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I watched my first episode of Hoarders this week and had the usual response:

OMG I’m 3 days away from having an intervention! *meh!

Me, if I lived in a brown house with gross vinyl siding. And was a hoarder.

Which is so not the truth. When I moved from my cheap, huge apartment in the working class ghetto Metrowest area to my downtown 400 s/f hobbit cottage, I had to downsize A LOT.

My dad’s first words in my lil’baby house were “You can’t fart and get away from it here.” Then he and my brother walked around the house, testing his theory. (It was true)

Walking around my current apartment, trying to find things I could part with was frustrating. Between switching apartments in 2004, 2005, 2006 (twice), 2007 (twice), 2008, 2009, 2010, and 2011 a lot since moving here to O-Tizzle, I’ve had to cut down my stuff and honestly I don’t have much to give away.

True story: I absolutely love every piece of clothing I own, including all of the pieces from my favorite stores, “My Mom’s Closet” and “My Sisters’ Closets”. And the only piece of kitchen equipment that I don’t regularly use is my KitchenAid Mixer. BUT my roomie/sister did use it earlier this year to make some disgusting salmon muffins.

That was a cruel joke.

Now I’m walking around my big, half empty apartment wondering what I can pitch to take me DEFINITIVELY out of the realm of Hoarder and unfortunately, Dicky’s schtuff might just have to make that sacrifice. For the both of us.

Or I might start eating my couch cushions like that one chick on the weird addictions show. People only seem to be one or the other. Hoarder or weird addict. I think I’d rather be the addict, at least there are 12 step programs for that, right?

Artist Rendition of my Hobbit Cottage moving from The Shire to Orlando