So, I cleaned out my closets yesterday. It is considered by many, myself included, to be a blessing that I have not one, but two walk-in closets in my tiny studio apartment. So much so that I've chosen to honor this blessing by stuffing both full of clothing. And my hallway. And my couch. And my floor. And my bed.
Needless to say, the amount of clothing I own is somewhat of an issue.
The most depressing part (or...not depressing, depending on how one looks at it) is that this state of my obsession is most definitely scaled-down from the point it was two years. To prove my insanity: my wonderful mother and grandmother had to engage in what we jokingly (or not so jokingly) refer to as an *intervention*, wherein they recognized that I was indeed suffocating in the results of my shopping addiction, drove the four hours to my apartment and methodically went through my clothing piece by piece to determined what I needed, and what was simply there because I got bored and decided to go to Wet Seal. I know. Wet seal. Gross.
I have since been rehabilitated, but only to the point that most of us can be. After all, I'm only human. I still love pretty things. I still get bored with stuff that I already have. I still read magazines and lust after the treasures on the glossy pages. Plus, Target still exists. So, there's that.
This cleansing became necessary when it was determined that there was know way in the physical or theoretical universe that my stuff was ever going to be able to inhabit the same space as someone else' stuff ...unless there was some reduction in volume.
So, reduce I did. Lara kindly played the role of BFF and assisted me on this project. I think it's always easier to have someone there with you for moral support, and also to validate your decisions. I know that I always tend to talk myself into keeping things that I probably shouldn't keep while purging. This person must, of course, care about or have some sort of investment in your situation. As Lara so succinctly put it, she was "doing this for the good of yours [read: mine] and Blake's relationship." Amen.
We yanked everything out of both closets and divided it into four piles: a keep pile (laundry pile, really), a giveaway pile (all of this went to Vanessa because Amber and Lara are too tall for antyhing that would fit me), a Goodwill pile (for stuff that wouldn't fit Vaness or that she wouldn't want), and a throwaway pile (for stuff no one wants).
I kind of wish I had read this post before I embarked on this great adventure, but really when it came down to it Lara and I probably followed many of the same steps outlined. Jordan's blog is just much prettier than mine. I attempted to so something similar when I moved last July ( I move a lot, don't I?) but did not disgard nearly as much. Probably because I was by myself, and I convinced myself that I really needed a vast menagerie of bargain shirts from Charlotte Russe that were both ugly and cheap-looking. Seriously, what is with the origins of my former wardrobe being from stores meant for 16 year-olds? Ridiculous. I have plenty of beautiful clothing from Express and Nordstrom and Bloomingdales, and even some things from London and Paris and Italy and Spain . Yet I still waste my time, space, and money on nastiness that is worthy of little more than dishraggery.
So, all those went bye-bye. Along with a few of the aforementioned "nice" pieces that I don't wear anymore, or were in disrepair. I also decided to put some of my older but well-loved things in storage. Like t-shirts from high school and college that I don't necessarily want to wear but also can't bear to throw out. This, Lara allowed me to get away with. She did not, however, allow me to get away with things like "but it's really cute" or "it might come back in style." She was a complete closet czar, if you will. She once again spouted a nugget of wisdom while justifying herself in saying, "Molly we are TOO OLD for embellished denim mini-skirts." Point taken.
In the end, I gave five bags of clothes to Vanessa, two to Goodwill, three to storage, and one to the trash. I even got ambitious and went through my shoes, purses, and jewelry too.
I must admit that although it was hard to let go of things in the moment, I don't miss anything that went into those garbage bags yesterday (yes, garbage bags. Ghetto, I know). Life feels...ligther, somehow. And everything the I ended up keeping I genuinely like.
Isn't it funny how *stuff* can evoke such strong emotions in us? After all, it's only fleeting. It comes and goes so quickly when compared to the broad spectrum of life. I'm not trying to preach; I am a member of the *Stuff* Makes Me Happy Club. It just feels must better and much more rewarding to get that feeling from a smaller number of things.
