Seven Signs That You Seriously Suck At Packing

I'm in the middle of packing for our trip to Port Macquarie. I'm not very good at it. There are certain things that would confirm this.  Here they are, the seven signs that you suck at packing:

1. You leave it until the very last minute, taking the term 'flying by the seat of your pants' to a whole new level.  You may try to rationalise this by reasoning that you work you better under pressure and just ignore the constant twitching of your eye and rising panic.
2. A situation may* have happened on a long ago vacation, where your partner nearly suffered a coronary trying to haul an over-stuffed heavy suitcase through the airport. He eye-balled you intensely and bellowed: "Don't ever pack a bag like this AGAIN!! EVER!!" Bemused passers by may have witnessed this interlude as you longed for the floor to open and swallow you.
3. In spite of the above lead-like suitcase, you've forgotten essential items, yet packed non-essential items.
4. Your definition of essential items varies wildly from your partners. After all, you couldn't exist without your dozen or so meticulously co-ordinated outfits, so necessary for what you'll be doing - schlepping to theme parks or local attractions with kids. The rest of the time will be spent doing as little as possible in an attempt to recover from the former horror.
5. You pack approximately 17 books for a 7 day getaway. You're either weirdly convinced that this is the week that you are somehow going to miraculously become a speed reader or just deluded. If you have 3 kids in tow, as I do, the deluded thing is the more likely option. Either option is delusional, really.
6. You pack joggers and active wear. Naturally, a holiday is the perfect time to take up jogging. You conveniently ignore the fact that the only exercise you participated in on past holidays involved walking to the cake shop then lifting the purchased cakies into your gob. Ditto walking  to the booze shop and lifting booze to your gob. If you have 3 kids in tow, the booze is a likely option.
7. You glance around at your accommodation on day 2 or 3 of your stay and are appalled to discover that the glistening, pristine conditions you sighed over when you arrived now resemble a war zone. You appear to have transported the entire contents of your home there, including the 3 kids and all their accompanying paraphernalia. This now necessitates a hurried clean before the actual cleaners arrive; you wouldn't want them to think you live like this. You now may as well be at home.

*Definitely happened. Excruciating.

                                 What other signs are there that you suck at packing?
                                    Are you going away these holidays?

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More Things I Know

I know that I'm sick of freezing my butt off.

 

I also know that when Summer finally rolls around I'll complain that I'm sick of sweating my butt off.

I know that I'm over the World Cup and soccer altogether.

I also know that this is unfortunate for me when I'm surrounded by soccer obsessed males.

I know that I was rather interested to hear that Mr 10 and 5 are both 'quiet achievers' at their parent/teacher interviews.

I know that they are both rarely quiet at home.

I know that I've been called a 'quiet achiever' many times.

However, I still don't know what I was supposed to be quietly achieving.

I know that I need to start packing for our brief road trip next week.
 
I know that I hate packing.

I know that as I type this ABBA's Knowing Me, Knowing You started playing in my head.

I know that this clearly confirms my sophisticated and cutting edge taste in music.

I know that I could spend the next 6 hours washing up, such is the state of my kitchen.

I know that I'd rather do almost anything BUT the afore-mentioned washing up.

I know that this is the only reason that you are being subjected to this rather scintillating post.

I know that it was a relief that the school holidays have started today.

Conversely, I also know that it was damn shame that there was no sleep-in forthcoming as we had to be at soccer early.

I know that as a result of the above I feel like I could sleep for the next decade. Instead I have to pack and prepare to go away to Port Macquarie on Monday.

I know it will be worth it when we get there.

I know that all I will want to do, once there, is read, sleep and eat.
Meanwhile, I know the boys will constantly whinge that they're bored.

I know that we haven't been to Port Macquarie for at least 10 years when Mr 12 was toddling around. Now he is about to become a teenager. Hold me.

I know that it's seriously time to log off the Internet when I'm taking a Which Little Miss Character are you? quiz. Related: apparently I am Little Miss Wise.

See, I knew I was a genius. Those quizzes are eerily accurate and sound, right?

I know that thinking I'm a genius because of a quiz probably proves the opposite. It just proves that I'll do anything to procrastinate. Little Miss Later, more like. As in: I'll get to that later.

Then again, does this prove that I am, indeed, wise? Because, as the saying goes: why do today what you can put off until tomorrow? Or something...

I know, I know, I'm just procrastinating. But you have to admit, I'm a genius at it. I know, right?

