The House

On marriage and minimalism ⁹

Yesterday, I described my newfound love for minimal living and how a new book inspired me to turn my apartment upside down and eliminate half of my possessions.

The idea of minimalism is great–but it’s one thing to wax and wane poetically about owning a single bottle of shampoo–actually putting the principles of “less” into practice is another. Allow me to break down our weekend de-cluttering spree to illustrate.

Sunday, April 28 – 11:16am

I proudly declare the time has come to turn over my new minimalist leaf by announcing to Scott we will be spending the afternoon making over our living room. He rolls his eyes, suggesting we tackle our master bathroom first. Hesitantly, I agree.

11:24am

Per the book’s instructions, we empty the entire contents of our bathroom into a separate space for analysis. The shower, the floor, and every single cabinet are completely emptied onto a few blankets in our bedroom.

Confession: This is only about ten percent of the “stuff”.

11:33am

I carefully read each step of the S.T.R.E.A.M.L.I.N.E process aloud as they relate to bathrooms. Scott rolls his eyes and begs me to “Just start organizing, already!”

11:38am

I attempt to tackle step “M” (Module) of S.T.R.E.A.M.L.I.N.E. Scott explains that I’m being ridiculous — he’s been minimal for years– I should just do what he says instead of listening to some silly book!

I share that the ‘silly book’ cost ten dollars to download–I intend on getting every penny’s worth out of it. This involves following S.T.R.E.A.M.L.I.N.E to a tee.

11:42am

Scott grows disgruntled and decides to boil the shower curtain liner in bleach while I move on to step “L”. (Limits.)

12:13pm

Scott discovers the 100+ toiletry samples from various hotels that I have finally chosen to discard. He takes it upon himself to throughly clean out every single one of them so they might be recycled. I argue that the water he’s wasting cancels out the eco-friendly benefits of recycling the bottles. Unfortunately, there’s no changing his mind at this point.

12:58pm

I move on to the final step (“E” for “Everything in its place”) of S.T.R.E.A.M.L.I.N.E. Scott is still washing out miniature shampoo bottles.

1:24pm

I give the toilet, sink and counter a good scrub down before placing the few items we have decided to keep in their respective locations. I ask Scott to help me clean the shower. He explains that he will….as soon as he’s done rinsing the remaining 43 miniature shampoo bottles.

1:45pm

The bathroom is officially finished! I coax Scott to take a look…but he’s still rinsing out those darn shampoo bottles.

1:52pm

I settle in with Jolie for a quick power nap. I think I’ve earned it after all that organizing!

2:03pm

Scott enters the bedroom, and accosts me for sleeping on the job. I explain that my work is done! He argues that we’re just getting started. Apparently, we still have to tackle the guest bathroom. I roll my eyes and explain that I can’t clear out the guest bedroom until he’s done using its sink to rinse out those stupid shampoo bottles. He agrees to move to the kitchen so I might start in on the de-cluttering.

2:10pm

After much nagging, I finally drag my limp body out of bed and repeat the S.T.R.E.A.M.L.I.N.E process in our guest bathroom.

2:28pm

Much to my dismay, I discover an additional 18 miniature shampoo bottles. (Scott is delighted.)

3:26pm

Finally complete the S.T.R.E.A.M.L.I.N.E process in the guest bathroom. Scott recycles all 187 miniature shampoo bottles with more excitement than a six-year-old child on Christmas morning.

3:33pm

I attempt to crawl back into bed and finish my power nap. Scott physically removes me from our beloved mattress, explaining we still have to tackle our linen closet. I may or may not throw a mini-tantrum while trying to convey that I had only planned on tackling one area of the apartment per day.

3:45pm

Experience a breakdown when Scott forces me to get rid of a plaster mold of my teeth our dentist in Seattle used to create my custom teeth bleaching trays.

Don’t ask me what they were doing in the linen closet.