Plus, this means I'll have more room for new stuff.
Seriously. Life is expensive these days. Rather, MY life is expensive. I'm trying to be cheap. I really am. It's just...not possible.
I mean, I don't consider myself to be high-maintenance in any way, shape, or form (Blake might disagree with that statement, but whatever. I cook him dinner three to four nights a week so if he's complaining, he's not doing it loudly). Except for the fact that I flatly refuse to dine at buffets (Lara and Amber did come close to getting me in the doors of one last weekend but thankfully the plans fell through...whew, dodged a bullet) or shop at Wal-Mart. But both of those are based strictly on moral and/or hygienic reasoning. Not because I'm trying to be difficult. My problem is not the degree to which I need to be maintained, but the degree to which my imagination functions. Meaning, once I decide on something in my head the chances of my being wholly satisfied with something other than my originally planned idea are...well, non-existent.
Case in point: bedspreads.
My last post (no, I'm not posting a link. Stop being lazy and scroll down) was in regards to a quilt set that I spied while suffering through the romantic comedy nightmare that was and is "He's Just Not That Into You."
**Okay, maybe the movie itself wasn't all that horrifying...I'm just bitter that people who are that good-looking are expected to be believable when they sit around in their fabulously over-priced clothing in their $5000 a month apartments and bitch about how their relationships suck. I'm sorry, but no.
I looove that bedspread. I am actually embarrassed to admit how much time I have wasted while scouring the interwebs for its likeness. To no avail. I want it. I need it. But it is nowhere to be found. And, in truth, probably only exists in that very film because it was probably specially made by some fantastic couture designer as a favor to the set-stylist, considering that most in the profession do not simply run out to Bed, Bath and Beyond and fetch any old bedspread for a multi-million dollar movie. No no. Because then how on earth would they ever torture people like me?People who will never be fully satisfied with the state of their bedclothes unless it involves that very article of bedding?People who find perfectly acceptable (and probably cheaper) replacements are Target, but still can't get the magical concept of this ethereal, unattainable comforter out of their stupid heads, and will therefore never really *like* said replacement. You see what I mean? I'm losing my mind. Over a BEDSPREAD. The hell?
Which brings me to my next point: couches.
Blake and I had a discussion about couches tonight. Why? Well...that part is not important right now. My guess is that the reason will probably be apparent by the time you're done reading this post, but I also have a feeling that my mother would be reallysuperpissed if I wrote about it on here and didn't officially tell her first. Even though I kind of already did. But whatever. Okay. So, couches. My current couch is, in a word, unacceptable.I t's older than I am. Seriously. There are pictures of me as an infant on this couch. It's comfortable and has a large amount of sentimental value, but as far as furniture goes, it's number is totally up. Blake's couch is newer, a good size, and comfortable. The only real flaw is that the cushions are not attached to the sofa itself, so the slide out when you sit down and you have to keep readjusting them, which is annoying. Oh, and it's also red and green plaid. So, there's that. Basically, in a few months I want a new couch. Simple enough, right? No, not really. Not if you're us. Because I want a neutral color. Blake wants something "bold" (his words, not mine- hence parentheticals)So, I engaged a compromise:Purple. That's right. If I can't have the awesome bedding that I want, I will at least have a purple couch. To which he responded:"Whatever, I don't really care right now."But I do. Because my crazy imagination (the one that won't allow me to let go of ideas to the point the it threatens my emotional well-being) was already taking the concept of a purple couch and running with it. To the point where I have throw-pillows and lamps picked out. Not to mention wall decor. I'm not even kidding. So, what did I do when I got to work tonight? Why, Googled "purple couches", of course. And this is what greeted me. It is amazing. It is perfect. And I want it. Except for one minor detail. I don't have $1900. Not to spend on a couch.
