Purging Until It Hurts

A little over a month ago, I was watching an episode of “Hoarders” with Captain Carl and I started to get all itchy. It made me think about how cluttered my house was. Those of you that have ever watched this show probably know what I’m talking about. That little pile of mail on the kitchen counter? Suddenly I envisioned it morphing into a huge pile of mail. And then I added newspapers and magazines to the pile in my mind. Then, because this is how my mind works, I threw an old banana peel and a couple pairs of underwear into the pile. And then my mind slapped myself in the face and was all “calm the fuck down!”. And I did.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about all the closets in my house, filled to the brim with…stuff. And the spare bedroom jammed full of all the projects we were going to get to “someday”. And our three car garage that we can only get one car into.

Me: I have an idea.
Captain: Uh oh.
Me: No! It’s a good idea.
Captain: *eyeing me warily* Oh-kay…
Me: Let’s do a whole house purge.
Captain: *stare*
Me: Seriously. We just have too much, you know? Let’s go room by room and clear out what we don’t need or have an attachment to and then have a garage sale.

And to my amazement, he agreed.

I decided May 14 would be our garage sale day. We started in the garage, because that was where we would need to put all the purged items from inside the house. It took us two days to sort and clean it, but by the end of the 2nd day we had a huge pile of garage sale items and enough garbage on the curb that I had to call for a special bulk pick up. We could now also park two cars in the garage. We were shocked by how much crap there was out there. It felt great to get rid of it all. Freeing.

The next weekend, we tackled the kitchen. I found a mouse pad stuck behind the crock pot. Address labels inside a vase that was behind a giant container of protein powder. When we finished, we knew where every pot and pan was located. Mixing bowls were easily accessible. The mouse pad, along with a huge amount of other things, went into the garage sale pile in the garage. And on it went from there…

Fast forward to 6am on May 14. Every single closet in my home is organized and tidy. The spare bedrooms are clean and ready for guests. I know where all the extra sheets and comforters are located. The old treadmill we used as a coat hanger is now sitting in the driveway, ready to be sold along with hundreds of other items. And by 11am that same day? Every single item was gone. Every. Single. One. And we were $257 richer.

I’m sharing this story with y’all not because it was particularly funny or entertaining. I know that is the type of stuff I usually write about here. I’m sharing it because this process has really made an impact on my life. I was really surprised at how amazing the experience has been.

Because it was hard. It was sooooo hard. I had made up my mind at the beginning that I would let go of anything we had not used in the last year or did not hold significant sentimental value or worth in some way. I knew this would be a tough rule to stick to, but I was determined. And I did it. It helped that Captain Carl jumped on my bandwagon. I watched him purge things that I knew were hard for him to see go. He had so many old computer parts that he had been hanging on to “just in case”. I found a place we could recycle them and he let everything go. Everything. How could I not do the same?

So I got rid of the cute little baskets that my sister had bought me years ago and I never used for anything. And the eight flower pots that were filled with geraniums at our wedding but were currently collecting dust in the garage. And the old piano lamp my parents bought with my piano when I was 12 years old but is really ugly so I bought a new one and stuck it in the closet.

We priced it all to sell, and boy did it. We were swarmed with buyers before we could even get everything out on the driveway. You meet interesting people when you have a garage sale. I met the grandson of the man who used to farm the land our home is now sitting on. He told me that their house used to sit in the big field behind us. I chatted with a lady who bought all three boxes of my Christmas decorations and found out she gives them to her kids, who can’t afford to buy their own. Captain Carl gave a little girl one of my beanie babies for free and I watched him smile as she hugged it. An old lady bought my Uncle Sam yard sign and told me she was going to put it on her husband’s grave. Then she asked me how much a stripper pole would cost because she wanted to buy one for her daughter. For reals. And the guy who came at the end and took whatever we had left? We gave it all to him for free because he told us he was “just trying to make ends meet” and if anyone knows how that feels, it would be us.

So now we’re purged and both the Captain and I agree that the house feels lighter and the energy is just…well, more positive. Which is something we’ve needed badly. The last two years have been rough, what with all the renters in and out and the financial struggles and stress that goes along with those things. And some of that is still there. We’re still broke as hell and we may have to take in yet another renter this summer. But now when I go into my bedroom closet, I feel like twirling because look how pretty and organized!

