Read my late night thoughts

I'm having some trouble falling asleep tonight. We've had a busy couple days, and I have to work in the morning, so I'm anxious about getting to sleep, but at the same time, I hate waiting in bed for sleep to come.

My throat has been feeling funny all day. I think I'm coming down with Something. I'm not surprised, as I haven't been taking very good care of myself recently - I can blame it on a number of things, but, well...you know.

It's not all bad though. We've had some recent activity in trying to sell our home. No offers yet, but spirits are high at the moment, and in my opinion, you gotta ride the waves, or it's no fun at all.

As I was drying the tub tonight, I realized that I might be a little crazy. After all, I'm drying the tub in preparation for another house showing. Got that? Bone-dry: We all took showers. I went last. Afterward, I stood inside the tub and dried the whole thing with a microfiber towel thingie. It's shiny. Maybe I've seen too many episodes of "Sell This House." Maybe my true calling is home staging.

Here's the way I see it: The market is slow. Buyers can be fickle right now. They don't have a sense of urgency and so they have time to be more critical. There are things about our home we can't control, such as location, age, and size. We can, however, control how it presents itself. I try to put myself in the buyer's shoes. If I'm looking at several homes, with comparable amenities and price points, I'm more likely to form some kind of attachment to the one that seems most cared for, most well-appointed, and clean. And if all things are equal? I'll take the one with the shiniest tub.

So, besides the obvious cleaning, de-cluttering, and de-personalizing, here's some details I have focused on since our house went on the market - you decide if I am indeed crazy:

-All sinks and fixtures shiny and...you guessed it - dry.

-I also waxed our tub. With car wax. It helps it stay cleaner longer.

-Paint on scuffed walls has been retouched.

-Asked my realtor do the hotel-style toilet paper fold, because I forgot

-Dish rack and sponge and dish soap stashed away (sparse counter top)

-Fresh cut flowers (from the property)

-Lemons and green grapes, arranged in a bowl for the kitchen table

-Perfect towel folding

-Handles, knobs, and hinges polished

-"Where's their TV?" Mwahahaha. What TV? We only read, mostly from the Western canon. OK, OK maybe not so much...I'm just closing the doors of the armoire. But it was enough to make a visitor wonder where the TV was.

-I go through every room and ask, "Might someone mistake this for Pottery Barn?"
Clearly, we are far from it, but it's a good guiding question. I'm not even trying to make you laugh.

-My good friend is pet-sitting the kitty. Traces of our feline pet are obliterated.

-I don't just make the beds - I style them.

-Toys are a fact. We have a child. I won't disrupt his life. But, they are clean, organized and contained in one area of the family room, and in his room. No toy migration is tolerated during this period.

-Plants are perfectly angled to maximize their planty goodness. I don't know what this really means, but I know it when it's right.

-I asked my husband to cut some wood, randomly, on his table saw, because it makes the basement smell good and crafty. As in craft-oriented.

-I looked up some articles on the psychology of colors and home staging. Yellow is cheerful and supposedly puts people in a shopping-positive mood. I have potted marigolds, as suggested.

Finally, this may be determining piece of evidence in my crazy trial: Someone of the Catholic faith, Superstitious Italian Sector, (and not in my family!) told me that St. Joseph is supposed to be the go-to Saint for home selling. Don't you love how there's a Saint for every problem? You're supposed to place a St. Joseph statue in your home or on your property. I put my mom on the case. She produced for me her very own St. Joseph figurine. Of course she did. He is nestled discreetly on my bookshelf near the front entrance. Should I put on my own restraints, or are you sending someone?

Ringing the sex bells

It's not at all about sex, actually. Just wanted a sexy title. I don't even know what sex bells are and if they even exist, or if I'd ever want to ring such things. I'm going to talk about the holidays, and that's boring and cliche for December of course, so what better way to jazz it up than to add a strangely suggestive title? Brilliant, I know.

As per usual, I'm terribly unprepared for all things holidays: While I did manage to coordinate an almost 3 mile roundtrip adventure to pick out a tree, and even get it decorated, the rest of my holiday planning has consisted mostly of anxiety and irritation, dotted with short bursts of cynicism and total Giveupness. That's a word. My word. Use it only with permission.

I'm coming to the conclusion that I might not really be into the holidays, but just play along because it's exciting for Sam, and for the most part, the people I love are on board with it - it's much more important to me that we get to spend time together, and if it happens to all come together because of widespread holiday related time off, worship, blatant commercialism, or all three, then so be it. I'll take it!
I'm not very religious, so the birth of Christ, as well as the other religious celebrations going on around this time, don't anchor my thoughts or activities. I have no problems with enjoying the food and cheer, the music and pretty lighting, and saying Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Holidays, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy New Year, or Happy Frenzied Shopping. Whatever floats your boat is what I will greet you with, my friend, cause it's all good - just think of me as your willing Holiday Ally. Pass the cookies please, and let's make out under the mistletoe. Hey, maybe I am into the holidays!

