The, Eh, Screw It List

Have you guys heard of the Anti-Bucket List? I have to credit Shelly for cluing me in. It's, erm, it's actually called the DON'T READ THIS PARENTS OR PARENTS IN LAW Fuck It List. Basically, ten things you couldn't care less about doing before you die. Without further ado, I present mine:

1. Building or extensively renovating a house. I get the obsession in theory, I do. I understand the thrill of dreaming something into reality. I just know myself (know myself REAL well after the den remodel) and I know that enduring months of choices and indecision and setbacks and unexpected obstacles and nitpicky details and the horror of realizing you didn't put enough outlets in the bathroom would turn me into a drooling, basket-weaving mental patient.

2. Owning my own business. Again with the avoidance of situations in which I would be the one in charge or ultimately responsible for any failures, see above.

3. Being artistic. In terms of painting, not in terms of, say, arranging flowers in a vase. The gift of representational drawing, sketching or painting passed me over entirely, and even impressionist or modern art feels weird and foreign. I can and do appreciate the artwork of others, but please don't put me in front of an easel and ask me to explore my inner artist. She just isn't there.

4. Seeing the Grand Canyon. Sounds majestic sure, but also big and cavernous and deep and chock-full of opportunities for certainly fatal falls. Does that about cover it? Moving on. (I should ammend that maybe if I didn't have little kids and weren't constantly thinking of things like possible falls, maybe I'd have more interest in doing this.)

5. Sampling recreational drugs. Frankly, I get enough of a thrill from the legal kind. I think I'd probably have a heart attack if I got a hold of honest to God street drugs.

6. Owning expensive bags or shoes. I just don't care. Not judging those who do, I just don't. Ditto clothes in general, actually. Most designer clothes and shoes strike me as being particularly uncomfortable and/or outright ugly anyways.

7. Being involved in politics. Maybe I'm a pessimist, but I kind of see governments as inevitably corrupt institutions, almost by definition. I admire those who strive to clean it up, play fair, and actually do good, but to me it seems like a losing battle that would eventually wear down and defeat the morale of all but the most zealous people. And I... am not a zealot. I'm a lover, not a fighter, baby.

8. Being wealthy. Don't get me wrong, I'd like to be well off, I'd like to be able to travel whenever I felt like it, and I'd like to hire people to do the crap that I don't enjoy doing (yardwork yardwork yardwork.) I'd like to have a larger and more architecturally interesting house. But beyond that- don't really want it. I don't want a mansion. I don't want servants. I don't want expensive jewelry, and as for clothes, we covered that. I don't want to constantly be worrying about people envying me or about my friends being insincere and simply wanting to enjoy my spacious swimming pool and vacation home in Greece. I don't want to be afraid of burglary. I don't want my kids getting over-indulged to the point that they're ruined for ordinary life.
I guess this particular item on the list is kind of pointless though, given that compared to about ninety percent of the world's population, I AM wealthy.

9. Being a good singer. I actually gave this an honest try, but it's just not my forte, so I have let the dream go. Not in the cards, my friends. I was in choir for three years of high school, and even took private voice lessons, and I still have about a ten note range and an absolute inability to find, let alone sing, harmony. It's bad to the point that I often intentionally TRY to sing harmony while Jim and I are doing the nigh-night song with the kids, just to randomly startle him with my joltingly incorrect notes.

10. Liking baseball. Or golf. They are absolutely the dullest ways I can think of to spend an afternoon. I'd literally rather watch people take a walk around a golf course than watch them chase down a tiny white ball for three hours while dressed like Eton rejects.