new banner, just bored

Hey y’all.  I was bored with the fall banner and I can’t leave well enough alone, so I made a new one.  It’s the OCD in me.  I don’t have the good kind of OCD that makes you clean like crazy or comb the carpet fringe, I have the kind of OCD that makes me obsess over things people could care less about.  And buy way too many lipsticks in shades that are all so similar I’m the only one who could tell them apart.  That’s what makes me special.  I guess the banner’s not bad.

Today’s been weird.  Too much to do, I suppose.  Scott put my desk up in the old guestroom/new scrap office and I can’t wait ’til the sofa comes in.  I’ll do before and after photos, don’t worry.  Scott won’t let me put a chandelier up, so that’s out.  Did I ever tell y’all about the student I had when I worked in Atlanta named Chanda Lear?  Also had a Filay Mignon and I worked with Crystal Ball.  That was a surreal workplace.

So last night, we decided to put the guest room mattress on our bed and that was dumb.  It was a brick.  The last time I looked at the clock it was 2 am, then at 4 I was awoken by Andrew’s foot in my face.  I didn’t hear the ninja come in, but he was out cold between Scott and I.  By 6:30 I was tired of being kicked and elbowed, so I went to Andrew’s bed.  I tripped over My Little Ponies in the playroom and walked into Andrew’s toy box before getting to his bed.  So, after I climbed over the side rail and pulled up the Superman sheets, I remembered that Andrew sleeps with two gigantic bears.  Now, don’t think little teddy bears like we had as kids.  Picture life-size big ass bear cubs that could probably take you down in the woods.  Yeah, I slept great.  Stupid bears.  They’re 3 1/2 feet tall, no joke.  And there are 2 of them.  I put one in his bed when we transitioned out of the crib a few months ago, so he’d have something soft against the wall his bed is up against.  I know, I’m a genius.  Then Katie found the other one in the little storage closet upstairs and put it in his bed.  Sweet sister.  Now I can’t get rid of the stupid bears.  One of Scott’s aunts gave Molly and Katie the bears for Christmas 4 years ago.  Why I didn’t get rid of them long ago is beyond me.  And I don’t know what it is about me that says “give me big obnoxious presents I don’t need” but I don’t need anything like that in my house.

I have a new-found thing about getting rid of things I don’t need.  Not too long ago I started throwing out stuff and it feels great.  I’m down to one small box of stuff from high school and college.  That’s crazy.  You know what did it for me?  I got tired of going into my closet and not having room for new stuff because I had boxes of old junk in the way.  I’ve kept a handful of things, but that’s it, like really flattering pictures and some newspapers I was in.  Here’s some stuff I discovered I could live without: a couple of research papers, a few party invitations from the 90’s, some cassette tapes, corsages, speeches on index cards, a New Year’s Eve hat and party blower, sketches on random pieces of paper, a journal that was never written in, poorly written short stories and poems, an old pair of glasses, a self-help book (stop it), pictures of me with bangs, pictures of people I don’t remember (which is weird because my memory is vast — I mean, I’m the friend everyone asks when they need to remember stuff), a couple of earrings that were missing the pairs, and a letters from friends that weren’t particularly earth shattering (sorry friends, but there were no cures for cancer among them).  It’s crazy to think we’ve moved a few boxes of memories from Shreveport to Macon, GA to Atlanta, back to Macon to Brunswick to Houston to here.  I don’t think those boxes were opened in 11 or so years.  At least I didn’t bring them to Canada.  Like I said, I have a great memory, so I didn’t really need a few boxes of stuff to remember events, places, and people. I don’t.  And now with my favorite thing on the Interwebs, Facebook (or as Beth is calling it, Da Book) I can keep up with lots of old and newer friends, so I don’t need stuff to remind me of them.  Thank goodness no old boyfriends have found me on Da Book or my stalker from Tech  — but that’s another story for another time.  Like after margaritas.  And I’m pretty sure prisoners can’t use Facbook, but I’m not sure, so I’m omitting names ’cause I’m nice like that.  Oh, the good old days!

You know what else?  I’ve started throwing away my birthday cards. A couple of years ago, I would have said it was crazy-talk to throw away my birthday cards, but I realized I’m going to get new ones next year and it’s okay to throw them away.  Does this mean I’m a more secure person now or just that I’m better organized?  I’m going with more secure, just for fun.