Scrapbooking is like Syphilis ...

... it's contagious.

Couple of years ago I found myself at a Stampington event over at The Art Bar in Santa Ana that Angela Cartwright had clued Mom in about. Angela is a huge 24 fan, and I saw this as my opportunity to talk to a fellow worshiper regarding the season finale of The Jack Bauer Power Hour.

"...and now Jack is on a slow boat to China..."

I have always been about the No Tea Cozies Without Irony versus images of Sickly Nineteenth-Century Children with Wings + Party Hats; therefore, aside from Angela's artwork, I was apprehensive about attending the magazine's affair. I spent most of the 15-mile car ride from the Village of Corona del Mar to the Santa Ana Artists Village wishing I had brought along extra Xanax.

"There's going to be an artist there I think you'll like -- her art is like girly street graffiti." Mom said, with an uneasiness in her voice.

I looked over at Mom, who wouldn't make eye-contact with me.

"And, um, two, two seest, er, sisters. Twoscrapbookingsisters."

We were at a red light, less than a mile from The Art Bar. I tried bolting from the car; however, Mom anticipated my reaction, and had engaged the child-safety lock.

I turned to My Mother, furious. "The only Mafia I'm down with are the Mexican and Italian ones -- Never the Scrapbooking Mafia!"

I twisted around to face Marissa, who was in the backseat. "Listen to me very carefully: do not make eye-contact with 'em! Scrapbookers try to seduce you with their prepackaged personalities and perfectly rounded paper corners!"

Marissa stared back wide-eyed. Most people are scared about the Santa Ana street gangs, but we were going into the more dangerous territory of Scrapbookers.

I returned my attention to My Mother -- "Are we in agreement?"

"We don't need to talk to them."


Not long after arriving at The Art Bar, I became separated from My Mother. I was alone, with My Kid, hiding behind a rack of clip art books, when a Cute Burst Of Energy with a Bob Haircut came bouncing down the steps leading up to the art studio.

"Hi!" Said the Cute Burst of Energy with a Bob Haircut + a Bright Smile. And away she went -- and for a moment, I swore there were animated talking woodland critters following at her feet.

I, along with Marissa, were spellbound for a moment. Then all at once --

"Aw! She was so cute!"
"And adorable!"
"And friendly!"
"And genuine!"
"I wonder if she works here?"
"I think her T-shirt read 'I AM ARTBAR.'
"Do you think we imagined her? Like a mini-mass hallucination?"
"Let's try to get her to talk to us again!"

We stepped into the studio and immediately scoped out the members of the Scrapbooking Mafia.

"Oh No Oh No Oh No Oh No Oh No!" I felt my heart sinking.

"What? There's more than two?!"
"No, but The Short Burst of Energy is one of 'em! Boy, that was a close call! And she is smiling at us again, as if we're Best Friends Forever now!"

We didn't ignore Traci Bautista. The camera did a good job at avoiding one Sister and three-quarters of the Other Sister.

My Mother eventually reappeared (She had been in the basement. Long story, but it ended with her winning a juried art competition and being published!). We spent the rest of the afternoon and evening feeling smug at how we were side-stepping the Streetwalking Scrapbooking Sisters - and thereby, ensuring our survival.

A little over a year ago, I came across a blog. I could not believe another human being could think almost exactly the same way I thought (some of which I'm sure is illegal in some states)! I had found my new B.F.F. -- and then I looked at her picture...

"MOTHER!!!!"

Somewhere in the house, a grown woman was whimpering.

"MOTHER, YOU TOLD ME SHE WAS A SCRAPBOOKER! I COULD'VE CHILLED WITH MY BEST FRIEND FOREVER FOR HOURS, BUT YOU TOLD ME SHE WAS A SCRAPBOOKER -- AND I DIDN'T WANT TO CATCH IT!"

"Oh, you mean Linda Woods? Yeah, I've been reading her blog -- she's not your stereotypical scrapbooker."


I suppose the lesson has been to not judge a scrapbook by its cover; unless it looks like scrap-crap.

As for my feelings on Somerset Magazine: I know many cool peeps who have been published in their magazines. And speaking of their plethora of publications, it's just a matter-of-time before there is a Somerset Monopoly board game -- the tokens can be made of polymer clay and be of such things as scissors, glue stick, and X-acto knife.

*ArtBar photographs courtesy of Mom - who needs a new blog, considering we no longer live in The Blue Cottage... although, "Two-Story Townhouse" doesn't quite roll off the tongue the same way.