So, to Craigslist I did go. And once again searched the magice words. In Springfield AND Peoria AND Chicago AND Bloomington-Normal. I found a couple. But they looked gross. And probably smelled like dog. Maybe my mom will buy me a new one...Or maybe I'll just have to put up with seating arrangements that look like they belong under Christmas trees. And my brain will be unsatisified because it will be forever fixated on the idea of a purple couch. And I'll get all depresssed and eat lots of ice cream.And it will be all YOUR fault, Economy.
You could buy me this bedspread.* Or, at least find out who makes it? Because I'm not having any luck. Someone needs to invent a search engine where you just upload pictures of things and it tells you what they are or who makes them.** And stuff like that. Other than bedding, I'm not very interesting today.
*Bradley Cooper optional, but appreciated. **Do you hear me, Jordan from Status King? That's your next project.
The other day, I lost a huge personal battle. I've already given in to the temptations of gaucho pants, gigantic earrings, and unnecessarily large amounts of bronzer. Does it really matter if I give in to one more supposedly and inexplicably trendy thing that goes against all my morals and cultural expectations? Probably not. Except that this time, I joined Twitter.
Have you heard of Twitter? Of course you have. Unless you've been living in a cave in the Mojave or you're my grandma or something. But just in case you have (or you are my grandma), I will explain. One of the greatest and most wonderful things about Facebook is that it provides a place for users to put "statuses"and update them as they see fit.
Porejemplo: Molly is... eating lunch. Molly is... taking a nap. Molly is... rotting in a gutter somewhere. Molly is... angry because Heroes is starting to suck more and more each time she watches it but she can't stop because it used to be so good and she's secretly hoping that the next episode will blow her mind and all will be right with the world again. But it doesn't, and it's not. She just gets disappointed. Every. Single. Time.
See? Fun, right?
This glorious little function is generally agreed upon by the ever-expanding population of Facebook to be the most desirable part of the whole "FB" (that's what we seasoned veterans call it...FB) experience. This is perhaps because people, myself included, are nosey. We're also a self-indulgent generation. If it's not worth putting on the internets to make our peers jealous and for the rest of the world to see how obviously amazing we are, then it's simply not worth doing. This very blog might, in fact, be considered exhibit A to my argument. But really...is the issue even foggy enough to warrant an argument? I digress.
The statuses on Facebook are the best part. Everyone knows that. Except the only problem is that you have to deal with all the other crap that Facebook spews forth from it's ever-widening gaping void of creative programming. Send your BFF'sbumper stickers! Virtual bumper stickers! With pithy sayings! Even though they all live in different states! Just by clicking a button! Isn't technology FUN?!
I've often found myself pining, like so many of us no doubt do, for a land where statuses can be and are posted unencumbered by requests for offensive buttons on a fake bulletin board and electronically simulated gardens. Because there's no way any of the aforementioned things could ever exist outside of cyberspace. Especially with, like, wood and grass and stuff. If only someone would have the innovation to create such a magical place and save us all from the horrific fate of having to sift through 97 requests to have a theoreticaldaiquiri via a computerized social-networking site with people you haven't spoken to since high school graduation. If only such a world existed. If only...
Twitter is nothing but status updates. All the time. With none of that other "applications" BS. It's pretty much the coolest thing in the history of ever.
You can also put an RSS on your Blogger template so that the people who visit your blog (all three and half of them) can see what you're up to, even if they don't have Twitter accounts. Now my mother knows when I'm watching re-runs of "Friends" and eating Thin Mints instead of doing stuff she asks me to do, like proof a design or get a degree. It's just like living at home, except without the free food and rent.
And...AND! You can follow all sorts of famous people on Twitter. Unlike Facebook, people don't have to accept your friendship request to see your profile. So, you can poke around in peoples lives with complete confidence and total anonymity. Like right now? I know that Ryan Seacrest has to pick out a suit for this weeks Idol taping, Dr. Drew just got back from Chicago, and Jimmy Fallon did NOT use audience plants for some segment on his show (PS- did you know Jimmy Fallon took over the Late Show? Maybe I'm the one who's been living in a cave in the desert).
