Happy Birthday, Edgar Allen Poe (which was actually yesterday but I am incapable of gathering news from any source other than CNN and they just reported it 5 minutes ago).
Dear Ted Turner,
You look a little bit like my high school Psychology teacher, who I'm convinced was a pedophile, but you have created an excellent "news" station...even if it's not "fair and balanced"...
A Fan Who Wonders Just How Much Brylcream Y'all Use Every Sunday for John King's Hair
(The pennies are symbolic of the "Penny Campaign" that area schoolchildren created to raise funds for a proper headstone for Mr. Poe. The ravens and the beating heart under the floorboards told them to do it). Credit for photo: goes 100% to me. Been there, done that.
And because Kelly @ Dare to Be Domestic (yes, I double-dog dare you) is en el fuego with organizing lately, I thought I would prod her (read: blatantly brag about my own Virgo-inspired closet). No, I did not color-coordinate for the sake of the picture...this is my life on a daily basis. Yes, all of my spices face the same direction and my clothes are hung according to sleeve-length and formality. And no, I will not come do the same for you. I thought about becoming a professional organizer for about 7 minutes...until I googled professional organizer and began clicking through their photo galleries of before and after. The before gave me drowning-in-a-sea-of-doll-parts-nightmares and the after humbled my Wonder Organizer cockiness. I have no desire to force emotionally unstable people to choose between a phone book from 1976 and the chipped candlestick their grandmother found at a yard sale a week before her death....although to me, the choice is obvious. When I walk into a living room that resembles most people's basements in the number of cardboard boxes and overflowing trash bags sitting around, I don't want to divide and conquer...I want to throw up in the hosital-grade, folding toilet stashed in the corner and bolt out through the nearest clear exit. Certainly, professional organizer is not my calling. But hats (and hospital-grade latex gloves) off to the men and women who do it. My own house, on the other hand, is a museum of drawer bins, labeled Rubbermaid containers, and fully adjustable shelving units...as evidenced by this:
I blame my mother. And pretty much anyone born in the month of September. So, there you go, Kelly...grab that 3-box system (trash, fix, keep) and make that house your bitch! We are all so proud *tear* of your dedication to eliminating the chaos and finding your favorite pair of jeans in less than 20 minutes. It's a whole new world...
That wasn't exactly wordless, was it? Oh well...rules were made to be broken. Or just ignored altogether. Stand by (yes, Wolf Blitzer is my non-sexual, made-for-TV crush) for tomorrow's account of how I almost punched the gym manager (read: 23-year old hired because they didn't want to pay real money for someone with any real authority) in the neck.