I Find Your Lack Of Drawer Dividers Disturbing
So, as I have mentioned (or, probably it is better to say “bitched about unendingly”) over on the Facebook page, I recently had the overwhelmingly stupid idea to organize my craft room. It had been getting cluttered, and was becoming more of a dumping ground than anything else. Meanwhile, I’ve really been wanting to get back into being crafty again, but tracking down all of the necessary supplies was suddenly a pain in the ass, and everything was technically tidy, but it was also just all living sinfully together, in an orgy of unrelated items. Like, one adorable decorative box would contain fifty paint tubes (half dried up), a hammer, and a ball of twine. “Tossing random shit in a box” was not working as an Organizing Solution, so I figured it was time for a major overhaul, in which I would go through every drawer, box, and bag in the room, and get my act together. HA I AM FUNNY.
So, that was…what, three weeks ago? It was about three weeks ago when, armed with all KINDS of resolve, I got up on a Saturday morning and started slinging every. Single. Item out of the craft room, and into piles that spanned the entire top floor of our home. Brian, who was working the garage downstairs, would occasionally pop up to check on me, and I would always know when he’d cleared the landing when I heard him exclaim “HOLY CATS” (which, hilariously, is what Brian always says when his ass has been shocked right off his body. Usually that has to do with me suddenly having spontaneous “resolve”). But, anyway, holy cats was right, because in a very short number of hours, I had managed to remove about fifty trillion pounds of various crap and organize it into piles everywhere, absolutely everywhere, including on his side of the bed, all over HIS office, and even in the bathtub. Meanwhile, the cat was having an aneurism, but you know. Proud of self! AM MACHINE!
Until. The next morning, when I woke up, had coffee, and waited patiently for all of that big fancy “resolve’ to return. And, of course, it did not. And so I ended up sitting downstairs for the better part of the day, moaning at Brian about how LET’S JUST NOT TALK ABOUT THE TOP FLOOR ANYMORE, and trying to convince him that we lived in a ranch-style home. Upstairs seceded, baby! Good news, we get to sleep in the dining room! And I made these proclamations, and each was punctuated by the sound of the cat either (a) scattering yet another carefully-stacked pile all over the fucking floor, or (b) apparently fainting (*thunk*) from the horror of What I Had Done to her previously tidy kitteh apartment. “IGNORE THE CAT,” I would holler after Brian, as he ran up the stairs to give her smelling salts/remove her from the aforementioned twine/etc. “PRETEND WE DON’T HAVE A CAT ALSO,” I helpfully suggested. And then I drank more wine.
When it became abundantly clear that the craft room was not going to reorganize itself (…worth a shot), I realized I needed an actual plan of attack. I needed to figure out where all of this shit was going, and then I needed to…you know, put it there. This is sort of the basic principle behind cleaning, turns out. But in trying to reconcile “crap” with “places where crap shall now live,” I soon discovered that I didn’t have nearly enough places to put all of these little piles. And that was a happy, HAPPY realization, because that meant I got to go shopping for Storage Solutions! Shopping has to take place outside of the house! Yay, avoidance powers activate!
And this is why, in the last two weeks, I have made two (2) separate trips to Ikea, including one trip that involved a receipt with a COMMA IN IT (in my defense, I also had to buy a new slipcover for our enormous corner sofa; I opted for dry-clean only, because I am a fucking idiot), another trip to a home goods place, and a final trip to Target. By the end of this adventure in spending everything, I had all of the Organizing Solutions available to any human in the state of Georgia, plus now I also had Swedish-sounding organizing furniture in which to place my solutions, and even DRAWER DIVIDERS to go within said furniture (and you know you heave reached the end of this particular avoidance tactic when you throw your hands in the air and declare that “NOTHING CAN BE MOVED UNTIL I HAVE DRAWER DIVIDERS.” Hello, rock bottom). And so, at last in possession of all of these things, finally, last night, I crankily acknowledged – while splayed out in my pajamas, watching Hoarders (uh huh) – that it was time to get my ass upstairs to fucking finish the craft room. Sigh.
