Piles, Piles, EVERYWHERE

"Hi. I'm Jill. And I'm an addict."
"Hi Jill"
"It's been (looking at cell phone clock) 1 hour and 20 minutes since I created a pile."

Gasps of horror. One woman passes out cold. I wonder when I'll be able to leave the building, speed home, and ORGANIZE something, into a PILE.

Yes, sports fans, I am a piler. Add that to my sugar addiction and you get a FAST PILER.

I think this problem has been an issue all along, it just came in different forms when I was younger. Such as the fact that I had my books on a shelf, with a card catalog*, all arranged by the Dewey decimal system. I don't remember anybody ever checking out a book, but I was READY for the chance to be the Huber Library.

So, I've always been an organizer. The organization has just morphed over time.

I don't remember my first pile, but I can certainly look around my house and tell you about the ones that are the most current.

Right now, there are approximately 10,503 piles in this house. Among them:
1. Bills that need to be filed. At least two feet deep.

2. Credit card receipts for which we haven't received a bill. At least 150 of them.
3. Books and magazines. Unread, "I'll get to them soon", editions that are patiently collecting dust in my bedside table, on top of my desk, and in the driver's-side pockets of both cars.

4. Coupons. Oh, the coupons. They actually have a manila file-folder home, but they rarely seem to make it there before they expire. Which always make me wonder: why did I clip them to begin with?

5. Recipes. From soup to bread to desserts and beyond. I even have one buried somewhere that tells me how to boil eggs properly. If I made one recipe a day from the pile, I'd die trying.

I could go on naming the rest of my piles, but, frankly, I need the time to actually try to get them where they rightfully belong.

Seems to me there is a 50's-era-horror-story-"B"-movie wrapped up in my piles. They are big. They are prevalent. And they seem to be prolific. Kind of like too many rabbits in too small a cage with intense hormones and no supervision.

I'll get working on the manuscript right after I work on roping in this problem. But, before the piles take over this house and, ultimately, the planet.

How does the title "Bunny Piles from Beyond" work for ya?



*Index cards in a box.

The burning question: WHATZUP W/ THE *****?

In case you haven't noticed*, I am a fan of the *.** This all began when Mike took me to a Barnes and Noble on a "married" date***. I was cruising through some section and noticed a book with a cute outline of a dress on the cover and, upon reading a few sentences, realized it was quite possibly the funniest book I'd ever read!**** Literally, my post-birth bladder couldn't handle it and we almost had an accident.*****

ANYHOO, this book had a * after almost every sentence. I could hardly wait for the next * to reference me to the bottom of the page where another morsel of hysterical sidenote had been written. This literally SPOKE to me.******

So, thanks to a married date, you are forced to make a choice:

1. Read through my blog entries, ignoring the *'s, and enjoy the comments at the end
-OR-
2. Everytime you see a *, move the slider bar to the bottom and try to locate the pithy comment that accompanies the *.*******

Aren't you glad I solved THAT mystery for you?********




*Immediately return to the first post and OPEN YOUR EYES.

**The single * at the end of the sentence wasn't a reference. But I guess you figured that out? Smart, smart readers.....

***You know the kind: Dinner, movie, Barnes and Noble. The stop at BN is only because you hired a sitter and it would seem goofy to return home at 8pm on a Saturday night. Shoot--8pm used to be when you got started SHOWERING when you were dating as a single. Plus, every minute you stay out past your kid's bedtime is one more minute they have to fall asleep before you arrive. Hence, going to Barnes and Noble is something like foreplay!

****Jen Lancaster is a wordsmith AND a diva.

*****Notice I didn't write "I almost had an accident" but "WE almost had an accident". THAT would be the royal WE, as in me and Mike, because, had my bladder burst on the spot I sure wouldn't be running for the first available employee to "clean up the spill on aisle 5", I'd be sprinting to the bathroom with my contraband book, bounding through the doors setting off the "book alarm", so I could hold in the silver button on the wind tunnel hand dryer while thrusting my pelvis forward to try and dry my peepee pants. Thus, I would already HAVE a job and Mike would get to make the embarrassing walk to the service desk and do the honors on that one!! Now THAT'S a royal WEE.

******And, I bet, you are completely digging it, aren't you????

*******Blogger does not accept responsibility for reader's whiplash, carpel tunnel syndrome, or my inability to humor you.

********No.