Disorganization

Feb23Betty Crocker Has Saved The Day
Paula

It’s been awhile since I’ve had to call upon the wisdom of Betty Crocker.  I’ve been a big fan of Betty ever since I came across her sage suggestions in my mother-in-law’s copy of the Betty Crocker Picture Cookbook.  Helpful gems worthy of Deepak Chopra or maybe Pee-Wee Herman . . . . such as “If you’re tired – immediately lay down on the floor.”  Am I lying on the floor right now?  You tell me.  Or, “if you’re going to use the oven, you need to turn it on.”  Good to know!  I definitely noted that one.

Based on these suggestions alone it was undeniable that Betty Crocker was a giant font of knowledge.  But could she save a mother from crushing her daughter’s dreams with a mediocre birthday cake and a flaccid pizza from Antonio’s on Flatbush Avenue?  June has been to some serious birthday parties, and her expectations are running high.  One day she wants “a blue cake with a moon, and stars” the next day “a giant chocolate cake with birds” and the next some bizarre Colin Cowie style minimalist fete with “100 balloons.”  Bubbles in large quantities have been mentioned.  Maybe I should just order up a unicorn petting zoo to cover all my bases?  What June doesn’t know is that she’s not getting an official party this year.  We’re celebrating at home with family.  That being said, I don’t want her third birthday to be on the top of the list during that inevitable first therapy appointment.  I was wondering if Betty could work some party magic with my limited time and resources.  It turns out she totally can!

1)            “Party-Surprise Sandwiches”

The shockingly horrible ingredients in this sandwich are entirely masked by cream cheese.  Betty sure knows how to surprise people!

Why make a sandwich when you can make a sandwich ENTIRELY COVERED IN CREAM CHEESE?  I know, you’re wondering why you’ve never done this before right?  Betty recommends filling them with margarine, mayonnaise, chopped olives and “canned chicken.”  These ingredients would certainly result in a surprising sandwich.  You’re looking in your mailbox for an invite to this party right now aren’t you?

2) “Candle Salad”

Seriously?  Seriously??

Described by a party guest in the book as “better than a real candle because you can eat it.”  Indeed!  This salad could also be called the “penis salad” or maybe even the “cock ring salad.”  The directions indicate that one would insert a banana upright in the center of a pineapple ring and then top the banana with a cherry.  Why?  Why would anyone do this?  Has this slutty salad ever been served in the history of birthday parties?  Betty, were you drunk when you came up with this one?  You can tell me.  I’d totally understand.

3) “Fatso and “Old Hobo Joe.”

Which old people fruit/cereal combo can we get you?

And for our third course, I’d like to offer you a choice of “Fatso” which consists of a half of a canned peach on a bed of cheerios topped with a deadly maraschino cherry nose (which they do NOT carry at the Park Slope Food Co-op by the way, don’t even ask) and an apple slice for a mouth, OR “Old Hobo Joe” which is an ever appetizing prune nestled in a pile of Wheaties wearing a jaunty apple cap, banana slice ears and blood red cherry eyes.  Cute and delicious!

As for the cake?  Apparently I can just add about a gallon of cancer ridden food dye to the icing, and then throw a pile of animal crackers on it and I’m good to go.  Easy-peasy.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY JUNE!  MOMMY LOVES YOU SO MUCH!!!!!

 
Feb3It is a Truth Universally Acknowledged That Men Are Obsessed With Obsolete Electronic Devices
Paula

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a married man in possession of a massive collection of obsolete electronic gadgets must be in want of a drawer to stash all of their cords in.  Against my better judgment I have recently opened this drawer.  It looked like a Radio Shack had been bombed, and for some inexplicable reason was being stored as “evidence exhibit A” by the FBI in my husband’s bottom dresser drawer.  Only a man would store his merino wool sweaters from Banana Republic on the floor of his closet because his precious drawer space was being used up by cell phone chargers from 2001.  I’m seriously trying to imagine a circumstance in which any of this stuff would be useful.

ME:

“Hey, sweetie.  Um, we’re like $5,000 short in the checking account this month because I decided that I just had to hire a personal assistant this month.  I also desired a driver.  Oh.  Then there was the chef.  So sorry!”

HUSBAND:

“Oh, that’s totally fine.  I’ll just go into my drawer of obsolete worthless cords and cell phone chargers and rig up a magic money machine!”

ME:

OMG!  I’m so glad I didn’t throw all that away!  Let’s buy a pony!

Likely?  Unlikely.  I’m getting out the trash bag. . .and hoping my husband doesn’t read this particular post.