Which, y’all! I did! I put things in their Solutions! I put those solutions into Solution furniture, and now, I actually have a pretty kick-ass craft room. I (AWESOMELY) still have to scrounge around our dry-clean only sofa cushions and find enough spare change to get a bulletin board of some kind, as the only ones they had at Target were uuuuugly. Plus, I still need to figure out how to make the bookshelves prettier (y’all, what do you do with ugly books? Why does everyone else have pretty books except for me?), but never mind: at least everything has a home now. Of course, at this point, I am completely over the idea of doing any crafting whatsoever, and am actually thinking that this story will end somewhere along the lines of “And she never entered the craft room again,” and possibly it will all become very Ms. Havisham, and I will just vaguely wander through there in my wedding dress sometimes. This, too, could happen.
But…okay, I started with a point. And, point being, once I finally got down to the nitty gritty of going through every bag, box, and drawer, I found LOTS of things. Lots and LOTS of things. Some of these things were frightening (LIKE I FOUND A ROACH)(IT HAD EXPIRED), lots of them were just junk; a few of them, however, were awesome. And the most awesome find of all was my handwritten notes from our firm's annual Dragon Con Observational Party, 2008.
Now, let me explain: while I have never been to Dragon Con, I do know that it is an annual event that takes place in Atlanta, in which people from all over the world come into town and get dressed up in insanely awesome costumes. There’s no real…theme, sort of, because some of it is science fiction, and some is comic-book stuff, and some is Harry Potter, and some has nothing to do with anything and may just be an excuse for grown women to dress in fishnets and a pith helmet, but all of this takes place right in front of our office. And there is nothing quite so disconcerting (by which I mean FABULOUS) as running out the door to hit the food court, only to find yourself in the Chik-Fil-A line behind seven storm troopers, Dumbledore, and an unidentifiable character in a loin cloth. They are all getting nuggets. Dragon-Con IS AMAZING.
And so, at the same time every year, all of this leather-clad, sometimes sparkly awesomeness descends upon our city. And therefore, at the same time every year, our little crew of law firm miscreants commandeers a table on the Durango's patio, orders cocktails, and whips out the camera. And, because I am the biggest nerd of them all, I also bring a legal pad. And I take notes. For posterity. Like this:
What did you just say about OCD? Hold on, I'll write it down.
Now, I have no idea why I take notes. As soon as I finish, I promptly lose them. But it turns out: in 2008? I apparently brought them home. And I apparently folded them up, and placed them in the craft room (IN A DIVIDER-LESS DRAWER). Last night, I found the many worn pages, and I was filled with an immeasurable joy as I relived that glorious evening, and that is what I am actually HERE TO SHARE WITH YOU TODAY, and oh my God, how did it just take me fifty years to get to this point? It did. In addition to craft supplies and ridiculous notes, I hoard words. I have hoarded ALL of the words. Y’all can’t even have any, unless you make up new ones, like Brian. ANYWAY.
Dragon-Con, 2008: Close Encounters With The Nerd Kind: Observations From Us, In Increasingly Tipsy Form.
(Thank God I also kept accurate accounts of the time. Otherwise this wouldn’t be legally admissible in court! I am seriously the biggest nerd of them all.)
3:36 p.m. CREW GATHERED! First sighting: Renaissance lady with fairy godmother tendencies. Point unclear.
3:43 p.m. Pirate [leering]
3:48 p.m. Something in unreasonable boots
3:51 p.m. Saucy wench
3:53 p.m. Dragon Mouseketeer from Hell
3:53 p.m. Anime (?) woman in nightgown; we are scared shitless
3:56 p.m. Attendees at Satan’s prom
4:00 p.m. Miscellaneous silky person
4:00 p.m. Cat girl is not trying very hard. We disapprove.
4:03 p.m. IT IS NOT ENOUGH TO WEAR A DANZIG SHIRT. GOD.
4:07 p.m. Full-on Joker! IT IS ABOUT TIME SOMEONE MADE SOME EFFORT. Also, the harlequin looking character from Batman. Equally full-on. But shorter.
4:07:30 p.m. I.T. Guys say that harlequin guy is Riddler. I.T. Guys think they are sooooo smart.
4:08 p.m. OMG BOBA FETT! This is what we are TALKING ABOUT.
4:17 p.m. Pfft. Woman with pink ribbon in hair. Sad attempt.
4:19 p.m. Fluffy chaps. So confused.
4:20 p.m. Extremely white guys in plaid shorts. Might just be golfers. Do look sort of terrified.