But back to planning: December is nearly half over, and I'm further behind this year than ever. In fact, I'm probably not going to manage getting greeting cards or letters out this year. Oooh, quick detour down memory lane: A former friend once asked me why I bothered to send out a holiday letter. She remarked, "I mean, you're basically Atheist. I just don't get it." Gentle readers, I know I don't have to spell out all the awful assumptions, judgments, and offenses in that little gem. I don't identify as an Atheist. I might be more of an Alltheist. Goodness, then maybe I should be sending out like 6 times the cards...or wait, that's right-Season's Greetings will do. That's not to say that receiving religious cards offends me. It's fine. Holiday Ally.

I do tend to get it all done in time, and I'm confident I will come through once more. Tim and I usually exchange ornaments and non-extravagant gifts. Sam's gifts are pretty much picked out (but not yet ordered...that's next), and I still have to come up with ideas for my family and a few select friends. Like I mentioned, the holiday mailing might not happen - but I can put a practical spin on my failure...besides the outrageous cost of the stamps and cards, it will save paper, as well as the chemicals used in the inks and photo prints...not to mention that about three quarter of the folks that would receive them are now on Facebook.

I wish you all wonderful holiday joy!

I spit on football

There's not that many things I would change about Tim, but if I could change a few things, liking football would be one. He plays fantasy football (he won in his 'league' or whatever it's called) and coincidentally, he was neck in neck for first place with none other than Angie's husband, Graig. To make things fair, he'll have to use his winnings to take me out.
But really, that's not a big deal, except that he wouldn't be playing fantasy football if he didn't follow the moronic game in the first place. In reality, Tim will turn off the game if I complain enough (I can't even stand the sound of it in the background), and I suppose that in comparison to some men, he's not fanatical. So you see, I actually have an opportunity to slowly destroy his inclination toward following it - at least at home. I don't care if he reads the scores somewhere on his own time.

College ball doesn't annoy me that much - it's really the NFL and professional football. So what's my big problem with it? To start, there's the images the sport brings up for me:

-skanky cheerleaders that pretend to like the game, when really, they just like the attention from the guys

-chicks that wear football jerseys to sports bars and act like they're one of the guys and hi-five and actually follow the plays like they have an intimate understanding. i guess they just weren't pretty enough to be cheerleaders

-commercials suggesting that if you're not at or throwing a super bowl party, you're not American

-it makes guys in groups act like morons. testosterone stinking morons.

-lumpy, frumpy Midwesterners

-mustaches and belching

-pizza hut

So that's the main imagery that ruins it for me. From an ethical standpoint, being a fan of professional football (and other professional sports) wouldn't be so bad if it didn't feed into the disgusting amounts of money these people make - from the athletes to the investors and owners, to the advertisers, and on. I'm not innocent here - I like watching basketball (but I prefer college bball), and I while I don't exactly enjoy watching baseball, I don't mind it because it's classic to me - the REAL Americana sport. It's dignified, really. Because it's on during the summer, the background sound of baseball is soothing to me. In contrast, pro football is peaking during the harshest winter months, adding to its awfulness, with its screaming drunk fans and noise and ugliness. Sometimes I think everyone is pretending to like it. Even the guys.

Royal Dork

Happy 2009!

Tim and I had a quiet eve on the 31st. Sam was in bed by 8, and we watched M. Knight Shyamalan's The Happening. Though it was a little rough around the edges (mostly in dialogue), it had a good sense of creepiness and a unique plot, so we liked it. Plus, you know, Mark Wahlberg. I realize that's a fragment.

We had planned to stay up to watch the ball drop, so we tuned into CNN around 10. They stuck Anderson Cooper with Kathy Griffin in Times Square. It was funny to watch him squirm at her dumb jokes. It also looks like she's gradually morphing into Joan Rivers. Anyhow, they cut to their correspondent in Las Vegas, who talked about the events planned for the strip, and mentioned that Coolio and Fergie would be there soon.

I turned to Tim and said, "Fergie? And Coolio? That's odd." Tim just looked at me blankly. "I mean, why would the Dutchess of York turn up with Coolio in Las Vegas?" Another blank stare, then he said, "What are you talking about? Who's this Dutchess of York?" I said, "Um, you know, Sarah Ferguson! Fergie? The Dutchess of York? Oh, wait, maybe she's there to promote Weight Watchers for New Year's resolutions!"

Then I saw the look. I've talked about the look before: Mockery and a little pity, with a good dose of omg. He chuckled, "You're an idiot. Not that Fergie. The other Fergie. You know!" I had no idea still, and he said, "From the Black Eyed Peas!" Ohhhhh. OK. Now that makes more sense.

Personally, I'd rather see the Dutchess, so, whatevs. But we had a good laugh at my out-of-touch expense. At precisely 11:08, I called it a night and we went to bed. I asked him to give me a New Year's kiss first thing in the morning, but a little after midnight, he remembered and kissed me (awww).