Okay, time to find one hundred more ways to procrastinate.

Maybe later.  Can you procrastinate at procrastinating? I know I probably can. There was no need to put the word probably in that sentence. Ahem.

Over and out.

Linking up with Ann at Help!! I'm Stuck! for Things I Know.

                            Are there any other ways to procrastinate?

                                   I really am a genius, aren't I?

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What I Suck At

What do I suck at, you ask? Okay you didn't really ask, but I'm telling you anyway. Don't worry, I'll make it quick, even though I could write a thesis on this topic. 

At the top of the list I would have to put blogging. I never seem to get my act together for these linky things. Case in point: on Monday I finally got around to writing my I Must Confess post after dinner, only to somehow manage to accidentally delete it  before I posted it. Genius.  I can't remember a word of it but I’m sure it was BRILLIANT. I can say that since no one will ever know. Ahem...

What I really, really and truly suck at is being organised. In every conceivable area of life I am woefully and abysmally disorganised and forgetful.  The only things I remember are eating and the words to every Carpenters song. I can assure you that this is definitely not helpful in life. Well, eating is somewhat helpful in order to survive. Eating cakes the size of your head isn't. Not that I would ever do that. Especially when I can eat cakes twice the size of my head. I'm classy like that. 

The thing is, I got my diagnonsense  diagnosis of Ass Burgers  Asperger's a few years ago and that’s when I realised that I have significant impairment or issues with what is referred to as Executive Functioning.

According to Tony Attwood’s Complete Guide To Asperger’s Syndrome the psychological term executive function includes:

• Organisational and planning abilities
• Working memory
• Inhibition and impulse control
• Self-reflection and self-monitoring
• Understanding complex or abstract concepts
• Using new strategies

I may have burst into tears upon reading this section. My tears miraculously disappeared as I read on and discovered Tony Attwood’s absolutely brilliant solution to these issues.

He says: one solution to reduce problems associated with executive function is to have someone act as an ‘executive secretary’.

This is the Reader’s Digest condensed version but he then goes on to add:

I encourage a parent or teacher to take on this very important role of executive secretary. We hope that this will be a temporary appointment as the person with Asperger’s Syndrome achieves greater independence with organisational skills. However, the executive secretary mother may not be able to resign until her role is replaced with an executive secretary wife.

Upon reading this sheer brilliance my tears just evaporated.  Now I felt like killing someone. I was INFURIATED by this advice. What I would like to know is: where the FUCK is my executive secretary wife?

Oh wait. All I have to do is grow a cock, divorce Micky Blue  Eyes,citing irreconcilable cock differences, ask a well-organised woman to marry me and be my executive secretary. Easy peasy. Why didn't I think of that? Any takers out there, pending my sex-change?

No? How rude. Hmph. Oh well, I can always get a cheapie sex-change operation overseas and then place an add on E-Harmony:

Middle aged woman turned pretend man with a pretend cock seeks executive secretary wife because Tony Attwood says I need one. You will need to be extremely well-organised but clearly insane and have a striking resemblance to a pre-anorexic Karen Carpenter; she is the only woman I could possibly consider 'turning' for. 

Then I would just sit back and wait for the eager responses to come piling in. Done. 

Meanwhile, I am left not only cock-less and executive secretary -free, but I have conveniently backed myself into a corner where I am expected to be not only my own executive secretary, but also to my three boys who all would appear to need one as well. And I suck at it. Did I mention that? 

Other things I suck at:

• Parking
• Talking
• Cooking
• Sewing
• Craft
• Team sport
• DIY/Decorating
• Art
• Dancing

And almost anything with an 'ing’ on the end of it. Except catastrophising. I’m brilliant at that. Gotta be gifted at something. Right, that’s me. I’m off to grow a cock. Cheerio. 

Linking up with Robomum for The Lounge

                                                     What do you suck at?
                                                     

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The A - Z Of Me

A is for absent,  because I always seem to be absent from this space lately. Oops.  I’m an absent-minded sort of person as well. A is also for Asperger’s which I was diagnosed with at age 40 in 2011.

B is for boring as batshit. I’m even boring myself with this blog let alone anyone else which is why I’ve been so conspicuously absent. B is also for my three boys aged 12 (almost 13), 10 and 5, who are anything but boring.

C is for cake and Carpenters: my two obsessions. C is also for classy. Clearly I am.  Classy, that is. Shut up.

