Thursday, July 29, 2010

Perfection is a Mind Fack

More than 7 weeks ago I had a brilliant plan for my Mom's 50th Birthday. My excitement was through the roof, I'm talkin' like a 13 year old meeting 'N sync in 2001 excited. And now? Notsomuch. Why are my plans so much better in my head than out and about in the real world? It's too bad I just can't invite everybody inside my mind so we can rock this event like the EPIC FUNTASTIC BRILLIANCE it is suppose to be.

Solution: I need to be Queen of the World. (Vote for me! I'll buy you Costco cookies!)

Oh well. It's the thought that counts. Actually, no. It really isn't the thought that counts. Whoever made up that saying (I'm looking at you Hallmark) it's a crock of shit. I think about things all the time and I still haven't won the Lotto and the dishes are still not done. So, clearly, the thought is shit. Real time action is what counts. Otherwise, my mom would be thrilled at how sparkley clean the house was and how cold, fresh, and mixed to perfection her cocktail was when she got home after work. And in all her euphoric glee she would prance on over to the Apple store like a magical Fairy Godmother (but sparkly and pretty, not that sweet old lady where the blue robe in Cinderella) and wave her magic wand credit card and announce to the Apple bottom people (no really, I think they have apple shape bean bags to sit on) (and if they don't, they need to get on that.) that Daughter (that's me, PrettyWitty) needs an iPad! And just before the swipe she take a glance over her shoulder, at the lovely iPhone 4, and tell the Apple Sales Dude, "one of those too." And we would all live Appley happily ever after. But thoughts don't count.

Putting things into play for this mini softball tourney (the "brilliant" plan) (you can't see me but my eyes are rolling heavenward) requires more than I had originally anticipated. Did you know to rent a softball field from the city, and to have an actual game on it, insurance is required? Well, now you know. And I do too. You're welcome. How to acquire this insurance, however, is info that I'm not so privy on. Thank goodness for my sisters help–she's a doer, not a thinker; so she counts.

Apparently I'm the ringleader to this circus of a softball tourney that I dreamed up (with the help of Crazy B.) (B is for Beautiful! But I'm jealous, so I shorten it to B.). I was informed this today by Sis. Apparently, I seem to "have it all under control" and "all planned out perfectly." Which is no surprise really, because I am a thinker after all, and making lists is my forte. Except now we've moved on the doing portion of this plan; and I'm more of a fluffy bunny cornered in a glass tank trying to click my ruby red slippers together to get out off the dinner menu of a 10 foot Python and back to Kansas where everything is black and white and safe (except for tornados, but whatever, I like rollercoasters. Bring it on). And in the terror of it all I have become a B. (and this time B. is not for beautiful).

My sister is helpful but she's a doer who packs a punch. I'm pretty sure she is both annoyed with me (the B factor) and pities me for lack of sanity. Anybody doing a poll on how many times I am going to  spontaneously combust randomly burst into tears from now until August 21st? I'd be on the ball if thoughts were worth a damn. (I am an avid thinker.) My sister is the kind of woman who gets things done. She's all about the effort and the check box marked on the to do list. She is not a perfectionist; she is a productive-ist. (Yes, I make up my own words. Learn 'em and Love 'em.)

Perfectionism is my flaw. I heard the other day on a radio show that the person who is always editing lines will never get anything written. The majority of people have a picture painted of a perfectionist with not a hair out of place, a wrinkle in their clothes, and...damn near perfect! While that most certainly is an accurate portrayal of one type of perfectionist, but there is another type of perfectionist. This second type doesn't show up. Perfect is flawless, and if there is no effort, there is not opportunity for flaw. Show up and be perfect, or don't show up and remain flawless. It's a twisted logic but the idea of reaching perfection is a flaw in of itself. Obviously, if you have been paying attention, you see that I am the second type of perfectionist, the flawless one. (Eh! *elbow nudge* Eh! *elbow nudge* You like the way that sounds now don't ya!) Not to be fooled though, either type is hell.

Mom's 50th Birthday Mini Softball Tourney is my shot to show up; and I am absolutely terrified. (remember scared fluffy bunny in sparkly red heels) (No, I don't know where the bunny got ruby red slippers to fit her paws, google it.) Every time there is something that needs to be done there is an opportunity of flaws happening. On the other hand, the road to success is paved with trial and error. And wine. I'm pretty sure there is copious amounts of wine to be poured along the journey.

Wish me luck!