As you read in the blog last week, I no longer live at home. I flew the coupe and burned that bitch down. Ok, I didn’t really burn it down, it still houses my cherished childhood memories, keepsakes and construction paper lion I made in Kindergarten that only has 3 pieces of mane left. Over the weekend, I went back to my old palace at the request of my old roommates. I figured it was urgent since they both called me multiple times that week asking me to come over. I should’ve known they just didn’t want me to come over for breakfast, spend quality time with me or give me a present.
I finally mustered the balls to ask what the summons was about to which my mother told me “You need to come clean the shit out of your old closet. Your father and I can do it and just put it in plastic tubs if you’re busy but we almost had a heart attack opening the door.” Not being sure what was in there, I MADE time. I didn’t understand the urgency as they now have 2 other empty rooms to fill with their shit, they couldn’t possibly be so strapped for storage that my closet needed to be cleaned out within 48 hours.
I haven’t seen the bottom of that closet in years but I was excited to see what treasures I could score. My dream of treasure quickly turned into trash as I came to the realization I am a hoarded. I always make fun of my sister for hoarding but this closet won the trophy. I have had that closet since I was a little girl and boy was it obvious. Items ranged from candy wrappers to jewelry with the mandatory loose change in the bottom. However, when I opened the closet door I immediately knew why it was such an emergency. My dad was taking over my closet with his fall wardrobe! My dad has been commenting on my clothing collection and it’s unnecessary reasoning for as long as I can remember and now this matriarch was expanding his attire overflow into my old room.
Living with 3 women must have finally rubbed off on him. I started by pulling one thing out of the closet and immediately had a jumbled avalanche in shit city. As I was picking through things I came across 3 shoeboxes full of notes I wrote my elementary bffs. Why I saved them all is beyond me as they have zero context today. Most of them started with ‘Uhhhh I’m so bored’ or ‘Sitting in Religion class…’ and ended with bratty gossip about someone in school. Oh we really were living the dream. That shoebox is exactly why I didn’t want my mom cleaning out the closet. I saved 10 years of ammunition on myself, what the fuck was I thinking?!
I finally mustered the balls to ask what the summons was about to which my mother told me “You need to come clean the shit out of your old closet. Your father and I can do it and just put it in plastic tubs if you’re busy but we almost had a heart attack opening the door.” Not being sure what was in there, I MADE time. I didn’t understand the urgency as they now have 2 other empty rooms to fill with their shit, they couldn’t possibly be so strapped for storage that my closet needed to be cleaned out within 48 hours.
I haven’t seen the bottom of that closet in years but I was excited to see what treasures I could score. My dream of treasure quickly turned into trash as I came to the realization I am a hoarded. I always make fun of my sister for hoarding but this closet won the trophy. I have had that closet since I was a little girl and boy was it obvious. Items ranged from candy wrappers to jewelry with the mandatory loose change in the bottom. However, when I opened the closet door I immediately knew why it was such an emergency. My dad was taking over my closet with his fall wardrobe! My dad has been commenting on my clothing collection and it’s unnecessary reasoning for as long as I can remember and now this matriarch was expanding his attire overflow into my old room.
Living with 3 women must have finally rubbed off on him. I started by pulling one thing out of the closet and immediately had a jumbled avalanche in shit city. As I was picking through things I came across 3 shoeboxes full of notes I wrote my elementary bffs. Why I saved them all is beyond me as they have zero context today. Most of them started with ‘Uhhhh I’m so bored’ or ‘Sitting in Religion class…’ and ended with bratty gossip about someone in school. Oh we really were living the dream. That shoebox is exactly why I didn’t want my mom cleaning out the closet. I saved 10 years of ammunition on myself, what the fuck was I thinking?!
My mom was having a joyous time going through my gems and questioning the items I deemed worthy of the ‘save’ pile. Through all the trash I did manage to find the Casey robot originally given to my sister followed by a sweet story from my mom about how the gift came into possession. Casey was originally intended for my bratty big sister. On Christmas morning, she tore through her mound of presents and never revealed the coveted Casey robot. She whined and cried and asked my parents why she didn’t get it. My parents being the awesome folks they are, succumbed to her peer pressure and felt bad. The next day they went out and bought her snotty ass the Casey robot and hid it behind the couch. They told her she must not have seen it there. I know my sister and I have no doubt she scoured every surface of that house the morning prior and knew she didn’t overlook anything. My mom said she never believed them but opened Casey anyway. She never played with him…or is Casey a girl.? She never played with IT. I guess it sat around until I graced everyone with my existence and I treasured that damn robot. It was my best friend and played the best cassette tapes. Needless to say there was no question as to Casey’s safety from the ‘pitch’ pile. When I came home from cleaning I told my sister I found Casey and her response was ‘I bet that’s worth money!’ I was so insulted…she didn’t want Casey then and she’s not getting it now. Back off beeeeetch.
Next I came across my progression of artistic displays of talent. I am a present day Graphic Designer so you’d naturally think I was a somewhat artistic child. Nope. In my first pottery class I made the alien you see here. Only it’s not an alien, it’s my self-portrait in clay. Evidently I didn’t think I saw orbital bones or a bridge in my nose when I looked in the mirror. As class progressed, so did I and pulled out some pretty MET worthy vases and pots that thoroughly impressed my mother. Along with the art, if you can call it that, I came across my Spice Girl collection. For anyone who is anyone, you know exactly who the Spice Girls are. They were my absolute mother fucking obsession. I not only had 1 set of dolls BUT 2! I don’t know why…I guess I thought they were different even though they are exactly the same. I found my Spice Girls journals, stickers, fake tats, magazines, mirror and denim rub-on decals all still in the box. Clearly rub on transfers for your jeans were the shit. I never did it though because by the time I saved my allowance enough to afford these, I didn’t want to waste them on a single pair of jeans. I was an ungodly thin child until college so jeans didn’t fit me right until high school. I had a pair of flares I basically glued to myself but to get the waist size correct, I had to buy little girls which meant I could’ve walked through a foot of water and my pants would be bone dry. Flooding was a trend and I made it my bitch