Kathryn Leehane's Blog, page 7

My Marriage Survived The KonMari Method Of Tidying

The clutter in my house seems to reproduce at an exponential rate. (I blame my husband and children.) In an effort to curtail the clutter babies, I looked into Marie Kondo’s book, The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing.

Her “revolutionary” method promises to take tidying to a whole new level and lead to dramatic results. Best of all, if you follow all of the instructions in her bestseller, you’ll never have to organize again. Sold! I purchased the book online, along with a Veggetti Spiral Vegetable Slicer, Makes Veggie Pasta. Clearly, I was off to a great start.

I read all 204 pages looking for her secrets, but despite the title, there are no magical Japanese fairies to do the work for you. You have to do it all yourself. Kondo’s KonMari Method instructs you to purge your house of unwanted belongings category by category and then use specialized storage techniques for the lucky items that remain.

The Big Purge

Kondo recommends you go through your entire home in a single sweep, discarding all unnecessary items in one big tidying marathon. I’m guessing she doesn’t have kids—and the baggage that comes with them—and has tons of extra time on her hands. Still, she made it sound so blissful and easy that I blocked off the weekend and badgered-encouraged my husband to help me.

“Our life will truly begin after we put our house in order. It says so right here!” I gave him my best sales pitch and pointed aggressively at the book.

“The whole damn house? Can’t we just pick one room to tackle each weekend?” he pleaded, probably hoping I’d lose interest after the first weekend.

“Nope. That’s not how it works,” I explained. “The KonMari Method explicitly says to purge our crap all at once and by category, not by room. First, we’ll start with clothing, then books, then papers, then komono, then…”

“What the hell is komono?” he interrupted.

“I don’t remember. I think it’s Japanese for ‘the rest of your crap.’ Anyhow, we’ll purge komono and finally sentimental items. Those are the hardest.”

My husband finally acquiesced. Probably because I promised him sex in the newly organized house.

Does It Spark Joy?

Whether or not a possession sparks joy in you is how you determine whether it stays or goes. Yes, you read that correctly. You hold an item, look deep into your heart, and make a decision based on the level of joy it inspires. By that criterion, I’d only keep my wine, my vibrator and my family (and some days, by “family,” I really mean “the family dog.”)

Tackling His Clothing

Early Saturday morning, my husband and I started in on the first category for our KonMari tidying project: his clothes.

“Okay, let’s get started. First, put all of your clothing on the ground,” I instructed.

“On the ground? That sounds like a terrible idea. We won’t be able to walk around to get beverages or go to the bathroom,” he said.

I had to admit that he was right (something I’m loathe to do) so we ignored Kondo’s advice and emptied his dresser and closet into an enormous pile on the bed.

“Don’t forget your coats. Grab all of your clothes from the entire house!” I demanded. I’m not 100-percent sure, but I think I heard, “Grab this!” as he walked down the hallway to retrieve his outerwear.

“Does it spark joy in you? Does it?” I asked repeatedly while dodging the articles he hurled across the room at me.

I give my husband credit, though. He was quick and efficient in determining what sparked joy in him. Unfortunately, his joy did not include several items I had bought for him, and they ended up in the purge pile. I tried hard to keep my mouth shut…until I couldn’t contain myself any longer.

“You’re putting all of your sweaters in the KonMari pile of crap?” I finally unleashed.

“When do I wear those, except when you dress me? Which does not spark joy, by the way. Now, if you undressed me,” he winked.

I dismissed him: “Dream on, Sparky.”

Organizing the Survivors

Once my husband had successfully purged all of his joy-sucking attire, we got to work at organizing what remained.

“Can’t we just put them back in the dresser and closet the way we had them?” he begged. “There’s so much more room now.”

“Absolutely not,” I advised. “We need to lovingly stroke and fold the clothes into teeny tiny rectangles and hang up the clothes that would be happier hung up. Clothes have feelings, you know, especially these few remaining ones. They probably have survivors’ guilt.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he asked in disbelief.

