I have to thank my friend Sombra at More Little Wilsons for drawing this to my attention.

Holy Cow.

Or, whatever.

This is for Real. In other words, this is what it looks like. Now, blink, shake your head and take another look.

I quote from the publicity statement.

"We are going to intercede at the site of the statue of the bull on Wall Street to ask God to begin a shift from the bull and bear markets to what we feel will be the 'Lion's Market,' or God's control over the economic systems. While we do not have the full revelation of all this will entail, we do know that without intercession, economies will crumble."

Anyone else want to drink the Kool-Aid??? Me, I'm just going to stand back and wait for the lightning. Or at least until the laughter around the world subsides.

Just stuff... and more stuff.

So today is my last Planned day of unpacking. "What?" You say. "A whole week of unpacking?"

Yes, I have been somewhat of an unorganized little tart with this move. I think I'm just a little overdone on the moving thing. And I'm realizing just how rigid I can be. For example. I've always moved stuff into an empty, clean place -- even if it means I went in to the house the day before and cleaned everything. So, it's driven me a little insane to move stuff into a place that is not only already mostly occupied, it's also a bit on the dirty side. (and I do give credit to Mr. F for the good work he did in attempting to keep the house clean while I was gone. But, it was an Attempt. Just saying.) So, I've been cleaning whilst unpacking.

Which brings me to another weakness I have. Multitasking. Really can not do it for crap. I am a person who likes to lock down on the task at hand, finish it and move on to the next. Bring multiple strands of thoughts and attentions to the table and I turn into a raging ADD poster child. I'm all... "get this done, get that done... ooooh! SHINY!!"

So cleaning, organizing, unpacking and purging junk all at once has rendered me somewhat of a slobbering idiot.

But, thankfully, I have somehow struggled through the boxes and battled my Multitasking demons. I've got about one more solid day of work to go and then... Done. Like. Dinner.

Of course, with the end in sight... what else to do but celebrate? So, LOGICALLY, I will keep my kids home from school today so we can all enjoy a long weekend together being a family in our house that now looks like a house. Will having kids around cut back on my Efficiency? "NO!" says retarded Flutterby. And, LOGICALLY, I will decide to make a big pancake breakfast and bake Challah bread and make two new recipes for supper, plus make ahead cinnamon buns to rise in the fridge overnight so that we all can wake up tomorrow morning and have the BEST breakfast ever. Will planning all this hinder my unpacking genius? "NO WAY!!" cheers insane Flutterby. And, of course, LOGICALLY, it makes sense to also notice that my kids are needing haircuts and that I should run out for some groceries for the fan-freaking-tastic Family Movie Night me and Mr. F have planned for tonight. Surely, adding this will make my list of growing tasks easier to accomplish? "HELL YES!!" screams deranged, loony and demented Flutterby.

So, clearly... my day will go just as planned and clearly I will not be banging my little cranium against the Rigid Wall. And now that I'm feeling better... ooooh!!! SHINY!!


A Good Time Is Never Wasted.

There are probably lots of really, really practical things I should be doing right now... most of them having to do with putting my house back into order after Moving Day Renalda slammed this place with the force of two tropical storms hitting concurrently from opposing directions. (And yes, this Moving Day deserved a Hurricane name -- it's my fourth household move in ten weeks. Don't ask. Just nod your head in understanding.)

So, while the spoils of Renalda linger on in the kitchen and living room and bathrooms and, OK -- you got me -- pretty much the Whole House... I will take a moment to list all the really, really Important things I should be doing if I wasn't so busy ignoring and putting off all the really, really Practical things I ought to be doing.

1) I really, really should go do some yoga, or run a bit or maybe do some pushups and pullups and stuff. Cause I'm avoiding my jeans. And avoiding denim is the first sign that you really, really ought to be doing something a bit more active and say... less coffee and donut-ey and take-out pizza-ey than you've been doing for the past few weeks.

2) I have to say that my toenails have looked better. They are clad in scraps of last month's nail polish and striving so hard to still look cute and cool. Sorry, little toes... it's just not happening. No one will be asking you to the dance, I'm sorry to say.

3) OK, OK, you've dragged it out of me. My feet on the whole? Not doing so well. A little dry and wintery and it's not even freaking November, yet. I hang my head in shame and lunge furtively for the Vivacious Body Butter which is nothing short of miraculous stuff. Wait. It's in a box somewhere.

