How’s this for ironic? Last month, I zipped down to Tampa to tape a Momover segment on Daytime (airing this month; I’ll let you know when). Afterward, as I was lounging around my bestie Michelle’s St. Petersburg pad flipping through mags and jotting down useful tidbits, I came across mention of a book I thought we’d both find interesting.

“Ooh, Mich,” I said, “I think we need to get this. It’s called ‘What’s A Disorganized Person To Do?’ and it’s gonna change our lives.”

Cut to this morning, with me rummaging through my nightstand searching for this amazing tome on meditation by mindfulness guru Jon Kabat-Zinn. And what did I also find? The Disorganized Person book, of course.

In fairness to myself, I don’t know whether the above anecdote speaks more to my tendency to hoard clutter-busting and organizing books or the fact that I really just need to slow down, assess what I already own and – cliché alert – “shop my closet(s).” Just a few weeks ago, I found a massive stash of Crest Whitestrips in my bathroom cabinet, thus saving myself beaucoup bucks and a trip to Target.

Which brings me to the six-foot monster above. Faithful readers know that I refer to my beauty armoire, which takes up a sizeable chunk of real estate in the Wee Lass’s play space, as “simultaneously the most magical and scariest place on earth.”

On one hand, it contains vast treasures collected over my many years as a beauty editor and admitted skincare, bath brew and bronzing powder junkie. But on the other hand, it’s obviously a complete nightmare. And you’re not even getting the full picture here; there are bags and bins double-stacked on those shelves, along with several unfinished crafts projects and, inexplicably, a map of the Hamptons.

Clearly, it needs a major re-org. So I’ve decided to publicly declare that I will A) organize it to fare-thee-well and b) road-test and report back on its contents every Monday. I’m on a quest to “use it or lose it” in 2011, and I figure my beauty armoire is a primo place to start.