“Nope. Do it the right way, or I’ll KonMari you,” I insisted.

Apparently, while my husband is excellent at purging, it became immediately clear that folding is not his forte.

“You’re not folding those correctly,” I reprimanded. I then made him watch KonMari instructional videos on YouTube and we refolded his T-shirts. “And we need to redo all of your socks. You need to treat your socks with care and respect. Never, ever ball them up. That stretches out the fabric and isn’t restful to the socks. Properly folded socks are more joyful,” I advised.

“You’re just talking crazy now,” he grumbled.

“Hey, don’t blame me. This is the KonMari Method. In fact, we’re supposed to be thanking our socks every day for all of the hard work they do. We need to become Clothes Whisperers.”

“Are we still going to be married at the end of this?” he wondered aloud.

Purging My Collection

My turn at purging went much more slowly. Apparently, I have a hard time deciding what sparks joy in me beyond the items I already mentioned. I repeatedly asked my husband, “Does my outfit spark joy in you?” He wisely kept his opinions to himself.

I also discovered that a good portion of my clothes don’t fit anymore. Sure, they don’t spark joy right now, but they sure will when I lose those 10 extra pounds. So I heartlessly threw them into a box in the garage, which I’m sure violated several rules.

By the end of the first day, however, we had successfully shed 10 garbage bags of clothing and accessories, and we lovingly (but without talking to or groping them) organized our remaining clothing and shoes in our closets and dressers. It was a painful process, but our closets look fantastic. While they aren’t changing my life, they do indeed make me happy.

Moving Beyond Clothing

“Are you ready to tackle the rest?” I asked my husband excitedly.

“What!? The clothes took the entire day. There’s no way we’re going to finish the rest of the house this weekend,” he protested.

“Sure we can! Let’s plough through it. We can stay up all night!” I exclaimed.

To which my husband replied, “You no longer spark joy in me. Get in the garbage bag.”

In the interest of saving my marriage, I changed my plan and focused on KonMari-ing the crap out of the rest of my bedroom, so at least the master suite would be transformed. In the process, I moved all the books, papers and komono to the office—to be sorted on a future weekend.

What Did I Learn?

If my bedroom is any indication, using the KonMari Method should yield spectacular results in the rest of my house. Despite the bickering with my husband, I think purging by category and getting rid of things you don’t love is actually very effective. Will it change my life? That remains to be seen.

The KonMari Method also includes some fabulous folding tips, but I am realistic. I can barely finish the laundry each week. There’s no way I’m going to fold all of the clothes using her techniques. The clean clothes will need to learn to be happy inside the laundry basket.

Also, I’m not talking to my socks. I don’t care what Kondo says.

© 2015 Kathryn Leehane, as first published on Club Mid.

Photo Credit: bialasiewicz / 123RF Stock Photo

The post My Marriage Survived The KonMari Method Of Tidying appeared first on Foxy Wine Pocket.

A Foxy Lesson for the New Year

Recently I adopted a new personal philosophy. A new way of life. I created the NOPE Movement—a movement in which I say “NOPE” to the all of bullshit around me.

Apparently this extended to the holidays as well. Because I’m done with holiday madness and stress. DONE.

“Are we having a lazy Christmas?” Mr. Foxy surveyed the unwrapped gifts and partially-decorated tree on Christmas Eve.

“NOPE. We’re strategically conserving energy,” I replied with confidence.

“You mean we’re lazy.”

“No. We’re not. And now I’m a purposefully choosing not to engage in this discussion any further.”

“So you’re lazy and in denial.”

“Go make more eggnog.” (I always say “YEP” to eggnog.)

Apparently Mr. Foxy was a little worried that we were half-assing the holidays. I disagreed. He presented the evidence.

Mr. Foxy: Our outdoor Christmas tree (a tradition around these parts) tipped over.

