scrapbook organization

2

29.7.17 // I have been trying to post these pictures for like a week now. I guess the tumblr app’s having problems (or is it just me?). But anyway, here’s a bullet journal spread from two weeks ago. Went for a dark green theme with a slight slytherin vibe (even though I’m a ravenclaw) 💚

Men always say that as the defining compliment: the Cool Girl. She’s a cool girl. Being the Cool Girl means that I am a hot, brilliant, funny woman who adores football, poker, dirty jokes, and burping, who plays video games, drinks cheap beer, loves threesomes and anal sex, and jams hot dogs and hamburgers into her mouth like she’s hosting the world’s biggest culinary gang bang while somehow maintaining a size 2, because Cool Girls are above all hot. Hot and understanding. Cool Girls never get angry; they only smile in a chagrined, loving manner and let their men do whatever they want. Go ahead, shit on me, I don’t mind, I’m the Cool Girl.
Men actually think this girl exists. Maybe they’re fooled because so many women are willing to pretend to be this girl. For a long time Cool Girl offended me. I used to see these men - friends, coworkers, strangers - giddy over these awful pretender women, and I’d want to sit these men down and calmly say: You are not dating a woman, you are dating a woman who has watched too many movies written by socially awkward men who’d like to believe that this kind of woman exists and might kiss them. I’d want to grab the poor guy by his lapels or messenger bag and say: The bitch doesn’t really love chili dogs that much - no one loves chili dogs that much! And the Cool Girls are even more pathetic: They’re not even pretending to be the woman they want to be, they’re pretending to be the woman a man wants them to be. Oh, and if you’re not a Cool Girl, I beg you not to believe that your man doesn’t want the Cool Girl. It may be a slightly different version - maybe he’s a vegetarian, so Cool Girl loves seitan and is great with dogs; or maybe he’s a hipster artist, so Cool Girl is a tattooed, bespectacled nerd who loves comics. There are variations to the window dressing, but believe me, he wants Cool Girl, who is basically the girl who likes every fucking thing he likes and doesn’t ever complain. (How do you know you’re not Cool Girl? Because he says things like: ‘I like strong women.’ If he says that to you, he will at some point fuck someone else. Because 'I like strong women’ is code for 'I hate strong women.’)
I waited patiently - years - for the pendulum to swing the other way, for men to start reading Jane Austen, learn how to knit, pretend to like cosmos, organize scrapbook parties, and make out with each other while we leer. And then we’d say, Yeah, he’s a Cool Guy.
But it never happened. Instead, women across the nation colluded in our degradation! Pretty soon Cool Girl became the standard girl. Men believed she existed - she wasn’t just a dreamgirl one in a million. Every girl was supposed to be this girl, and if you weren’t, then there was something wrong with you.
—  Gone Girl, Gillian Flynn.
2

Anybody remember how, in Friends, Monica had a big binder filled with wedding ideas? Well… I may not be engaged yet (although my boyfriend and I do plan to get married next summer) but I’ve decided that making a scrapbook of wedding ideas would be more fun than reading a french play from the 18th century for school 🙄

friend: hey, what’s up

me: Nick never loved me. He loved a girl who doesn’t exist. A girl I was pretending to be. The Cool Girl. Men always use that as the defining compliment, right? She’s a cool girl. Being Cool Girl means I am a hot, brilliant, funny woman who adores football, poker and dirty jokes, who plays videogames and chugs beer, loves threesomes and anal sex and jams chilidogs into my mouth like I’m hosting the world’s biggest culinary gang-bang –while remaining a size 2, because cool girls are above all hot. Hot and understanding. Cool girls never get angry at their men, they only smile in a chagrined, loving manner. Go ahead! Shit on me, I don’t mind, I’m the cool girl. I waited patiently-years-for the pendulum to swing the other way, for men to start reading Jane Austen, organize scrapbook parties, and make out with each other while we leer. And then we’d say, yeah, he’s a cool guy. Instead, women across the nation colluded in our degradation! Pretty soon every girl was Cool Girl, and if you weren’t, then there was something wrong with you.But it’s tempting, to be Cool Girl. For someone like me, who likes to win, it’s tempting to be the girl every guy wants.When I met Nick I knew that’s what he wanted. For him, I was willing to try. I couldn’t have been Cool Girl with anyone else. I wouldn’t have wanted to. Nick teased things out in me I didn’t know existed: A lightness, a humor, an ease. And I made him smarter, sharper. I forced him to rise to my level. I was happier for those few years, pretending to be someone else, than I ever have been before or after. But then it had to stop, because it wasn’t me! I hated Nick for being surprised when I became me. He couldn’t believe I didn’t love wax-stripping my pussy raw and blowing him on request. That my fantasy baseball team was not a labor of love. It had to stop. Committing to Nick, feeling safe with Nick, being happy with Nick, made me realize that there was a Real Amy in there, and she was so much better, more interesting and complicated and challenging, than Cool Girl. But Nick wanted Cool Girl anyway. Can you imagine, finally showing your true self to your soulmate, and having him not like you? 

