I feel like Fred Sandford

  Preparing to move is not fun at all. I know that's a redundant statement, but it's so true. Man, I have a lot of junk. It's like a mini junkyard here. I'm ready for Lamont to come strolling in. If you don't get that reference it's because you're young, so, shut it. I have ridiculous things. I found some of my baby clothes. MY baby clothes, not Viggo's. Needless to say, I've been holding onto some things for too long. I know that hoarding tends to run in my family. I really don't want to turn into one of those people you see on "Hoarders" who store their pee in their fridge or who have so much shit that dead cats are underneath their junk. I'm liberally trying to throw away things. This is hard for me. I find sentimental value in everything. But, after seeing the small space I may be moving into, it's a necessity. I threw away a bunch of old makeup and my soul now hurts. I have to say to myself "When is the last time you used this?" and decide to pitch it or not. I'm doing better than I thought I'd do. My great grandmother was a hoarder. Except she did weird things like wrap a piece of candy in a bunch of tissue and put it in her pocket. I guess that's a form of hoarding. My grandmother was very sentimental and held onto things. Definitely genetic. Cheap wine is making this a lot easier.
  The good thing is I think I'll have some extra space where I'm going. I'm probably going to pick a place I looked at the other night. It's with two grad students, both foreign. Basically, they're never home. I will have a decent sized room and I can put anything else downstairs in the living room. It's a very guy apartment. I'm cool with that. There's a washer and dryer, so that sold it for me. Oddly, the first place I looked at was in Squirrel Hill and very nice. The two girls there were besties. I could tell they were going to talk about me when I left. The place was super neat. I just felt I'd be really uncomfortable. Basically, I'd either have to become their new best friend or they'd spend they're time dissecting me. Hence, the choice to live with two men. I haven't even met them. I met they guy moving out. He was hilarious. I think one guy is Vietnamese and the other may be German. Who cares? They're not there a lot. He said he hadn't even seen the one roommate in a month. It's going to be like living with a poor Bruce Wayne. I'll probably have to shine a bat signal to get a hold of them. I'm fine with that. Adjusting to living with other people may take some time. Wait until they meet the goofass they're living with. All of a sudden these poor men are going to have pads and tampons in their bathroom. Be afraid, be very afraid.