you're hiding all your hopes in 2013-2014

As we prepare for Aaron to move in next week, we’ve discussed how to accomplish that. What we need, what we need to get rid of, what to move, what to squeeze where, etc. There are also things that I’ve wanted since I moved in, but couldn’t afford to just up and buy at the time. I’d like a shelving unit for the storage closet, a shower caddy so there’s room for both of shower things, a real trash can, better use of high-level space that I can’t reach without chairs, that sort of thing.

Last night, I was restless. I cleaned everything, except for the vacuuming that Aaron had promised to do. I washed the floors, swept, laundry, dishes, bathroom, changed the sheets, everything.

At one point, I walked the empty bag of dog food and some used kitty litter to the dumpster. After Christmas, it’s now Mount Trashmore as it positively overflows to the point of having a climbable slope. It looks like a freaking volcano. Right up against the side, among the bags of used wrapping paper and PS4 boxes and assorted holiday garbage, was a durable, name-brand trash can. I poked at it. It was just fine, not even stained. A little bit of water accumulated in the bottom. The lid worked fine. There was a rubber-lined wire shower caddy in it. Nothing else. Just lying there against the slope of Mount Trashmore.

I had my keys, since I wanted to check the mail for my parents’ gift and my free hair dye coupon. (Neither arrived.) I debated it briefly, and then walked quickly back to my car, because I was not lugging that thing all the way to my third-floor apartment. It took all of two minutes to resolve the incredulous holy crap I am legitimately dumpster diving.

I drove to the dumpster, prepared my (bald lie) excuse for fishing a garbage can out of the trash should anyone question me, poured out the water, and loaded it in my backseat. I took it to my balcony, dumped out the rest of the water, texted Aaron (would you judge me if I said I got a trash can out of the dumpster), and set to work sanitizing and disinfecting while surrounded by my Christmas lights. If Clorox can kill ebola, then it can handle whatever was on that trash can. I used Clorox wipes and my more hardcore bathroom cleaner. Those things are effing spotless now.

So now I have a legitimate trash can, with a swinging lid, that holds a full bag securely. And in the bathroom, hanging from the showerhead at perfect Aaron-height, is a perfectly sufficient shower caddy for him to organize of his shower stuff. He’s quietly pleased with it. And both are very high quality! I mean, that’s a $50 trash can and a $20 shower caddy according to Google Shopping.

My previous trash can is an old wire thing that I’ve had for probably fifteen years, that has seen all sorts of terrible things, and is stained and about half the size of a garbage bag. When it fills up, the garbage bag has to sit on the floor, leaning against a wall. I covered it up with contact paper and stuck it in a corner of my room, so now I don’t have to go to the bathroom or kitchen to throw things (tissues, tampons, dryer sheets, hairballs, tangles of hair) away.

I can’t believe I’ve written this much about my little dumpster diving adventure.

Also today we had another wedding idea, as we struggle to get everything nailed down without panicking. Instead of a first dance, we’ll have our first choice of officiant ceremoniously carve the smoked pig and give us ceremonious first bites. It’s a unity hamhock.

I vented a little bit about everyone getting married at the same time and Aaron was just like, you’re being irrational, stop, the only thing that matters is our wedding and honeymoon and eff the rest. Which is why I’m marrying him. We assessed the rest of our costs and it can be afforded out of pocket or done away with entirely (it’s all small stuff and his suit rental now!), which means that the $717 we got the other night can go straight to the honeymoon. We settled on invitation post cards, which we can get for about $25 online, and those are designed and ready to print.

God is gonna make this happen, come hell or high water.

Life continues to be absolutely crazy.

But I have a clean apartment, and I did some burpees, and will do another 1000 next month, so I have a false sense of control.

Thank you, (his) Grandma. Thank you, lazy-past-self for never touching that savings account. Thank you, whoever threw out the garbage can and shower caddy. You’re all a bunch of Christmas miracles.