I am moving soon.

Yesterday, I spent a good eight hours climbing up and down an attic ladder, hauling boxes delightfully decorated in mouse feces.

It made me realize two things:

1) I should work out more.

2) I have too much shit.

There were things I placed in that attic eight years ago that should have had a home in a beautiful ocean garbage patch.

Things like:

Why was I saving this? Was I planning to bring it as a date to my son’s future wedding?


But he had to go. He was a beautiful gift bestowed by two very good friends at my bachelorette party. They gave this to me after my adamant declaration that if a stripper appeared within a 100 feet of me, I would immediately set myself on fire.

They got me a historical reenactor instead. That is actually worse, but that is a story for another post.

There was a box of wigs (?), a relic from my Dolly Parton phase? Underneath the wigs was a dead mouse. I washed my hands for 15 minutes while I yelped and hopped up and down and did a few break dance moves.

There was this:

An heirloom for my future grandchildren per chance?

I had trouble figuring out what this was exactly. Hugo tried to help:

I wished it was a turd. It was actually a partially melted cat candle.

But it was actually topped by this:

I don’t know. I don’t know. It seems like something I would never buy or make, but did I buy or make it? That is a mystery.

The cellar is next. I hope my thighmaster® turns up.

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). This is the fourteenth post. Tomorrow she turns forty. Cheesus cripes on a turd-like cat candle. 

Gardening 101

We are in the process of putting our house on the market.

It’s been awesome.

Wait, is awesome the right word?

No…I was thinking of something else, like arrggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!?!

Yes that sums it up nicely.

So apparently when you want to sell your house, you have to really get it in good shape. You have to return to those home projects you long abandoned in favor of watching Bachelor Pad: The Night of the Living Herpes. For instance, you have to finish building the stairs so they connect directly to the second floor. You can no longer use your couch as a napkin. And you should dismantle the 50 Shades of Grey torture shack in the living room.

We have lived in our house for eight years. We began our home ownership with gusto. We painted the exterior ourselves and made a solemn blood vow to never do that again. We painted most of the interior, leaving the hallway and ceiling above the stairs unfinished because of the whole not-being-14-feet tall and the not-wanting-to-use-a-ladder-on-the-stairs-are-you-out-of-your-mind thought pattern.

Then our cable got connected and I tuned out the house projects and tuned into reality television. And the hallway remained beautifully unpainted. The landscape left to fester. And the dust bunnies met more dust bunnies, and you know how bunnies are.

But now we’re back in gusto mode.

Our realtor tells us we need to view our house through the eyes of the perspective buyer.

This is what worries me. Especially when I look at our non landscaping.

I don’t know how to garden. I have never had a green thumb, which I’m thankful for because that would likely be a sign of gangrene.

I don’t know. Be honest, does this scream “Buy me!”

See we have a carport, and a part or a port of the carport blew off, and we kind of threw that port or part right behind the house and piled some lawn chairs we never use on top of it. That’s a design of sorts, right? I believe it’s known as “clusterfuck”.

On the side of the house, we have trees that have commingled with our house à la Swiss Family Robinson style. But back-to-nature, no-birth-control-for-anyone-but-viagra-for-everyone, the Poltergeist-tree-is-real is all the rage now, yes?

Let’s hope so because this is my home:

It’s pretty in a my-house-is-being-made-love-to-by-trees kind of way. If I were the realtor, I would advertise it as a house with lots of oxygen potential. And most people are in favor of oxygen.

We also have a giant pile of leaves our neighbor lovingly raked into our shared bushes that is now home to a stray cat that enjoys spaying and mewing loudly. I would have taken a picture, but I was afraid my neighbor would see me. That should not deter you from buying the house. It’s not my neighbor, it’s me. I have gelotophobia, the fear of being laughed at.

There is much to do. And here I sit writing this blog.

But I’m hopeful it will get done because I learned today that this is not a flower so I can get to pulling.

Synergize Your Synerginistic Self

A&E’s Hoarders is a show I sometimes watch. For some reason the refrigerators filled with rancid meat and 25-year-old salsa bottles, the plastic bags of fecal matter and thousands of yowling cats and/or gnawing rats inspire me to clean my house with gusto. I view the empty can of garbanzo beans thrown on the floor by my son as one can away from a giant nest of rat kings in my living room (do not click on the link if you ever want to be able to eat food).

These sporadic cleaning frenzies are a time of purging the glorious crap advertisers force me into buying with their snazzy commercials, and a time of discovery. This week’s discovery is a children’s book titled Just the Way I Am by motivational speaker Sean Covey, who is a self-proclaimed inspirer of greatness in youth. It is the first in a series that encourages children to be proactive, think win-win and synergize all the while using the common vocabulary of your every day second grader.  I believe synergy is very important to children, and I believe I will believe it even more strongly once I find out what synergy means. I just looked it up in the dictionary and it says synergy: 1. bullshit word 2. the act of synergy. Examples of synergy in a sentence: The person who coined the word synergy should be kicked synergistically in the ass.

Synergizing right along, I quickly read the book aloud to my son, which prompted him to pick up the garbanzo bean can (proactivity!) and whip it at my head (win-win; he got out his frustrations-the can was picked up off the floor).

The story centers on Pokey Porcupine and his struggle to come to terms with how to brand his quills in a competitive free market environment where the littlest step can be a total game changer. When reading this to children, it’s very important to explain what a porcupine is because many will not be familiar with it.

Biff Beaver is throwing a curve into the strategized strategy of strategemy by facilitating a conflict resolution of epic market proportionized non synergy fruit loops. Upon viewing this picture, children may ask “What’s a spelling bee?” Explain that it is a competitive competition that does not involve synergy, but may involve the spelling of it.

This causes Pokey consternation, and he begins to pontificate about what his ideal self could possibly be. At this point, children may begin to whimper and fret. It’s important to tell children that “while motivational speakers do exist, they cannot hurt you unless you pay them hundreds of dollars to take their terrible workshops.”

But Jumper Rabbit (Wha? Why not Bouncing Bunny? This lack of alliteration makes me feel non-synergy) motivates Pokey into recognizing how to be a master of his own destiny and conductor of his own journey. Upon viewing this picture, children may say they like soccer, and that they want to play “right now.” Do not let them leave the room.

Pumped with piss and vinegar, Pokey finds the optimal solution to optimize the transformative synergy optimization of optimal synergy in a transformational solution meld. Children hearing this should also feel transformed as if they been touched by an inspirer “inspiring greatness in youth™,” and be filled with proactivity that will cause them to synergize and work toward win-win situations in their own lives. Ask them what they would like to do. Many will answer “leave this room immediately.” Job well done.

And they all lived synergistically ever after.