I don’t even miss that piano lamp. Much.

Plus, I found this during our purge.



One of four gnomes my mom painted in her ceramics class in the late 70’s. I kept them, even though they creep Captain Carl out. Because they were my mom’s and she wanted me to have them and they should be displayed in a nice place and not stuck in a box in the garage. And also I really want to creep out the Captain since he keeps hiding his lizard fishing lures in my bathroom towels. The asshole.

I’m Either The Nicest Person On The Planet, Or The Dumbest. My Vote Is For The Second One.

I don’t know what it is about me this week, but I’ve been bombarded with requests for favors. I don’t know what the hell is going on. Do I have the word “helpful” or “sucker” tattooed on my forehead? Am I too nice? Did I borrow a pen from you two years ago and now it’s payback time?

Shit!

First, I offered to pass along a friend’s resume to a department in my office. That was me just being awesome…she didn’t ask me to do it. But she got an interview the next day and got offered the job. I felt great. I did a good deed! Hooray me! Apparently my friend told everyone what I had done for her, because my email has now been flooded with resumes from not one, not two, but five other people. Five! All of them with greetings like “Hi, Natalie told me your work was hiring. Can you please get me an interview? Signed, person you have never met.”

Then it was a vendor that I used to work with at an old job. He asked me to get him a lunch meeting with my boss. He wants to get his foot in the door, which is a hard thing to do unless you know someone. I like the guy. I sympathize with him. I want him to succeed. So I said yes and got my boss to agree to lunch that day. The next day, he texts me and asks if I could maybe possibly kind of tell him what our current vendor is bidding for jobs? You know, so he could be competitive? Because he really really wants to work for us?

Umm. No. I’m not losing my job for you, dude. Except I don’t know how to say no to awkward, inappropriate requests. So instead I told him I would “try to find out”. And then never told him anything. And now he keeps texting asking me and I’m all “sorry, I’m swamped right now” and “I don’t know where to find the bids” and still he keeps texting and now I have to get up the nerve to tell him no. Because yeah, I’m not doing that.

Then it was a guy I work with. He asked me if I could please “call this number and ask for Sherry and then if she is there, ask her when the next tax assessment class is”. To which I was all “Huh?” and he was all “It’s my ex-wife and she’s psycho and I need to find out if she’s actually working where she says she is so I can get my child support.” and I was all “I don’t want to do that.” and he was all “Why not?” and I was all because I don’t want to get involved in your crazy life. But I only said that last part in my head. What came out of my mouth was “Ummm, okay.” So I called, and thank you baby Jesus, no one answered. So I told him and he was all “Try again!” and I was all “No!” and he was all “Why not?” and I was all “Because it’s weird, okay?”. And then he left me alone. For two hours. Since then, he asks every time he walks by my desk, giving me wounded puppy faces when I say no.

Then! This morning another co-worker told me about how she got so wasted last night and didn’t get home until 4am and omg she might still be a little drunk and she doesn’t remember where she parked her car. So now she has no car, no wallet and no cell phone. She followed that up by asking if she could borrow my car to run to the store “real quick”. And I said yes, because we go to lunch every Friday and we’ve sang karaoke together and how do you say no to a kind of sort of friend when she asks to borrow your car? You don't. If you are me, anyway.

So now I’m sitting at my desk, about to call and ask Shelly about tax assessment classes while texting “I still can’t find the vendor bid files, but I’ll keep looking!” and thinking about where my car might be right now and how I can’t even call to make sure everything is okay because she doesn’t have a cell phone on account of it being in her lost car somewhere in downtown Dallas.

Fuck, I’m an idiot.



Don’t forget, I’m posting today over at Sprocket Ink, the most super cool and totally awesome snarky news website ever! This afternoon I’m writing about how Mariah Carey loves her living room so much that she named one of her babies after it. If I’m lyin’ then I’m dyin’.

Nobody's Feet Are As Awesome As Mine Today

You guys.

Remember when I was the recipient of my very own shoe song? Two weeks ago my shoes were delivered to that same store. I went in to pick them up and was all "Is the shoe song lady working today?" and the girl behind the counter was all "I'm sorry?" and I was all "Yeah, the shoe song lady. You know, the one with the accent who sings and snaps her fingers?" and the girl was all "Huh?". And then she called another person up to the front so I could ask her, but she didn't know either so I spent 5 minutes saying things like "Dis ees your shoe dance" and "Try dem on" to help them remember the employee I was asking about but they still acted like they didn't know. So I did the shoe dance for them and the girl was all "Ma'am, just take your shoes and go please."