Me: I fixed it once, but then the lights shorted out, and I decided fuck that noise. Now it looks like a REAL Charlie Brown Christmas tree. RIGHT?!

Mr. Foxy: We never finished hanging the ornaments on the tree.

Me: Whatever. They’re table decorations now.

Mr. Foxy: The tree skirt never got straightened out under the tree and doesn’t fully cover the floor protector.

Me: But Colin arranged that. We wouldn’t want him to think he did it wrong, would we?

Mr. Foxy: We never hung the stocking with care—if fact you just tossed them over the fireplace screen.

Me: Who cares? Santa will still fill them. And he doesn’t care that we just chucked those stuffed animals in the corner. In fact, he’d appreciate the song we were singing when we threw them across the room.

Mr. Foxy: We haven’t wrapped all of the presents.

Me: So let’s do it now.

(Cue present-wrapping montage with the A-Team theme song.)

Mr. Foxy: Uh, that kinda looks like shit.

Me: You think Colin will care? (SPOILER ALERT: He didn’t. Although it appears the dog was judging me.)

Fortunately, Mr. Foxy finally came around. “So, is this a Zero Fucks Christmas?”

“Pretty much. Or a NOPEmas.”

And, you know what? We had a wonderful holiday. Like a really fucking great one.

My husband gave me the best gift ever:

We relaxed. Like really relaxed. And just enjoyed spending time together. I wore my Christmas pants to every party, including the one at my in-laws (pictured below—believe me, my kitchen tile may be broken and my living room floor riddled with termite damage, but I don’t have green carpet).

And, thanks to my favorite cousin, my wine glass was never empty (unbeknownst to me). Which made for good dress-up at my aunt and uncle’s house.

And the moral* of the story? Even if you don’t give a flying fuck, your holiday can still be fun.

 

*Look, Andy, I can do morals just like you.

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How I Answer “The Question”

“So, what do you do?” My husband’s new CFO asked me at the Christmas party.

“I’m a writer,” I said with confidence.

“What do you write about?”

“Uhhh, well, lots of things. Humor mostly. Some serious stuff.”

“I love to laugh. What kind of humor do you write?”

Not wanting to gamble my husband’s new job, I avoided all discussion of my pubic grooming habits, sex life, and blowjobs. “Oh you know, parenting humor and, uh, stuff. Wait. Are those more egg rolls?”

And I WALKED AWAY.

I’ve written about more than just sex and lady bits, I SWEAR, but I do love talking about “taboo” topics (because I don’t think they should be taboo). I gathered some of the most popular pieces of 2015* so you can escape family, work, or general chaos and have a few laughs and feels. I’ve even categorized them for your reading pleasure.

My Lady Parts

Oh My Vulva, Why Hast Thou Forsaken Me?
If You Had a Dirty Little Secret, Would You Tell Your Spouse?
The Accidental Brazilian

Sex and Stuff

The Kiss List
When Your Friend Has a Past … With Your Husband
Men Are Whiners When It Comes to Oral Sex

Parenting?

9 Rules of Swearing for My Children
Surviving the Grandparent Hangover
How to Be the Best Crappy Tooth Fairy Ever

Games and Entertainment

There’s No Crying in Cards Against Humanity
The Dysfunctional Family Drinking Game
Dog Poop Leavers: Beware My Wrath

My Serious Side

Depression and Anxiety Walk Into a Bar
Why I Talk to My Kids About Suicide
An Open Letter to Bruce Jenner

Some Personal Favorites

Raisins Are the Herpes of the Baked Goods World
The Power of NOPE
Before You Invite Me to Your House, Read This

Oh YEAH! I even got on stage (and didn’t trip) to read one of my stories. You should check out that video.

I’m in some books too (and I’m working on a couple more for next year). Buy them, laugh, leave a review on amazon.com. If you live near me, I’ll even sell books to you from the trunk of my car—like a suburban drug dealer.

Thank you for spending 2015 with me. I’m so grateful you’re here.

