3 things a week

Epsom salts are one of those ultra-useful things to have around the house. It’s a great exfoliator, cures constipation, and it will suck a splinter right out of your finger! So why in green hell am I getting rid of this? Because – and I’m totally serious – I’ve had this carton for nearly 8 years and it’s now a brick. If I ever sprain something, I’ll fork out $1.99 for more. Fate: the salts go down the drain, and I’m recycling the carton.

This somewhat-informative booklet on healing herbs has been slipping out of my bookshelf for years now. I finally took a look at it and, since I don’t suffer from menopause, acne, hypertension, or any of the other conditions I can treat with my spice rack, I tossed it. Fate: it’s recyclable, of course.

Dear Ikea Pasta Container: For several years, I’ve admired your modern form. I remember the day I brought you home. I gave you some linguine, and displayed you on my counter. You said, “Look at me! Food is important to us!” But we never ate the pasta. And then we had a baby and things like bottle sanitizers ate up your counter space. Sorry you’ve been living under the sink for the last year and a half. Sorry it didn’t work out. It’s not you, it’s me. Fate: the stoop giveaway.

Getting rid of useful things – a necessary evil.

I love cinnamon. It’s the key to Mexican chocolate, and you can’t make an apple pie without it. While we’re here, can we have a moment of reverence for Cinnabon? … Cinnamon is an ancient flavor, and it has long-used medicinal properties. Then Glade comes along and makes a spray that sticks in the air like skunk oil. I bet someone can use it as weed killer. Fate: the stoop giveaway.

When you have a kid, you collect multiples of the same thing. We have three thermometers, two baby nail clippers, two crib bumpers, four teddy bears … it goes on and on. At least now, we only have one soap-dispensing bottle brush. I’m getting rid of the one with a chronic leak. Fate: it’s recyclable!

This Rogue Imperial Pilsner was a great beer. Floral and malty, we polished off a few of these at the Korean restaurant down the street. Which probably explains why I decided to take one of the empties home. “Ooh,” I reasoned, “What a great bottle to make salad dressing in.” (What’s with that?) The next morning, reason prevailed. Fate: the stoop giveaway.

E is for Electricity, Eskimo, Ecuador, and the Equal Rights Amendment. It’s also the first letter of Enigma, as in “How the hell did three stray children’s encyclopedias end up in my house?”

A is for Aluminum, Anglo-Saxon, Arrowroot, and Avalanche. It’s also the first letter of Anxiety, as in “OMG, stop the muthafrickin’ ride. I have way too much crap.”

C is for Caligula, Cankerworm, the Constitution, and Coal Mine. It’s also the first letter of Christ, as in “Jesus Christ! Seriously. Who gave us these?!”

The kid will just have to learn about Alaska, Coral, and Thomas Edison from other sources.

I once thought these crunchy red boots were cute. Five minutes later, I was over it. As much as I love the outdoors and can tolerate its discomforts just fine, I don’t want to go around looking like I’m auditioning to be in an LL Bean catalog. Plus, what little grace I have is canceled out by the clomp, clomp, clomp of those chunky heels. Fate: the Salvation Army.

This cell phone cover was a gift. I put it on my phone, and it made it look silly, which is a good way for technology to look sometimes. Fortunately, it was impossible to dial the phone through the plastic window. Sorry, cell phone pig. It’s just not meant to be. Fate: the stoop giveaway.

I love when shops hand out these cheap cloth shopping bags. I always think, “this will be great to use at the supermarket!” But I have (at last count) 5 supermarket totes, and they’re all way cuter than this one. And they don’t expose my grim shoe addiction to the world.

Failures in Accessorizing

If I tried, I could be of those people who keeps fresh flowers in their home on a regular basis. Even $3 deli daisies would be charming. I could artfully snip a stem and put a single posy in this adorable bud vase, and put the whole thing on a stylish, small end table. But who has space for end tables or time for flower arranging? Not this mama! Fate: the stoop giveaway.

I hope no tourists get their hands on this Not For Tourists guide to Brooklyn. Half the bars and restaurants mentioned here are closed now, and some of local favorites aren’t even listed. I don’t know who wrote this, but clearly they live in Manhattan. Fate: recycling!

You know what’s wrong with this vacuum-sealed sample of Irish coffee? There’s no Irish whiskey in there! It’s whiskey flavor. I’ve had boozeless beer and boozeless wine, but whiskey without the buzz? For the love of Jameson, that’s stupid! So, on behalf of my fellow Irish folk everywhere, I won’t even dirty a glass with this shite. Fate: the stoop giveaway.

Such perfect examples of things I never use.

My girl spent more time drooling on this ‘fridge magnet than enjoying its squeaky duck belly. Besides, we have (I wish I hadn’t counted) 55 other ‘fridge magnets. Fifty! Plus five! Granted most of them are small, but bless my heart, no one needs that many ‘fridge magnets. Is there a rehab (spa) for this type of thing? Fate: the stoop giveaway.

