It's fantastic. It was like going to the Store of Jaynel. In every box, I was like, "I love that!" and then I realized I could take it because it was, mine. There was one problem. The movers did such a good job, that my storage "pod" was stuffed like a maze. I pulled out a couple of paintings, and my snowboard fell on my head. (ouch.) When I tried to stuff it back, it wouldn't fit. I took out this little sad, fragile table to make room. I remember asking the mover guy to take it at the last minute. I put it on the street, but I just couldn't leave it there.
"You're keeping that thing?" he asked. It was falling apart. I wonder if that's what I liked about it. "It's hella ugly," he said, "But I'll find room."
I came for clothes, and my paint. My paints were buried behind my desk, my favorite chair that's been following me since Colorado, and the ironing board I almost never use. I was actually afraid to move anything, for fear everything would come tumbling down. I took a small silver box cleverly coded "photos." There's me laughing with a birthday cake full of candles on my 30th birthday, my sister and I on Christmas, my college roommate (including my very studious college ID), my motorcycle permit and a very posed senior class picture from high school. I had a perm from a Beauty School Trainee. (I wish I was joking.)
At the bottom of the box is a tape. A "cassette." With Music. There's a sheet of paper shoved in the sleeve, and it lists the songs: Talking Heads, Michael Penn, Flaming Lips, Elvis Costello...I remember this particular guy telling me that he sang a song for me and recorded it from his basement, so it sounded kind of rough. I was a senior in high school and working at an art gallery in 1992. I was so impressed that I loaded up my girlfriends in the parking lot during lunch in my 1984 Ford Escort. The song was called "Butterfly." One of my girlfriends says with her mouth half full, "Your boyfriend didn't sing this!" And I just turned it up louder so she could hear the basement where he sang it. "Unless your boyfriend is Lenny Kravitz..." 
I was sipping on a Coca Cola Slurpee from 7-11. I either had a brain freeze or I went into shock. Whenever I imagine this guy (which is, in case you're wondering, absolutely never, and for the record, would not consider a boyfriend), I just imagine his face with Lenny dreds and a boa around his neck. Why did he have to ruin LENNY for me?! And what did Lenny ever do to him? I wanted to find my box of scarves and jewerly. My mother calls it "cruise jewerly" because it's too extravagent to wear everyday. I don't want to wait for a cruise, though. I don't even like cruises. I think beautiful things should be worn everyday, even if they are a little extraordinary. But I went away empty-handed, because when I opened the box, it was full of kitchenware.
It's uncharacteristic for me not to wear a scarf, or big clumbsy jewerly. Tonight Renee made me laugh, "I'm surprised you didn't get your scarves out of storage," she says. "I don't think I've ever seen your neck." Maybe I should look up my imposter ex and see if I can borrow his Lenny boa.
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