My family moved here a year ago last May, and by mid-June I'd figured out via observation that on my block, the word Bunco is neighbor-lady code for "that once monthly evening which serves as the a) foundational undergarment of sagging maternal oomph (aka GETTING THE HECK AWAY FROM THESE CHILDREN), b) the bedrock of a
See, for us, Bunco's not just a dice-based game of chance. It's a purpose... a goal... the ultimate reward for another month survived. At least around here it is.
So as you can surely imagine it was only a matter of time before one of us desperate Bunco Ladies would devise a way to replicate the joy and
"Mel" as she calls herself, lives a few houses down from me and I am blessed to call her not only a neighbor but a friend, too. Melanie sent out an email a few weeks ago with a PDF attached. You know it's serious if there's a PDF involved. The body of Melanie's email explained her idea for "Sanity Night" eloquently, but her point can be summarized without losing much of its nuance in one sentence: Until further notice, in order to keep my head from exploding, I am locking myself in the basement on Thursday nights and you are welcome to join me but if you do please bring your own booze and chocolate. Thank you.
Wait, isn't that Bunco? I thought.
Upon opening the PDF, I discovered the true genius of Mel's little scheme and that which differentiated it from Bunco Night. On a scanned version of her personal calendar, she'd scrawled Scrapbooking in the block for each of the nights in question. Clever Melanie had devised a LEGITIMATE PURPOSE for quadrupling our monthly nights of girlie fun and (relative) abandon. Because in its ability to mystify and terrify a man into unquestioning silence, there's only one word that rivals this word "scrapbooking," -- and that's PMS (or, in the South, FTS: Fixing Ta Start). OH THE BRILLIANCE!
There's only leeeetle problem with this whole ruse, though.
I don't scrapbook.
Now before you go all "Herbie-doesn't-like-to-make-toys!" on me, allow me to explain. I don't scrapbook for many reasons, not the least of which is that I am old and senile and therefore all of my (air quote)Memories are (air quote)Creative and I don't require funky scissors or sticky gold-foil letters to make them so. But come back, because, please... I am neither an animal nor a sociopath! I DO capture my family's stories and photos in a clever, pithy, and artistic fashion! it's just that because apparently I'm unable to detach both hands from the keyboard of my laptop at the same time, I've been pressed to find a way to do so online, and I have. I maintain a little family diary electronically, thereby affording me a quick and easy way to share the fruits of my considerable labor with distant family and friends while concurrently feeding my naughty, webby little habit. I started the diary when I was 17 weeks into my pregnancy with Bean, and posted the most recent entry as late as last Friday. So please, do not judge my scraplessness. I am preserving for posterity in my own pathetically addiction-driven manner. One must learn to accept and embrace one's own limitations.
But how to make myself a part of (air quote)Scrap Night sans Scrappiness?
Well, we had the first of "Mel's Sanity Nights" last week and I'd say it was a rousing success. Cloistered in Melanie's basement, several ladies bellied up around Melanie's huge table -- piled high with more scrapbook-related gadgetry and detritus (I mean that in a nice way!) than I've ever seen in my life. Along with the chocolate and the booze. And Melanie reserved me a spot by an outlet to plug in my trusty laptop so I could blog along merrily beside them. And we all got along really well and were able to share ideas with one another relating to our chosen means of documenting family history.
"Mel's Sanity Night" works, even if you're not scrappy.
Only thing is... does anybody know how to remove acid-free photo corners and ladybug stickers from a computer screen?