Untitled 8.6.10

So...it turns out that Real Simple agrees with my shrink. Today's thought is:

“We’re so busy watching out
for what’s just ahead of us
that we don’t take time to
enjoy where we are.”

― Bill Watterson

There is absolutely nothing wrong with just dating for fun (unfortunately, I didn't learn this lesson when I was 17). I am NOT going to marry everyone I date, nor do they want to marry me, or commit to me long-term, or be with me 24 hours a day. They just want to have fun with me, with the possibility of seeing where it goes. I've been so paranoid in my dating ventures that I have neglected having fun with the guys I go out with - I'm just constantly looking for the signs that I could marry them...doing both of us a huge disservice! I know, I'm severely retarded.

Now that I've revealed all my neuroses to the blogosphere (or at least the 4 people who actually read my blog), again, I ask, please withhold judgment...or at least judge me in person.

Red-Eyed and Blue

source: Le Love

No fresh man pain...just reminiscing over what could have been...
*Bonus points if you can guess the song I'm quoting in the title

Waxing Philosophical

My life, of late, has become something of a difficulty. I have struggled to find the happiness I once thought I had, and struggled to find the blunders with which to blame my frustrations. As I sometimes do, I ventured home this afternoon to seek advice from the old man. After a good talk, and the shedding of some tears (sometimes it just feels good to cry), I realized that my life is not all that bad.

I'm not saying I am depressed, I'm just saying I often neglect to see the forest for all the trees. During the past few difficult weeks, life has smiled on me more than I have allowed myself to see. I need to better learn to see the little pockets of happiness that are given to me on a regular basis.

I have a wonderful family who supports me more than I deserve - be it professional or personal, they are there. My family loves me, no matter who I am or who I become.

I have an education and a job that collectively afford me an enjoyable quality of life, with many luxuries that a lot of the world aren't given. I have a roof over my head, food to eat, clean water, and an abundance of clothing.

I have friends that care about me and my happiness.

I have a loving Heavenly Father who knows me better than I know myself, and allows me to experience trials in life that will make me a better person in the end.

We all know that I love the Mayer, and once again I found his lyrical genius soothing my battered soul this afternoon: "Pain throws your heart to the ground. Love turns the whole thing around. No, it won't all go the way it should, but I know the heart of life is good."

I am Cougar, Hear Me ROAR

(and I definitely don't mean this in the BYU variety...)

I have always claimed to like older men. In dating scenarios, I feel like if the guy is older than me, they are "dominant." Just as if they were taller than me, or outweighed me by more than 10 pounds. I've always had a dominant personality so it's always been important for me to find those characteristics in guys I date.

I guess my "cougar" tendencies really started to come out in high school (strangely, when I had only been dating a year or two). There were a handful of freshmen boys I coveted during my own senior year. What can I say - they were adorable. I even had baby crushes on my brothers' friends.

During my adult life, I put that side of me to rest - insisting on only dating guys who were my age or older. Yet last year when the opportunity arose to go out with a guy I had been lusting after for months, despite his very young age, I took it. He was taller than me (by a head), and outweighed me by at least 10 pounds (times 5 or more), there was just this little matter of 6 years I had to look past. And look past, I did. I talked to some friends about it, dubbed myself a "cradle-robbing, cougar, whore" and got on with it. It seemed the only one who had issue with my age was me. Sadly he has left me for 2 years (you figure out why).

Since then, I have semi-fully embraced the title Cougar (although I don't think you can actually be called a cougar until you are 40). I have found solace in being attracted to the younger generation of Hollywood:

Joe Jonas

Zac Efron

Fast forward to THIS Monday in my real life. I'm working on a fundraising campaign through several high schools in the state and I had the privilege of visiting West High to motivate and encourage them in their efforts. I showed them the ever-motivating "Sydney Video," answered several intelligent questions about diabetes and went back to the office. Their teacher called me a few minutes later and told me I had forgotten to bring some supplies she needed, so I booked it back to the school the second time. As I dropped the materials off, she mentioned to me that after I left some of the boys were talking about me, "I think they would fundraise better if you come talk to the class a few more times - they think you're pretty cute." I had a little giggle walking back to my car, flattered and appalled at the thought of high school boys being attracted to me.

