To Do List
1) Change sheets and wash dirty sheets and when sheets are clean and fresh and dry, fold them immediately rather than leaving in dryer for days and days, only to discover wrinkled mass of pima cotton when standing in front of dryer with arms full of wet, heavy, tangled clothing.
2) Change, wash, dry and fold sheets immediately and properly, as once read article by Martha Stewart detailing exactly how to fold fitted sheets. Diagrams were involved, and also possibly a seam ripper.
3) Do not leave washed and folded sheets on top of dog’s crate.
4) Do not call dog’s crate “crate.” It is her “home” and she loves going in it.
5) Wash all matter of dirty glassware by hand and put away once it is dry.
6) Deal with skanky bathmat and shower curtains.
7) But do not go to Target, Bed Bath & Beyond, The Conran Shop, Hold Everything, West Elm or the cute shop on Smith Street because all are a black hole into which you cannot afford to be sucked, be it for time, money or sanity. PUT DOWN THE CURTAINS AND ELECTRIC DRILL AND WRAPPING PAPER AND TEA KETTLE AND GO HOME.
8) Go to Rite Aid instead and leave with huge bag, $80 debit on bank card, and no idea what you just bought. But feel encouraged by new smoothing gel by John Frieda.
9) Put away all the crap from Rite Aid before starting the laundry.
10) DO NOT FORGET ABOUT THE SHEETS IN THE WASHER. Like last time, ahem. Sheets do not grow on trees. But, mildew grows on forgotten linens abandoned in the washer.
11) Is Six Feet Under on tonight?
To Do List
1) Laundry, including linens, including FOLDING and PUTTING AWAY of linens.
2) Catch up on correspondence, i.e., write to in-laws and express regret at being unable to visit them last weekend. In fact, was thrilled not to visit them, but cannot say so. Follow mother’s wise advice, which is that a nice note card costs me nothing and no one will ever know if I am not 100% sincere in what I say. Decide to catch bees with honey and all that crap, but also get subversive thrill realizing that lovely personalized stationary clearly states my name across top, that is to say, my maiden name, because I did not change my last name as am not property but also as husband’s last name is kind of goofy, yet in-laws continue to address everything to me as if I did change name so perhaps kind note card will actually STICK IT TO THEM, in the most polite way possible.
3) Sweep, mop, vacuum.
4) Or, just wipe down countertops.
5) Return NetFlix.
6) Re-charge iPod.
7) Try to figure out why iPod earphones will not stay in my ears. For the love of Mike, why why WHY won’t you stay, tiny earphones?? Lefty, you are not so bad. The little foam slipper stays on you and you stay in my ear and so I really have nothing to discuss with you. But Righty? Holy Bejezzus, Righty, what is going on? I have lost THREE of your little foam slippers and you will NOT stay in my ear and you won’t even really go into my ear and I don’t know why because I see lots and lots of people at the gym doing things like Running, Lunging and Stretching with the cute little white iPod earphones staying nicely inside their ears while mine (Especially you, Righty) slip out if I just listen really hard to the music. iPod earphones, I hate you and your ass face. I use you on the subway but if the train lurches to a stop, you fall out. At the gym I have to use Ugly Giant Black Wraparound Headphones (headphones? earphones? What are you little bastards called?) which are too big, make my skull hurt after a while, get sweaty and gross, impede my ponytail and ARE TOO BIG. Steve Jobs, you owe me an explanation. And possibly $30 for those other craptastic earphones (headphones?) I bought at your stupid Apple Store on Prince Street which I could not even figure out and while I know I do not have any advanced degrees, I kind of assumed that PUTTING ON EARPHONES OR HEADPHONES OR WHATEVER YOU CALL THEM WAS COVERED BY MY EARNED-AT-A-PUBLIC UNIVERSITY BA.
8) Go to gym.
