Once upon a blue moon, I came across this strange new craze. Perhaps you’ve heard of it, Pranksters. It’s called “scrap” “booking.” Scrapbooking, for those of you who haven’t heard of this strange and mystical art, is the process of putting photos and/or mementos into a specially designed with stickers and decorations to make it look, in clinical terms, “more full of the awesome.”
Back when I first graduated nursing school and was newly home with my kid, I decided to try this “scrapbooking” for myself.
I neglected to remember that I’m as crafty as a chimp with three thumbs and have about as much artistic vision as someone in a pitch-black room. If you think I’m trying to be funny or deliberately mislead you, I send you here, to my unintentional cakewreck.
(hums Jeopardy theme song)
Okay, that’s better. Got that image burned into your retinas? And that was me TRYING to make something cute.
So I invested a small fortune in scrapbook supplies. It appears that whomever is selling old bits of paper, crappy stickers and the kinds of paper hole punches we used as kids is laughing themselves into billions upon trillions of dollars.
I assembled my scrapbooking supplies on the dining room table in my condo and…
…left them there.
I simply couldn’t do it. As much as I tried to picture my crappy 3 x 5’s as anything other than crappy 3 x 5’s that’s all they were to me. I was too much of a perfectionist to do anything with the cute scrapbook stickers so I packed them into a box and have left them there for six years. They’re still in that box, actually.
But this weekend, I was at the local crafty store buying Valentine’s Day stuff for the VD Tree I was making with my kids (they can be as messy as they want with their projects, I should add) and I decided that I should probably check out my idol’s craft supply line.
Yeah, it’s probably a shock to you to know that I kinda idolize Martha Stewart, but there you have it. My dirty secret has been revealed. Martha Stewart + Aunt Becky = well, nothing. I just love her.
Normally, I roll my eyes at the thought of spending thirty bucks on some glitter (even Martha Stewart’s fancy-pants glitter!) but this time, something uniquely awesome caught my attention:
Oh Pranksters, my cold, shriveled heart opened up as the heavens shone down upon this glorious, glorious gold book. I twirled, I whirled, this book in my arms, as I imagined our life together. Why, it was almost as Martha, Herself knew I needed a photo album. And this, this was so much greater than a regular, boring photo album! It was a DISCO photo album! And I love disco! And Martha Stewart! And! And!
And I looked closer.
This was no ORDINARY disco photo album, all right. It was a SCRAPbook disco album. Not a photo album at all.
My heart sunk.
How could something so beautiful be something I just couldn’t use? I nearly wept.
Then I got an idea.
I could be Martha Fucking Stewart, too. Why did SHE need all the glory? So what if she had a million-billion dollar empire and I had some stained socks? I was gonna DO IT.
So I bought it. And now is the time when I turn a scrapbook into a disco photo album.
Take THAT, Martha Stewart. You and your smugly superior voice are THROUGH.
Once, um, I finish figuring out how. Pretty sure the Three Wolf Shirt will help.
Edit: NOT SO FAST, Martha Stewart! You can’t throw me off your tracks THAT easily! Throwing up some pictures of orchids won’t change my plans to dethrone you!
Oh yeah, you know what?
You know what? I AM offended.
OH! And I wrote something about House, MD, for BlogHer, yo.
And it’s my second-to-last Toy With Me column. SOBS.
Also Also Also: comments are being weird. If you have an issue with comments, specifically, not being able to SEE what glorious things the other Pranksters say, please let me know. Especially what browser you’re using.