3:51pm

After a hefty debate, Scott convinces me to toss out the plaster molds and the custom bleaching trays as I only use Crest Whitestrips, anyway. While I see he has a point, I’m still not a happy camper.

3:57pm

Tension mounts as Scott insists I donate Jolie’s prison uniform (complete with hat!) to charity. “I’m sure it will make some other chihuahua really happy.” he argues.

Again…no idea what this was doing in the linen closet.

4:06pm

Scott discovers an additional 14 sample size shampoo bottles, at which point I immediately go BSC. (Bat S**** Crazy.) I dramatically run to the kitchen and make myself a tuna sandwich.

4:08pm

Scott scolds me for making the tuna sandwich…apparently we have two pounds of fresh, organic turkey meat that needed to be used up.

4:10pm

I wolf down my tuna sandwich as violently as possibly, explaining Scott can finish S.T.R.E.A.M.L.I.N.E.-ing the linen closet on his own.

4:15pm

I come to my senses and help finish the linen and entryway closet while Scott rinses out even more miniature shampoo bottles.

4:50pm

After all four spaces have been thoroughly minimized, Scott and I realize we desperately need to get out of the house. He declares he’s going to the gym for a swim. I decide to tag along (with a friend) and walk laps around the indoor track while he practices his butterfly stroke.

5:10pm

While briskly walking around the track, I give a slightly biased account of the events of the day. My friend and I both conclude that Scott is the most difficult person to live with in the entire world.

6:07pm

While driving home, I share this conclusion with Scott.

(I should probably mention that my friend is still in the backseat at this point.)

*******

I’m going to skip the next four hours for the sake of brevity. (Not to mention my dignity.) Let’s just leave at this: things got ugly, it was pretty much all my fault, and Scott is nothing short of a saint.

*****

10:21pm

We finally call it a night, and crawl into bed. Scott is the first to speak.

“You know…if you take away that almost getting divorced thing, we really got a lot done today.”

“Yeah,” I agree, “We make a pretty good team most of the time.”

“Just promise me you’re going to stop collecting those shampoo and conditioner bottles from every hotel we stay in, okay?”

“Done.” I giggle. “And I’m sorry I said you were difficult to live with. Honestly, I think we are both equally difficult in our own ways.”

“I actually think you’re a little bit worse,” he continued, “but I’m willing to let it slide if you stick to your hotel shampoo bottle promise.”

“Does this mean I get to keep Jolie’s prison uniform, after all?” I whisper.

He chose not to dignify that inquiry with a response.

(I think I’m going to take that as a ‘yes’?)

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Katrina does minimalism ⁴

You may remember my recap of the lessons I learned from Brooklyn a few weeks ago. Out of all the life changes our weekend in the city inspired, one seemed to stand out above the rest.

It was high time to clean out my closet.

Fine. Closets.

I’ve since reduced my wardrobe by half, taking items I no longer need to a local consignment shop and thrift store that helps support battered women. While I feared splicing my clothing collection in half might spawn a deep sense of regret in the weeks to come, it’s so far proved to be one of the best decisions I’ve made in a long time. Surprisingly, having fewer choices peeking out at me from behind my closet doors makes it so much easier to get dressed in the morning. Truth be told, I actually feel like I have more options than I did before. And I don’t even miss my neon, tie-dyed yoga hoodie or ridiculously impulsive cat t-shirt! (At least not yet, that is.)

In the weeks ahead, I’m hoping to cut my anthology of clothing in half once more. And for each new item I bring into my wardrobe, I’ll be donating two old items. It is my hope that this less is more approach to style will actually produce a simple, functional wardrobe, that is even more fashion-forward than my current day-to-day attire.

Because de-cluttering my closet was so refreshing, I realized I didn’t want to simply stop there. After lots of research on Amazon, I decided The Joy of Less, A Minimalist Living Guide would be the perfect companion for a total overhaul of my entire apartment.

People of the internet, this book has pretty much changed my life. (Not to mention my entire outlook on bobby pins.)

