I live alone in a two bedroom apartment. Both bedrooms have amply sized walk-in closets. The living room isn’t what you’d call “spacious,” but it ain’t small either. Actually– here. How ’bout I just show you around with this old video I made several living-room-rearrangements ago:
(My apologies for the bumpiness of the ride in this video. Lots of swingin’ around. I like to loop-de-loop…)
The thing about my apartment is that it’s packed. Both bedrooms, both closets, every book shelf, every bathroom drawer. There’s about twice as much stuff in it now as there was in that video. You can’t even walk into the guest room anymore there are so many piles of boxes on the floor, table, mattress… And the living room? It’s now minus the black chair and plus two large ferret cages, another book shelf, an elliptical machine, and a folding table. It’s not enough to get me on A&E’s Hoarders, but it’s enough that I’ve rounded the bend from feeling frustrated at the clutter to feeling downright annoyed for having- and continuing to buy and receive- so stinkin’ much STUFF.
After a mental perusal of the contents of my apartment, I can now say with full certainty I have enough of the following items to choke a sleuth of bears:
- Pajamas. Between the cutesy matched sets and the bulging assortment of over-sized t-shirts I’ve kept far too long, always under the guise of “I can wear this shirt to bed,” I have an entire drawer stuffed to bursting with clothing no one but Alfred ever sees. I do not need any more pajamas. Don’t anybody do me no sleepwear favors. I’m covered.
- Lipstick. Expanded to include: Lip sticks, lip glosses, lip balms, lip shines, lip stains, lip liners, lip soothers, lip smoothers, lip plumpers, lip exfoliators, and lip healers. I should really count up how many of these things I have. I think the final number would shock me. Probably almost as much as when I counted up the pairs of socks my ferret Brodie stole (95) and I was faced with the reality that I own over 100 pair.
- Socks. (See Lipstick.)
- Lotion. I have fruity smelling lotions, medicine-y smelling lotions, lotions that smell like flowers, lotions that smell like seasons, lotions that smell like baked goods, and lotions that profess to smell like nothing at all. At this rate my skin should be so soft I should be able to mold it. Wonder skin powers: Activate! Form of fist-skin molded into the shape of rabid sharks!!
- Body Spray/Perfume. I have fruity smelling sprays, medicine-y smelling sprays, sprays that smell like flowers, sprays that smell like seasons, sprays that smell like baked goods, and sprays that profess to smell like more expensive sprays from manufacturers whose commercials artfully encourage consumption, but not enough so to get me to shell out the extra cash to ensure it’s their product I’m bringing home. (Thank you, Clique. “Forget your troubles, c’mon get Snappy…”)
- Purses. The first trouble with my mound of purses (I keep them in a 1′ high, 2′ deep, 3′ wide pile on my closet floor) is that almost every single one has some happy little memory associated with it, making it difficult to justify parting with them. The second trouble is that none of them would qualify as a “nice” purse, symptomatic of my preference for quantity over quality, making it difficult to justify keeping them. The third trouble is they provide hours of entertainment for the boys as they fish out rock-hard Starbursts from pockets I thought I’d emptied the last time I used some of these purses– a few as recently as 2006…– making it difficult to even declare ownership over what has now been re-zoned as Ferretland.
- Jackets. Parkas, overcoats, spring jackets, winter jackets, raincoats, summer evening sweaters, zip-front hoodies; I got ’em all in spades. Not to mention the accompanying tubs of mismatched scarves (sets, hand-made, black, white, colorful, wool, jersey), gloves (knit, leather, suede), and hats (fashion hats, ski/skater hats, ball caps, berets).
What else, what else…
- Books. This one’s tricky because I love buying/receiving new books. But let’s face it: With as many books as I currently have it’s going to be a miracle if I can find anyone who loves me enough to help me transport them if I ever move.
- Nail Polish. I have about 30 bottles. I wear nail polish maybe– MAYBE– three times a year.
- Kitchen Equipment. If it blends, chops, sorts, tenderizes, juliennes, vaporizes, etc. chances are I don’t need it. Have you seen me in the kitchen? I make sandwiches, people. Sandwiches, and occasionally brownies from box mixes. I think I’ve used my coffee maker twice since moving into my apartment over three years ago. If you ever catch me trying to justify the purchase of a Kitchen Aid mixer just because it’s on a super sale: Drop-kick me.
- Skirts. Much like my nail polish collection, I probably own upwards of 30+ skirts. I wear one maybe– MAYBE– once every 4 months. The one I wear the most often is a knee length, loose-ish, brownish, grayish, cotton-ish Old Navy (I think) hand-me-down from Beth Werning. Beth: This is my favorite skirt ever. Thank you.
I’m sure there’s more- lots more- I could add to this list, but I’ve reached the point where continuing in this vein would cause me to become:
a) depressed at the sheer volume of useless crap overtaking my apartment
b) motivated to spend the rest of the afternoon cleaning, and I don’t wanna.
How ’bout you? What do you have just way too much of?