Ahh, how happy I was to find the Hand*Book sketchbooks. Same size, similar cover, similar weight pages--and so much cheaper than the Moleskine, especially with the 40%-off coupons. Because Hobby Lobby carries the Hand*Books, and it does not carry Moleskine.
Need I tell you that I printed out a bunch of coupons and bought a bunch of Hand*Books? Nah, I didn't think so.
And I finished my first Moleskine on the 31st of October and began the November Hand*Book, thinking I'd compare the two and see which I wanted to use. Or finding out I like them both and want to use both. Fun. Joy. Adventure.
What I found out is: I HATE the Hand*Books. I'd had some issues with coloring the pages, since they don't lie as flat as the Moleskine pages and so are hard to color with ink pads--they kind of pucker at the stitching. But I muddled through that one and bought some smaller raised felt pads at Stamp Antonio, so I figured I could deal with that. But then. Then! When I stamped letters, I noticed they feathered. Just ever so slightly, but y'all know me: I hated it.
And then. Then! The pages started sucking the ink out of my pens. The pens--Pigma Microns--started skipping because the pages are just too absorbent. And a little rough. Grrrrrr.
You can't really tell from photos. Here's the Hand*Book:
And here's the Moleskine:
Deceptive, even in Real Life. Sneaky bastards.
So here I am, 4 days into a brand new journal, all the pages carefully colored, etc., etc., etc. And I HATE it. Whereas (whereas!) I loved the Moleskine in September and couldn't wait to sit down and play in it every chance I got, I find myself avoiding this one like an new boyfriend you've discovered has bad breath and shoulder hair, plus really bad taste in music. It's just not going to work out, and I don't know how to break up (a problem I never had with actual boyfriends). Plus I don't want to break up before the end of the month--I mean, really: we've already made plans and bought tickets. But I don't know if I can stand the pain for 26 more days--I'm not good at masochism. Maybe it'll be The Substitute: you know, the one you call on for a date to your niece's Bat Mitzvah or the neighbor's Tupperware party, where you wouldn't want to take your Real Boyfriend, lest he run screaming down the street. I could paste in some photos, make some lists, scribble a little and call it done.
(My mother always said that when I was pestering her about something I wanted/wanted to do. She'd say, "Ummm. We'll see."
It meant, "Hell, no.")