Retail Therapy

I have mentioned time and time again that spending money makes me feel better. I am a big believer in retail therapy. Who needs a REAL therapist, when I can spend away my woes in a flurry of tissue paper and a swipe of any array of plastic. When I saw these cardigans, something instinctive inside of me wanted one. Yearned for one. I'm not caving in...I'm blogging about it instead.

THIS picture makes me want to buy things. Lacie things.

I am THE person they target when they create their direct-email marketing. It's sad, really. Even worse is the display at the actual store...where they sort the panties in a beautiful lacie rainbow. I'm doomed from the get-go.

It's a sickness...justified by an alluring spectrum of color.

Peggy is a Whore

I tried to think of some kind of profound thought to bring up this Valentine's Day, but it all ended up sounding bitter. I thought Peggy and Viola would suffice tonight.

It's been awhile since I was "a Peggy." In fact, I think it dates back to my days in kindergarten back at Nieman Elementary School in Kansas. I was a clean slate - my heart had never been broken, and there was nothing but green grass and beautiful sunny horizons. My outlook on love was one of immense potential. I had my eye on several boys, but only one really reciprocated (though I tried my hand with most of them anyway). His name was Brian Pepperdine, and, according to my mom, after my first day of school I came out to the car declaring that I was in love. I'm sure at that time, my mom knew she would have her hands full.

I don't have many vivid V-day memories. In fact, there have been very few years when I have actually been part of a "we" on February 14th. Beside the year I got a rock put on my finger (only later to give it back), I think one of my favorite V-day memories was a few years back.

I was working at Winger's in Lehi. Not my favorite job, but it paid the bills. I was lamenting the fact that I had to work on Valentine's Day, unable to make the mighty trek to Logan to be with my "boyfriend." The restaurant was slow, so Brittany and I had plans to hang out and do a girl's night. She was texting me throughout the night keeping very careful tabs on how busy I was and when I would be off. It was a little obsessive, but I figured it was because we were going to meet up after. I left work and met her at Chili's, where she had a change of clothes for me (another strange occurrence). I went in the bathroom to change, and went back out to sit with her and there he was - my long distance fellow. She had been in negotiations with him all day getting him to come to my neck of the woods for a Valentine's dinner. I was excited and quite touched that she would go to such great lengths to arrange it.

Since that year, there haven't been many ups or downs (mainly because I haven't allowed myself to let anyone else in), just existing in a nice switzerland of neutrality. It's probably not the ideal, but it's my existence, and as John Mayer put it, "I'm perfectly lonely." I'll save "being Peggy" for another year.

Cashmere

I hurriedly ransacked my closet, searching for just the right combination of blouses, sweaters, and tees for my trip to the windy city, and came across that old Banana Republic sweater set. It was 100% cashmere, and "worth more than any article of clothing I had ever owned (including formal wear from high school dances past)," or so I was told. It is the only article of clothing given to me by a guy that wasn't my boyfriend, but that doesn't make its giving any less significant.

He was my backdoor neighbor. You know, the guy you grow up admiring during your overlapping pre-adolescent social affairs (most of ours included long summer days at the home of the Earles - they had three kids within a 4 year window, twin boys and a girl). He wasn't anyone of significance to me at the time, just the obnoxious friend of my friend's older brothers. They tormented and teased us, and very often ignored our existence.

Fast forward a few years to the beloved days of high school: awkwardness at its best. Marching band was where our paths crossed most often, not counting the countless hours of mutual activities through church. He bounced from girl to girl, not really having a "type" or "class" he preferred. I still remained one of his (and his friends) favorite people to tease.

Jump again to my high school graduation. Shortly after graduation, I hit the dusty trail to Ephraim to begin life as a Snow College Badger. I returned home one weekend during first semester for his missionary farewell. I distinctly remember him delineating his reasons for going, saving the "there's this girl" reason for last. The girl he had been dating was going to be waiting for him. While I felt a twinge of sadness at the thought, I was happy for him. While I didn't love her, he was happy, and in love with her. Later, on another weekend home, my mom had been invited to a bridal shower for his sister. She brought me along, and I managed to procure his address in the mission field. I added him to my collection of about 6 missionary penpals and continued to write him until he arrived home a year and a half later.

