Below is a typical photo from our house—since both my husband and I are utterly lacking in organizational skills, everything tends to be clumped in piles.? I am a sort of strange hybrid creature—I’m not especially clean, but I’m tidy in the sense that I don’t like to see objects strewn all over the floor as if somebody had just bombed our house.? So, everything ends up in a pile, just like the ones pictured below.? Or, being an extrovert,? maybe it’s just that I’m naturally inclined to put things in groups.? I guess the reasons don’t matter much, since the end result is the same—-big clusters of junk throughout our home.

Exhibit A:? pile of mail (note the nice box we bought to stick everything in—I guess we just assumed if we bought it, the organization would magically come.? Sort of like Field of Dreams, only? featuring a tiny-kitchened tract home instead of a field.? And no baseball.? Or Kevin Costner, for that matter.?

But apparently, that’s not how it works.? So, if we can’t? procure a self-sorting and self-filing mail container, at the very least we need a super-sized one.)

Exhibit B:? Another junk cluster, just next to the mail.? Basically, a bunch of homeless stuff of unknown origin.

Exhibit C:? Stack of books in the bathroom.? (see the hot pink one, near the top? of this literary pyramid?? It’s one of those adult ADHD books my hubby bought but never read—shocking.)

And in case you missed it, a close-up of the book in the middle.?

? Karen, I want my money back.

The Ferganator strikes again.?

I haven’t been keeping score, but I think it’s something in the range of Fergie 50, husband 0.? By this point, don’t you think hubby would know not to leave assorted cardboard? boxes laying around in the backyard?? Apparently not.? Or maybe it’s a another new look he’s fostering—I’ve dubbed this one “shabby unchic”, or for the more succinct reader, “trashy” works just fine.

? Exhibit A:? Caught in the act!? (Yes, that’s Skye in the bottom corner, saying, “This is so beneath me.? I only eat books, you know.”)

Exhibit B:? Our patio after Fergie was finished decorating.

Exhibit C:? Hey, look, she’s tired.? Apparently, destroying a backyard is? exhausting work.? ? (Auntie Dawn, aren’t you glad Fergie approves of the Christmas gift you bought Connor?)

Hmm…come to think of it, the patio looks a little like the inside of my purse.? I wonder if I could use any of those cardboard pieces later?

If you’ve read even one of my blog posts, you probably know by now that I’m unorganized.? And? a procrastinator.? But what I’ve failed to mention is that I’m also a pack-rat.? Yep.? That’s correct.? I’m a hoarder.? In fact, I like to think of hoarding as? the? big red cherry on top of? a colossal sundae of other bad habits.? Because hoarding really is the mother of all vices.? It’s not for the faint of heart.

For example, my husband likes to rag on me (where? the heck? did that term come from, by the way?) endlessly about the motley collection of backpacks I had in the garage, leftovers from my physical therapy school days.? I just couldn’t part with them.? My attachment might have been okay, had said satchels been organized, in any sense of the word.? But of course, since these backpacks belonged to yours truly, organization was about as likely of an occurrence as Brad Pitt stopping by to take down our Christmas lights and plant a money tree in our front yard.?

See, instead of putting my papers in a binder, like any normal human over the age of four might do, I just stuffed everything in the backpack willy-nilly.? Crumpled papers? would randomly escape every time I opened one of the darn things.? Why do I use the plural?? Because, since I had no organizational system to speak of in the form of a notebook, my backpack became the notebook.? Except nothing was stored in any particular order, and locating a certain set of notes was always a project of mammoth proportions.? Without binders, my backpack was my only means for keeping papers together.? A filing system of sorts, if you’ll allow me to? stretch the term a bit (picture Gumby here). ? So, every semester, I would just procure a new backpack, and start the carnage all over again.? As you can imagine, my friends at school gave me loads of grief over my so-called? “system”, but alas, they couldn’t save me. In fact, they actually presented me with the very last backpack I defiled during my PT school days.? Touching, isn’t it?

Anyway, my husband would periodically ask me to throw away my backpacks, but it was out of the question.? What if I needed? one of those crumpled, impossible-to-find notes on some obscure neurological disease at a later juncture in my career?? As I said—I am a hoarder, and the basic law of hoarding is that there exists a potential future purpose for any and all items you own.? Therefore, you cannot be expected to part with any of them.? Or at least, said purpose exists in the hoarder’s brain.? Which? must? be a fascinating and? truly frightening? organ to behold.

By the way, the reason I’m referring to my backpacks (all 6 of them) in the past tense?? Well, if you read the post on our garage and rats, you’d know why.? ? Essentially, they met a fitting end.

In case you think I’m exaggerating about the extent of my pack-rattiness (along with the degree to which I’m organizationally-challenged), check out these photos of my purse.? This is essentially how it looks on a daily basis.?

