Evidence that I once lived a glamorous life?

I find myself going through various stages of discardia as I prepare to sell my house and in all probability, move into a smaller one. Tonight I had the opportunity to clean out my enormous closet... you know, the one that's bigger than Chloe's bedroom?

I started out by consolidating my shoe collection and trying to eliminate the fugglies, any miscellaneous black pumps, the remnant fashion victims from my grunge phases, tacky clear stripper heels and a pair of black pumps with a silver buckle on the side that Frank once claimed I stole from pilgrims.

I pretty much tossed the majority of my lame scarves out and though I had an adrenaline rush to just turn out everything, I became hesitant to move on to the purses. Because goodness, I love them so.

After a glass or two of wine, I finally got back around to sorting out my enumerate supply of purses and bags. There's still papers, receipts and schtuff in every single one of them, regardless of how long they've been on a shelf, attached to a dress or in a box. I tossed out the red satin clutch that I last wore to the Dracula Ballet with my first gen nerds, a package of kleenex and ticket stubs still intact. Then came the metallic gold lamé purse that made me frisson with delight upon opening it and finding my friend Luna's phone number, a five dollar bill, a trusty old MAC lipstick, some Starburst candy and a white roller skate cover (not sure what that last bit was about). I smiled at the over-sized white leather hobo from Vegas with the girls with a disposable camera still in it (that I'm somewhat nervous to develop), the striped denim clutch from saucy drinks at The Med two years a go and an old multi-colored signature Coach pocketbook that I clung to in both Napa and San Diego last year.

I began to clear out the last of the larger bags when I unsuspectingly came across some artifacts that really made me re-think my position of being, "just another boring person who never takes any chances." It was a black Gucci shoulder bag that I used to truck around everywhere I went. I bought it one afternoon in New York when I was feeling really alone in the world. That bag became my ally and shield for the entire year. So I opened it up and poured out it's contents. Among another pile of receipts, I discovered a package of super long MAC false eyelashes, a black satin garter strap (?), the number for a limo chauffeur, tickets to get on the Metro in Paris, and a penny from 1906. I remembered the secret compartment in the bottom of the bag and found solace with an old companion that lied within it; an old pen/knife that made me feel safe on all my solo trips from here to London.

It surprised me. Looking into these bags was equivalent to watching an old film reel from within the very back of my mind. Happy hours, events where I was actually dressed up, fun times with family, friends, my nerds... all of it. Based on some of those satchels and their contents, I was a super exciting person at some point. I don't have as much time in the day for it now, but I still want to be her...

My slouch bag from Target may be filled with baby wipes and fruit snacks these days, but tonight I got to peruse a few days in the life of the old me and think, "Damn, that was fabulous."