I can not pack for a vacation. No joke y'all. I'm really really bad at a lot of things like cooking, parenting, vocalizing only things that are "appropriate" in "polite" society. I'm really really bad at all of that and somehow worse at packing. Or preparing for anything ever.
It may be because I have an unshakable resolve that everything will turn out fine regardless of whether or not I contribute any energy. This ideal has never turned out to be true but I still believe it with all of my little heart. You can call it optimism, positive thinking, faith. Or you can call it what it really is, a sprinkle of delusion with a dash of lazy.
So today I packed. The same way I always do. I start out with good intentions and a desire to be both organized and efficient simultaneously. The results of my efforts can be summed up in one word: NOPE!
I quickly became convinced I had to try on everything I own. The results of this lengthy activity can be summed up with one thought. What happened to my ass?
No really, what the hell happened? Just last year it was spectacular. Did I sit on it weird? Also why is there a tan line at the top of the back of my thighs? There are little crescent shaped white patches right below my ass. Do my cheeks actually block the light when I'm tanning? Forget the dangers of tanning beds for a minute and focus. We're talking about my own personal lunar eclipse back there.
I know exactly how this happened. I tried dieting several times. Just the word diet sends me so far in the wrong direction. The Paleo fiasco was all about cutting out dairy and refined sugar. I ate four cheesecakes while on that diet. Four. I was only on that diet for three days. Then there was the low carb diet. Morning number one I dipped ten chocolate chip cookies in a pan of hollandaise sauce. It started out right. I made myself three eggs, just like the nutrition plan said. But the eggs looked so lonely and I thought just a little bit of hollandaise sauce wouldn't hurt. So I made some and drizzled it over the top. Just bending the rule at this point. Then I lost control and full throttle eggs Benedict was the only breakfast I would accept. But I had no muffins. So I did what any twisted individual would do. I used soft warm chocolate chip cookies. It was both disgusting and amazing. Mostly disgusting. Some people cheat on a diet. Sneak a soda, bite of cake, a handful of chips. I do so much more than cheat. If I try to ban any food at all. Even food I don't like, I go insane. Once I'm insane I don't just simply cheat, I shart in the face of all things culinary.
Umm back to the topic of packing. None of my clothes fit anymore. To be more accurate, all of them fit just fine but I have PMS so there is not even an ounce of me that is going to be even slightly agreeable. I have 15 swimsuits. Why? Because I'm a masochist. I also have fluorescent lighting and a full length mirror in my closet. This is not the only way I ridicule myself. For example, the following is a conversation I had with me. Don't worry it wasn't out loud.
Me: haha why did I pack work out clothes?
Me: I'm gonna work out every morning there is a great facility there and I'm finally in a routine
Me: I'm not going to work out even one time. I'm just going to sleep in those clothes. Look I didn't pack any pajamas because even I know I'm just going to sleep in those sweat pants.
Me: if I'm not going to work out then don't pack work out clothes.
Me: No way! I don't want that to be the excuse for not working out. If I bring my workout clothes and I still don't go to the gym I will be forced to admit I'm a lazy a$$#•le
Me: why are you always so mean to me?
Me: I'm sorry. Lets go buy some shoes.
Me: mmmmm shoes
In the end I have finally gathered all the clothes that will fit in my suitcase and I consider myself packed. I have no idea what I'm going to wear when I get there but I feel like I did a much better job packing than Gwen did. I just opened her suitcase and all she's bringing is moon boots and a spatula.