Oh if my floor could talk. In attempts to look for my printer cord so I can print out my Christmas trade recipes, I have unleashed yet another moving box's contents all over my floor.
There's nail polish, crayons, gift bows, burn cream from my coffee-meets-toes accident at Starbucks a year and a half ago, a Shane Co pearl necklace from my boyfriend three Christmases ago, my movie stubs to July's Horrible Bosses and Page One, a few Vons gift cards half spent, a flyer of how to get published, a white watch I only wear to interviews, brown UGG boots with the right boot more worn-in on the inside lining, a Jack Johnson cd, 6 contact lenses, 1 Splenda, 3 vanilla tea candles, 2 eyeliner pencils, and 1 ASU Alumni pin I'll never wear. Oh, and a small lit Christmas tree to the left of things.
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