So............you like.....stuff?

I’ll tell you one thing I’m not looking forward to in preparation of this move – I’m not looking forward to the inevitable battle over Jon’s old things. If it were just a matter of de-junking, I would have eagerly started a month ago. But it’s not that easy. Throw Jon into the mix and the next thing you know, he’s threatening to cut off his right arm in exchange for that Hooter’s shot glass. It’s a mentality that, try as I might, I just can’t comprehend. Every inanimate object in the world that I have a sentimental attachment to fits into one medium-sized Tupperware container that sits on the top shelf in our closet. Every object that JON has a sentimental attachment to fills up the rest of our apartment, his parents’ basement, and MY parents’ basement. For those keeping track, that means his stuff spans two countries. Soon to be three.

And I’m not just talking about childhood keepsakes and souvenirs from his travels. I’m talking about entirely useless things that I have never known a human being to be attached to. For example. When we lived in Rexburg, he took to the notion that he had to have documentation of every single purchase he’s ever made, no matter how small. Next thing I know we’re drowning in receipts. They. Were. EVERYWHERE. Each time we grabbed a quick lunch at Wendy’s, the evidence was left to float around our apartment until he rounded it up into one of the receipt boxes he stored under the couch. Luckily he seems to have outgrown that particular phase. I’ll never forget the first time a convenience store clerk asked if we needed proof of purchase and JON TURNED IT DOWN. I fell down on the floor and had a fit of joy. Crying and laughing all at the same time. The clerk was all, “wtf?”.

So we’ve made some progress in the past few years. He actually got rid of a ninety year old Stussy T-shirt (though not before trimming off the sleeves and parading around the apartment in it) and a couple of pairs of jeans that had holes in certain crotchrial regions, pertaining to the crotch. So that’s encouraging. But I know that the second I suggest we get rid of this:



Or this:




I may not be met with enthusiasm.

We’re working on it.

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Jon’s reaction to this post [direct quote, received via email]:


“My ‘sentimental stuff’ fits into 2 hockey bags. My ‘useful garbage’ fills stadiums, and that is a scientific fact.”