Also with the wist, a little bit. I had an attendant with ADD for a while...there were times that I was like "Are you with me here?" kind of a lot. Sometimes she appreciates and sometimes it's like "I got it the first three times. Damn." {{Hugs Fay, but only a little bit cause I'm not a squishy granola American, despite my best efforts}}} In a somewhat related topic, the woman whom I once considered my role model and whom I've known for twelve years has *changed her name*. To her spiritual name. Dude. Why not just take out an ad? "I hate my parents!" It is weird calling someone something that means "amen" in Sanskrit for a dumb white girl from Glendale. Especially since her old name, like my mom's, was sort of a boomer signifier name like "Karen" or "Cheryl" and therefore comfortable for me to use...although in the abstract, I get that that is not the full point of a name, that it's about Identity and if she wants to call herself Tangerine Kumquat it's none of mine, but that would last until I had to address e-mail to Tangerine Kumquat, you know?

I hear that customizing Roombas is popular with the robotics crowd because it offers a stable base and workable electronics to tap into.

How to pacify an angry clutterer when you have touched their stuff: Calmly point out that This is now There with That, which maximizes efficiency and makes room for more. Point out that everything you threw out fits into a grocery bag, which they are welcome to sort through. While they are distracted with this, sneak other crap off the scene. They will never notice what you have disappeared on the sly, but they will salvage something from the decoy garbage and triumphantly wave it in your face in order to mock you for having discarded something needed.

Sad thing is, sister keeps wanting me to fix up her mess. Of course, somehow I'm supposed to do that without throwing anything away, disturbing anything, or pissing her off.

Oh. my. god. This describes nearly every clutter client I have ever had. It's really sad. They WANT their lives to be different...or at least they want to feel like they are doing what they are supposed to, even if it is in direct conflict with what they 'need' (i.e. clutter). It's really, really hard for them. Which is why, I think, they trust me. I really don't have negative feelings about the habit. Hurting people? Bad. Hurting oneself? Bad. Being mean for the sake of it? Unacceptable. Clutter? Eh. It's a thing.

Actually, Beej, that made me feel better. Seriously.

I'm so glad Steph. Seriously, you ever need stories to help you feel better about this, believe me sistah, I got some stories.

And I wholeheartedly endorse the Dyson Animal model. It's the STUFF. Monstrosuckmo goodness.

I might explain this later, but for the meantime I'm just gonna say...

expedite...

expedite...

expedite...

That word is HYSTERICAL!

I hope it won't scare Fay but my first meal of the day is a Niman Ranch Fearless Frank

Like your breakfast, I am fearless. And frank.

And in no danger of eating a hotdog any time soon.

Thanks Cindy and Spidra!

I'm afraid that our next large purchase is going to be a Dyson. The Hoover Windtunnel is just not cutting it with a dog, 2 cats and my hair in the house.

Or, alternatively, the Siamese would hop on it while it was cleaning, and ride it around like it was her royal carriage.

Damn. Now I feel like I need to get my Roomba a cat.

they will salvage something from the decoy garbage and triumphantly wave it in your face in order to mock you for having discarded something needed.

This is hilarious and ever so true. I've used the old bait and switch on nearly every job. Plus? I put in the contract that I am allowed to remove at least one garbage bag for each session. And I work by myself most of the time. Having the client right there doesn't really help them, and ups both our anxieties. Most people end up asking me to toss stuff without telling them.

But they're gourmet!

Actually, what you should really stay away from is Danish pølser. People make fun of hot dogs for being whatever's leftover, but pølser are that. Plus cardboard and starch, methinks.

A hysterical vw is a cute vw. Or even heartbreakingly adorable.