MINIMALISM

How to create a Minimalist Closet:

1.  Donate anything you do not wear, want, or like… do not keep anything out of guilt.  Put momentos in a separate pile

2.  Buy matching hangers.  Non-slip are good.  You are going to look at your closet everyday of your life… invest in beautiful hangers.

3.  Hang, sort, and label.  Cubes from Target or Ikea are great!  

4.  Use labels on the hanging rod too.  I got mine at The Container Store, and they say things like “Cardis” (for cardigans) and “Vegas”(for sparkly dresses.)   There are the basic labels too like “Summer” and “Black”  Make your labels fit your needs.

5.  Get a bin from Ikea or Target and label it “Relics” or “Momentos”  Put all your momentos here.  If you have tons of pictures, scan on a hard-drive or Cloud.  If you have tons of videos- digitize them.  Places like Costco and Staples will do it for you too.  Just get it done.  Free up your space.  Free up your life.  There is no need to keep oodles of moments when we live in the digital age… if you’re having trouble getting rid of something, take a picture of it, then donate.

6.  Get shoe bins.  I store mine above ground.  Put some lysol wipes, a lint-roller, and other “upkeep” items like shoe-polish in a bin labeled “extras.”  If you have too many “extras,” downsize.

7. Make sure your closet is clean and bright.  Use a color that makes you happy.  I love white and pink.  I hate brown… but when we moved in that’s what the color of the closet was… so I improvised.  We are going to get custom closets very soon.  Until then, this system works great.

8.  Make sure you have a separate section for purses, belts, and jewelry.  Store costume jewelry in a jewelry hanger from The Container Store or Bed, Bath, and Beyond.  I like The Little Black Dress brand.  They make everything from scarf-hangers to accessory organizers, and it frees up a lot of space.

9.  Roll up magazines… put them in plastic bags and put them in your boots to help keep their shape.  Before putting your shoes back in your closet.. give the bottoms a wipe with the lysol or polish (if you have a ton of work shoes or sneakers… like I do… have a separate bin for them.  These tips are mostly for good shoes you want to keep nice.)

10.  Maintain!  Every month I go through at least one bin or section and get rid of something I’m not wearing.  It frees up space for what I will wear, and when I donate, I feel good!  Keep a plastic bag or bin in the trunk of your car (or garage) for donations.  Whenever you come across something (jewelry, earphones.. old sunglasses) you don’t want, you can put it here.  When the bag is full- make a trip to donate!

11.  Don’t get discouraged!  It took me months to get all my momentos organized and down to one bin.  I had giveaways, made scrapbooks, digitized, and donated… but now It’s done!  With room to spare for new items.  Remember:  Stuff is just stuff.  It’s the people in our lives that mean the most.  Make new memories:))

12.  Enjoy your closet!  You’ll be able to get dressed in a breeze!!!

xo

Kerry

(Photo:  Closet, KLC, Jan. 2014- KAM)