9) Or not? Because last week a proper doctor diagnosed my with a proper ankle problem, and so really should not put any undo stress on ankle. Fat roll above jeans will have to take one for the team.
10) Contemplate showing Internet the hideous beast of a boot that the proper doctor “prescribed” for my ankle. Decide to show picture of hideous boot in hopes that Internet will offer sympathy, as I work in a design office that considers stilettos and tube tops to be appropriate business casual and this boot belongs somewhere with relaxed fit pants and sensible ergonomic backpacks. Dear Internet, please tell me I don’t really have to wear it:
11) Try to remember that appearances are not everything and that doctors know more about bones and joints and whatnot than I do, and also that I really need to return the NetFlix.
To Do List
1) Laundry, cleaning, domestic crap, etc.
2) Start cooking at home again, now that the Mouse Issue seems to have been resolved and being in kitchen for more than 30 seconds does not make skin crawl.
3) Oh, and call middle brother, J., tomorrow as it is his birthday.
4) His 25th birthday, which means that I am definitely, really, most certainly, absolutely for sure not 23 anymore, since J was born five years after me.
5) Try not to do unnecessary math which makes me realize that when I turned 25, I was already living with my then-boyfriend, now-husband, and that when my mother turned 25, she was about to give birth to me, and that when she turned 30, as in 30 WHICH IS THE AGE I AM NOW, she had just given birth to J., the brother who is turning 25 tomorrow.
6) Toss back anti-inflammatory pills and wine as if I was a Motley Crue groupie and the Motrin was speed and the wine was unmentionable bio-material from either Tommy Lee or Nikki Sixx. Thirty is totally rock and roll.
7) Make sure Internet is clear that anti-inflammatory pills are for ankle, not for misguided attempt at making any sort of macro-statement about turning thirty.
8) Launch event planning firm.
9) No, really…launch event planning firm. Have contacts, am bossy, have excellent taste and have been wanting sassy business cards. Launch event planning firm.
10) First, come up with clever name for event planning firm.
11) Also, write a book. Because many books are not great, and I may not be a great writer, but I can at least be a Not Great writer in the manner of all the other fucking skinny girls in Brooklyn who sign book deals IN THEIR TWENTIES and then write books that read like my brunch chit chat and end up on special tables at bookstores reserved for Local Authors and Skinny Cute Authors With Shiny Hair and Authors Who Own Her Own Apartment in Park Slope.
12) At least, write a proper entry.
13) Check email again for updates on baby shower which am co-planning for childhood friend along with her whorish Ivy League college friends who approach any and all social events as if it were a bachelorette party, and who treat me like the poor, retarded cousin from Back Home. Can’t fucking wait for baby shower. Miracle of life is nothing compared to miracle that is these bitches - all of whom have doormen apartments, MBAs, Vice President titles and shiny hair – and their ability to flourish on the in-bred east side while I try to scrape together Kit Kat wrappers in hopes of coming up with a down payment on an apartment. Never mind that husband is one of them and that I work in a cubicle. Am Brooklyn artist with integrity, clogs and curly hair!
14) Okay, now really, seriously, try to either write a book or launch an event planning company or do something impressive and exotic before god-forsaken baby shower arrives and I have to spend a whole day with Ivy League slut whore bitches who all have boring but appropriate Coach bags and boring but appropriate Tiffany diamond studs and will seek to belittle me with their boring but appropriate mediocre, flat-ironed, upper middle class Manhattan lives.
15) More wine, more sassy business cards.
16) Really, really need to write proper entry.
17) Dry cleaning.
19) Call Salvation Army about removing hideous old couch from apartment and blame poor feng shui for entire entry.
20) Fall asleep next to sweet husband and sweet dog in safe apartment mere blocks from friends who love me despite lack of graduate degrees, home equity, professional wardrobe choices and balanced meals, and hopefully dream of almond pastries and vacations in California, then wake up refreshed and renewed, or at least with one damn less chip on shoulder. And return NetFlix.