I was off school for the summer and was attending my parents' ward again. I attended his homecoming talk and felt those ever-familiar emotions. I had heard through his parents that his girlfriend had gotten married just a few months earlier and they thought he would love to hang out with me. After breaking off my engagement, I was wary of starting something romantic too fast His dad pushed me on more than one occasion (during a mutual ditching of Sunday School hour) to go catch a movie or dinner together. I was reluctant because I was sure he would remember me as the young, obnoxious pre-teen from years before. Though I had been resistant, we hung out a time or two and it seemed we became fast friends.

We started hanging out...a lot. He quickly became my favorite movie buddy (I saw pretty much every movie released that summer with him). When I needed to get my ex's mailing address to threaten legal proceedings, he drove me out to West Jordan in his car so we wouldn't be recognized. When it came time to go back to school in August, he wanted to "take me out" for a nice dinner before I made the mighty trek to Logan to start at Utah State. I should have caught the innuendos that were blanketing me during dinner, but in spite of it all, he didn't try to kiss me at the end of the evening.

Fall break was looming, and he inquired (from Utah County) if I had plans for the recess. He had a trip to California planned with a couple of friends and asked me to tag along - no strings attached. Friends of mine had mentioned to me that he was interested in me, but unable to let a free trip to California pass me by, I feigned ignorance and went along. During the course of the trip, he became frustrated (understatement) with my lack of reciprocation and pawned me off on his friend for the day (we went sailing). When we all hooked back up, he and I went for a walk around the neighborhood where we were staying. Ignorant no more, I heard him spill some of the most flattering compliments anyone has ever told me. He was in love with me, and while I was complimented, I knew I wasn't ready to duplicate his feelings. I walked in silence, listening awkwardly to him gushing. I still remember, "So, I blew it with Stacey #1. Tell me what to do differently when Stacey #2 comes along." I shed many tears that night, wishing that I could allow our friendship to elevate to the next level.

The next day we hopped in the car and began the trek back to Utah. It was the most uncomfortable 10 hours of my life. I pretended to be asleep most of the drive just so I wouldn't have to endure the anger and sadness he exhibited in his eyes. I felt so incredibly guilty. We had to stop in Las Vegas (for a reason I can no longer remember), and as we wandered around the shops at Caesar's Palace, I wondered why we were prolonging the end of a laborious trip. As we walked back to the car, he was toting a Banana Republic bag and I wondered why he went there. I didn't inquire, not wanting to push his buttons even more and we drove the rest of the way home.

When he dropped me off at his house, I was planning on making a beeline for the front door and not looking back. He quietly asked me if I wanted what he had bought me. He pulled the gift box out of the Banana Republic bag and handed it to me, telling me I didn't need to open it yet, but that I could wear it on a date with a new guy. I got inside and pulled out the most beautiful black cashmere sweater set. I had never owned something so soft and classy (being a student, I mostly lived in D.I. tee shirts, jeans and flip flops). Again, a wave of guilt washed over me as I realized that he felt like he needed to buy me something to compensate for his behavior on the trip.

As I arrived home from class the next Monday, there was a tag hanging from my front doorknob. Logan florist gad tried to deliver while I was out, but had left the most beautiful bouquet of white roses at my upstairs neighbor's apartment. I retrieved the card, which read, "Have a good one! From your ex-neighbor" (an inside joke, as though nothing had even happened).

After the flowers died, the memory of that trip lived on vividly for months. I didn't talk to him again for quite some time, but our relationship continued to develop. He set me up with another guy who became fiance number two, and even consoled me when said relationship didn't pan out.

When I got his wedding invitation in the mail a couple years later, I wasn't hugely surprised by the fact he was getting married, but I was surprised by the fact that again I felt that familiar pang of sadness. His chapter in my life was closed, and I wasn't sure I was ready to let it go.

Prelude to a Kiss

"A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous."

~Ingrid Bergman

In my life I have happenstances which cause me to reflect back on memories past. Tonight at work such an instance presented itself and I was transported back a few months.