Nick never loved me.
He loved a girl who doesn’t exist. A girl I was pretending to be. The Cool Girl. Men always use that as the defining compliment, right? She’s a cool girl.
Being Cool Girl means I am a hot, brilliant, funny woman who adores football, poker and dirty jokes, who plays videogames and chugs beer, loves threesomes and anal sex and jams chilidogs into my mouth like I’m hosting the world’s biggest culinary gang-bang while remaining a size 2, because cool girls are above all hot.
Hot and understanding. Cool girls never get angry at their men, they only smile in a chagrined, loving manner. Go ahead! Shit on me, I don’t mind, I’m the cool girl.
I waited patiently-years-for the pendulum to swing the other way, for men to start reading Jane Austen, organize scrapbook parties and make out with each other while we leer. And then we’d say, yeah, he’s a cool guy.
Instead, women across the nation colluded in our degradation! Pretty soon every girl was Cool Girl, and if you weren’t, then there was something wrong with you.
But it’s tempting, to be Cool Girl. For someone like me, who likes to win, it’s tempting to be the girl every guy wants. When I met Nick I knew that’s what he wanted. For him, I was willing to try.
I couldn’t have been Cool Girl with anyone else. I wouldn’t have wanted to. Nick teased things out in me I didn’t know existed: A lightness, a humor, an ease.
And I made him smarter, sharper. I forced him to rise to my level.
I was happier for those few years, pretending to be someone else, than I ever have been before or after.
But then it had to stop, because it wasn’t me! I hated Nick for being surprised when I became me.
He couldn’t believe I didn’t love wax-stripping my pussy raw and blowing him on request. That my fantasy baseball team was not a labor of love.
It had to stop. Committing to Nick, feeling safe with Nick, being happy with Nick, made me realize that there was a Real Amy in there, and she was so much better, more interesting and complicated and challenging, than Cool Girl.
But Nick wanted Cool Girl anyway.
Can you imagine, finally showing your true self to your soulmate, and having him not like you?
—  Rosamund Pike (Gone Girl 2014)

Lucretia is an information keeper, first and foremost. She’s a protector as well, but her title is “The Lonely Journal Keeper” for a reason. She sets herself apart, makes hard choices, and keeps wonderful records of all the things she’s had to do. She has a picture of her team, whose memories she then wiped! She keeps records of all the towns destroyed by the Grand Relics, she knows them all by name and death count. She likes writing notes. She definitely has a diary, wrapped in multiple levels of code and Voidfish static. 

But let’s take it further. Lucretia with a little magical recorder in her pocket, keeping an audio journal that’s all white noise. Lucretia who runs through notebooks at a voracious rate, and keeps them neatly itemized on long shelves in a secret room. Lucretia who takes pictures whenever she gets a chance, files them away in organized scrapbooks. One of the holiday parties, one of the quad at midnight, one of Maureen and Lucas in better days. A series of formal portraits of her Reclaimers and Regulators, which quickly devolved into play wrestling and silly faces. She gets a picture of every Bureau of Balance member, ostensibly for administrative purposes, and knows every face by name, even those long dead. There’s a little scrapbooking group in Neverwinter that she visits occasionally, when she needs an hour to herself, and she cuts and pastes and gossips with kindly grandmothers who know her as the quiet woman with a really weird array of family members and an oddly minimalistic style. 

She writes down the names of the dead in the margins of paper, just to remind herself to remember, over and over and over again, and I love her so much. 

