooh, there's "what not to wear" on the DVR

Myself: what should we have for dinner tonight?

I: cookies have magic

Me: well, if you're going to iron, you really need to clean out the closet because there is no fucking room

Myself: yeah, Paulette is coming to camp recovery

I: (looking at self in mirror) your face is clearing up. Read the fucking labels on your junk food from now on so you don't break out again!

Me: (responding to @mommywantsvodka's tweet) I like Midnight Oil, that's an oldie #fillthatiPod

Myself: is the dog sick? She's not eating that treat you gave her

I: it's hot as hell's gates outside

Me: Paulette said she is not allergic to wool, maybe she will like this Escada jacket

Myself: let's start a Paulette pile

I: yeah, Paulette might like those grey Vince Camuto shoes, where the fuck are they?

Me: it's time to dump the black water tank. I smell poo.

Myself: does Paulette wear 6.5/7 or 7/7.5 shoes?

I: ooh, something shiny

Me: ok, let's add this shirt to the Paulette stack, that blue will pop like mad with her hair

Myself: is it ever going to rain?

I: is the DVR on the fritz? That episode of "the Glades" didn't record right

Me: pants are bullshit

Myself: who needs this many pairs of pants anyway

I: oh man, you gotta let Paulette know to bring an empty suitcase to camp recovery.

Me: yeah, she might like that pink cashmere sweater you know you don't wear

Myself: you gotta email Paulette, she'll laugh her ass off at how stoopid you are!

I: where IS that Justin Bieber cd?"

Ultimately, the pants got fixed, some clothes got put in the Paulette pile so that the ironing would fit in the closet, the trash got taken out, the 'delicates' got hand washed, the dishes got washed, the black water tank got dumped, leftovers got heated up for dinner, the battery the dog was chewing came out of my Mr.Sunshine's little bag of tricks he carries when he hunts, I found the grey shoes & the pink cashmere sweater, the furniture got dusted, and the ironing didn't get done. (There are wet clothes hanging out to dry that will need ironing tomorrow so I decided to do it all at once).
Also, I never did get around to finding that Justin Bieber cd. I think the dining banquette seats ate it.

Turns out that during active school weeks, all my clothes had been fitting in the closet because lots of them were in various stages of the laundry process, which is kind of like those accounting tricks big banks used that caused the recession.

So it's not a Honda trunk full of stuff that will be going to Paulette at camp recovery, but it is some things I didn't need when I looked at the reality of the clothing and the closets. Like all those pants. Because it's so hot around here that I have decided that pants are bullshit, and I went on a rampage and cut the linings out of ALL my pants that had linings. Who needs lined pants in Louisiana anyway, right?

And YES, my thought process really does work like that much of the time. I mentioned that to Paulette; I don't know if I was born ADHD or if the dope just fucked me up that bad.

I emailed this to my sponsor, not without fear. I seriously had this irrational fear that she would call my Mr. Sunshine up and tell him to have a physician PEC (physician's emergency commitment) me. Because that sort of thought process had always seemed so frighteningly random to me.

Of course, my sponsor did NOT call my Mr. Sunshine. She emailed me back saying she NEEDED that laugh before she went to bed. Whew, right?

So today, I can be OK with being so scattered. Because, thanks to Aunt Becky, I know that I am not alone.

And now, having had my mandatory three cups of coffee this morning and telling you about my search for the missing Justin Bieber cd, I can go do that ironing that never did get done yesterday. And find that fucking CD.