They had spent a blissful evening together, complete with baseball spectator-ship, watermelon wedges, and a quiet contemplative drive around the city. The night was waning and she had to be at work early the next morning. As they pulled up to her office so he could pick up his car, it was evident that neither of them were quite ready for the evening to end. They sat down in the driveway, started up a conversation and the time flew. They talked like they'd known each other for years, rather than their short couple of weeks. He asked her what she looked for in a guy. She rattled off the characteristics, memorized from several other such conversations, "Intelligent. Funny. Driven. Motivated. Attractive." Before they knew it, it was after 1am and they both knew that they should call it a night.

Inevitably, as conversations often do between guys and girls, the subject shifted to kissing. He asked how many guys she had kissed, and she obliged, afterward turning the question on him. As the conversation evolved, he asked, "Have you ever thought about kissing me?" Of course she had. Nearly every week when she passed by him at church she had verbally remarked to her friend how adorable he was. "I'm not going to answer that," she coyly responded. He looked her in the eye and asked what that was supposed to mean. She could see he wasn't driven enough to make the move, so she sauntered over to the driver's side and opened the door, saying, "Ok, I'm gonna go now. Thanks for hanging out."

He looked at her with a certain longing in his eyes, as if to say, Are you kidding me?? She knew he wanted to kiss her, and she him, but she was going to make him work for it. "Remember when I told you how I like guys who are driven and take initiative?" she asked him. He did - vividly. He came closer to her, the driver's side door acting as a buffer between them. He asked her not to leave yet. She asked why and he said he wasn't ready for the night to be over. She crept out from behind the protective barricade of the car door and asked if he was any good. He responded, "There's only one way to find out." He cupped her face with his hands, the only guy she had ever kissed to do such a thing, and kissed her.

As I ventured out of the front door of my office, down to the driveway where I was sent to retrieve my bosses' purse, tonight, I got to relive one of the sweetest moments of my dating career. It was ever so vividly replayed in my memory as thought it were yesterday.

Lightning could strike

I saw the movie Meet Joe Black when I was a sophomore in high school. I fell in love with the movie immediately. It was later on in college that I fell in love with the content. I began compiling a book with magazine ads and photos that depicted "love." To compliment the photos, I began scouring the web, lyrics, movies, and books for quotes about love. To this day, this passage from Meet Joe Black still holds a certain significance in my life. I imagine this is what it will be like...

I want you to get swept away.
I want you to levitate.
I want you to sing with rapture and dance like a dervish.
Be deliriously happy - or at least leave yourself open to be.
Love is passion...
Obsession.
Someone you can't live without.
If you don't start with that, what are you going to end up with?
Fall head over heels.
I say find someone you can love like crazy and who'll love you the same way back.
And how do you find him?
Forget your head and listen to your heart...I'm not hearing any heart.
Run the risk, if you get hurt, you'll come back.
Because, the truth is there is no sense living your life without this...
To make the journey and not fall deeply in love - well, you haven't lived a life at all.
You have to try.
Because if you haven't tried, you haven't lived.
Stay open - who knows...
Lightning could strike.

Blue Plate Diner

I remember the night we went to the Blue Plate Diner. He had come over to drop off a mix CD, which turned into hanging out...all night. His friends had plans for dinner and I didn't want to crash the party (with the friend in from out of town). He made every attempt to make it clear that my company was desired, but in my typical stubborn nature, I had myself convinced that no one wanted me there. I made some outlandish request for pancakes (not thinking that any of the guys would follow suit), not of the Denny's variety, and he made it happen. Quite elated that I had manipulated dinner plans in my favor, I gleefully hopped in the car.

Upon arrival at the diner, we were the first of the group to get there. We perused the menu, as well as the city weekly provided at the door. The group filtered in, one car at a time, and we proceeded to order. I got pancakes and french fries - an unorthodox combination. We chatted, caught up, and decided to move on to phase 2 of the evening.

I was tired, so I hung back while the guys threw out ideas for the remainder of the evening. Keys on Main seemed to be the consensus, and immediately I felt ready to go home to bed. He was so considerate to accompany me home, against my insistence that he go out with his friends - one of the boys had offered me a ride home. I was annoyed that he would be so unrelenting, but by that point, I didn't care anymore. He drove me home, saying "I would rather be here watching a movie with you, than anywhere with those guys."

Immediately I melted, realizing how much he cared for me. My annoyance turned to comfort as we watched Holiday Inn together. He kissed me goodnight, and when he left, I scratched my head and considered, exactly, what I felt for him. I knew I was in trouble.

