I've had this bin of stuff in the basement that's pretty much been there since we moved in, and before that it moved around with me through various apartments, boyfriends, getting married and finally buying the house. If I were a trust-fund baby, it would be an heirloom cedar chest filled with (use your best Katherine Hepburn voice here) "Mummy's finest linens, Grandmama's pearls and pictures of Poppy from his polo-playing days".
(back to nasal Minnesota voice)
Yeah...not so much:
Instead, I've got an overflowing plastic bin filled with odd mementos that smell like my basement.
I decided it was time to drag it up and see what exactly I have in there- turns out I packed a LOT of stuff into that thing. My high-school diploma, my card certifying that I once learned how to properly swim so that when people see me flailing wildly in a pool I can say it's just my "style" not that I "never learned", A folder full of funny cartoons and such from a very talented, artsy ex-boyfriend, Elementary school yearbooks and such & such.
Oh, and a Cabbage Patch doll:
She used to have purple glasses, but I guess I lost those. I don't even remember why I have one, as I was waaaaayyyy too old for one by the time suburban moms were clawing each others' eyes out for these things. It has an actual little diaper on, a fact which kept me awake at night more than once. I posed her with my incomplete Girl Scout sash- you will note the baggie of not-sewn-on badges, which pretty much sums up my life.
I also had a needlework project I made when I was about 7 that, I believe, proves my theory that I am psychic and knew that these would figure prominently in my future:
Oh, how I love the pink elephants. What? You don't see them? Just me?
Proof that I was once smrt:
And that I cud spele reel gud. I is awwsum.
The program from my first big concert-ever- Duran Duran (age 13), and one of my "Student of the Week" awards (how I managed to not spend the two dollar prize on liquor/candy is beyond me) from high school (I have three, but before you build the shrine for me it should be noted that I went to a very small school- repeats and "pity certificates" were inevitable):
The Polaroid taken when me & Waffle became the 10th grade badminton champs. BOO-YA!!!!!
Yes, I'm aware of how lame this is, but please note my wicked awesome sweatshirt and hair (and Waffle's glasses- nerd alert!) Just let me bask in the glory one more time:
In (if I remember correctly) 11th-grade English, we had folders that we used to turn work in, and we were encouraged to decorate them however we saw fit. I'm really surprised that, after seeing mine, that there wasn't "emergency counseling" to exorcise the demons from my soul. Oh well, it WAS the 80's and most of us WERE possessed, so I guess I see the reasoning there (feel free to read my Pulitzer Prize-winning essays- it's like looking into the mind of a tortured young genius):
"Arty" dance photos from my freshman year in college.
For some reason, these make my skin crawl. But, I still have that vintage nightgown and occasionally drag it out, light up a cigarette, pour myself a bourbon and pretend I'm an aging drama queen in 1940's Hollywood. My name is "Helene-Marie St. Soursnouse", and I can be best remembered for my Oscar-winning role as "Frenchie", the down-on-her-luck Parisian lady of the evening with a heart of gold in the 1931 epic "Where Love Feared to Tread with Angels".
Finally (for today), the books that kept me awake at night, tucked under the covers with a flashlight, for most of my pre-adolescence:
If I were ever given three wishes from a magical genie that would appear from rubbing my toilet bowl "just right", one of those wishes would totally be to have my life be like a "Choose Your Own Adventure" book. The other two would probably involve winning the lottery and magical underpants, but that's neither here nor there.
I'll dig out more later, once the musty smell subsides.
Happy Tuesday, my little adventure-seeking gud spellrs. Happy Tuesday.