Wishing you all a very HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Cheers, Foxy xoxo

*Not included are my all-time most popular posts from the previous year:

Why I’ll Never Have Another Brazilian Again
What Women REALLY Think About Blowjobs
Masturbation Is Okay and Other Obscene Hand Gestures

Photo Credit: creatista / 123RF Stock Photo

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New Years Resolution’s for Moms

A brand new year is upon us, and people are declaring their resolutions all over the place. In fact, one of my friends recently posted her Challenges (she doesn’t call them resolutions) on Facebook. The “challenges” went something like this:

Read 65 books.
Start swimming on Tuesday nights.
Make one (or more!) recipe out of every cookbook we own.
Organize one room in our house each month.

Oh, and she posted these as she checked into her gym—the same one she checks into every single day. Sometimes multiple times a day. And she’s “feeling determined.”

I almost peed my pants laughing when I read her post.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I think this list is a lovely list, and she’s an awesome person. I even considered adopting one or two of those “challenges” from the list. But then I remembered something very important:

I. HAVE. KIDS.

Yes, I have kids, and kids have a way of making those “challenges” really quite, well, challenging.

I mean, let’s take a look at her challenges. 65 books? Really? Heck, I’d love to have time to read 65 books. Wait. Hold on a minute. I probably do read 65 books. Actually, I probably read a lot more than that. IT’S JUST THE SAME MIND-NUMBING BOOKS THAT MY SON WANTS ME TO READ TO HIM OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN.

Take up swimming? At a regularly scheduled time? Well, if you count falling into the bathtub while trying to catch my phone that fell out of my hands while I was going to the bathroom while my son was bathing (it’s called multi-tasking, folks), then I’ve already rocked that one too.

Make at least one recipe out of every cookbook? Do they have cookbooks for mac and cheese, peanut-butter toast, chicken nuggets, and pizza? Because if they do, I’ve already completed that challenge. Like five THOUSAND times over.

Organize one room in our house per month? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! OMG, I can’t breathe that’s so funny. I’m cry-laughing, really. I’m lucky if I can clear the table for dinner. Or separate the recycling. So if organizing means shoving all of the crap into the closet before the guests arrive, then I’m totally there too.

Clearly, this friend of mine doesn’t have kids. Nor does she want kids, and I don’t begrudge her that. And, truly, I really do love her list of challenges. They make me a bit wistful for my kid-free life, but they’re not going to work for my kid-full life.

So that got me thinking: What kinds of challenges should I make for myself—as a MOM? And here are the four that I came up with:

Take a shower everyday. Smelling fresh and having clean hair is supposed to be a good thing. Of course, that would mean waking up early enough to have time to do this before the kids (and dog) start making giant, ridiculous demands of me. So maybe take a shower every other day. I think I can handle that. Maybe…
Dress nicer (i.e., don’t wear yoga pants every day). I bet my husband would love that one. But then I’d have to put on pants or skirts that aren’t stretchy and comfortable like my yoga pants. And, quite frankly, the holidays were pretty indulgent so those bottoms are going to be a lot less comfortable. And more muffin-top-y. So maybe I’ll wait until after the stomach flu comes around again to make that resolution. Or next year. Whichever comes first.
Drink more water. Water is a vital resource and is so important to your overall physical health and well-being. Luckily, water is readily available in many forms. And Jesus turned water into wine. So, basically, I just need to drink more wine. DONE.
Exercise 6 days per week. Yeah… Let’s be honest here; that ain’t gonna happen. So scratch that.

In fact, just forget about all of those resolutions (except the drink more wine one). How about: be happy with who I am and what I’m doing? Because I think I’m doing quite okay.

© 2015 Kathryn Leehane, as first published on Scary Mommy.

Photo Credit: langstrup / 123RF Stock Photo

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The Accidental Brazilian

I’ve been in a bit of a haze lately. But not so hazy that I don’t keep the nethers tidy. Because pubic hair and panty liner adhesive are not friends. Now, I’m not talking over-the-top-whacko tidy. And certainly not tidy by way of torture waxing. But tidy nonetheless.

