Great great great great great great great Grandpappy Alaric, 396 AD In case you haven't noticed, I like lists.
A lot.
A lot.
This is simply because I am of European decent. Specifically, of Germanic origins, which means I'm unapologetically Anal Retentive. Type A to a fault. Martha Stewart is my hero. Rachel Ray is not. I aspire to be someone as disciplined as Madonna. Rachel Ray does not. It is completely understandable that most of you lazy, incompetent people do not share this same joy, and for this reason, you may not want to continue reading this post. I, on the other hand, derrive great pleasure from daily chores like doing the dishes or organizing my bathroom drawers. Sometimes I realize I've done the dishes six times in one day. Most times I'm washing them before I'm even done eating off the plate; hunkering over the kitchensink and stuffing my face while the water's filling. Nothing compares to the little thrill I get when peeking inside an IKEA closet system or a impeccably stocked refrigerator. Oftentimes Jaxie will catch me gazing inside the linen closet, admiring the rows of neatly folded towels and sheets. I sort M&Ms by color in my spare time. The clothing in my closet is arranged ROYGBIV style so that it mimics the simplicity of a prism's perfection. I can't help it. Its in my bloodline. If you think I'm neurotic, imagine how bad the Visigoths were back in the day, color-coordinating their separates while keeping the Huns at bay. We are multitaskers by necessity, man, its who we are as a people. Give us a break. Cut us some slack. Someone has to be the Monica on Friends. It sucks, but what can you do.
As a direct descendant of the Visigoths, I am a firm believer in the art of listmakery. Not only does it quell the demon voices inside your head, but it keeps you sharp, on top of your game. It makes you feel as though you're conquering the world when you're doing little more than scribbling on a pad of paper. This eliminates any vestigal tendancies we've inherited from our tribal forefathers, you know like firing a maelstrom of arrows and running people through with enameled blades and such. At any given time, I maintain about four or five lists and anywhere from two to five calendars. There's "The Work list", "The Sh!t2do List","The Shopping list", "The Wishlist", and "The Good List." All of these are essential to my sanity and imperetive to securing a functional way of life. "The Work List" obviously pertains to all things job-related -- I keep these in spiral bound notebooks and organize them on a bookshelf by year, occupation and company. Perhaps most crucial of all, is the "Sh!t2do List", where I chronicle a weeks-worth of imperative activity. Shopping trips, appointments, upcoming bills, chores, gym classes, impending purchases -- it covers everything and anything that MUST be accomplished before 12:59 on a Sunday evening. Subesequent "Shopping Lists" delineate exactly what needs to be puchased. "The Wishlist" and "Good List" are more recreational than anything else, with the former documenting items I hope to buy in the future (plasma screen TVs, sunglasses, sugargliders, Kara Janx bikinis etc...), and the latter cataloguing films, novels, and music I deem worthy of notation.
When it comes to Calendars, I've never been a fan of Outlook or Palm Pilots. They're good for reminders, but don't give you the satisfaction of actually crossing things off. In addition to meetings and conference calls, my At-A-Glance Desktop Calendar, is for things I don't mind my coworkers seeing, like my daily gym schedule, hot dates with Tom Brady or awards ceremonies at which I'm the keynote speaker. These are written in hot pink Sharpie. Personal, clandestine or otherwise embarrassing appointments are reserved for the pocket calendar I keep in my handbag. These are written in light pencil, in case any evidence needs to conveniently disappear. And the Dry Erase calendar in the kitchen celebrates the collective activities of the AstoriaGirls themselves: sexy parties, excursions, sporting events, trunkshows, voodoo rituals, you name it.
While I'm sure you all stopped reading at the photo caption, I am only writing this to give a little insight into my psychosis. Visigoths of the world UNITE!
-WILLA K
