30 Years To Get This Color

I am never organized enough.

I believe that there are people in this world who were simply born organized. The kinds of people who not only own matching bras and panties, but who actually manage to wear them together, probably with an outfit that complements the bra and panty set.

Or like, okay -- here's an example of two people who were born organized: A friend of a friend decided to move in with her boyfriend. They were each moving from their sole apartments to a new place they would share. Once they found their new apartent, they then went to great lengths to figure out where everything they owned would go in it. Everything. I mean, they measured every drawer and cabinet. Every hallway and closet. They identified where every one of their respective possessions (the ones they were keeping) would go. And then...well...you know what they did? They packed and labeled the boxes according to where the contents would go.

Oh, but I don't just mean like, "living room" or "dining room." I mean, "Living room. Bookshelves to the left of window. Left side. Top shelf."

Every single thing they owned got put into a shelf- or corner-specific box. Unpacking was a cinch.

And that kind of organized? That you're just born with. There is no other earthly explanation. (I just have to assume that that kind of person is no fun in bed.)

Then there are people like me. People who are organized simply because we have decided to be. Kind of like how a gangly teenager who can't catch a ball to save his life might decide to spend hours in the gym on the treadmill and lifting weights instead. You know? He'll work out regularly, and probably grow to be considered "athletic" by most standards.

Just don't throw him a football.

So I decided a long time ago that I would do myself a favor and get organized. Be organized.

I do have a natural inclination to think of details (I also have a natural inclination to forget them, but shush, we'll get to that) others might miss, because I believe I have a natural ability to perceive what others are perceiving. Managing events is a lot about this -- thinking of how the attendee will feel, and planning the elements that will make her feel most comfortable.

However.

Because organization is not my natural state, I have to work hard at it. I have to be ever-vigilant, or else it will become readily apparent that I'm actually a gangly teenager. (By which I mean likely to live in complete dissaray, never knowing if, for example, I EVER owned a match for that sock, or that earring, and remember that time I accidentally left my cell phone in the refrigerator?)

Thus, over the years I have had to come up with disarray-proof ways of foiling myself.

Two rules have helped in particular:
1. Write everything down.
2. Write everything down in the same place.

The "in the same place" is key, lemme tell you. It does no good to have three (or four) separate notebooks going at work. Plus post-its. Plus electronic notes.

And yet, "in the same place" doesn't even matter if the notes themselves aren't coherent.

I posted about this a long time ago, when I found a VERY HELPFUL post-it on my desk. And it would seem that in the many months since that entry, I have gotten better.

Oh, I got good at writing things down and at keeping them all in the same place.

For the record, or those of you seeking tips:

• Work to-dos go into my little work notebook. It comes with me everywhere.
• Longer writings (like blog drafts), get saved in the "drafts" folder of my gmail account, for access anywhere with an Internet connection.
• If I have brainstorms about potentially funny stand-up bits, I write them in my journal notebook OR on the "stickies" on my computer. (For those of you who might not know, "stickies" are post-it looking things that you just write and keep on your computer's desktop. I use them for quick ideas, usually blog posts.)

But it turns out I've only just barely gotten better about writing coherent notes, especially those to myself. As today, in opening the "stickies" to see what gems of blog fodder I'd hidden away for use later --

(Because I should note that as soon as I've gone a while not blogging, I feel pressure to write something good. Oh well.)

-- and found this awesome idea:
30 years to get this color

Oh! Oh yes! THAT. THAT brilliant post. The one about THE COLOR.

Honestly, I have zero idea of what I could have possibly meant. What color? What 30 years? Did I mean me? That it's taken me 30 years to turn a certain color? And just what color would that be? I'm the same damn color I've always been, as far as I can tell.

Was someone mixing paint? Was someone changing the color of their hallway more times than I? So that it took them 30 years to get the right color?

Hair dye?

Finding the right magic marker?

Your guess is as good as mine.

And despite my best efforts, my organizationally challenged DNA strikes again.