That night at the Brooklyn party, I was playing the girl who was in style, the girl a man like Nick wants: the Cool Girl. Men always say that as the defining compliment, don’t they? She’s a cool girl. Being the Cool Girl means I am a hot, brilliant, funny woman who adores football, poker, dirty jokes, and burping, who plays video games, drinks cheap beer, loves threesomes and anal sex, and jams hot dogs and hamburgers into her mouth like she’s hosting the world’s biggest culinary gang bang while somehow maintaining a size 2, because Cool Girls are above all hot. Hot and understanding. Cool Girls never get angry; they only smile in a chagrined, loving manner and let their men do whatever they want. Go ahead, shit on me, I don’t mind, I’m the Cool Girl.
Men actually think this girl exists. Maybe they’re fooled because so many women are willing to pretend to be this girl. For a long time Cool Girl offended me. I used to see men – friends, coworkers, strangers – giddy over these awful pretender women, and I’d want to sit these men down and calmly say: You are not dating a woman, you are dating a woman who has watched too many movies written by socially awkward men who’d like to believe that this kind of woman exists and might kiss them. I’d want to grab the poor guy by his lapels or messenger bag and say: The bitch doesn’t really love chili dogs that much – no one loves chili dogs that much! And the Cool Girls are even more pathetic: They’re not even pretending to be the woman they want to be, they’re pretending to be the woman a man wants them to be. Oh, and if you’re not a Cool Girl, I beg you not to believe that your man doesn’t want the Cool Girl. It may be a slightly different version – maybe he’s a vegetarian, so Cool Girl loves seitan and is great with dogs; or maybe he’s a hipster artist, so Cool Girl is a tattooed, bespectacled nerd who loves comics. There are variations to the window dressing, but believe me, he wants Cool Girl, who is basically the girl who likes every fucking thing he likes and doesn’t ever complain. (How do you know you’re not Cool Girl? Because he says things like: ‘I like strong women.’ If he says that to you, he will at some point fuck someone else. Because ‘I like strong women’ is code for ‘I hate strong women.’)
I waited patiently – years – for the pendulum to swing
the other way, for men to start reading Jane Austen, learn how to knit, pretend to love cosmos, organize scrapbook parties, and make out with each other while we leer. And then we’d say, Yeah, he’s a Cool Guy.
But it never happened. Instead, women across the nation colluded in our degradation! Pretty soon Cool Girl became the standard girl. Men believed she existed – she wasn’t just a dreamgirl one in a million. Every girl was supposed to this girl, and if you weren’t, then there was something wrong with you.
But it’s tempting to be Cool Girl. For someone like me, who likes to win, it’s tempting to want to be the girl every guy wants. When I met Nick, I knew immediately that was what he wanted, and for him, I guess I was willing to try. I will accept my portion of blame. The thing is, I was crazy about him at first. I found him perversely exotic, a good ole Missouri boy. He was so damn nice to be around. He teased things out in me that I didn’t know existed: a lightness, a humor, an ease. It was as if he hollowed me out and filled me with feathers. He helped me be Cool Girl – I couldn’t have been Cool Girl with anyone else. I wouldn’t have wanted to. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy some of it: I ate a MoonPie, I walked barefoot, I stopped worrying. I watched dumb movies and ate chemically laced foods. I didn’t think past the first step of anything, that was the key. I drank a Coke and didn’t worry about how to recycle the can or about the acid puddling in my belly, acid so powerful it could strip clean a penny. We went to a dumb movie and I didn’t worry about the offensive sexism or the lack of minorities in meaningful roles. I didn’t even worry whether the movie made sense. I didn’t worry about anything that came next. Nothing had consequence, I was living in the moment, and I could feel myself getting shallower and dumber. But also happy.
Until Nick, I’d never really felt like a person, because I was always a product. Amazing Amy has to be brilliant, creative, kind, thoughtful, witty, and happy. We just want you to be happy. Rand and Marybeth said that all the time, but they never explained how. So many lessons and opportunities and advantages, and they never taught me how to be happy. I remember always being baffled by other children. I would be at a birthday party and watch the other kids giggling and making faces, and I would try to do that, too, but I wouldn’t understand why. I would sit there with the tight elastic thread of the birthday hat parting the pudge of my underchin, with the grainy frosting of the cake bluing my teeth, and I would try to figure out why it was fun.
With Nick, I understood finally. Because he was so much fun. It was like dating a sea otter. He was the first naturally happy person I met who was my equal. He was brilliant and gorgeous and funny and charming and charmed. People liked him. Women loved him. I thought we would be the most perfect union: the happiest couple around. Not that love is a competition. But I don’t understand the point of being together if you’re not the happiest.
I was probably happier for those few years – pretending to be someone else – than I ever have been before or after. I can’t decide what that means. But then it had to stop, because it wasn’t real, it wasn’t me. It wasn’t me, Nick! I thought you knew. I thought it was a bit of a game. I thought we had a wink-wink, don’t ask, don’t tell thing going. I tried so hard to be easy. But it was unsustainable. It turned out he couldn’t sustain his side either: the witty banter, the clever games, the romance, and the wooing. It all started collapsing on itself. I hated Nick for being surprised when I became me. I hated him for not knowing it had to end, for truly believing he had married this creature, this figment of the imagination of a million masturbatory men, semen-fingered and self-satisfied. He truly seemed astonished when I asked him to listen to me. He couldn’t believe I didn’t love wax-stripping my pussy raw and blowing him on request. That I did mind when he didn’t show up for drinks with my friends. That ludicrous diary entry? I don’t need pathetic dancing-monkey scenarios to repeat to my friends, I am content with letting him be himself. That was pure, dumb Cool Girl bullshit. What a cunt. Again, I don’t get it: If you let a man cancel plans or decline to do things for you, you lose. You don’t get what you want. It’s pretty clear. Sure, he may be happy, he may say you’re the coolest girl ever, but he’s saying it because he got his way. He’s calling you a Cool Girl to fool you! That’s what men do: They try to make it sound like you are the cool girl so you will bow to their wishes. Like a car salesman saying, How much do you want to pay for this beauty? when you didn’t agree to buy it yet. That awful phrase men use: ‘I mean, I know you wouldn’t mind if I …’ Yes, I do mind. Just say it. Don’t lose, you dumb little twat.
So it had to stop. Committing to Nick, feeling safe with Nick, being happy with Nick, made me realize that there was a Real Amy in there, and she was so much better, more interesting and complicated and challenging, than Cool Amy. Nick wanted Cool Amy anyway. Can you imagine, finally showing your true self to your spouse, your soul mate, and having him not like you? So that’s how the hating first began. I’ve thought about this a lot, and that’s where it started, I think.
—  Amy Elliot Dunne (Gone Girl 2011)

