Cue soundtrack to Sanford and Son

Internet, this is what we did today:


That’s only about one-fourth of the junk that was in our basement. The other three-fourths are still down there, but I’ve arranged it all into neat piles so that it no longer looks as if it is going to leap off the floor and give you a disease. We started yesterday afternoon, worked late into the night, and then spent all day today knee deep in books we have never read, VHS tapes that have no labels, and biology notebooks from college that I have kept because YOU NEVER KNOW WHEN YOU ARE GOING TO NEED TO DIAGRAM A PROTOZOA.

This was the next phase of my New Year’s resolution to get rid of all the clutter in my life. (NOTE: When writing the previous sentence I originally typed “git” because that’s how I thought it was spelled, and the spell-checker in my browser was all THAT IS NOT OKAY, and I could not figure out the right way to spell it, had to physically look it up in a dictionary, and in case you were wondering, this is what happens when you watch too much local news.) We did not do this because I am experiencing a need to nest, and let’s just go ahead and make this clear: I am not pregnant. I normally eat pickles smothered in ketchup, or sometimes mustard, or often a combination of maple syrup and soy sauce. Tomorrow I might try sour cream. If I were pregnant I would be dipping the pickles in Doritos.

We are exhausted and sore in strange parts of our bodies and are lying in bed watching American Idol. Because it really is one of my favorite shows, if only because Simon Cowell does not think twice about saying things like, “You look like you’ve been boiled!” Jon abides it, often rolls his eyes or suggests that while I watch it he might just do something as equally enjoyable, like drilling a nail through his septum. Fine, whatever, this is a man who steals paper napkins from fast food restaurants to put in the glove box because “you never know when you just might need one.” Excuse me if I have a hard time taking him seriously.