So I grabbed Mr. Foxy’s beard trimmer. I’ve done this before. I’m a professional.

I adjusted the settings on the trimmer, removed the plastic cover, and went to (down) town. Starting on the undercarriage (the area you can’t see without a hand mirror or an advanced yoga pose), I proceeded to hack at the forest. Short and curlies flew in all directions.

Huh. That doesn’t usually happen. 

Still in a fog, I figured I’d just vacuum up the crotch clippings later and kept on plowing. Then, I felt a little pinch. 

What the heck is going on? That doesn’t usually happen either.

But I kept heading north through the muff scruff. Up. Down. Side to side. Then I felt a much bigger pinch.

MOTHERFUCKER.

I looked at the razor. There was a little bit of blood on it. A little bit of skin. And a whole lotta hair.

What the fu—

And then I looked down at my mons pubis.

DEAR GOD, WHAT HAVE I DONE?

Like a drunken gardener, I hadn’t just trimmed the hedges, I’d destroyed the lady landscape. I’d tortured the tantalizing triangle. I’d hacked the lady bits, well, to bits.

Patches of skin and hair (and a little blood) screamed at me. “DUMB-ASS!”

I inspected the beard trimmer and then smacked myself in the head. Apparently, I hadn’t removed the cover of the trimmer—I’d removed the entire comb attachment. I was getting direct blade-on-skin action and shaving away everything.

I’d created a mostly-bald kitty. A patchy, sad, mutilated kitty.

Welp. Might as well take it all off then.

Oh, and that blood? No, it wasn’t from Bart; he’s gone now. I guess I have a little skin tag in the lady garden. Well, I had one anyhow. The razor ripped that sucker right off.

Photo Credits: moellerthomsen / 123RF Stock Photo and seniorcarlo / 123RF Stock Photo

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17 Perfectly Acceptable Excuses Only Moms Can Make

Any way you slice it, motherhood is hard work. In fact, it’s the likely the toughest job you’ll ever have. Fortunately, being a mom also provides you with one giant perk: the ability to get out of doing things that you don’t want to do and going places you don’t want to go. (Not that I’ve ever used any of these excuses myself – if you have heard me use any of these, it was because it was the honest-to-goodness truth. I swear.)

Whether you have social anxiety or just don’t want to attend another gender reveal party, every phase of motherhood can help you out.

Pregnancy provides a variety of perfect excuses to skip that social event:

“I am soooooo constipated. The annual family picnic sounds like a really bad idea right now.”
“My ankles are really swollen. My doctor told me to keep my feet up. I can’t do that at the park.”
“I’ve got a raging yeast infection. With all of the stuff oozing from my vagina, I have to keep changing my pad. That doesn’t go over well at Jamberry nail parties.”
“I’m super gassy. I can’t possibly bring this smell to your mother’s house, dear.”

When you have babies and young kids, your ability to get out of any situation increases exponentially:

“You know the warning your doctor told you about fecal incontinence after the baby? IT’S TRUE. I’m not going anywhere for awhile.”
“My nipples are raw and cracked from breastfeeding. I need to stay home and be topless. Definitely not appropriate for your hamster’s funeral.”
“We’re potty training right now, and we’ve had lots of accidents. That would bring all new meaning to your housewarming party.”
“The baby is teething, and he’s crying non-stop. That’d be a mood killer at your dog’s puppy shower.”

Got older kids? No problem. You still have plenty of alibis.

“I’ll have to miss your niece’s 5-hour dance recital. I need to bake ten dozen cookies for school.”
“I have to help my child with math. Have you see this common core bullshit? It’s gonna take all night so I’ll need to skip the HOA meeting.”
“Sorry, I can’t go to your jewelry party. We’ve got a school thing that night.”
“Oh man, the kid has that mysterious fever again. I can’t leave him alone right now. Not even for your mascara party.”