anonymous asked:

Frost,cocoa, harvest,maple,maize

Hello, Anon! Thank you for stopping by and asking!

frost - if you could give some advice to your younger self, what would you say?

Not to care so much about fitting in. I know how appealing the popular group is, but seriously, I wish I didn’t try so hard.

maple - is there a hobby / skill that you’ve always wanted to try but never did?

I’ve mentioned playing the guitar. But another hobby I always wanted to try is scrapbooking. It’s time-consuming, but there are so many pictures I want to organize and scrapbooking is an art.

harvest - what fictional character do you most identify with? Why?

When I first read All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, I swear Jenny Han wrote Lara Jane based on me! I used to write love letters to my crushes in a journal, but never sent it to them! But as an adult, I can relate to Leslie Knope from Parks and Rec. I’m not political like her, but her personality is similar to mine.

maize - share the weirdest encounter you’ve had with a stranger on the street.

One time on a subway in New York, a lady came up to me and started praying for my soul. I told her she didn’t need to because I already believed in God and she said I was going to hell because of my scarf. I was wearing a blue scarf with skulls on it. I’m pretty sure my soul is fine.

cocoa - if you could have any type of hair, what colour and cut would you have?

I wish I has straight slick hair. My hair is naturally wavy, slightly, but it needs extra care like ironing or blow-drying.

Also, I’ve been slacking in the planner department. Today is Sunday so that means that I get to plan out my week. Picked up these Project Life cards by Heidi Swapp from Michaels and I’m in love with the gold detailing. They complement my planner and dividers so nicely. This week is definitely going to be a busy one - I have exams coming up and a few assignments due (one of which is stats). Need to get my butt in gear. 

Nick loved me. A six-O kind of love: he looooooved me. But he didn’t love me, me. Nick loved a girl who doesn’t exist. I was pretending, the way I often did, pretending to have a personality. I can’t help it, it’s what I’ve always done: The way some women change fashion regularly, I change personalities. What persona feels good, what’s coveted, what’s au courant? I think most people do this, they just don’t admit it, or else they settle on one persona because they’re too lazy or stupid to pull off a switch.

Keep reading

“I waited patiently - years - for the pendulum to swing the other way, for men to start reading Jane Austen, learn how to knit, pretend to love cosmos, organize scrapbook parties, and make out with each other while we leer. And then we'd say, Yeah, he's a Cool Guy.” ― Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl

Men always say that as the defining compliment, don’t they? She’s a cool girl. Being the Cool Girl means I am a hot, brilliant, funny woman who adores football, poker, dirty jokes, and burping, who plays video games, drinks cheap beer, loves threesomes and anal sex, and jams hot dogs and hamburgers into her mouth like she’s hosting the world’s biggest culinary gang bang while somehow maintaining a size 2, because Cool Girls are above all hot. Hot and understanding. Cool Girls never get angry; they only smile in a chagrined, loving manner and let their men do whatever they want. Go ahead, shit on me, I don’t mind, I’m the Cool Girl.

I waited patiently–years–for the pendulum to swing the other way, for men to start reading Jane Austen, learn how to knit, pretend to love cosmos, organize scrapbook parties, and make out with each other while we leer. And then we’d say, Yeah, he’s a Cool Guy. But it never happened. Instead, women across the nation colluded in our degradation! Pretty soon Cool Girl became the standard girl. Men believed she existed–she wasn’t just a dreamgirl one in a million. Every girl was supposed to be this girl, and if you weren’t, then there was something wrong with you.

—  Gone Girl, Gillian Flynn