Exhibit A:? So far, the purse looks innocuous enough, albeit a little large.

Exhibit B:? Maybe not? quite so? innocuous, but not too terrible (okay, so maybe it looks pretty terrible? to you, but to me?? This is the way a purse is supposed to look—well-used).

Exhibit C:? Now we’re starting to get a real gander into the depths of my depravity.? Yes, all that crap really came out of one purse.

Exhibit D:? Yep, that much crap can actually fit in one purse.? Amazing, isn’t it?

But check out some of the crucial stuff in there—Hot Wheels cars, the homeopathic remedy that’s been mouldering away in there since last spring, the mildewy cereal bits, a half-eaten cereal bar and the Darth Vader figure.? Because you never know when someone might whip out their light saber? (okay, that sounded worse than intended).? Oh, yeah, and the Rhodesian Ridgeback pin from a dog function I attended in 2002.? That one’s a bit of a mystery, seeing as I haven’t even? owned the purse that long.? (Do you have to ask why my purses wear out faster than a nympho-maniacal crack whore?? ? I didn’t think so.)

Exhibit E:? Just a quick peek at the assorted yummies left on the bottom of my purse, along with ten pounds of change.? Gee, I wonder if that’s why my left shoulder is utterly deformed??

What can I say?? I like to make sure my purses earn their keep.

The Internet truly is a wondrous thing.? How else would you describe an entity where your four year-old can be innocently watching volcanoes erupt one minute, and the next be viewing some dude in his tighty-whities, attempting to pop balloons by excessive pelvic thrusting? ? (Yes, I’m sure there’s some type of volcano analogy to be had, but let’s not go there.)? ? I mean, unless the man was performing a new dance move? called “the eruption” (okay, I went there), can somebody please explain how? in the heck my son managed to? navigate from? lava to lovin’?? ? ? Talk about your six degrees of Kevin Bacon.

I know, I know—they have those control thingies that you can set for your kids to monitor their online experience.? But honestly, who? would’ve thought you had to start with the? pre-pre-schooler set?? ? I can really see the need for those parental controls now, though.? I mean, my son wasn’t even trying to get to the bad stuff, and whoomp!? there it was.?

Another case in point—my son was looking at videos of fires, and somehow? found his way? to the oh-so-special Johnny Johnny Poo Poo Pants.? A charming little ditty, complete with repulsive stick-figure visuals.? ? Okay, so I’ll be the first to admit it—the song is catchy, in a super-annoying-I’m-going-to-slit-my-wrists-if-I-can’t-get-this-tune-out-of-my-head kinda way.? But if you can explain to me what a fire has to do with dropping kids off before you get to the pool, then you, my friend, have a mind even more random than mine (this is not necessarily a blessing).? And yet, I’m assuming there must be some association.? How else would my son, who can barely spell his own name,? have been able to navigate there??

So, let’s brainstorm.? ? We start with forest fires.? We end up with befouled undies.? What possibly happened in-between the two?? It’s like one of those free-association puzzles the shrink asks you (no, I’ve never been, but if you were a shrink, wouldn’t you just love messin’ with? people like this?).? Let’s see—-fire, hmmm—makes me think of things that burn.? Hey,? we used to do a shot in college called a “flaming asshole”.? You know,? if my tushy really felt like it was on fire, it might be because I’ve got a bad case of Montezuma’s.? Say, speaking of the trotskies—this one time, when I was at band camp, I got a seriously repulsive case of the runs and crapped my pants.? Ta-Da–there we have it!? From fires to the squirts, in under fifty words or less.? Not such a stretch after all.? Right?

Okay, so maybe it is a stretch, but do you have a better explanation?? Feel free to elaborate anytime.

So the imaginary visuals I’m getting from this exercise are more than unappetizing.? I’m off to set the parental controls.

When’s the last time you forgot if you were a registered Republican or Democrat?? Me?? Um, let’s see—-today jumps to mind.? ?

No, I’m not kidding—I have no clue which? party I signed up for.? I suppose it really? doesn’t matter much—they’re all full of bunk, it just varies by degree.

See, when I registered the first time, I was away at college.? I attending a super conservative school in Dallas, and all my friends at the time were die-hard Republicans of the Rush Limbaugh variety.? So I registered Republican.? Then promptly voted Democrat.? At least I think I did.? Hey, there was a lot of beer involved.