I suppose they work different shifts. Or she was a complete figment of my imagination. But probably it was the different shifts thing because the imagination thing almost never happens anymore since I stopped snorting Smarties. Anyway, I was disappointed not to see her because I was looking forward to doing the New Shoe Dance around the store with her.

But who cares because look!

Hello gorgeous.

I shoe-gasmed all over my closet the first day I wore them.

My feet have never been so happy. Before the green shoes, my feet were completely underwhelmed with my footwear choices. But then I put on the green shoes and my feet were all kicky and jaunty and refused to stay under my desk at work, so I was forced to run from cubicle to cubicle yelling "Look! Look how pretty!" while pointing at my feet.

And then I went home and was all sad face because I had to take them off and put them away until the next week. Because as much as I want to, I just can't wear green canvas wedge sandals with little flowers on the toes every single day.

But what I can do is go back and buy them in purple and white and ohmygod they have them in red now!

My feet are soooo getting lucky.

p.s. Don't forget to check me out over at Sprocket Ink. Last week I wrote about foreskin. It's pretty much as awesome as it sounds.

On The Positive Side, I Now Have A Gay 19 Year Old Boyfriend

In the past 48 hours I have done all of the following:

1. Visited my in-laws for Easter weekend.
2. Ate approximately 53 mini chocolate eggs.
3. Drank two very large top shelf margaritas on my father-in-law’s dime.
4. Ate a lot of chips and salsa while drinking said margaritas.
5. Got drunk and flirted with my son’s 19 year old gay friend while Captain Carl laughed his ass off.
6. Was reminded by my son of the time I got drunk and flirted with his other, non-gay friend by singing Prince's "Sexy Motherfucker" to him.
7. Got called a cougar by Captain Carl. Made clawing motion and sounds vaguely resembling cat noises.
8. Puked my guts out at three in the morning.
9. Refused to speak to Captain Carl after he got a speeding ticket.
10.Drove through torrential rain and hail. Promised God I would never flirt with my son's friends or be hung over on Easter again if we got home safely.
11. Got home safely. So long, younger men and margaritas. Damn it.

And that was how I celebrated the resurrection of Christ this year.

My mother would be so disappointed. So would, you know...Jesus.

p.s. The gay kid loved it.
p.p.s. So did the non-gay one. Because I'm just that awesome. Rawr.

Seems Like My Serial Killer Could Have Picked A Better Weapon

Yesterday was our 8th anniversary, but Captain Carl has been in Oklahoma all week for stupid business stuff so I totally spent the day alone. Well, I did have dinner with my sister…but after that I was by myself. You can go ahead and start feeling sorry for me now.

So I get home after dinner and I’m all feeling sorry for myself and I call the Captain and he’s all “I’m watching Dancing with the Stars.” and I’m all “What? We are apart on our anniversary and you’re watching a show you won’t ever watch with me?” and he’s all “There’s nothing else on.” and I’m all “Then you should have drove home to be with me on our anniversary.” and he’s all “But we're four hours apart and I have to work tomorrow.” and I’m all “Still. Whatever. I don’t even care.”

Not the most romantic anniversary ever. But it’s okay because he’s coming home tonight and it’s totally going to be romantic and he is totally going to rub my back for me. What? That’s romantic. He loves to do that. Especially right after a four hour drive. *shifty eyes*

So I go to bed and I’m lying there on my back and I can’t get comfortable. I decide to try sleeping on my stomach. And that’s when it happened...

My biggest fear is home invasion. I’m terrified that someone is going to get into my house and murder me. This fear is magnified by a zillion when I’m alone. I’m completely rational throughout the evening. I eat dinner, watch tv, read a book. Whatever. I’m not scared at all. And then I go to bed and blam! Petrified. I’m convinced a psycho killer has snuck into my house while I was at work and has been hiding in my closet or under my bed or in my shower the whole time I’ve been there. And now he’s waiting for me to fall asleep so he can murder me with a knife from my very own kitchen. Or with the fireplace poker from my very own fireplace. Or with the hitachi magic wand vibrator from my very own sex toy drawer. The murder weapon is always something we own. Because serial killers love irony. Apparently.

