Yesterday while eating yogurt, I damn near chipped my tooth with my fork. (Why was I using a fork to eat yogurt? Not important). Then today, Trent was heckling me as I sat on the futon with my laptop in my, well, lap (appropriately), and in my violent, body-lurching reaction to being tickled, I sent the edge of my laptop screen sailing into my front teeth, half-stunning myself with the incredible and unexpected force. I froze with a wide-eyed, electric-shock look on my face, with true, cold fear streaming through my veins, mortified at the chance that I may have broken my teeth out of my mouth. Seriously, I drilled myself in the incisors. Slowly I reached up and touched my teeth–big sigh of relief. They were still there.
Anyway, the point of the story is, there’s something wrong with me and my subpar physical abilities.
I guess at this point it’s also relevant to mention that about an hour after punching myself in the chops with my Macbook, I also fell up the stairs (yes, up) and smashed my knee with the force of a Ford F150. It bruised instantly. I have a goose egg knee. Not ideal.
Moving right along.
Trent and I are moving to Connecticut in like four days for our new roof-selling job (I’ll explain later). Therefore, I have been in a frenzy of packing and organizing this week. Packing and organizing make me want to kill myself and do anything BUT packing and organizing, so this forced me to get a lot of wedding preparations done, which I guess is good. I still have to pack and organize though, that’s the downside. I haven’t totally avoiding the packing job though. On Monday, I decided that I would rather throw most of my belongings away than have to lug them halfway across the country for the next year, so I decided to “trim the fat” off of the things I own. Unfortunately, I am a pack rat of the nastiest kind. I hold onto things “just in case” for like six years, even if it doesn’t fit, belongs buried in the ground, is broken, or has missing components.
I contemplated getting drunk before taking this task head-on, reasoning that it might make me a little more careless and able to let go of the unnecessary items in my closet/drawers, but drinking alone didn’t seem healthy or appealing at the time. I mean, it was only 9:30 in the morning. ANYway, I took a moment to get myself in “the zone,” you know, prime condition to be unattached to my personal belongings and get rid of stuff without being a stupid asshole about it. I prepared a series of questions to interrogate myself with if I found myself being iffy about certain items:
1) Have I worn this in the past six months? If not, I probably won’t touch it for the next six years. Donate pile.
2) Do I ever find myself searching for this item to wear? If not, then that means I don’t f*cking wear it. Donate pile.
3) Is this ugly? Yeah right, like I own ugly stuff.
4) Did I even know I had this item? If not, well, you get the idea.
I put my game face on and headed straight for my dresser.
I was like Mel Gibson in Braveheart–I was a warrior in the closet. I grabbed items left and right and threw them on the ground. “I’m kidding myself if I think I’ll ever wear that again,” I declared, as I triumphantly and carelessly tossed old tank tops and sweatshirts aside. After a brief 25 minutes of so, I had gotten rid of several pairs of sweat pants (the Adidas gangster type we used to wear in high school, thinking we were ballers), at least 10 shirts, three vests, two coats (I still have like 12 of these–maybe not such a victory), three swimsuits, a handful of ridiculous winter hats, a zebra scarf (don’t worry, I have another), and some tank tops I haven’t worn since literally 2007. I then moved to my underwear drawer and threw out some socks and undies, and a few bras that haven’t seen the light of day for 3+ years. I felt like a new woman afterward.
My proudest moment during this belongings-thinning-out project though, came later. Back in September, I had stored 4 or 5 sizable boxes full of random stuff from my apartment in a storage closet at our office building. Being that it was seven months since I’ve even seen those boxes, I couldn’t remember a single item inside of them. I made an executive decision to have Trent throw them away without looking inside of them. The result? Nothing. I don’t remember anything in them, so I couldn’t have missed them that much.
Ah, the life of a gypsy.
I need to come clean about something: I have a real, serious crush on Jennifer Aniston. There, I said it. Every movie she is ever in, I feel an animalistic and compelling desire to go see it, no matter how poor the ratings. She’s so cute. And her hair? Boy, her hair. Someone get her number for me.
Well, time for me to go. Until next time, ta ta.
“How many people are in your group? …..What, is that 1? 4? 6? I don’t know how many fingers you have.”