 
Dec7There Are Apparently a Few Things I Will Never “Know For Sure”
Paula

I just turned 39.  My birthday went very smoothly.  Tonya bought me a delicious birthday cake. .  and while I did basically eat the entire thing myself, I didn’t do it under the covers in a pair of old pj’s while mourning my lost youth.  You see, I didn’t handle 38 so well.  I spent the day in a foul mood, snapping at my husband. I even burst into tears at dinner when the waitress told me they were out of Proseco.  The horror!  Not one of my finer days.  I admit to being vain and worrying about dull skin and crows feet, but I also sincerely feel that my thirties have been so amazing that it saddens me to see them winding down.  Obviously the forties can have even brighter gems in store, right?  But just last week, as I was thinking my next decade would surely be the decade of the wiser, more refined Paula, I did something so incredibly stupid that I couldn’t help but wonder if I should crawl back into bed and ask Tonya to order me another cake.  Not wanting to shell out the clams to have my hair professionally colored AGAIN, I thought, “hell, I’ll do it myself!”  I know.  I know.  The demure shade of “nutmeg” I selected should have actually been called “touch of goth.”  It’s um, kinda black.  But then it hit me, part of being wiser is simply knowing your weaknesses.  Now that I’m 39 I’m going to try to accept that there are some dumb things that I do that I will NEVER EVER STOP DOING.  So, hey Oprah (as if!  I know you’re not actually reading this) I realize there’s all sort of things “you know for sure,” but I’ve just figured out that there are many things I will simply NEVER EVER KNOW.  For instance:

These are my regular everyday underwear.  Once in a blue moon I will become convinced a thong is more comfortable.  LIES.  LIES!!!!

  • I will never learn that it is a bad idea to dye my own hair.  I know damn well professionals do it better, but every few years I try to do it myself with disastrous results.  Has anyone seen my hat?
  • There are no comfortable thongs.  Yet occasionally I will allow some fancy blog with pretty illustrations such as daily candy to convince me otherwise.  My top drawer is a thong graveyard.  Go ahead, stare at my VPL.  Drink it in sister!
  • I will never successfully use the post office to my advantage.  Has anything I have ever mailed arrived in time for someone’s birthday or for Christmas?  NO.  Hello?  It’s called amazon or zappos.  I love to buy gifts from local businesses, but I’m only going to do it for friends who live in my hood, since I apparently equate going to the post office with root canals.
  • I will never accept the simple fact that tequila and I do not get along.  Sure, we flirt, and it seems like we get along great . . .  until that bitch throws me in front of a bus (that’s what the hangover feels like anyway).
 
Oct15Loony Bins: My Container Store Habit
Carrie

The Container Store is a heavenly place. It is my higher power. Its organized aisles are the pews upon which I worship whenever I feel stressed or overwhelmed with anxiety and dark thoughts, such as:

I do not have even one of the seven habits of highly successful people. Actually, I don’t even know what those habits are, I just have a feeling I don’t have any of them. How could I not know what those habits are?? I need a mantra. I need to meditate. I need to use The Secret ™ and the Power ™. I need a signature scent. I need a new style–how can I be Fabulous at Any Age(tm)? Take a deep breath. Maybe all I need are…some bins. Bins to put my stuff in.

Because I work out of my home, I have even more of a need to get organized. I fantasize about bins that can file and separate my work life and home life into two distinct places. Before I had my second baby, I gave up my home office. My desk moved to the living room and I knew what needed to be done.

Years of reading Martha Stewart convinced me that all it took was getting the right containers to store stuff in and everything would be fine. Martha said that if I organized everything, I would have left over time to buy and keep pretty little birds and dogs and kitties and chickens and transfer ware and succulents.

I bought 27 bins in the months before my son was born. Most of the bins went to organizing my office/design supply closet. Everything was going to be fine if…I…just…could…get…the…stuff…in…bins.

But guess what? It’s not fine! It’s hideous! And you know why?? My papers are ugly, my towels are dirty, and my electronic cords are too dusty.  So my perfect little bin-filled closet is STILL awful. It’s just like a perfect grid of disorganizational horror.

I learned my lesson. I get it. I’m not a total idiot. So I’m going to throw everything away and go to The Container Store to buy all new things to put in those bins. Pretty ribbon. Folded tissue Paper. Colored paper clips. Unopened packages of index cards. Which will work just fine as soon as I quit my life as a designer and mother and become a seasonal gift wrapper in a department store in the year 1973.

 
Sep14I Forgot What it Was Like to Have Homework
Paula

I wish I could say that I loved college, but I didn’t. I did like quite a few of my classes, made some great friends, learned about important things, like cocktails and coffee – but I could never really relax enough to take it all in. I’d be out having dinner with friends, or at a party and I’d suddenly say to myself “I should really be memorizing Latin declensions.” If you’re wondering if I graduated magna cum laude I did not. I worked quite a bit, went dutifully to my classes, socialized a normal amount, and spent at least twenty hours a week worrying about how I SHOULD BE STUDYING. Hours spent actually studying each week? Maybe four. I had completely forgotten what this felt like until recently. I have a deadline approaching, which I’m in a good position to meet, but then I have the added pressure of having to file my mother #$*(@*$ taxes on the same day. This is no ones fault but my own. I asked my account to file for the extension after all, and then did nothing as six months slowly ticked by. And this from the girl who was known for filing the day after her last 1099 arrived. Ah, the way parenthood changes you. But the familiar feeling started this weekend while having pizza with friends. Our kids were behaving. Actually playing nicely together. No one was even fighting over a toy. Instead of sitting back and enjoying my drink and the nice weather, I found myself feeling just slightly anxious. . . I brushed it off, but then a few moments later this pesky voice in my head said “you should be adding up receipts right now.” Um what? It’s like I was twenty-years old again and facing that psychology midterm I hadn’t studied for. Then there was the follow-up, “it’s been six months, do you even know where your 1099’s are?” That was enough. I poured another drink, sat back to watch my daughter, and decided I was going to have a serious conversation with myself when I got home.

 
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