Extreme Cold Weather Military Parka

Hi.

I'm going to kill you now.

The Pile

You may notice, dear readers, that my blog has a new look.  I don't know if you've heard, but I like clouds.  I think they are pretty.  (THEY MAKE ME HAPPY!  BACK OFF!)  Blogger doesn't have a 'cloud' template (weird, right?), so I made my own.  That's right; I drew those beautifully sculpted clouds all on my own and figured out how to update the HTML to display them.  *pats self on back*  And now you, too, can enjoy happy, puffy blog clouds.  You're welcome.  Please tip your blogger.

Before I tell you about the other things I am getting rid of this month, let me first apologize.  I'm sorry.  I really am.  This is a universal apology to anyone who may have given me something I am about to get rid of.  I sincerely appreciate the time and/or money you spent on <insert gift here> and I hope this won't preclude you from buying me another wonderful gift at some point in the future.  I enjoyed the time I had with <insert gift here>, but we all grow and change as people and the interests we had five or ten years ago don't necessarily hold true today.  Rest assured, I will find <insert gift here> a good home and it will be well taken care of.  

Just not by me.  I'm sorry, I love you and your hair looks great today.  New shampoo?  Whatever it is, it's really working for you.

Here we go...

Pillars of dust.

I bought these candle holders, uhhh, ten years ago?  Ten-ish?  I don't remember exactly.  I'm pretty sure I got them at Pier 1, maybe TJ Maxx, maybe somewhere else entirely.  I don't think I've put a candle on them in about, oh, nine years.  They sit on a shelf because they are made of pretty colors, but since I can't even remember the circumstances in which I bought them... goodbye, fair candle holders.  Our time together has been well spent.

No.

This coffee mug holder is made of cheap, flimsy plastic and I find that I am annoyed by it more than I get use out of it.  Fare thee well, coffee mug holder.

Mug Holder of DOOM!

I have a Marshall Island stick chart.  A Marshall Island. Stick chart.  I didn't buy it.  My uncle, Bob, gave it to my dad, who had no idea what it was; I felt that as a mapmaker I should take it off his hands since I could at least identify it.  Thought I might hang it in my office.  Thought it might be an interesting conversation piece, a quirky touch.  Silly girl.  I dug it out from underneath my couch the other day, where the only thing it had been touching was bits of dust.

What's a Marshall Island stick chart?  Marshall Island stick charts were used by dudes back in the day to navigate the ocean.  The charts represented swells and waves and shit, and how the islands (of the Marshall Islands) (stick chart) disrupted the motion of the ocean.  True story.  I read about it in a book once.  Here's my Marshall Island stick chart:

(Marshall Island stick chart)

Ok, that's not really my stick chart.  The picture I took of my Marshall Island stick chart is on another computer, so this will have to do.  I'm sure you get the idea.  Waves, swells, islands, navigation, check.

If I had a Heather Stick Chart, it would look something like this:

It makes perfect sense to me.

(stick chart)

For the Sake of Pete

I'll be honest, I haven't gotten rid of a damn thing yet.  I am a lazy procrastinator (it's a terrible combination, folks).  I do have a pile of stuff earmarked, ready for a new home.  Ten things, as a matter of fact.  I'll add something else to the pile when I get home this evening.  Man, I really need to clean my apartment.

Oh, wait!  That's a lie (not the bit about cleaning my apartment; that shit's for real).  I have officially gotten rid of one thing and it hurt my heart.  Hurt. My. Heart.

Don't ... don't just leave me here.

How tragically sad this this picture?  It looks so lonely in the hallway all ... alone.  Is it only sad to me?  Because I've formed an attachment to it?  Yeah, I can see that.  I bought that little guy when I was in the Air Force, stationed at Ramstein AB in Germany.  It was 1997ish and I was about to move off base into a little basement apartment and needed furnishings.  My friend, Renee, and I went to the Airman's Attic, which is basically Good Will for military folks, and snatched that little guy up for a song.  $15?  $20?  Definitely not more than $20.

But here's the thing, it hasn't aged well.  It's all warped and stained on top.

Meh.

And some years ago the left legs shit the bed, so I had to be very careful not to move it or wiggle it in any way or the whole damn thing would come crashing down.  I tried fixing it once.

Guess I shouldn't quit my day job.

Obviously I didn't put too much effort into it (hammering nails is hard) and I don't know why I never removed the nail, but it's been there for at least five years and wherever that table is now, I bet the nail remains.

Regardless of its rather rough appearance, I found it surprisingly difficult to put it out in the hallway (where all residents put their unwanted belongings; they just ... disappear).

(The belongings, not the residents.)

(Or maybe the residents disappear too.  I really can't say.  The hallways are pretty empty.)

It's not that I wasn't using the little guy; his drawers were crammed with random shit and I had a nice little framed picture on top of him.  But, I live in a one-bedroom apartment and spent a good chunk of time last weekend trying to make space for a new futon so I won't have to share my bed with my sister my sister will have somewhere to sleep this summer, and I realized that I didn't really need that ugly-ass table.

I emptied its drawers (mostly into the trash) and put it by the front door.  Where it sat for three hours.  I'd pick it up, start to carry it outside, only to put it right back down and reconsider my decision.  It's only a table, for Pete's sake.  (I don't think Pete really cares about my table)  But I remember when I bought it.  I remember how exciting it was moving off base.  I remember how much fun Renee and I had in Germany.  I remember all the trips we went on, all the countries we visited.  How much Sauer Apfel we drank.  I don't need the table to hang on to those fantastically happy memories, but it's inextricably tied to that time of my life and sometimes it's just god-damn-shitting hard to let go.

But I did.  I let go.  It is only a table after all.

I threw you up a lot.
A lot.