The mixer, the master, the mighty mix master says...

So when I said that I would never move again, what I really meant was that I would never move again without paying movers. Yes, this makes move number 12, maybe 13, since starting college. The best part about this move? Two months ago I moved from an apartment, placed all of my belongings in storage, and rented a furnished room in a condo. What did I do last week? I left the furnished room, moved to an apartment complex that is literally next door to where I lived in June, hired movers to haul all of my junk out of storage, and did it all over Labor Day Weekend. I tell you what, moving is a very special way to celebrate not working. Thankfully I once again had help from friends as I unpacked everything and tried to get settled. Aside from discovering that I have far too many books, I was pleasantly disturbed to find that I apparently have an affinity for mixers. Do I cook? Yes. Do I bake? Not very often. I’ve probably baked about 15 times in the entirety of 2008. Here's what I think happens when I do decide to bake. I head to the kitchen, check the recipe, take stock of what I have and decide that I need to go and buy a new mixer. I have three mixers. (See above photo) All three were under $15 at Target, I’m sure of it. Maybe I can turn a profit on them. I could sign them and send them to you for $20. People do stuff like that on their blogs all the time. You could put it on your shelf and then tell everyone about it. Maybe be like, “Oh…you don’t read That Reminds Me? Wow, you are really missing out on a mildly entertaining commentary on life by two white, middle-class 20-somethings. Yeah, I don’t even use this mixer. I’m saving it to pass down to my grandchildren one day.”

But I digress. I tried to get rid of things before I moved the first time…but somehow I ended right where I started (or in the next complex over) with three mixers. I don’t know if I wasn’t paying attention, or if the state of moving simply blinds me. (Although it did not cause my eyeballs to fall out, even if that would have proved to be far more entertaining writing.) All this to say that I’m never moving again, at least not with 3 mixers.