She & Him pt. 3

The Other She landed in Salt Lake on December 19th - the day that Winter Break began; the day after She said goodbye to Him for the long 9 days ahead. She had never been so anxious or worried in her whole life. She couldn't concentrate, She had a knot in her stomach 24 hours a day, She was consumed with thoughts of losing Him. Her friends and family coached her, saying that this was the time for her to be confident - when He would realize just how much he missed her. Unfortunately, these reassurances only made matters worse. She took nearly a week off work to spend time with Her family to try to pass the time.

He arrived on her doorstep to drop off a Christmas gift, and immediately She started to cry. She hated that she couldn't maintain her composure in front of him, but seeing Him after 4 days of brain-numbing anxiety was all that She could handle. He had bought Her a book - by an author they had discussed. A passage in the book reminded Him of Her, however, he couldn't, for the life of him, remember which passage it was. His charge: to read the book searching for similarities. She did, and though there were many, She didn't find their correlation strong enough to their immediate situation. She completed the book in record time.

She was getting her hair done when She got the text, "Hey do you have some time to get together?" In Her mind, this could only bode badly for her. She pushed and pushed for him to spill his guts (and in His defense, He really wanted to talk in person). "We stayed up until 4 in the morning talking, and after that I had decided that She was the one." (of course, referring to the Other She). She stopped reading at that point. The tears began to fall amidst the crowd of pubescent beauty school students - not many past the age of 21. Fortunately her sister was the one doing her highlights, and tried her best to console Her. "I hate him" her sister said, "you need to make a clean break and move on."

The texting continued through the duration of Her hair treatment. He claimed to have regretted his decision immediately, and, long story short, He wanted to see Her - tomorrow at breakfast. With eyes swollen to the size of grapefruits, She consented to the meeting. They talked in circles for nearly 3 hours, with the consensus being that He needed more time (more than the ten months She had already given Him). She agreed - anything worth anything can be waited for.

He managed to taint Her holiday season with anxiety, even on Christmas, He asked her to a movie. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button was the decided, and He even went down to Her families' house so She wouldn't have to drive. They went to the movie, and came out to a winter wonderland. His dad asked Him not to drive home. He was down to stay (at least for the evening). Upon arrival at Her parents' house, they tiptoed in, careful not to disturb its' slumbering inhabitants. They retreated to the basement, where the spare bedroom was located. They quickly reacquainted, as though nothing had transpired between them the last 10 days. She went upstairs and quickly fell asleep on the couch, and no sooner had she fallen, She awoke to the cereal chomping of her younger brother (he eats like a horse out to pasture). She had a small conversation with her mom and dad, and went down to awaken Him.

He was embarrassed to ascend from the basement, worried about the judgment of Her parents and family. She reassured Him, and quickly ushered Him outside. They dug His car out of the snowdrift they parked it in the night before, He gave her a quick kiss, and drove away. For the first time in 10 days She felt markedly reassured.

That day She shopped the after-Christmas sales with her sister. While at her favorite shoe store, She got a phone call from Him. "We need to talk," He said. Feeling Her stomach churn just as She had for the past week, She agreed to call Him back following Her outing. She got home and immediately dialed those familiar 10 digits. His voice had a somber tone he responded to her question, "What's up?"

"I've been thinking about things since I left this morning, and while I value our friendship, I value my relationship with her more." He had finally made a decision. The whole ordeal had finally come to a screeching halt. She was immediately devastated. However reassured She was that morning, She now felt as though she had been repeatedly kicked in the stomach. She didn't think she had ever cried so hard, or felt so much pain because of one person. The next morning, She awoke to find an email from Him, delineating all of Her attractive qualities, and reasons that He had loved her for the past 10 months. She read quietly as the tears streamed down her face. She thought "He really believes I exhibit all these traits, yet He still chose her. What a slap in the face."

It took a little bit of time, but eventually She picked up all the pieces of her broken heart, and managed to forge on. She did emerge a stronger person - just as She had many times before. And She never really figured out what passage in that book He was talking about...