When I went to register back home in California, I had every intention of registering Democrat, simply because I can’t stand the junior Bush.? Oh yeah, and I’m a little sick of the government wanting to stick their noses in my private life.? I mean, I’m all for family values, but the beauty of our country is that my family values are different from my neighbor’s family values, which are different from your family values, but they are all valid choices.? What I don’t need is some crusty old conservative government-type? telling me what my family values should be.? Or what is and isn’t? okay to watch on TV, or see at the movie theater, or read.? Let’s face it.? ? Some of these? guys? are the same types of folks that tried to burn books like Catcher in the Rye.? I can’t even imagine what they’d do with Skinny Bitch.? Nuke it??

But in the end, I don’t know if I actually registered Republican by habit, or remembered to change to Democrat.? Good one, huh?

At any rate, I’m really just a moderate.? Give me a left-winged righty, or a right-winged lefty, and I’ll be pretty content.? Given the candidates this year, I think I can make it work, regardless of party.

So, I’ll soon be off to exercise one of my civil liberties.? More aptly, I’ll be exercising my skill at balancing a squirming baby in one arm, and reading through the proposition info and recording my votes with the other one.? (Yes, I realize I should’ve read the prop stuff days, weeks, even months ago, but since I’m a procrastinator extraordinaire, that had about as much of a chance of happening as a money tree suddenly sprouting in our front yard.? I’d even settle for a yummy tree (you know, one that grows chocolate bars), but alas, no luck on that front either.? ? Maybe if we finally put the reindeer to rest in our garage…..

Speaking of which, maybe I should wear a disguise when I go to vote, seeing as it’s literally next door.? It really would’ve been nice had we taken our Christmas decorations down before election day.? Hmmm….I wonder if? procrastinating is considered a valid family value choice these days?

I have actually made a decision.? What is it?? That I’m the world’s most indecisive person.? So it’s pretty miraculous that I’ve come to this conclusion.? I just wish other choices would come so readily.

? For instance, take a gander at the email I just sent out to the other members of a new book discussion group I recently joined.

<<<Okay, ladies.? I know most of you don’t know me that well yet, so I imagine you don’t know that one of my (numerous) flaws is my massive indecisiveness.? Actually, that’s the understatement of the universe.? When it comes to decision-making, I’m about as skilled as T.S. Eliot’s J. Alfred Prufock (if you’re not familiar with him, give “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufock” a read some time—great poem).? Since my father never could pick a movie, restaurant, or even his nose without dithering on the pros and cons of each event, I’m pretty sure it’s genetic.

But I digress (yep, another flaw).? My point is that I’ve narrowed down? our potential book-reading list to a few books, but given my lack of prowess in the decision-making department, I can’t seem to pick just one.? What does this mean?? Basically, that I need you guys to decide for me.? Or at least give me input.? Pretty, pretty please (luckily, excessive pride is not one of my shortcomings).

Otherwise, I’ll? probably still be mentally debating which book to choose up to the day of the meeting, at which time it would obviously too late for anyone to buy and read my choice.? Thus, our options would be limited to reading material readily available in every home.? The phone book jumps to mind.? Or the back of a diaper box, maybe.

So, to prevent that from happening (I mean, do you really want to learn any more about diapers than you already know?) my list is as follows:

The Eight by Katherine Neville (great book I read a long time ago and would love to read again, but it’s over 500 pages, so may be too much)

Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh? (classic novel on the 100 must reads of the 20th century, but it’s pretty old)

Either Skinny Bitchby Freedman and Barnouin or The Omnivore’s Dilemmaby Michael Pollan (both about the way we eat in the U.S., one written with a little more angst and one from a little more intellectual perspective—may be of little interest to some of you)

The Glass Castle (a current memoir and probably the safest choice so nobody shoots me, or worse, kicks me out of the book club)>>>

Bear in mind—I just met most of these women for the first time a week ago.? I’m fully expecting the book club to mysteriously “disband” next month.? ? And of course? re-band with one less member.? Namely, me.

The kicker?? I didn’t end up picking any of those above choices as the book of the month.? Instead, I offered up two new ideas.? Seriously.? I know.? I am a bad, bad person.? Honestly, I think it’s a disease.? Kind of like schizophrenia.? Only not.

The regular group of moms I hang out with have learned.? After experiencing my waffling wishy-washiness for the umpteenth time, they’ve figured out how to handle me.? They simply leave me out of any and all decision-making processes.? Nowadays, they just tell me where we are meeting for lunch, which park we are going to, where the next mom’s night out is.? That way, we actually get to? do these things without somebody wanting to bludgeon me to death with a plastic sand shovel.? It works.

Why am I so indecisive?? I like to chalk it up to being a closet perfectionist.? See, I want to find the perfect book, the perfect park, the perfect mom’s night out location.? So I tally up the pros and cons of each.? Until kingdom come.

So, hopefully, I will be blessed with divine inspiration regarding the book options any day now.? Otherwise, I’ve got my diaper box handy.