4:29 p.m. HULK! Full-on greeness! Waved at us! WE LOVE YOU HULK
FRIENDLY HULK! HULK HAVE A BEER.
4:31 p.m. Lots of crushed velvet.
4:35 p.m. Dungeon mistress from the future; confusing
4:39 p.m. Guy who is:
(b) On something
(c) Not scared
(d) No seriously
(e) HE IS REALLY NOT SCARED
(f) BUT WE ARE
4:40 p.m. Hi, building security! LOVE YOOOOU
4:41 p.m. Marvin the Martian re-envisioned as an Amazon woman in copper.
4:42 p.m. Saucy wench, redux
4:43 p.m. Possible carjacking; no one else seems concerned. Ignoring!
4:53 p.m. East German Men’s Olympic Team (assorted sports); many skirts.
4:45 p.m. Pirate carrying yoga mat
5:00 p.m. Slutty Mad Hatter. Girl, put your pants on.
5:11 p.m. Sacagawea from the future? WTF
5:12 p.m. Gay Boba Fett! Well PLAYED!
5:13 p.m. Assorted elves/hobbits. YAWN.
5:15 p.m. Same old slutty pirate costume. SEEN IT.
5:16 p.m. …Soccer zombie? Huh.
5:19 p.m. HA, Scotswoman in mini-kilt hitting on member of our party; girlfriend DEEPLY UNAMUSED
5:28 p.m. We seriously need another round of drinks over here.
5:30 p.m. OH MY GOD THIS PERSON MURDERED COOKIE MONSTER. IS UNREPENTANT.
5:32 p.m. Dumbledore; in street clothes.
5:36 p.m. George Lucas in his underwear
5:39 p.m. Aw, man; it’s that fucking crazy barefoot prostitute who hates me. Hiding now.
5:40 p.m. SHIT I’ve been spotted.
5:41 p.m. (Ooo, a green lady! We should introduce her to Hulk, and they can have green bab)
5:41 p.m. OMG CRAZY PROSTITUTE BARKING AT ME
5:41:30 p.m. Hi again, building security!
But then. At the end of that page, and as a new page began (and building security shooed away the crazy barefoot barking prostitute), things CHANGED. And I think it’s best to just show you the image of the final page, so you can see the moment at which our observational team STRUCK GOLD.
YES. What is particularly awesome about this is that, apparently after seeing Darth Vader on the other side of Peachtree, I shot up from the table, jumped the fence, and bolted across four lanes of fast-moving traffic with the singular thought being to GET VADER AND BRING HIM BACK. It is almost like I did this with pen still in hand, as you can see from the tell-tale swooping as I put this non-plan into violent and immediate motion. And then someone else had to take over scribe duties as I convinced this poor Dark Sith and his insanely fabulous gay assistant (“Girl, OF COURSE Vader had a gay assistant. You can’t see shit out of that mask,” he explained) to (a) cross the street with me, and (b) meet a group of strangers who are now (c) drunk, and (d) waving hysterically from the bar patio like a bunch of fucking crazy people.
I did it for ALL OF YOU
So...not a well-thought out plan, exactly. BUT GUESS WHAT.
Don't try to frighten us with your sorcerous ways, Lord Vader. We all know you're drinking cranberry juice.
LOOK WHO BROUGHT HOME THE VADER. This girl did! The force, it is strong with me.
Meanwhile, as I bonded with the Lord and his gay assistant, faithful replacement scribe continued to document the incredible events occurring all around us:
Oh, I did not either stroke his light saber. But Dark Siths love cranberry and vodka! Who knew? Maybe they get urinary tract infections. Way to keep up that good bacteria, Sith!
Anyway. Clearly, Dragon Con is so awesome. And of course, we did it the next year, too, and I made a slideshow of that here; however, I have no idea where the notes are. Possibly in the attic. Or the trunk of my car. Or the freezer; do not care, my happy ass isn’t organizing ANYTHING any time soon. And furthermore, if I'm in town to see it this year, I'm not taking notes; I'm tweeting our observations, like a good nerd should. And then my drawer dividers will remain mercifully uncluttered, and we can all live happily ever after, a long time ago, in a galaxy far away. As long as they have vodka and cranberry juice.
Y’all have a lovely weekend, and I’ll see you soon!
Fine. He did have a big light saber.
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