Francine’s book starts with changing your mindset about ‘stuff’ in general. She then breaks down her S.T.R.E.A.M.L.I.N.E. approach (you know I love me a good acronym) on how to de-clutter your home and your life. Finally, she does a step-by-step breakdown of how to give each and every space in your home a minimalist makeover. It’s an extremely quick read, and is filled with tons of points that are so strangely obvious, you’ll kick yourself in the shins a couple of times for not realizing them on your own. I’ve been so excited about the things I’ve learned from Francine’s book, I may have accidentally tried to convert everyone I know to a life of minimalism. I’m pretty sure my family thinks I’ve joined some sort of ‘abandon all your worldly possessions’ cult. Rest assured Mom and Dad…I still have my Tupperware bin full of false eyelashes, so it’s not that serious yet.

Still, I really am trying to turn over a new leaf, and embrace a life of…well…less. The two ideas (out of many) that have really stuck with me are as follows:

1. Stop trying to recreate outside experiences in your space

Sure, I might enjoy a relaxing day at the naked spa, but does that mean my own personal bathroom has to resemble one? I don’t need dozens of lotions, piles of scented candles and enough bath towels to sandbag the banks of the Mississippi stockpiled in my en suite. My bathroom should be simple, functional, and only contain necessities I use on a daily basis. On the days when I really need that spa-like experience, I can go to the actual spa…what a concept!

The same goes for my ice cream maker, which is currently inhabiting a ridiculous amount of space in my kitchen pantry. Why on earth do I need a ten pound ice cream maker? On those nights when I simply can’t kick my craving for some sugary, frozen dairy, why not simply go our for ice cream? It’s not as if I’m living in a place that’s lacking dairy, or something! Going out for a frozen treat will taste better than the poor-man’s ice cream I would attempt to recreate anyway, plus I won’t have a large kitchen accessory collecting dust and taking up valuable real-estate in my cabinet.

2. You don’t have to own something to enjoy it

Does one truly need an in-home treadmill, elliptical and full set of weights if they live in close proximity to an affordable gym? Does the fact that I hit the slopes every two years justify storing a large pair of skis, not to mention all of the accessories that come along with them, in my already cramped garage? Sometimes, renting simply makes more sense.

Scott and I have been trying to find the perfect home for ages. Yet we live in Minnesota — the land of 3,000 square foot houses with six bedrooms and a three-car garage. Would a mammoth house actually work for the two of us? Our current 1,200 square foot apartment is the perfect size. With two bedrooms and two bathrooms, we have plenty of room to live comfortably and even accommodate guests. In this scenario, could renting actually make us more content than owning?

This rule also applies to my…er…problem with sequined cocktail wear. During a shopping trip, I’m naturally drawn to fun, sparkly, completely impractical items. It is for this reason that the spacious closet in our spare bedroom has been taken over by my ridiculously large collection of maxi dresses, cocktail sheaths, and even a couple of evening gowns. The problem occurs when I wear my favorite new dress to an event. Photos will be taken, and shared via every social media outlet, not to mention this blog. The next time I have an event to attend, I don’t want to repeat my outfit, as I’ve already been photographed in it. Yes, I realize I just had an uber-shallow Kim Kardashian moment…but this is the way I truly feel. (And I know some of you out there share the same predicament…I’ve had conversations with you about it!)

In regards to special occasion dresses, wouldn’t it make more sense to use a service like Rent the Runway? I could still wear a fabulous new frock to all of my events, yet the cost would be half of what I’ve spent on purchasing sed dresses. Plus, I’d be keeping my guest room closet empty so that it might actually be used by…wait for it…guests! See? You can still enjoy the finer things in life without actually having to own them. Embracing minimalism doesn’t mean sacrificing fabulousness.