She & Him pt. 2

Things continued this way for a couple months and things were fabulous for She and Him. They were fantastic friends with all the trust, communication, and laughter of any great relationship. They talked to each other about various topics, movies, music, and even dating experiences. So, when He went to North Carolina to meet up with another She, whom he spoke very highly of, even to the point of romantic interest, She thought nothing of it. He sought out her advice regarding how to handle the girl he was currently dating, and whether he should break up with her pre-emptively.

He came home from the East visibly unchanged, but with the Other She existing merely as a technology friend (phone, email, IM). She and Him continued to hang out multiple times per week, and He even took her to the airport for her 9-day jaunt to Seattle. She was scared when she realized that she had new, ever-familiar feelings for Him. Worries about how their friendship would be affected (as He was getting very chummy with the Other She - 0r at least as chummy as you can get 2,000 miles apart) crossed her mind often. Other worries included whether She really wanted to take the plunge and be vulnerable again, whether it was really worth it, whether or not She would win.

She desperately wanted to tell Him how she felt, but was content to continue hanging out as friends until she gained the courage. He mentioned to her that he had dreamt of her and that it was an "in-person tell." He picked her up and they went to Cafe Rio. The sat down with their food and He spit it out, ending with the question, "So, are you interested in me more than just a friend?" Caught off guard, She spit it out as well, embarrassed to the brim, and immediately thinking she would never speak to Him again (in normal, comfortable conversation).

To her disbelief, things were sticky for a short couple of weeks, and then they became inseparable. They hung out 4-5 times a week, and She tried fiercely to push thoughts of the Other She out of her reality. Talk of the Other She coming to town for Christmas break started, and immediately She began to feel insecure and anxious about the whole ordeal. While she was confident, She had never met this Other girl, and She had no idea what kind of "competition" she had.

She & Him pt. 1

**Long short-story style post - proceed with caution (and read carefully - lots of personal pronouns!)**
She thought she would have an ordinary night at home. Her roommate was going to dinner with an old friend so she would have the apartment to herself. After making the suggestion of Cafe Rio for their dinner, She decided that it sounded good herself, and made the mighty trek for takeout. They asked her to sit down and eat with them, noting that they had just been discussing various options of guys to set her up with. Yes, it was decided, He would be great. She asked the particulars (his looks, tastes, background), and they set up the meeting for that night. They would all watch The Darjeeling Limited together that very evening. He had to pick up his parents from the airport, but would be on his way shortly. The threesome played cards to pass the time.

When He walked in, She wasn't too impressed. He was growing a beard, that had amassed the size of a small nation by that point, he was on the short-ish side, and she was left wondering why her newfound friend, Eric, and her roommate would think that She would be interested in Him. The remainder of the night was uneventful, but impressions were made, and she thought to never give another thought to the gentleman.

Nights later, Bre mentioned that Eric and Him had been asking about her. It appeared that there was a shared interest (however so mild) between the two guys. When, later that week, Eric came by her house, She confessed that she was first attracted to and wanted to date him, not his friend. He let her know that he was dating someone, but that she should give his friend a chance - because He was really interested in getting to know her. If at the end of this "chance," things didn't work out, Eric hoped that She would still be interested in going out. It was almost the challenge she needed to go out with Him - even without the initial attraction.

Two months passed, and no further attraction developed between She and Him. However hard She tried, She couldn't make herself fall in love with him. They went out sometimes twice a week. She couldn't put her finger on it either - there was something holding her back. They always had a fantastic time together, but She didn't enjoy thinking about Him holding her hand, or kissing her, the way She had with other guys. After a good coaching session with Eric and Bre, She decided it would be best to end it now, and hopefully try to keep his respect, and possibly forge a friendship out of it.

The conversation came and went easily. She said her piece, and He didn't even seem phased by her lack of interest. She was incredibly sorry (since she very well knew how bad it felt to hear someone say they weren't interested in you) and thought she broke his heart. Even discussing it with Eric and Bre afterwards, they both thought that He would still be willing to be her friend, although it would probably take a few weeks for him to get over it. However, the very next weekend, She wanted to go see a movie, and He had become her favorite movie buddy, so She gave him a call. They picked up as though nothing had even happened (with the only exception to their new relationship being that She bought her own movie ticket).

