Days till Old Age: 36
It's amazing just how much shit one can accumulate in as little as twenty-two years. This past weekend I went home to Boston to tackle the epic duty of cleaning out my childhood bedroom, and let me tell you - it was no easy task. And this was already after my bed, desk, and bookcase had been taken out of the room.
It was easier emotionally than I had expected, at least. To say that I'm a sentimental pack rat is quite a shocking understatement, so I fully expected to be sobbing over each beanie baby, troll, and barbie doll that had to take the final journey in the great black Hefty bag. However, after spending an hour floundering among massive piles of late 80's paraphernalia, I found it getting easier and easier to junk the majority of it. As fun as Polly Pockets were when I was 8, a mountain of them quickly lost their appeal.
It's amazing just how much shit one can accumulate in as little as twenty-two years. This past weekend I went home to Boston to tackle the epic duty of cleaning out my childhood bedroom, and let me tell you - it was no easy task. And this was already after my bed, desk, and bookcase had been taken out of the room.
It was easier emotionally than I had expected, at least. To say that I'm a sentimental pack rat is quite a shocking understatement, so I fully expected to be sobbing over each beanie baby, troll, and barbie doll that had to take the final journey in the great black Hefty bag. However, after spending an hour floundering among massive piles of late 80's paraphernalia, I found it getting easier and easier to junk the majority of it. As fun as Polly Pockets were when I was 8, a mountain of them quickly lost their appeal.
I'm not sure what's more terrifying; the fact that this girl collected all these trolls, or the fact that this girl is, well, this girl
I ended up saving three large bins: a memory box (full of pictures, notes, and other little trinkets), a trophy box (with my sports trophies and academic trophies - yeah, I was cool like that), and a random crap box, full of odds and ends like a stuffed "puffalumpagus" (your guess is as good as mine) and other things that my mother and I agreed would be a good idea to keep. Everything else got the old heave ho'.
It also probably helped that my mom and I kept drinking Nutty Irishmen (think coffee, Bailey's, and Kahlua) so not only was I manic, I was in a fabulous mood and was all too happy to throw everything away. My mother is a genius.
Saturday night we went to Tosca on Hingham Harbor to celebrate my mother's birthday. She turned 52, but because she's been blessed with the genes I somehow missed, she looks about 40. Anyway, we tossed back a fair number of martini's (I was drinking appletinis because I'm a pussy - my mother was knocking back Kettle Ones) and made my brother jealous of the fact that he has two more years before he's 21.
This was the first time I've really seen my mother a few sheets to the wind, since the infamous La Dalat incident of '04 (which involved my then-boyfriend, the imbibing of too much saki, a scandalous fortune cookie, and [several] gleeful comments about how I would be getting laid that night. I love you, mom.)
On Sunday, we hit up Linens 'n Things for storage containers, and gleefully broke our diets over bacon cheeseburgers at The 99. While that's a far cry from gourmet food, it's a tradition my mum and I have, and I have to admit I love gossiping over frozen margaritas and shockingly calorie-full burgers. Nothing says "fun bonding" like "grease and clogged arteries."
Anyhow, the weekend was lovely, and I had a fabulous time with my family. It was over far too soon - and I am not happy to be back at work - but at least I had the long weekend to enjoy. Now if only I could justify having coffee drinks at work...
Oh, and I'm having surgery on April 21st. I fully expect boxes of chocolates and vats of wine. Thanks guys!
Just Kidding! I talked to my doctor and I'm having surgery March 31st. So chop chop, kids.
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