*****

With my trusty book in hand, I convinced Scott this weekend would be well spent tackling a few of the smaller spaces in our home. Namely, our two bathrooms and the hallway linen closet. Scott, a minimalist since I’ve known him, nearly did a backflip at such a suggestion. “Finally!” he exclaimed, “I’ve been telling you we’ve needed to do this for years.”

With my tail between my legs, I admitted Scott was right. After approximately fifteen minutes of gloating, he finally started to help me empty out every single nook and cranny in our master bathroom. The result?

You’ll just have to wait until tomorrow to see!

(In an attempt to keep my blog minimal, I’m cutting myself off at 1,200 words.)

(Fine. My fingers are actually tired of typing, and I can’t find the energy to edit the photo evidence.)

(But let’s just pretend it’s me being minimal. Cool?)

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Spring Cleaning ⁵

It’s no secret that Minnesota has experienced a hellaciously long winter. Before moving to Smalltown, I aways assumed April–the official month of Spring Break–to be 30 warm days of sunshine, flowers and pastel accessories.

Then I experienced April in ‘Sota — a desolate span of weeks marked by below freezing temperatures, significant snow accumulation, and loads of those obnoxious Canadian Geese.

And I’ve yet to see a single pair of capri pants!

Needless to say, I was thrilled to return from a weekend in New York and discover that nearly all the snow in Smalltown had melted away.

Until I took Jolie outside for a bathroom break, that is.

Apparently, Scott has chosen to go the entire winter season without picking up a single piece of dog feces. For five long months, Jolie’s turds have been safely concealed under an ever-growing blanket of Minnesota snow. Yet now that the final signs of winter are vanishing? Let’s just say that 300+ dog turds in a ten foot radius of dying grass sticks out like…well…300+ dog turds in a ten foot radius of dying grass.

Katrina is not happy about this.

My diligence in regards to cleaning up after Jolie most likely stems from spending three years in Seattle — a place where failing to scoop the poop is frowned upon almost as much as drinking Folgers coffee or not driving a hybrid. No matter where I go, I make certain I’m always equipped with one of Jolie’s scented, designer poop bags. It’s a strategy that’s never failed me– I’ve definitely learned these miniature pink bags are multifunctional–even lifesaving in certain situations.

So, while I’ve spent the last several months cleaning up Jolie’s droppings no matter how frigid the weather, Scott’s been using the plethora of snow to hide his DIY-fertilizer project. As soon as the great spring thaw revealed his transgression, I knew it was time to confront him.

Me: Scott? Have you seriously gone the entire winter without picking up any of Jolie’s poop?

Scott: (Giggles)

Me: What the heck, Scott?! That’s against our apartment’s policy. We’re going to get in trouble!

Scott: Pfft! No. They can’t prove it was us.

Me: Can’t prove it was you. I’ve been doing my part to keep the grass clean this entire time!

Scott: Wow. You deserve a medal or something.

Me: This isn’t funny.

Scott: Yes it is! You need to lighten up. Plus…how do you know all of it is Jolie’s poop? It could be from some of the other small dogs that live here.

Me: Don’t be ridiculous. In a line up of 100 dog turds, I’d be able to pick out Jolie’s in a heartbeat. So would you, and you know it. Her’s look like little brown Cheetos…none of the other dogs have poop that even slightly resembles it.

Scott: Are you bragging about the uniqueness of Jolie’s poop?

Me: No! I’m just saying, I can totally tell that all of the offending poop is our responsibility. Every single dropping looks like a freeze-dried brown Cheetoh that’s been left to petrify in the freezing cold for several months.

Scott: If we’re getting technical, her poop is slightly bigger than an actual Cheetoh. It’s more like the ones they print on the packaging that are ‘enlarged to show texture’.

Me: I cannot believe you just said that.

Scott: (Giggles)

Me: So…are you going to help me pick it up, or not?

Scott: Of course not! But not because I’m lazy. Everyone knows manure is the best fertilizer, and I don’t want to get in the way of Mother Nature’s natural composting. It goes against everything I stand for.

