Well, Movecation 2010 is over, and I deem it a success for the most part. Success in that I got all my crap moved in by yesterday and technically I'm supposed to be out of the old place by today, although my roommate is taking an extra day to move, so technically I was out EARLY. Early is not generally a part of my vocabulary.
A success, despite the fact I have bruises and cuts all over my body from playing one half of the Modern Moving team that consisted of myself, the Modern Love Machine and a U-Haul. I'm surprised the gals working at the bridal gown salons the Modern Mom and I visited this week** didn't report the MLM to the police for beating me.
Speaking of the MLM, I've already learned so much about him by both spending a week moving things with him and actually sharing a house with him. I'll share all those lessons in another post.
The only reason I'd hesitate to dub Movecation a complete success is because despite having far more square feet of my own than I've ever had before and despite the MLM not having much stuff to contribute to our collective collection of stuff, there's one thing I can't seem to find enough room for: my clothes.
Boy howdy, does this house have space, but because it's 100 years old it has no closets in the bedrooms. The townhouse I lived in over a year ago had a closet so big you could have fit a twin-sized bed in and still had room for clothes. Sure, there's something that resembles a closet in the master bedroom. It has a door. And a pole running across the middle. But it can only seem to fit about a week's worth of clothes in there. There's one more of those wannabe closets in the study and nothing but the armoire I obtained for free from Modern Jay's fiancee in the guest bedroom.
I bought this house knowing this would be a problem and seeing a fairly simple way to expand this wannabe closet into something a bit more useful, but in the mean time I have to put those clothes somewhere and it drives me CRAZY that they're out in the open. Sure, I could put them in a box and under a bed or on a rack and cover them with a sheet, but in my mind there is only one place for clothes, and that's in a closet. So I spent yesterday cutting my wardrobe IN HALF. Which is something I did last year when I downsized from the townhouse closet to the smaller closet in the house I'm currently moving out of. So we're getting down to the nitty-gritty of wardrobe selection for a gal who loves to clothes shop.
I managed to talk myself into getting rid of quite a few items that I'd been hanging onto just in case I ever got shuffled back into a fancy, schmoozy, office job like the one I left behind when I moved to Knoxville three (holy crap) years ago. I'm coming to terms with the fact that I'll probably go work at Starbucks before I ever find myself back in the type of job where I can't wear jeans to work.
But still, there are a few straggling clothing items that I can't bear to part with but don't quite fit into the current closet situation. I'll spend some more time tonight trying to talk myself out of keeping a few more items before they end up on a clothes rack in the guest room. The MLM is currently occupying the pretend closet in the study.
I mentioned this on Twitter, but the Hypercolor shirt totally made it into my closet in the first cut.
**Yes, we did some wedding dress shopping. I thought I would find nothing at those stores that suited me because we all know the wedding industry caters to 22-year-old sorority girls, but lo and behold I found FIVE dresses that I would have been thrilled to wear. I eliminated two pretty quickly because of their ridiculous prices and a third because it didn't seem to fit the style of our wedding. Choosing between the last two feels as if someone has told me that I could either choose to eat pizza every day for the rest of my life or never eat pizza again. I mean, even I'd get tired of pizza but NEVER EAT PIZZA AGAIN? How could I survive?