So there are a few things you should know about me if you don’t already know me.
- I have a wicked, untreated case of ADD/ADHD/OCD/PMS/OPP (yeah, you know me). Which essentially means that I can clean house like a demon, partially, while listening to music, and bitching about how much crap I have until Mr. Douchecanoe downstairs starts to out-decibel me in the volume department. He always loses, I don’t know why he even tries.
- I’m not married. I think this really is best for everyone. We have enough victims in the world, no? Can you imagine waking up to a woman who looks uncomfortably like Christopher Walken, requesting more cowbell? Methinks not. Stop asking me when it’s going to happen. It won’t.
- I have no kids. See above for the reason. (Plus, really, I am my own kid. I often give in to my own needs, just to get me to shut up. You know that rack of candy by the register? Yeah. Yeah.)
- I came into the world much later than the due date given, and I think it’s translated into every appointment, interview and check-in time ever since. I was born 3 weeks late, my biological mother was in labour for 22 hours, AND they had to use the salad spoons. AND IT STILL TOOK EFFORT! I’m basically the elusive piece of lettuce that keeps sliding through the prongs. If ever there was a child who did not want to be born – HI! – it was me. (She probably still has claw marks along her inner walls.) (You’re welcome.) As a result of the over-cooked bun in the oven, some of the “stuffing” – as it were – is a little stale, a little rock hard. Whatever. Snoopy is still my favourite cartoon.
- I also have the rock wall called bipolar depression. The plus of all this is the ADD only lets me be sad for a little while, and then there’s YouTube clips, Pinterest ideas, and everything on Facebook. (I happily discovered that I’m not the only one who calls George Takei “Uncle George”. I have this whole huge family I didn’t even know about!) And on top of all of those goodies, there’s the magical world of Amazon, where you can literally get ANYTHING!
Okay, so let me explain why I’m writing this blog in the first place.
I’m very likely moving to Rhode Island in the beginning of February. By bus. No shit, I’m literally planning on getting two huge suitcases of the crap I want/have to keep, and leaving everything else by the wayside. I’ve been selling a lot of my stuff, like the CDs and DVDs I haven’t listened to or watched in years, because, hey, DIGITAL! The method I’ve used to sell said items is an app called Decluttr, and they pay literally pennies on the dollar spent for such winners as Pussycat Dolls, Grammy Winners, Norah Jones, Moby, and Alice in Chains. (The word is “eclectic” folks. Eclectic. Don’t judge me, you little Jethro Tull stalker!) Don’t give me grief about The Pussycat Dolls, either. I was in my 20’s, and they were strange and confusing times.
In order to get these gems mailed out, Decluttr emails me a “kit”, which is basically the list of items I’ve scanned to send to them using my phone. They also send the mailing label so that I don’t have to pay shipping, which is really what sold me on selling them, and not just tossing these plastic bastards in the rubbish. So, I do the scanny-scan thing, hit “Save”, tap the screen a few more times, and they email me their “kit”.
The next step is to open my email. I was terrible about opening my email last year. I would literally go weeks before getting through the myriad of emails, thankyouverynothing, Depression. But I vowed to be better this year about it, so here goes. And this is where you have to pay attention because this is where ADD is the feature player.
I opened a new window, get into my email, and discover my absolute FAVOURITE blogger, Jenny Lawson, The Bloggess, has uploaded a new blog. She has hilarious posts that almost always put me in a good mood. (Don’t read too much into the “almost”…’16 was a rough year.) So now, my brain’s all “We were supposed to do something? Huh?” I skip right past the very important, much needed, this-will-get-you-train-fare-for-a-day-and-a-half email, and go right into Happy Land, reading her blog.
We’re not done here. Quit wriggling, get comfy, there’s more.
Along the left side of the screen is an ad for socks. Perhaps one of a few highlights of 2016, was my self-discovery of a funky sock-addiction I apparently have. I don’t know where it came from, I don’t know what broke inside me that suddenly I had to own everything that had more personality than me (this explains why I’m always scrounging for moolah) and this new ad for socks is EVERYTHING!
So I found these Asshole socks pictured at the top, but when I tried to save the picture from the Amazon site, they weren’t having it. So I had to open ANOTHER WINDOW, do a search through Bing with the descriptor of “asshole socks” and I did not – I repeat DID NOT – see exactly what I was looking for. I did, however, discover how flexible naked women really are with their bodies. And some of them were wearing socks. So Bing doesn’t get an F for the day, more a C-. I think I’m being generous, really. Not as generous as Gigi with her rainbow stockings and the, uhhh, lollipop. I don’t ever want to be that generous. Also, lollipops are officially off the list of Candies I Can Have. Looks like it’s just you and me, Swedish Fish.
My brain is currently fighting itself for whether I really need another pair of socks.
I don’t. But I want them. But I don’t need them. But I kind of do. Carrie, nobody cares about your socks, they aren’t looking at your feet. But I care, motherfucker. Don’t call me a motherfucker, that’s physically impossible, and you know it. Whatever, I want these socks. You can get them later, they don’t go away if you just wait. If I wait, I’ll forget about them. That just proves you don’t need them, you’re just being impulsive. Am not. Quit sulking.
Fine, I won’t get them… yet.
Ooooh, The Strand is having a sale!