I’ve never actually finished a twelve month lease. I’ve sublet from people to avoid paperwork, I’ve bribed landlords to let me out early without damaging my credit, and I once let an apartment sit empty for the last six weeks of the rental agreement because I had somewhere else I needed to be but six weeks wasn’t worth trying to avoid paying for. There have been long stretches where I’ve bounced from hotel to couch to hotel, living out of a suitcase and my friends gently tease me about being a gypsy, technically homeless, or nomadic.
This means that my dad’s storage unit in Upstate has collected six+ years worth of my random crap. I probably would have let it sit there for another decade, but every one else in the family has taken to depositing their random crap there and the place is getting slightly overstuffed. Plus, I love my dad and spending the morning sorting stuff while he explains his theories behind the recent wave of cannibal-zombie apocalypse type goings-on is absolutely my idea of a good time.
- Multiple boxes and bags of cheap lingerie, usually in questionable taste.
- Two (working!) sewing machines.
- A rose constructed of barbed wire and chainsaw blade. A man that I briefly dated made it for me because I am allergic to flowers.
- A bright green and orange rubber purse shaped like a frog, containing one barbell from my nipple piercings.
- A red kangaroo pelt from my second trip to Australia. I told Manson I wouldn’t go back unless he found a way for me to pet Kangaroos, and he is a man of his word. Not only did I get to pet a live one, I got to take a preserved part of one home. That’s pretty much the definition of a perfect travel adventure to me. Here’s a picture of the live one ignoring me.
- A dressform named Roxie.
- A bakelite era purse containing a stack of porn convention passes and a second nipple barbell. The third and fourth ones were thrown into a parking lot on the side of a highway in New Jersey in the middle of the night a few years ago, shortly before I had sex on top of the car with the man who had been driving. I don’t remember exactly why I felt the need to crawl all the way on top of the vehicle, but I did.
- Two gorgeous custom made bodices that look like exposed flesh, which unfortunately are far too large in the bosom for me.
- Approximately three hundred books. I have no idea where the majority of my book collection has gone. After being reminded how heavy three hundred books are, I am even more grateful for the invention of the iPad.
My dad has a picture on his phone of me at 7 am wearing a Skidmore sweatshirt that’s five sizes too big, giant sunglasses, and an Elmer Fudd hat while triumphantly holding a dildo with my picture pasted on it and one of the aforementioned pieces of nipple jewelry. He claims he is keeping it to use for blackmail. Either he doesn’t realize that you guys already know I’m highly eccentric, or he was making a joke.