At a certain point “just” just ain’t gonna fly.  “I just gave birth to twins” stops being just, just about when exactly?  When can it stop being an excuse for your weight or fatigue?  “We just moved in” isn’t really accurate, yet our walls are still expressionless. It takes a while to decorate a home.  People order things, things with delivery dates of six to eight weeks.  We are not those people.  I paw my way through catalogs, but it’s all a ruse.  I’m not going to do that, to buy new, a bright living room with layered patterns and lush fabrics.  I “just” had children and have enough new in my life.  Two little news, in fact, who’ll defile any new furniture purchased.  But there’s no excuse for the plain as Jane walls.

I haven’t been posting much because I’m in organize mode.  Phil scoured the Internet and just purchased a new digital die-cutting machine for me.  The QuicKutz Silhouette.  It plugs into your computer and will cut out any vector shape (so all of my fonts).  This is important because I will never have a need for a cartridge or particular punch.  I can create anything I want, and then simply “print it” only instead of printing, it will carve out my design.  I cannot wait for its arrival (ditto on the iPhone I’m picking up this Friday!).  In honor of The Silhouette, I’ve converted “the junk room” into a scrapbooking haven.  First, let me just say, in a past life, I got a junk drawer.  And in Straight Up and Dirty, I give Romina “Rome” Rosen a hint of shit over having an entire “junk room.”  Well, you’re allowed to have a junk room when you live in Texas because everything is bigger here.  Our once junk-room, now combo office scrapping space, is not close to complete, as the walls are desolate.  I want to frame three of my Hermes scarves without having to actually frame them.  Very cake eat it too.  I want the look of them because they inspire me, their colors, rich drape, playfulness and grace.  I need to put up some art, things that make the room inviting and warm.  Something over sized and statement-worthy.  Our walls throughout the house are still blink.  Yes, blink, not blank.  Because seeing it written there, blink should mean “missing something” as in, if you blink, you would miss it.  Anyway… the walls are blink because we cannot make up our minds.  I’d like to cover a wall in black and white photos of friends, of our favorite places, but it’s a project just choosing, and then add to that uploading for the printing.  Sorting, combing through archived photo cds and external hard drives.  And then the both of us agreeing.  The photos don’t belong in the scrappy office space where color needs to inspire. They belong stacked uniformly in a hallway, something near the living room, photos of lives being lived.

My Mac is back.  I had most of it backed up, but despite this, most of my programs no longer work, even the ones for which I actually paid money. So that has been a nightmare and a half.  Any nerds who have a demonoid invitation for me, I’d so so so appreciate it.  I need all the help I can get.  Mostly, my fonts have been a tangle.  I’ve spent the past two days–not joking–just cleaning up my fonts (and I just purchased the fling font, featured on the cover of Blueprint Magazine).  So the Mac is cleaner, which means I’m as dirty as my mouth.  I haven’t showered in days.  There’s too much to organize.

My vagina.  It needed organizing too.  The truth of it all is, since giving birth via c-section, I’ve been too embarrassed to get my lawn mowed.  It’s the scar I think; it’s dark pink and kind of gummy looking, raised.  And I cannot imagine someone putting wax on it.  So yesterday I used scissors.  I’m far too prone to razor burn, and I still haven’t found (and admittedly haven’t been looking for) a waxing place like the mid-town Russian place I loved in New York (Elite day spa near Lord & Tailor–ask for it “French,” but say it in English.  So fast and cheap and good).

It’s been storming here today; the perfect weather for writing, especially camp writing.  It reminds me of cabin days, of mud sliding down “Girls’ Hill.”  I’m still in my “pajamas.”  I love days like this, lazy like a Sunday, except Monday.   I put pajamas in quotes because I’ve never been a pajama girl.  My aunt used to give us these hideous over sized flannel-type jobs, with overzealous prints of cows or flying pigs or ice cream cones on them.  She purchased these beauties from Filene’s Basement and gave them to us for Christmas, where they were quickly relegated to our basement.  “You know,” she’d say after inspecting our feigned smiles, “for when no one’s around.”  Yeah, no kidding.  “They’re comfortable.”  So is being naked.  Be the cow; don’t wear the cow.

And with that, I’m going to continue to download footage from our homemade videotapes into iMovie.  Once I’ve compiled enough cute clips, I’ll stitch together a movie that I might just share.  Oooh, I wish a Muppet type movie were on right now.  So perfect for a day like today.  I wonder what Miss Piggy would put on the walls of her scrapping room.