All hail Twitter.
I can now poke my nose not only into the lives of people I actually know, but into the lives of complete and total strangers who also happen to be on TV. And it's addictive.
Didn't they used to arrest people for this?
Yes, yes they did. I believe the term used most often in restraining orders is "stalking."
Now it's perfectly legal. My prayers have been answered.
Me: What should I make for dinner? Blake: I don't know. Me: I don't really feel like cooking. Blake: I'll just fix a sandwich. Me: And I could eat that leftover pasta from the other night. Blake: Well, we've got all those extra noodles that are already made. We could get creative. Me: There's sauce in the pantry! And I've got that zucchini and that eggplant and some broccoli that I could make, too! Blake:....I think I'll just fix a sandwich. Me: Yeah. I'll probably eat the leftover pasta.
I really love your warm weather. Really. Days like today put me in good moods and make me hopeful that the months in which you will take up permanent residence here in the Midwest are just around the corner. However. This whole allergy thing? Killing me. Dry eyes, runny nose, sneezing, coughing...do I sound like a NyQuil commercial yet? What are you trying to do to me, Spring. Do you not want me to enjoy your sunny, mild days with the wind in my hair and flip-flops on my feet? Seriously. This totally sucks. As such, I'm submitting an official request: The cessation of any and all assassination attempts henceforth would be greatly appreciated. Have a wonderful evening and a pleasant tomorrow.
On Friday. I slept in until 9 am. Cuddled with the cats and got phone calls from my familiglia, including my brother who never remembers anything but remembered my birthday. I was impressed. Went to lunch with Ree Ree at Incredibly Delicious, where we dined on salad and sammiches (she had chicken salad, I had goat cheese and sundried tomato...yummmmm) and iced tea. We topped it off with the most delicious red velvet cake I've ever had. No, really. And then we decided that we needed to bring treats home for our favorite boys. Plus a loaf of bread. And maybe a roll for the road....and another treat for later. I recieved a lovely package in the mail from my equally lovely sister. She made a sweet card with pictures of the two of us as little girls and sent a beautiful children's book called "Sisters." It might have made me cry just a little. Lara, Amber, and Vanessa and I had dinner at Ginger. We ate too much sushi and noodles. But that's okay. We trapsed around Springfield for the obligatory free birthday drinks that seem to be tradition 'round these parts (except Two Brothers now makes you pay for them...what is that?) and laughed way too much at all the trashy people. That's what we do for fun, mostly. On Saturday, I ate a cream puff for breakfast. And did some laundry. And took a nap on the couch. With the cats. When Blake got home from work, he gave me my birthday gifts: Scene It! for the X-Box (!!!!) and two beautiful framed prints which he did not create, but after I hang them up and people start asking, I will tell them that he did. He's pretty talented, my boyfriend. Then Chris suprised us all and came for a visit. He and Blake and Amber and Vanessa and I went to dinner at Xochi for margaritas and burritos. I did a shot of tequila, as instructed by our favorite waiter, Aurelio. Halfway through the dinner, Gabe appeared out of thin air. Direct from Macomb. After dinner we retired to an evening of Rock Band, Apples-to-Apples, and You Tube videos. Amber and I ate a whole pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream. She and the boys spent the night. The next morning while the boys slept, the two of us drove to her house in Auburn, and then back again to have brunch with out three groggy male companions. Then it was showers and off to Raymond (for me, at least) to have dinner with Lara's wonderful family and their vast assortment of exotic cheeses. On our way back, we picked up Amber and arrived back in town to find the boys, plus Bryan, laying on the living room floor. Clearley exhausted from an arduous day of playing video games. We rounded out the weekend with Ricky Gervais.
I ate way too much. I drank a whole lot more than I usually do. I slept in. I didn't accomplish much of anything at all.
But that's okay.
Because I had a lovely birthday. And I got to spend it with my wonderful friends. Together in the same location. For once. And I got to talk to my awesome family.