Packing is a pain in the...

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How do you really go about packing?  Well, the process thus far has turned my bedroom into a disaster zone of shoes, purses, dresses, skirts, blouses, etc., etc,. etc., and has caused me to empty the last of my Bailey's and Vanilla Vodka into my stainless steel martini shaker while frantically phoning my mother.

Mom: I was waiting for your phone call.  I knew this was going to happen.  (chuckles) 
Me:  Help.  Everything I've touched has made it to the "yes" pile.  Half! Half! Of my closet is on the floor.  This is INsaane.  I need deats.  ASAP.  Where are we going?  Who are we seeing? What kind of parties will we be attending/throwing?  Obviously we will be going to the island, I know that, but what about-
 
Mom:  Okay, okay. (insert calming motherly tone) Here is what you'll need: two pairs of jeans, several pretty blouses to coordinate, one cocktail dress, a -
Me:  1?  ONE cocktail dress?!  You ask the IMPOSSIBLE!! How am I supposed to choose one of 50, and what if I don't feel like wearing it when it's time to-

Mom: And please limit your bag to one.
Me:  OH, pshhh, piece. of. cake.
Mom: (Silent shock) 
Me: (Silent sigh of relief. Phew! A reasonable request.) Of course.  Wait.  Do you mean A (pronounced as a short sounding vowel) PURSE?! What?! I was agreeing to one suitcase!  Not 1 purse for God's sake! And what about clutches, and-

Mom:  Oh, and it would be nice of you to bring your Chi.
Me: Excuuuse me?  That thing will probably explode if I plug it into an Asian wall.  And. That. Thiing. Was  nearly 200 hundred dollars.  You break it, you buy it.
Mom:  Never mind.  Can I call you back?

So there you have it.  My marbles are scattered to all ends of the apartment, and instead of packing, I am writing you to discuss the pain of packing.

And waiting for my amused mother to call me back.