But for some reason, none of the usual fears were running through my head last night. Everything was quiet and I was in a comfortable sleeping position. Lying on stomach, one arm under the pillow…so comfy. I was almost asleep when I felt a pinch on my arm.

Ouch.

I ignore it. Until I feel it again, only more painful this time.

Damn, what is that? OMG, maybe it’s a spider!

I jump up and turn on the light. I turn my pillow over several times and find nothing. Then I just stare at my bed for awhile, waiting for the spider to come out. Nothing. I reach over and grab my glasses and when I turn back to the bed, I see it.

A june bug. Crawling across my bed towards me. Much screaming and flailing of arms. I am completely grossed out. A june bug was under my pillow.

How the fuck did it get under there??? OMG, I bet the serial killer totally put it there to distract me and he is totally creeping up behind me right now to strangle me with a wire hanger from my very own closet!

It's a testament to my crazy brain that I was able to turn one june bug into a murder weapon. Of course there wasn’t a serial killer behind me. But the june bug was still there. So I had to kill it with my sex toy catalog and then I switched pillows just in case the other one was infested with june bugs because duh, of course it was and then I laid in bed wide awake for an hour because I was all itchy and convinced that the june bug had laid eggs in my arm and now I was a host for millions of baby june bugs and OMG it’s totally going to be like that one guy that had a headache and he went to the doctor and the doctor found hundreds of maggots in his ear!

Yeah.

The serial killer thing isn’t nearly as scary as june bug larvae growing in my body.

p.s. I texted Captain Carl this morning to tell him about what happened and I was all “a june bug was under my pillow last night and it bit me.” and he was all “june bugs don’t bite.” and I was all “Then it pinched me. Or laid eggs in my arm. Whatever it did, it was gross.” and he was all “heh heh” and I was all “It was traumatic, shut up!” and he was all “Was it right side only june bugs?’ and then I died from loving him so much. That man is sooo my soul mate.

Ode To Renty

Our long time renter, Renty (I’m a genius at making up names for people), has moved out. He lived with us for almost two years. Long enough for him to feel like a permanent fixture in our home. I was beginning to think he would never move out. He’d be like our kid who drops out of college and works part-time at GameStop and spends the rest of his time in his room playing World of Warcraft and smoking weed while we ask him on a daily basis when he’s going to “make something of himself”.

I had a love/hate relationship with Renty. He didn’t know that, though. I think. I hope. Because Renty is a nice guy and the hate part of our relationship came only from me on account of how I resented the necessity of having a renter live with us. Like my very astute 19 year old son said to me a few months ago, “It wouldn’t matter if he was perfect, you would still hate him just because he’s here.” Smart boy, that one. I really hope he doesn’t drop out of college.

I stopped blogging about Renty because I got paranoid that he had discovered my blog. I wasn’t always nice when I blogged about him, so I quit when I suspected he might have caught on. Which is really too bad because there are just so many stories. But we had a good thing going with Renty, so I kept him off the blog after awhile.

And then? Renty had a blind date on New Year’s Eve. And the next day, he asked me if I wanted to see a photo of his girlfriend on his phone and I was all “You have a girlfriend?” and he was all “Yeah, the girl I went out with last night.” and I was all *blink* and he was all “Yeah, she’s a psychic.” and I was all “Excuse me?” and he was all “She has a website and everything.” and I was all Oh please please please tell me the website in my head and he was all “Here, I’ll show you.” and I was so happy that I died.

No, I won’t link the website here. I wish I could because awesome. You'll just have to trust me.

Two months later, they are engaged and moving into a new place together. And tomorrow they are getting married. I swear I’m not making this up.

So now that he’s moved out and moved on to what I am sure is going to be a wildly successful marriage, I decided that today would be a tribute of sorts to Renty. If you’ve read these posts before, enjoy a trip with me down memory lane. And if this is your first time reading them, get ready for a good laugh.

The one where Renty makes out with my cat.

The one where Renty robs the cradle.

The one with Renty and the hairball.

The one where Renty keeps it real.

The one where Renty restores my Christmas spirit.

The one with Renty and his cheeseburger.

The one where Renty buys a drum set. Kind of.

