Denesting

I'm finding more and more areas of my life that, when viewed from the perspective of someone normal (i.e. not me), resemble more the neatly boxed ravings of a faded and hysterical housewife/crazy cat lady than items belonging to a 27 year old occasionally hip newlywed. I believe I have mentioned my whole plastic shoebox of Sculpey.

In rebellion of my future fluffy-bathrobed self, I chucked at least three boxes of "things" that I have rarely/never used, and stared longingly/loathefully at others that I know I prolly won't use but CANNOT get rid of because I like them so much. I did, however, chuck the Sculpey and the 1 gallon bag of brightly dyed maribou feathers that have been gathering dust. When I say "chucked," I mean "donated to a friend with a 3-year-old daughter", which is about the age appropriateness of some of my belongings. Feather boa, anyone? No? How about a package of Barbie accessories that I once thought would make cool earrings? Still no? Hm.

I found the BOX of photos and crap that I brought home with me from my sojourn in Paraguay that have been slowly disintegrating from lack of love and album. So I went to the trusty big-box store down the street to get one of those photo-albums like my mom always had where everything is held in place by STATIC. Did you know they don't make those anymore!?! Did you also know that M.F.ing scrapbooking has taken over the females of America like a Borg hive-mind?!? You can't even buy REGULAR photo albums for less than a scrapbook album with NO HELP in attaching your pictures. This, my friends, is a scam. A very crafty scam.

Now I have to GLUE DOWN the photos of me with various dark-skinned men drinking tea out of cow horns, and the heavy coins, and the brainwash books they taught the children there. I have to invest in sticky bits to position my 4x6 photos of children flipping off the camera in a grid, instead of sliding them in. THIS IS CRAP. If I'd have wanted to start scrapbooking, I would have started selling plasma years ago and I wouldn't be married. I would already be wearing the fluffy pink bathrobe, gluing together paper to form memories of events that I would never have participated in. A whole page for my cat Dingo. Another for the cat Taco. You see the trend. THIS IS SCRAP.