Here’s how I yo-yo. I carefully wind the string into the yo-yo. I place the loop just so on my middle finger. I get a light but firm grip on the yo-yo. I use a precise amount of force to send the yo-yo flying out of my palm. As the yo-yo freefalls to the ground, I yank furiously upward, in a vain – not to mention 30-year – attempt to bring the thing on home. I hate all yo-yos. Even cute, tiny, purple ones. Fate: the stoop giveaway.

Yet another freaky, spiky, rubber toy found its way into our home. Ain’t it cute? And the gel inside smells like green apple Jolly Ranchers! Since I lost a bet with my husband, I can officially tell you that the gel does NOT taste like candy. I gotta run; the tip of my tongue feels funny. Fate: the stoop giveaway.

Devious bastards, all of ‘em.

Strolling through Chinatown one day, I passed a guy who ripped a bright blue tarp off a table and announced, “Five bucks a purse! Five for Twenty!” Well, honey, you could have split atoms in the amount of time it took me to whip a twenty-dollar bill out of my wallet and start burrowing through his wares. Unfortunately, I have purses I forgot I owned. Purses I never use are holding other, smaller purses I never use. That’s dumb. Fate: the stoop giveaway.

Just who the hell do I think I am? There is nothing about this bag that matches my personality. Beige? Big yawn. Embroidery? Schmembroidery. Wood handles? No way to close them? Damn, I was living on the edge the day I bought this thing! At least dragonflies are cool; they eat mosquitoes. Fate: the stoop giveaway.

Fortunately, this bag has a zipper. Unfortunately, it’s rendered impotent by the fact that the slightest pressure (say, from the corner of a book) will rip the “fabric” of the bag. After I repaired two tears with packing tape, I finally gave up and stored it in another tote bag in the back of my closet. Gawd! I drive myself crazy. Fate: the stoop giveaway.

Three down, more than a dozen to go.

I used to have the coolest, dorkiest winter hat until I left it in a restaurant. Why it took me so long to replace it, I’ll never know. In the interim, my awesome mama sent me this hat. She swore it was warm. She pronounced it “cute.” But my vanity won out over my need for body heat. It makes me look like a frumpy cross between Annie Hall and Molly Ringwald, and I can’t wait to give the thing away. Fate: the stoop giveaway.

Was someone in a hurry when they designed this otherwise good-lookin’ soap dispenser? For about two years now, I’ve been frustrated because the straw that goes down into the container only goes an inch and a half down into the container. So, for two weeks, I remove the pump and pour what soap I need onto my sponge. Then I refill the dispenser and use the pump for one week. Is that stupid, or what? Fate: the stoop giveaway.

Don’t get me wrong. I know herbs are helpful and flavorful. But will misting them, exposing them to microwave radiation, and smelling them as they warm up my forehead make me more relaxed? Will this giant, sci-fi tea bag really bring me some wellness? No, people, it will not. (A good pinot noir should do the trick, though.) Fate: the stoop giveaway.

To my neighbors: Sorry this stuff is so lame.

This week, I’m getting rid of BIG things! Annoying things! Dirty, space-wasting things!

We got a new TV at Christmas, and have finally found a home for our old one. Now if only my husband would let me get rid of our VCRs (yes, plural), we’d truly be on the path to simple living. Fate: our nanny’s mother-in-law is happy to have our TV.

This tension bike rack has been holding purses, laundry, wet towels, etc. in the corner of our bedroom for nearly a year now. (No wonder I can’t lose this last seven pounds. My bike is in the basement!) And the dust bunnies in that corner? It was like Watership Down back there. Intense. Fate: a friend is going to take it.

A few weeks ago, my girl nearly plunged head first out of this thing, which is unfortunate because it used to make such a brilliant short-term babysitter. But she’s now too tall for it, it’s missing half its toys, and the Cheerio dust has formed a perma-sheen that will not wash away, no matter how many showers it gets. Fate: even though it’s a beater, our nanny swears she knows someone who wants it.

It’s that time again. Two down, untold hundreds to go … at least that’s how it seems. My husband’s computer-related junk drawer (as opposed to his general-use junk drawer) looks like a mean cyber-spaghetti, but I’m always happy to wrangle one more dead mouse out of its maw. Fate: Since the thing works just fine, it goes in the stoop giveaway.

It’s mighty tempting to hold on to every thread that ever touched my precious angel baby. But that would be insane, much the same way I once kept every paper I wrote in college and grad school. (Those got recycled when we turned the guest room into a nursery.) When it comes to her old onesies, I’m only keeping the cutest of the cute stuff … uh, promise. Fate: these go to a friend of my nanny’s.

Forget the glass bottle; I could use its contents in spritzy self-defense. Neither my husband nor I will cop to buying this $1.79 Edmundo Golden Cooking Wine (seasoned with 1.5% salt), epicures that we are. How it got in the back of our wine rack is a mystery. I hope the wine won’t corrode my kitchen drain. I tasted a tiny bit and three hours / a few shots of Listerine later, was still tasting it. Fate: I’ll recycle the grease-crusted bottle.

Two of these things are very dangerous for babies.