The one where Renty wins at trivia.

Oh Renty, we will miss you and your superman boxers and your joker smile. Don't forget about us now that you're a big shot married guy. Tell your psychic wife to watch her back. She messes with you, she gets me and The Claw.

I Have My Very Own Shoe Song. Whatever That Means.

I got my haircut. It’s cute and short and blah blah blah no one really cares about my hair except me. Which is fine because this post is not about my super awesome fabulous that you are totally jealous of hair. It is about shoes. And boobies.

Okay, it’s not about boobies at all. I only said that to keep hope alive for the men who read my blog and got all glassy eyed when they read the word “shoes”.

This is about one specific pair of shoes, actually. They are green and lovely and what I’ve always wanted ever since I saw them two days ago.

See, I arrived early to get my haircut and so I decided to waste some time in the cheap shoe store next door. You know the place. Rhymes with “Gayless Moo Spore”. No one likes to admit they shop there. And I totally do not shop there ever because I like classy, expensive shoes that don’t fall apart after wearing them three times.

Okay fine, half of my shoes are from this place. Whatever. Shut up. You don’t know me! You don’t know my life!

Anyway, so I go in and anyone who’s ever shopped at this place knows that no one is going to bother you while you are browsing on account of it being the Wal-Mart of shoes. Self-serve only, don’t even try to get some help because the lady who works there is only there to restock and man the cash register and so does not care about you and your bunion issues.

Except when I went in, an employee was waiting for me. She pounced like a used car salesman. She was all “Hello! Welcome! What can I help you find today? “ only she was from one of the Caribbean islands or something and had a really thick accent and I was totally confused and thought maybe I had walked into a real shoe store so I just kind of stared at her and mumbled “Oh ummm, I’m ummmm, just browsing.” and started walking away.

Well she was having none of that. No ma’am. She followed me and was all “What ees your size, ma dear?”, so I told her and she was all “Let meh show you our latest styles, eh?” and I was all “okay” and she was all pointing out stuff and I was getting kind of annoyed because seriously? all this for cheap ass shoes, lady?

And then I saw them. The green shoes. “oooooh!!” I squealed. I couldn’t help it. As soon as it was out of my mouth, I knew I was in trouble.

She was all “Oh you like dis one?” and I was all “It’s okay, I guess.” and she was all “Try dem on!” and I was all “I’m just going to look over here for awhile”. And finally she left me alone. For about 2 minutes. Long enough for me to have made me way to the back of the store.

And then I saw wild movement out of the corner of my eye.

“Look! I am dancing for you!”

Sure as shit, she was dancing. Down the aisle towards me.

“Dis ees your shoe dance! I am dancing eet for you!” *hip sway* *finger snaps*

I was so happy, y’all. Because who has this happen to them? No one, that’s who. This woman had me cornered in the back of a discount shoe store doing some kind of weird thing with her body that vaguely resembled dance moves. This just turned into my best shoe shopping experience ever.

Once she reached me, she grabbed my hand and was all “So you like de green ones, eh?” and I was all “Actually, they are a little small for me.” and she was all “I find you bigger pair.” and I was all “Ahhh, no it’s okay. Really.” and she was all “No no no, I find dem!” and I was all “I actually have to leave for a haircut soooo…” and she was all “Follow me! We dance to de front and I check de computah!”

So.

We danced to the front of the store. Naturally.

Or I should say she danced and I swung my arms back and forth in a vaguely rhythmic motion. And when she looked back at me, she was all “Dat’s right! You do de shoe dance too!” and I was all "Hells yeah I do!" and she was all "Oh, I like dis girl. She make crazy robot dance arms!"

Turns out she didn’t have a bigger size, so I left and she was all “Okay den, you come back when you ready for your next shoe dance!”. I was kind of sad that she didn’t have them, because just imagine what kind of dance she would have done if I had bought something. Such a missed opportunity.

And then I found the shoes in my size on their website and they were totally on sale and I totally had a coupon and I totally ordered them and had them shipped to the shoe dance lady’s store.

I can’t wait to pick them up. I’ve been practicing my finger snaps all week. Cutest.Cheap. Ass. Shoes. Ever.

p.s. Go read my post on Sprocket Ink this afternoon! It’s about a 4 year old who whines and cries and becomes a governor. I’m not even making this up.