Here are some stories that work no matter how old your kids are:

“I’ve got a giant cyst on my labia, and it hurts to walk right now – let alone put on a swimsuit at the community pool. I’m sorry I won’t be there for your kid’s first birthday party.”
“I’ve got my period right now. OH THE CRAMPS. My constant moaning would seem inappropriate at your Passion Party.”
“I couldn’t find my tampon string in the shower; I need to call the doctor. Passing out from Toxic Shock would probably put a damper on your tea party.”
“My hemorrhoids are so bad right now; I need to do sitz baths every couple of hours. So sorry to miss your child’s spelling bee.”

And my favorite fallback to get out of anything, anytime:

“What invitation? It must have ended up in my spam folder.”

What’s the best excuse you’ve ever used?

© 2014 Kathryn Leehane, as first published on Scary Mommy.

P.S. Dads? You can use some of these too. But I don’t recommend using tampons. Ever.

Photo Credit: stylephotographs / 123RF Stock Photo (because OBVIOUSLY that’s not me)

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The Power of NOPE

I bought a shirt the other day. Initially I bought it because my friend’s nine-year-old daughter created the design, which I thought was genius and hilarious. Also, I like to support my friends in their artistic endeavors. (I *swear* I’m not trying to guilt-trip you into buying one of my books.)

But, seriously, how awesome is this shirt?

When the package arrived, I dropped my purse and the other mail, ripped off my top, and adorned myself with my new shirt. I strutted around the house all casual-like, humming my favorite song and pretending I wasn’t wearing the most fantastic t-shirt in the history of all t-shirts.

My husband chuckled. My tween daughter laughed and immediately asked me to order one for her. My nine-year-old son looked at me, rolled his eyes, and walked away. (Guess which family member is my favorite?)

Not only is this shirt visually appealing and incredibly comfortable, it has practical uses. For example, I started answering my kids’ questions by simply pointing to my shirt.

“Mom, can I have dessert?”

“Mom, can I paint my room black?”

“Mom, can I invite 15 friends over for a sleepover Friday night?”

It works for husbands, too.

“Heeey baby, wanna do it?”

Pointing to my shirt was so much easier than forcing open my mouth and actually speaking words. Also, the shirt made it possible to respond to my family while I was chugging wine coffee water.

MULTI-TASKING, PEOPLE.

Later that night, after a few drinks, I started talking crazy waxing philosophical—as I’m apt to do—about the deeper meaning behind the shirt.

See, I’m at the point in my life where I no longer put up with any bullshit. I don’t give a fuck what other people think about what I do or what I’m wearing. Or even if they hear me fart. (Thanks Grandma!) And I certainly won’t allow myself to get roped into “favors” or “social events” or other stupid crap.

I’m going to do what I want, when I want, how I want, and where I want. Well, within the legal limits of course. (Mostly.)

This shirt, man, it’s so liberating. It allows me to be free… free to be me. With my own personal movement—The NOPE Movement. Here are a few examples of how it works:

NOPE, I will not get sucked into your personal drama on social media.
NOPE, I will not shower today just because society has certain “hygiene” standards.
NOPE, I will not over-extend myself by volunteering to teach art for the 6th grade even though I don’t have a child in that class. (Except I totally did that. I can’t help it—I love our school.)
NOPE, I will not feel guilty about this Netflix marathon. It’s for my mental health.
NOPE, I will not reply to the creepy foot fetish guy that keeps sending me Facebook messages.
NOPE, I will not allow people to leave their dog’s poop in my neighbor’s yard.
NOPE, I will not be swayed by your passive-aggressive suggestions that I host that party for you.

Think about it: what would happen if you could just respond NOPE to all of the bullshit in your life? It would better than drinking boozy Nutella eggnog while riding on a talking unicorn through rainbow-colored clouds. With free Wi-Fi.

JOIN ME.