While he has a point, something tells me our landlord wouldn’t be able to see the logic in his argument. And so, I’ve taken it upon myself to become the lone pooper-scooper of the Taylor household. I figure if I can collect ten pieces of fossilized chihuahua feces with each bathroom break, the area should be free and clear by the end of the month.

Unfortunately, this week has set back my progress a bit. You see, despite being the middle of April, it still looks like this outside.

While I could be upset that the mall was closed due to a Winter storm warning on the week that is supposed to be Spring-Freaking-Break, I’m choosing to instead focus my mental energy on the more positive aspects of this prolonged winter.

Namely, the fact that the poop is once again hidden, and my painstaking scooping has been delayed for at least another week.

See? Always a sliver lining.

*****

Editor’s Note: I realize this post may have made Scott sound like an absentee dog dad, which is absolutely not the case. He’s just really into natural composting methods. Truth be told, he’s the one who puts on latex gloves and decompresses Jolie’s glands in the bathtub while I blissfully lounge on the couch eating vegetarian Corn Dogs and watching Project Runway.

If you never want to visit this blog again after reading that last sentence, I would totally understand.

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Three things I learned this week. ¹⁰

If life is like a school then I’m probably a C+ student. Still, whether life hands you a 4.0 or 2.0 GPA, all of us have the opportunity to learn something new everyday. Naturally, I feel it is my blogging duty to pass the lessons I’ve encountered this week on to you.

Note taking is highly suggested.

Lesson one: Dish soap for the sink is NOT the same as dish soap for the dishwasher.

Learning the hard way…

Unfortunately, I’m not the greatest multi-tasker. The photo above is what happens when I attempt to do housework while also watching the latest episode of Confessions: Animal Hoarding. Thankfully, Scott was more alert than yours truly and performed basic damage control before our entire kitchen turned into an accidental bubble bath. Still, it’s gonna take a long time for me to live this one down.

Lesson 2: Confessions: Animal Hoarding is the best show ever.

Aside from the occasional screensaver mishap, I really do love my Apple TV–especially when it makes recommendations based on my past viewing history.

Only the brilliant Apple TV would be able to fuse my love for Hoarders and Intervention into one riveting show about the tormented souls who secretly hide ninety-seven purse dogs in their double wide trailer. When it popped up in the “You might also like…” section of Netflix On Demand, I knew I had to watch it, and I’ve been hooked ever since. Not only does the program bring light to an extremely sad and fascinating disorder, it always ends with the hoarders getting help — for themselves and for their animals. (Spoiler alert: The carpet almost always ends up getting replaced.)

Scott refuses to watch the show as he fears it will give him ideas. “I’m just one nervous breakdown away from hoarding Chihuahuas,” he explains.

Obviously, this is fine by me. I’m perfectly content watching Animal Hoarders in the bedroom alone while he loads the dishwasher with the appropriate soap. That way everybody wins.

Lesson 3: You cannot make a “red beer” with pizza sauce.

While I’ve never been much of a beer drinker, “red beer” has become my official cocktail of choice as of late. Simply fill your glass 3/4 full with light beer, top it off with spicy tomato juice, stir, and enjoy.

And yes…it’s TECHNICALLY a cocktail as it has bloody mary mix in it.

The other night after supper, I was craving a red beer. I located a stray brewski in the fridge only to realize we had no bloody mary mix or tomato juice.

This simply would not do.

Being that I was too lazy to run to the supermarket, and Scott just happened to be making homemade pizza, I decided to substitute ingredients and add a few dollops of my husband’s made-from-scratch pizza sauce to my lager.

For the record, Scott (a former bartender) desperately warned me not to do it.

I tried my best to smile after the first sip and pretend it was delicious — but that was a blatant lie. I knew it, Scott knew it, and God knew it. Just imagine beer that is frothy (in a bad way) with large chunks of oregano and basil floating about, and you’ll get the idea.

I think this is why none of my recipe ideas ever go viral on Pinterest.