Multiples

If I like something, I prefer to like it a lot, over and over again, oh, oh, oh.
But multiples aren't just for orgasms anymore!
While Jason recovers from a mysterious case of carpal tunnel syndrome, I have found myself hoarding things all around the house. Books, movies, shoes...these do not count. Everyone has a zillion of those.

These are my journals, but only the active ones. I have lots of others that are already filled, so I put them away in "storage" , which means I don't know which mouldy box in which dark, no doubt spidery corner, they are currently hidden. And I'm probably not so much "storing" them as allowing them to die slow deaths due to mildew and neglect. But despite the fact that I'll probably never have the urge to reread any of my journals, I keep filling them up as if I will. The pink one is where I write down my thoughts for the day, the big one is a Guided Journal, which was a gift, and seems an oxymoron to me, the paisley-ish one on the bottom chronicles my travels, and the others are filled with poetry and short prose that will never see the light of day (the blue floral one is my oldest, circa 1994). Every single one of them will be burned upon my death.

This, I am afraid, is concrete proof of my lameness. Actually, it's more Jason's lameness than my lameness, although I might be even lamer for going along with it.
Jason likes these games because finally he has someone to play with. He grew up an only child, so because he had none, board games took on this mythical status in his solitary brain. When we first moved in together, we had one clock radio, one dented saucepan, and 2 pillows. Jason's first purchase was Monopoly. I have hated it ever since.

This is my work uniform.
I spend most of my life in pajama bottoms, and they seem to multiply in the drawer. I think I have about a dozen pairs in this picture, which is just the tip of the iceberg. I have lots of holiday-themed bottoms as well, but I always put them away with the decorations because otherwise I'd never get the drawers closed.
I also have a vast array of sleeping boxers, and pajama capris. The blue stripes and pink polka dots in the middle are my absolute favourites because the fabric is so light. I have a lot of bottoms, but no tops. Jason doesn't think tops are necessary, but when I'm trying to work, I sometimes put on a cami or a sports bra because I still haven't learned to type with my tits, but they sure do get in the way.



Ah, recipes. Recipes are like my porno. I get all tingly just thinking about them. I'm not a cookbook kind of girl though, I prefer to get right to the point. If someone gives me a cookbook, I flip through, find anything worth making, copy out the essentials, and then toss (well, donate) the book. The only book I've ever held onto is my Cake Bible, mostly because it really is like a bible to me, and a little because I can't believe Jason spent so much money on it.
To house my many recipes, I have 3 different boxes at the moment (the black is for dessert, the purple is for side dishes and appetizers, and the hand-painted one is for main courses) but am in need of a few more. But I'm just not feeling the plastic ones...who knows where the pretty boxes hide?

My elastic ball is either my secret shame or my pride and joy, and I can never quite decide which. I started it back in high school with one lone elastic wrapped around the tab from a pepsi can. There's no telling how many elastics it now comprises, but the ball just barely fits in the palm of my hand anymore.
My elastic ball has strict rules for growing: I can only use elastics found in my mail, or on my veggies - broccoli and green onions are best. She grows slowly, but steadily, and every time I pick her up, I am impressed by her heft.


This is my underwear drawer. I wrote the other day that I have 37 pairs of panties, and yet, upon closer inspection, I actually have many more. There were some hiding in the laundry, some in an overnight bag, a lot more "fancy panties" in my lingerie drawer, and oddly enough, I was even wearing a pair at the time.
I didn't know I was hoarding underwear until I cleaned out my drawer, threw a bunch out, and still had a 2-month supply! I feel I should take a vow not to buy too many more pairs, but I also found a La Senza giftcard while cleaning, so I may as well not make promises to myself that I'm already planning on enjoying breaking.

One addiction I will admit to is to lipstick - or lipgloss, or lip stain, lip cream, lip topping. The only thing I don't indulge in is lip liner, because nothing makes you look like a drag queen faster. Nothing.

Finding the perfect shade is divine, and nothing makes me happier than trying to find it. My favourite hue at the moment is Sheer Pomegranate, which looks prettier on my pout than it does in the kiss. I have dozens of colours in my makeup bag, but dozens more hidden all over the house and the car so I can touch up my kisser any time I need to, and sometimes when I don't. My only regret at the moment is not having the perfect shade of red - but a girl's got to have something to live for, right?


This is my sparkle wall. This is the space is my home that never fails to make me happy. When Jason thinks I'm feeling loopy, he sends me there to take it in. I don't have enough hooks for all my jewelry, but that's not a problem since most of it is busy accessorizing - not just my neck and wrists and fingers, but also my medicine cabinet, my bookcase, the side of the sink, the windowsill in the kitchen, the console in the car, and especially the nightstand, where Jason's big man hands fumble with the tiny clasps. I think I've said before that actual jewelry - gold and diamonds - is not my thing, and that's true. I would rather splash myself with happiness and colour.
My passion causes me to go a little overboard sometimes, but if I am occasionally guilty of over-accessorizing, well...who gives a damn? I'm a sparkly girl, and I like it that way.

There it is. I've come clean. But I can't be the only hoarder in the bunch, can I? Do tell: what multiples are you responsible for?