Now, this philosophy doesn’t give us permission be assholes. ‘Cuz that’s not cool. We’ll still spread love and compassion and joy in the world. And we’ll be happy to do that—because we’ll be saying NOPE to the bullshit.

Are you with me? (The answer here is actually YEP!)  Tell me in the comments how you will yield the power of NOPE.

P.S. I love this shirt so hard, I bought three of them so I’ll probably always have a clean one. Do I feel silly about doing that? NOPE.

Photo Credit: bowie15 / 123RF Stock Photo

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12 Rules For Living In Suburbia

Welcome to our suburban community! Life here is relaxing, enriching, and carefree. For maximum enjoyment, we have etched the following guidelines (in marble, actually). Please read them carefully. Your first offense will result in a $1,000 fine and public shaming. Multiple infractions will result in ejection from the neighborhood.

1. Neighborhood Blight

Properties shall be kept free of any unsightly, non-naturally occurring objects at all times. While we prefer recreational activity to occur only in backyards, developmentally appropriate handmade toys are permissible in front yards during the hours of 4 to 6 p.m. Cleanup must occur daily. Any items left in front yards shall be destroyed. No remnants of fun allowed.

2. Noise Ordinance

Outdoor noise must remain under 50 decibels during daylight and 20 decibels at night. Open windows are only allowed if the interior noise level is under the preceding limits when measured from the sidewalk. Swimming pools are permitted for beautification purposes; no one shall be allowed to swim as it is disruptive in nature and often interrupts late-afternoon Mahjong tournaments.

3. Children and Pets

Houses with odd-numbered addresses are permitted one domestic animal. Allowable canine breeds are AKC-certified retrievers, poodles and Yorkshire terriers. Mongrels and shelter pets are not permitted unless they are at least 90 percent of the aforementioned breeds (DNA testing required). Felines are allowed indoors only. Households may have a maximum of two children, preferably one of each gender. Unattended animals or children shall be detained and reported immediately to the proper authorities.

4. Animal Waste

Control your canine’s bodily functions. Coffee enemas can be a useful way to keep your pets’ bowels and your indoor plumbing clean. Any and all outdoor elimination must be done in your own yard and deodorized immediately. If your canine relieves himself in another yard, complete sod and/or plant replacement must occur within 24 hours. As felines are not allowed outdoors, any cat caught eliminating in any yard shall be shot on sight.

5. Landscape Maintenance

All yards must be manicured regularly and free of weeds and/or non-conforming plants. Edges of lawns should be trimmed with straightedges, and grass must be maintained to at least 99 percent within the proper Pantone 16-0233 TCX Meadow Green color specification. In cases of drought, promptly replace all landscape elements with indigenous, drought-tolerant plants and shrubs using the approved neighborhood design plan.

6. Waste Receptacles and Yard Debris

All waste, recycling and yard debris must be placed at the curb no earlier than 6 a.m. on pickup day. Bins must be washed monthly (consult the approved contractor list) and taken inside within 15 minutes of being collected. When not placed at the curb for collection, all bins must be hidden from sight.

7. Barbeques

Only locally grown, organic vegetables and grass-fed, free-range meats are allowed on neighborhood grills. Random inspections will be performed to ensure 100 percent compliance.

8. Interior Cleanliness

The interior of your home must comply with the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s guidelines for hospital cleanliness at all times. Exceptions given in extreme cases of holiday angst, major illness, or death.

9. Outdoor Recreation

Your children are darling, welcome members of our growing community. Children are allowed to engage in recreational activities outside during the hours of 4 to 6 p.m. on weekdays and 1 to 4 p.m. on weekends. Groups can be no larger than four at a time and must be supervised by a parent at all times. Any child who crosses the property line of a child-free residence shall be gently reminded to respect legal boundaries by the administration of a small but sharp electric shock.

10. Prohibited Activities

Car washing, solicitation of any kind, nude sunbathing, outdoor texting, wardrobe adjustments, singing, whistling, physical contact without first using hand sanitizer, outdoor slippers, chewing loudly, and welcoming a new neighbor when devoid of a baked good are strictly prohibited at all times.

