If I were to scrap book, I would have taken that tissue off of your bed post.

Have you ever heard someone make fun of something so much (like homosexuality, driving tricked out SUVs, underwater basket weaving) and then thought, "Maybe this is what this person wants most in all the world?"

Last night, The Boy and I were mocking scrapbookers. I myself USED to be a scrapbook type of person. The type of person who sees things and thinks, I should like to remember this for all my life. So I shall make a page out of paper cut outs to memorialize it. When I am done with the page I shall affix it to a book, place he book on my shelf and disregard it for atleast three years.

Then I realized how rediculous and cluttered this practice makes one's life.

But this is kind of a scrap book. There are pictures. There are words. There are memories and feelings and short thing and long things and things that really only mean something to me. There are fallen thoughts and year long dreams and old flames and new desires from the pit of my stomach and the tip of my tongue.

And I told The Boy this.

And he pointed out that I am wrong. "Because that involves neither scraps or books."

So I guess I don't scrap book. Which I guess makes me like 35% cooler than those girls that take every ticket stub and every handkerchief and every receipt.

Or it makes me less of a girl, I don't really know.