'un-' an exercise in clutter examination

Every year, one of my New Year's Resolutions is to purge my life of unnecessary things: bad boyfriends, ill-fitting clothing, superfluous pairs of shoes, unused credit cards, and various forms of clutter. I do so well with everything up until I get to the "clutter." For me, "clutter" has come to represent many things: unfiled recipes, unread books, stray newspaper articles, and magazines. Tonight as I desperately needed a break from an unfinished work project, I decided to reorganize my shelf of unread books, which led to the unorganized shelf of magazines, which led to the box of discarded magazines under the bed. Holy cow, I have a problem.

I posted a list of 25 randoms on my Facebook page about a month ago, but tonight I realized that, since I'm a clutter junkie, I should make a whole new list of my OCD behaviors. Behold:

1. I have a magazine problem. Breanna and I noticed it first when there was a stack of magazines sitting on the kitchen counter: Shape, Fitness, Real Simple, Entertainment Weekly, and Ensign, all addressed to yours truly. Do I read them all? I peruse them all leisurely, but usually the only one I read, cover to cover, is Entertainment Weekly. Breanna and I evaluated the subscription expiration for each one, and most were at least 9 months into the future. The best part? I just got a $1 subscription to Rolling Stone from Amazon to add to my collection.

2. I can't bring myself to throw any of the above magazines away. I have this "thing" for making collages, and I would hate to think that one day I would want to make a collage and not have any magazines to destroy for that purpose. Thus the reason for the 2 large boxes under my bed and the 5 magazine boxes adorning the bottom rung of my bookshelf.

3. I am a book monger. I haven't read 75% of the books on my bookshelf (or I have started them, but haven't had the time or the willpower to see them to completion), but I continue to buy them because I love having them. It really is an illness. I love a good story, but I am usually more amused by TV on DVD than I am by a book - it's a path of least resistance thing.

4. I have old tee-shirts that date back to high school. For everyone's information, I graduated high school in 2001. I rationalize this because I like to work out - what if, one of these days, I don't want to use one my high-tech running shirts; or, better yet, what if ALL of my workout clothes are dirty! I can't work out naked! SO, they sit...in a dresser drawer...AND in a sliding box in my closet.

5. I have every letter and email that my mom, dad, and grandpa have ever written me. I used to keep these in a binder on my bookshelf, but they got ousted for all the books I haven't read. Never fear, they were just relocated to a new home - the box of keepsakes under my bed. These letters started coming to me as a freshman in college, and still continue to this day. They never fail to make me cry, and always help me remember who I am, what I've accomplished, and what I can become. I read them on a regular basis.

6. Speaking of keepsake boxes, I have 3 of them. One is an old cookie tin we got for Christmas last year in the office; one is a cardboard file box I made as a rebellious Laurel; one is a plastic rubbermaid tote. Their contents are diverse: wedding announcements, movie ticket stubs, letters, valentine cards, memoirs from old boyfriends, high school dance pictures, etc. And, yes, I do need 3 boxes.

7. I collected wine bottles and corks when I worked for Mimi's Cafe. Everyone would make fun of me because they all knew that I had never tasted alcohol. I use them as "decorations" in my apartment. My roommate, Michelle, (who drinks now and again) even mentioned to me that part of the reason she was so interested in living with me was because I had wine bottles (she thought I drank, and therefore wouldn't mind her keeping wine in the fridge).

8. I have every bib number from every race I have ever participated in. They were all 5K's (until June, when I will be running my first half marathon!), and they are all hanging proudly on my bulletin board.

9. I like to bake, but I rarely cook. This doesn't stop me from searching the Food Network for recipes I know I'll never use. I have a cupboard full of unorganized sheets boasting savory ingredients and intricate cooking methods that will likely never take flight in my kitchen. I tell myself that I'm building up my collection so that one day when I have a husband to cook for, the skill will come on its own and I'll have an entire repertoire of options to choose from.

10. My brain is cluttered with literally every phone number, email address, birth date, statistic, trivia tidbit and password I have EVER heard. I try not to admit this to people, but because he told me his password once, I checked my ex-fiance's email for a month after we broke up because I wanted to see if he or his mom dissed me in cyberspace. I'm telling you now, if you ever are a contestant on Who Wants To Be a Millionaire, you would want me for your phone friend for my vast trivial knowledge.

SO...there you have it. I'm a mess. And you know the best part? I have no intention of cleaning it up.