4) Also, finding a home for my cat should rank up there pretty high with the Important Things. I've had to rehome my precious little furballs TWICE each. And I just drove five hours today to place one little angelic dude with what will hopefully be his forever family, only to find out that my other little dude won't be working out at his new place. Allergies can bite me hard.

5) My iPod needs to be charged and this really irritates me. I like to keep all devices fully charged and ready. But, I cannot find my little USB charge-ey cord and thusly, my Nano sits unused and depressed (as I'm sure only a little inanimate object which is not fulfilling it's destiny in life can feel).

6) I should be buying a goat. For real. I got this World Vision catalog thing in the mail and now I am compelled to buy a goat for people in Botswailambiqueana. Maybe even a chicken. Hopefully they'll keep the stupid things, though. I seem to have bad luck with the placing of living creatures in homes. I will have to leave a note at the post office/depot... I WILL NOT ACCEPT THE RETURN OF ANY MAMMALS VIA POST.

7) Uhhh, my bankbook. Something about my bankbook and the regular attention thereof. You know, with the numbers and the adding and subtracting (errrr... that's debits and credits to those of you in the Know) and the reconciling and what not? Yeah. That stuff. I think I should be doing it.

8) I should be flossing more often. (And so should you, too)

9) And, mostly... I think I need a night out on the town with Mr. F. Cause there's a score that needs settling and I think a game of Mini Golf might just put things to rest once and for all.

What? Mini Golf is not considered a night out on the town? Pish posh.

10) Throw in a massage on the night and that's just Toppers, people.

I'm out.


Them's the Facts, Ma'am.

Fact. I am a packing machine. Things are snug and sorted and shrink wrapped to prevent breakage or scuffing. Boxes are planned to be full and yet Not Too Heavy.

Fact. Stuff is labelled and marked so I know what's inside.

Fact. I work room by room in a remarkably ordered fashion and sort through stuff as I go.

Fact. I am a taper. Me and the packing tape are bosom buddies. (Well, except for the Lip Incident, but that may have been my fault.)

Fact. I would like to be as ordered and fastidious when I unpack. I would like to move in to a room then unpack Everything for that room, make it all orderly and shiny, dust and vacuum/mop and then stand back and survey a Room Well Done. BUT...

Fact. My garage is a jumble of boxes and furniture with boxes mixed amongst other stuff; and stuff that I need is behind stuff that is impossible to move by myself and all my labelling was pointless cause everything is Here, There and Everywhere and I may just stab myself with something dull before the day is over and that would be a shame cause...

Fact. I'm sposed to be starting something new and wonderful this week and I'm thinking that adapting my game plan to something a little more loosey-goosey might work well in my favor. Sure will beat the alternative straight jacket and happy pill combo.

So, uhh.... here's to being a bit more relaxed and a lot less OCD.


I Hate Cardboard.

And, apparently? From the look of my hands... cardboard hates me. I'm sporting two band-aids, a couple wrecked nails and skin that feels like the Sahara desert just took it out for a walk in the park. And , while we're talking about the perils of packing and moving... let's not forget the packing tape that ripped a layer of skin off my bottom lip.

What? Don't pretend that you don't bite the tape to rip it. Don't even go there. I know you do.

I just was stupid enough to try to kiss it, too.

According to my calculations, (And, yes... I do calculations. Geekiness comes naturally to me.) I have just 19 hours to finish packing up my house, finalize a lease agreement for said house with my shiny new tenants, run a gazillion errands, sell some stuff from my business and load Rocket up for the ride home. Oh, and sleep, too. I really am planning to sleep a bit tonight.

And then, I get to come back 24 hours later to load it all up and then unload it back at my Home.

Boggles. My. Mind.

And now that I've used up my 6.75 minutes for a break... I'd better go make friendly with the cardboard and hope it doesn't stab me in the eye with a Sharpie marker.

Puter is scheduled to hit the boxes tonight. So I'll have to update y'all on the move after the weekend.


I Was Gone, But Now I'm Back.

I finally feel ready to write again. And maybe even better, to write unvarnishedly. To scrap the persona.

We'll see where this goes.