11. Grievances

Any grievances between neighbors should take place via anonymous, passive-aggressive notes left in mailboxes in the middle of the night. No face-to-face contact shall be made so as to avoid any uncomfortable or combative interactions.

12. Human Interaction

Smiles and friendly waves of the hand are encouraged, but excessive socialization is discouraged. Answering questions honestly is strongly dissuaded. Keep replies short, simple, and generic. Knocking on doors is prohibited unless you have received explicit written permission or are a Girl Scout selling Thin Mints.

We truly hope you enjoy your life in the suburbs.

© 2015 Kathryn Leehane, as first published on Club Mid.

Photo Credit: hannamariah / 123RF Stock Photo

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How to Avoid a Potentially Lethal Scarf Attack

 

I found a Cheeto (Cheeti? Cheeta? What is the singular form of Cheetos, anyhow?) in my scarf yesterday. Naturally, I ate it. No sense wasting a perfectly tasty snack, despite the orange badge of shame on the fabric.

Honestly, this type of mortification disaster LOVELY SURPRISE happens to me a lot. Because I constantly wear scarves. I love them. Everything about them. The way they warm me up. The way they caress my neck. The way they gently lay across my chest. The way they feel when my wrists are tied to the headboard.

It’s possible I might be a bit obsessed with them. Beyond keeping you warm and cozy as a shot of fireball at a PTA meeting, there are so many benefits:

They add a splash of color to your outfit (and take the emphasis off of any unwashed hair and unmade face).
They hide stains on your shirt, double chins, and the fact that you’re not wearing a bra.
They always fit. No matter how much chocolate you ate in the closet while hiding from your kids.
You can store snacks in them. Apparently.

But there are a few guidelines for wearing scarves that you should know.

Do: Treat your scarves well. You don’t need to talk to them all KonMari style, but do take care of them.

Don’t: Wear them while vacuuming. I did this once while also breaking in a new pair of high heels. The resulting flailing and falling and crashing and wrestling was worthy of an I Love Lucy episode.

Do: Check your scarves for stray food throughout the day. Just give them a discreet shake after each meal. You can decide whether to eat or discard any scraps you may find.

Don’t: Wear scarves while cooking on a gas range. They can light on fire and then ignite your hair when you frantically remove the flaming accessory from your body. (Ask me how I know.)

Do: Organize your scarves for easy access. I have two special hangers—just for my scarves. One is for the winter (hide-the-egg-nog-stains) scarves; the other is for the summer (hide-the-sangria-stains) ones.

Don’t: Wear them while organizing the bathroom or unclogging the toilet. If one end of your scarf takes a nose dive into the toilet while you’re plunging, it’s amazing how quickly you can start choking as the fabric becomes one with the clog. ASK ME HOW I KNOW.

Do: Wash your scarves every so often. When the dog starts licking obsessively on the fabric, it’s time for a cleaning. (This is true for any article of clothing, by the way, including yoga pants.)

Don’t: Wear them while picking up dog poop. One end will inevitably land on the shit. That is the antithesis of washing. (Much to Suburban Haiku’s dismay, I find that infinity scarves are infinitely easier to keep clean. And unvacuumed. And unplunged.)

Do: Learn a few different ways to tie your scarves. I’m a fan of the Simple Loop (because, lazy). At the very least, have a giggle at the names of the various scarf-tying methods when you realize they sound like sex positions. (That’s not just me, right? RIGHT?!)

Don’t: Be like Mr. Foxy and just haphazardly throw it on your shoulders.

I call that the Fuck Knot.

Photo Credit: rpm1 / 123RF Stock Photo

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Also, I Don’t Enjoy Getting Puked On

Photo Credit: barabasa / 123RF Stock Photo

The post Also, I Don’t Enjoy Getting Puked On appeared first on Foxy Wine Pocket.