Why People Probably Have a Hard Time Getting Rid of Crap

I had sat around long enough blissfully enjoying a prior-obligation-free Saturday when I decided that I'd try to tackle the five or six boxes of junk and "memories" taking up some valuable space in my hall closet.

The boxes are varying sizes, from tiny to men's shoebox size, and I went for the smallest one first, thinking I could get through quickly and be done with it.

Not so fast...

Turns out that little box was holding about 8 years worth of............ticket stubs.

Now maybe that isn't such a hard thing to get rid of, you say. I mean, I dragged over the recycling bin and had every intention of making quick work of it.

Until questions like this began popping into my head:

- Will my (hypothetical VERY future) children be pissed if I throw away a Weezer stub from the first leg of their infamous comeback tour?

- Is there ANY value that I might be tossing out with a Pointfest 10 ticket signed by two members of Goldfinger? Surely there must!

- Did I REALLY go to a Foreigner concert? WTF?!?

And so on....

I think that it's questions like these that turn people into obsessive hoarders. I consider myself pretty good at purging, and the one side of my brain says "Let it go! Out with the old, in with the new, get rid of all that old energy and make room for new memories." But the other side still says "How dare you consider getting rid of tangible proof of your formative years, no matter how minuscule! This is the fodder of social anthropologists of the future! How selfish to destroy a potential cache that might allow for a glimpse of early 21st century popular culture!"

In the end, it pretty much all wound up in the recycling. But I can't help but hold on to a small envelope with some of the standouts. What if....you know?

Next stop: 10 years worth of greeting cards, invitations, and announcements. Woo boy!

Burning Calories AND Braincells!

Since I sort of promised Gerald that I'd blog today (he mentioned that he always sings the title song when he reads my blog, and then the first song on my Pandora this morning at work was Paper Thin Walls), I was pretty relieved when I had what I felt was an entirely blog-worthy topic in mind.

As I was flipping through the junk mail after work tonight, I stared for a bit at a flier for "Sante" the new fitness club taking over the old fitness club's space in the bottom of the Chase Park Plaza. Just the name made me pretty sure I couldn't afford it, but since I hadn't been to the Y in close to 3 months I figured maybe I should be looking into other venues.

After realizing that they didn't even put the rates on their website it's going to be so damn expensive, I gave up on that idea and googled "fitness" in the STL area. I checked out a few nearby yoga/pilates studios (committing to a class is easier for me than working out on my own), but it all was pretty darn expensive (think upwards of $60/mo. for ONE class a week!).

I should explain right now that I have been PAYING my Y dues in the past three months, I just haven't gone. That's right, nearly $150 down the drain! Clearly I am an idiot. But I digress.

So after looking around some more I get the genius idea that maybe, since it is only 5:45, I should get off my bum and actually GO to my Y. So I did.

I even signed up for and paid an extra $3/week for a Monday night yoga class. So I'm in now for at least one night a week. I love a commitment like that. But let me tell you - there is one thing there now that is going to keep me heading back for more, and I'm going to be getting some serious miles out of the ellipticals now.

That's right - my Y now has LCD TVs on all the back row elliptical machines, and those TVs have your own personal headphone jack AND those TVs have CABLE.

My life is now changed because I can watch Househunters and What Will it Sell For on HGTV. I can watch the latest world dramas unfold on CNN. I can watch Rachel Ray whip up an amazing 30 Minute Meal. I can watch commercials for products I never dreamed could exist. All while sweating it out and toning my thighs.

Hallelujah!

Now, this might seem a little mundane to those of you who have TVs at home that exist in a 21st century lifestyle. But as I mentioned over at Lenger's blog, I am SO not that person. And I might not be for a while. So until then, I've got a whole new motivator to get my bum to the gym, besides it's growing girth.

I tell ya, folks, what WILL they think of next?

Lesson Learned

Tonight I learned a lesson that makes me want to hit my brain-cell losing noggin and say "duh!"

When feeling crafty, and taking advantage of the last (unseasonably warm) day of an extended weekend, consider the fact that it's still February and stay away from all fume-emitting devices. I thought I was being oh-so-motivated when I got started sanding my crappy old dorm couch in preparation for some dark walnut danish oil. The motivation led to mild discomfort when my headache started and two puffs off the inhaler didn't keep me from coughing (and yes, I wore a mask!).

My mild discomfort became slow panic when I realized that in addition to the fumes from my newly stained (and slightly enhanced) couch frame, I was smelling an odd combo of gas/lighter fluid from the direct vicinity of my oven. After confirming (maybe) that all pilot lights were lit, and throwing a hissy fit on the phone w/ both the bf and my mom, I gave up and called Laclede's emergency line.

The lady took my info, told me someone would be on the way, and left me with some half dozen warnings about how not to cause an explosion in the meantime (don't answer the phone, don't turn any switches - I flipped off the furnace before it cycled on, etc.). I got super nervous and sat in my idling but warm car on the phone while waiting for the guy.

When he arrived, I felt the need to first explain why my living room was in mild disarray and that I had been staining the couch earlier in the day - but that the fumes were coming from the oven.

He immediately knew what was wrong, and it kills me that I never thought of this: the pilot lights (on the stove/oven/and furnace) were burning off the fumes from the stain/oil. My closing the windows after the temperature dropped to the 20's didn't help.

So basically my entire apartment was filled with gross fumes and now, so I don't exacerbate the situation, I can't run the furnace (the burners going on would make it worse). He also recommended that I keep two windows open for cross ventilation all night. It's getting down to the teens tonight so I am really looking forward to sleeping in the equivalent of a wine cellar. I did remember to let all of the pipes drip though. Don't need another disaster on my hands!

Lesson learned folks - be careful of those crafty ambitions! :)

Oh the Irony...

As a follow up to my post earlier today, I'd like to share the fact that a water main break has rendered my block soggier than a half cup of special K in a gallon of milk. Not to mention the fact that I have no running water until "?" as stated by the door tag on my apartment building (and as evidenced by the jackhammering I can hear as I write this). And so I find it mildly ironic that this story was playing on the radio as I arrived home (via a lovely detour thanks to the abundance of one-way streets in the d-town). Now who out there still doesn't believe that global warming exists?

Earth Hour 2008

I emailed Mayor Slay to ask if St. Louis could sign up for this year's Earth Hour. I hope we get on board! Either way, I'm in!