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I’m chronically messy. I hate being a slob, and I get very frustrated very quickly when I can’t find something … especially when I can’t find it because I didn’t put it back where it needed to go. Which is generally the case.

That being said, I think one of the most beautiful things in the world is a well organized closet. And our home now has three of them. Well, four if you count the one that we completely emptied out for other things that we don’t have yet.

My shoes are no longer jumbled together in two giant Rubbermaid tubs. Now, I have 10 or 12 of them in a lovely hanging organizer, and the rest are sectioned off in one of those cool under-the-bed organizers (but it’s still in the closet — if they’re under the bed and I can’t see them, I’llĀ  never wear them.). All of my purses are also in a swell hanging organizer. All. Of. Them. Oh, and scarves and wraps and pashminas and cardigans (basically, anything I might want to grab right before heading out the door to a sure-to-be-freezing restaurant)? Neatly folded and in the same cubby. Hey, I even moved all the jeans that don’t fit (or are currently out of style but sure to be cool again … one day) into a drawer in the other room so I don’t have to feel like such a bum every time I look at them! Woo!

Where’s my crafty stuff? Oh, it’s in the office closet, all together in a tub. Likewise, all of the Christmas decorations and wrapping paper/bags/bows are in the same area. The nostalgic crap that our parents refuse to keep schlepping around and we can’t bear to part with is all in one section of the closet, and costumes/bridesmaids dresses/wigs/other fun stuff is on the other side of that closet. Seriously. Quiz me. I know where it is.

Now, don’t be too impressed — the rest of the house is not looking so good. So, if you come over, probably I’ll show you my closets right away, and then try to get you drunk enough so you don’t notice the random bottle of nail polish in the kitchen, or the laundry basket (empty!) on the couch, or our overnight bags from this weekend that are still sitting by the front door. Because, y’all, I am done with the cleaning and organizing for today. Possibly for all of 2009.

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I’m feeling pretty proud of myself, here:

Notice the number of things that Go Together! Notice how little is on there! And one of those outfits? For the plane! Throw a couple of purses into the mix (okay, carrying one and bringing three, but they take up, like, NO space, and it’s totally necessary, and two are clutches, which hardly even count), a few toiletries, and I’m packed, baby.

I know you can’t really tell what everything is, but you’ll be seeing plenty of these outfits, with me in them, in the next week or so. I promise. Or threaten. Whatever — I’m off to NYC in the morning!

Have you ever won a contest? Like, that required no skill? I just did — I won a fabulous eco-friendly tank from SPUN (and now I totally want the cowl neck dress — could it BE any cuter?), and I have this insane feeling like things are right with the world. You know, like God is happy and bunnies will cease jumping in front of cars and I won’t hit any red lights the next time I drive somewhere in a hurry. And don’t ask me to actually go into whether I think God rigged the contest — my feelings on religion are complex and unsuitable to discuss on a joyous occasion such as this.

I suppose the other reason I’m feeling happy is that I got my eyebrows waxed today. Normally, I’m a plucker — I don’t like to pay anybody to do what I can do myself. However, they were out of control. How out of control, you ask? Well, you know Sam Waterson, Jack McCoy of Law and Order? I looked like I should be related to him.

I mean, holy hell, people:

And day after tomorrow, we leave for New York! I know I haven’t really talked about it (said will much sarcasm). We’re almost packed, and you’d be impressed at how little I’m packing, considering we’ll be gone nearly a full week doing a million different things … I’d pat myself on the back, but I don’t want to re-injure my shoulder.

I had the BEST time last night.

I visited my old roommates — one who lives in Orlando and the other was in from NYC for work, and I had forgotten how much fun I have with them. Between the world’s largest pitcher of sangria, ridiculous desserts, and many bottles of wine, I laughed so much that my face hurts today. A lot. But it was totally worth it. We got just to the perfect point of drunkenness that repeating the same thing over and over gets really funny (you know, random things, like “Straight up!” as a response to EVERYTHING).

Aside from laughing to the point of causing pain (and drawing annoyed glares from fellow restaurant patrons), I just enjoyed soaking up the company of these two extraordinary women. I admire them so much, in many ways, but one thing I am continually envious of is each one’s sense of style.

I can ALWAYS count on R to wear something cute and classic — she always looks like she might have stepped straight out of a Gap ad (in a good way). And C has this incredible way of mixing classic pieces with something vintage or funky or totally original, and totally making it work. Always. Other than the scrubs …

They’ve both had this great personal style ever since I’ve known them, and it really makes me wonder when and if I’ll get some sort of signature style. Because, in all honesty, what I might wear any given day is a total crapshoot.

Granted, I’m not terribly likely to go very goth or punk (although I DO have super dark navy toenails right now, thankyouverymuch), but I might dress preppy in the morning and go with a boho feel later on and then wear something trendy to go out. And it’s all me. Or none of it’s me. Or maybe the “me” is the ugly baggy khaki shorts I wear too often because they’re soooo comfortable (and seriously unflattering — I am aware).

In order to have your own style, does it need to be categorized? Even “eclectic” has some connotation of purpose, and I don’t think I even have that …