Moving sucks. There’s no way around it.
But one silver lining is that you can purge and get rid of a lot of shit (if only emotional baggage was so easy).
So here I am, two weeks out from moving into a home I purchased (and renovated, which was NOT part of the plan), and I’m nesting like I’m birthing octuplets. I am not a pack rat. I’m not as bad as my OCD mother who won’t even allow toilet paper out in plain sight in her bathroom. But I hate having tons of stuff just stored in random closets. It makes my anxiety skyrocket.
When SLS (That’s Silver Lining Sobel for you novices) was over this past weekend, I forced him to go through some boxes he was storing in my garage. Our moving philosophies differ greatly. I believe you should skim off as much as you can before the move and start your new home with a scaled down version of your crap. And he’s a hoarder. I’m engaged to a hoarder.
Guys, I JUST found this out about him. He’s not bad enough to be on the show, but he has tendencies and I am trying to intervene in the most loving way possible. And by the most loving way possible, I mean I have said no to literally everything he is clinging to for dear life.
Let me paint the picture by breaking things into categories.
On my walls, you will find about a million photos of my child and some legitimate photography or art from small festivals and fairs. I realize now that I am getting married, we are going to have to share wall space and I’m not gonna lie, it makes me antsy. But marriage is about compromise right?
SLS had a handful of “art” he was lobbying to keep. I never saw what was in the frames stored in my garage because they were facing the wall (well-played, SLS). As he turned them around and pled his case one-by-one, a little piece of me died. Among the “collection” was some kind of asian-inspired scape, a chipped mirror and one Godfather poster. It would be like me hanging on to the risqué blacklight poster I had in my college dorm room of a naked man and woman cutout in bright orange facing each other on their knees and making out. It was called “Flaming Love” and the only place it is a collectible is in the garbage I threw it in when I left Broward Hall.
SLS: “Babe, they’re collectibles!”
Then he pulled out two little pieces of chatchkie wall art that can only be described as what 21-year-old Rachel would have bought for her post-college domicile. Two faux vintage signs – One said “coffee 10 cents” and had a picture of…yup, you guessed it…A steaming hot cup of coffee. It’s mate was an espresso or tea one. I can’t remember because I am trying to block it out.
SLS: “C’mon, they’re not that bad.”
You know when
people hoarders save magazines or newspapers? Like to commemorate a major historical moment or sports highlight? They’re usually piled neatly, maybe even in plastic sleeves to protect them from the elements. I totally get that.
Know what I don’t get? The fact that SLS had an entire box filled with every Sports Illustrated ever printed. Bent, folded, tattered. All of them. Fine he’s a sports fanatic, I’ll leave it alone. But in the same box were also a TON of Food & Wine Magazines.
Me: “Seriously?? What goes on?”
SLS: “I was saving them for recipes.”
Me: “So rip them out or take a pic with your iPhone like a normal person, jesus.”
Still don’t think it’s bad? Does the fact that he had random, un-newsworthy copies of the Alligator (University of Florida’s newspaper) circa 1997 change your mind?
Then I saw them and thought…no…can’t be.
Me: “Why are there a pair of Bart and Lisa Simpson dolls staring at me from that box?”
Jason: “They’re collectibles.”
Again with the collectibles. Just because you deem something a collectible doesn’t mean it should be collected.
Then SLS tried another tactic. Since the “no’s” were piling up, he created another category.
SLS: “Let’s just move this stuff and we’ll have a garage sale.” (I’m totally on to you Sobel)
Furniture, Flooring and Other Shit That Will Not See The Inside of the New House
SLS: “Want to keep my coffee table?”
Me: “No thanks”
SLS: “What’s wrong with it?”
Me: “It just doesn’t match a single thing in the house we accidentally renovated.”
SLS: “Maybe we can waterproof it and use it in the backyard.”
Me: No comment was made. Just a look and he knew it was just, “No.”
Jason is bringing two dogs into our marriage. And they are grown, house trained, mostly well-behaved except around people for the first 3 hours they meet them. And for some reason, he still has not one but both dog crates.
Me: “Why do we need dog crates? We are not getting another dog.”
SLS: “They were expensive.”
Me: “Ok, but we literally have no use for them. That’s among the pointless things to bring to the new house”
SLS: “So, we’ll sell them at the garage sale.”
And let’s not forget about the rubber flooring.
SLS: “We can put some down in the garage next to your treadmill for weights and stuff.”
Me: “Ok, maybe a small area. How many boxes are there of it?”
SLS: No comment. Just a look that said, “5”.
Toward the end, he said, “So I just want to understand. Is the only stuff allowed in the new house, your stuff?”
And I said, “Don’t be silly, we’re taking your couch.”
So, SLS is a hoarder. We will get through it and take baby steps as we slowly disarm his collection of “collectibles”. And if you’re in the market for Simpsons propaganda, dog crates or coffee art, you know who to call. I’ll make you a really good deal.
Thank god we met before he had to be cut out of his own house from a small hole in the roof.