D is for daydreaming because I’m constantly ‘off with the pixies’ and a space cadet.

E is for effort. I find everything in life to require monumental effort while I’d much rather be daydreaming while eating cake and listening to the Carpenters. It’s weird that people won’t pay you do so. Hmph.  E is also for exercise endorphins. I have to force myself to do the former daily in order to achieve the latter. An even louder HMPH! . Did I mention effort? Why can’t you get endorphins by sleeping?

F is for forgetful. In fact, the only reason I’ve survived on this planet for 43 and a half years is because eating is the one thing I don’t forget. Which brings me to the other F: FOOD.  Some people eat to live, I live to eat. I mentioned that I was classy.

G is for great, galloping, gargantuan, garrulous guacamole. Oh okay, I couldn't think of anything for G, but that's pretty impressive alliteration there, right?

H is for hope. I’m hoping I’ll come up with something interesting. Nope. Sorry.

I is for Infertility. Unbelievably now, there was a time when I thought I’d never be a mother. My boys were all miracle babies. I is also for Introvert. I take introversion to a whole new level. I’m so introverted that I make other introverts seem like loud, exhibitionist extroverts. At least I'm good at something. Thanks to  Susan Cain we’re all the rage now. Introverts are awesome and all that. So ner to all you lowly extroverts.

J is for the juxtaposition of two of my favourite things. Read on...

K is for Karen. Carpenter, of course. I sort of like her a bit. Ahem. I realise this is just repeating part of C but I couldn’t think of anything else for K, okay? It’s ironic that two of my favourite things are food and the World’s most famous anorexic but I like to mix things up. This is what I was referring to above with the whole juxtaposition thing. I'm not really sure if that's a word to be honest but it sounds impressive.

L is for Lego, the evil nemesis in my life. This Cancer of toys seems to multiply and spread to every corner of my house while I run around trying fruitlessly to keep it one area. Sigh.

M is for Micky Blue Eyes because I should probably give him a mention seeing as we are coming up to our 19^th anniversary later this year.

N is for noise which I don’t like very much. N is also for Ness which is what most people call me and led to the title of this blog. I’m so original.

0 is for original. See ‘N’ above.

P is for People, those weird, scary creatures. I find them simultaneously fascinating and terrifying. But, as Barbra testifies, people who make people are the cluckiest people in the world. Or something. Therefore, I’m glad I made my little ‘tribe’ of people where I belong.

Q is for quiet. I have always been quiet. If I had a dollar for the amount of times I’ve heard expressions like: “You’re the quietest person I’ve ever met!” or “You should come out of your shell!” I would be richer than Gina Rinehart.  My greatest skill is the impressive ability to just shut right up. This is a skill that more people should consider developing. Shut up. Literally. It’s not that hard. I do it all the time.

R is for reading. I’ve always been a book worm. I’m happier with a bag full of dollar books from Vinnies than a closet full of designer clothes or shoes. R is also for ranga. I am one. The fact that I need a little..erm..’help’ (hair dye) to remain one these days is completely irrelevant.

S is for scotch which is a favourite drink.

T is for tea which is my favourite non-alcoholic drink.

U is for unicorn because I am a majestic unicorn. This meme says so. So ner. See also: R

V is for Vanessa because it’s my name obviously. Duh. Everyone calls me Ness, though. Except Mick and my parents who’ve stuck with the Vanessa thing. The boys call me Mum when they’re not calling me other things.  Apparently Mum originally wanted to call me Rachel or Rebecca but Dad wasn’t as keen. They briefly decided on the name Monique until Mum saw Vanessa Redgrave in the movie Camelot and thought she and her name were beautiful. Therefore I became a Vanessa. Thankfully, as I don’t think I look like a Monique but I look exactly like a young, beautiful Vanessa Redgrave. The resemblance is uncanny really.

Me

Vanessa Redgrave. It's like we're twins...

 

W is for weird. I’m quite weird. But you already knew that.

X is for x-ray. I’ve had one or two in my time which isn’t very interesting but I’ve never played a Xylaphone so that’ll have to do.

Y is for “Y’s a crooked letter and Z’s no better!” which is something my Mum used to say to my brother and I when we were children in reply to our constant round of “Why’s?”

Z is for the sound of everyone snoring by this point. My cure for insomnia is now complete. You’re welcome.

Linking up belatedly with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I Must Confess.

                                            Who can honestly think of anything about themselves for X, Y and Z??

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