The "Neither" Pile: sorting through our wedding sh**

Upon returning from New York in October, we promptly unpacked our suitcases, sorted through our laundry, buried our C&B gift cards in the backyard and literally dumped everything from our wedding onto an old wooden desk in the hallway. Actually, it wasn't unlike the state of the desk before we left for the wedding -- everything in disarray with a surplus of STDs and invites packed into the top drawer. We even threw our marriage certificate (which had traveled to Baltimore and then France with Best Man Justin) onto the "wedding heap," not knowing what one does with a marriage certificate.

(Still gotta figure that out, in fact.)

And the desk stayed that way until ... well, until this past weekend. It wasn't an urge to clean, or newfound initiative, or even a burning desire to "relive the wedding," but rather a C&B purchase that required us to throw out that damn desk.

We could hear [clutter expert] Peter Walsh's voice echoing through our apartment: if you're going to keep something, make sure it's either useful or beautiful. Useful or beautiful. It's a mantra that men love, actually; it gives you the freedom to take all the ugly and useless crap and toss it.

So 2Es and I went through it all and separated it into three piles: useful, beautiful and neither. The useful items are going to newly engaged friends of ours; the beautiful items will be going into a scrapbook album (separate from our wedding photo album); and the neither is in the dumpster.

In the "beautiful" pile -- a postcard from Bob's Big Boy in Baker, the last stop on our bachelor party journey

It's funny what you cling to, what scraps from the wedding you really find worthwhile, what each of us consider beautiful. Cleaning out my own memory boxes (cause once you go through one, god knows you have to go through them all), I came across all of the travel arrangements and paperwork from my trip to Chapel Hill in June of 2009 -- the all-too-memorable "asking permission" excursion. I handed 2Es a piece of computer paper with some notes scribbled in pencil, thinking she'd probably want to hold onto it.

"Um, why would I wanna keep this?" she asked.

"Cause that's the cheat sheet I used when I went to Chapel Hill," I explained. On it were her parents' addresses, a back-up address (her Dad's office in Durham), plus my rental car and flight information.

"OK... but there's gum on it."

Right she was. I'd dog-eared a corner of the page with a stick of spearmint gum. To me, that 20-month old bond only fortified its sentimental value. She rolled her eyes and added it to the beautiful pile.

I guess she let me have that one.

OM(a)G

6:00AM wake-up call.
7:00AM make-up.
8:00AM photographs.
9:00AM chaos.

No, it's not our wedding day itinerary -- it's the chaotic breakdown of the morning of 2E's O Magazine shoot.

2E's and I woke at the crack of dawn to dress up (but not too "up") and to clean (but not clean "up"). After all, in a few hours we would welcome renowned de-clutterer Peter Walsh into our home to gasp and gawk at the horrific disaster zone that was our desk.

No surprise that 2E's took to the camera like a moth to a flame ... a moth that had been primped and pinned and sleeked and styled, had its nails done, had its hair did, and then was positioned in a well-lit room. That moth never had it so good.

Like a good groom, I provided the following free of charge:

 (a) Starbucks refreshment
 (b) man duties (i.e. relocating office supplies; locating hammer and nails; etc.)
 (c) concierge services (i.e. showing our guests to the bathroom; pulling out take-out menus; etc.)
 (d) dustbuster services
 (e) unlimited moral support

10AM-4PM was a bit of a blur. People in and out ... things brought in, things taken out ... take-out. And again, I handled a great deal of the grunt work: some hardware locating, some office supplies re-locating, and so on.

The team was out the door around 4:30PM, and it was our first chance to breathe, look around and appreciate the complete re-envisioning of our space. Peter Walsh compartmentalized our entire lives, breaking our "office" into five distinct categories (two of those five being wedding-related); and after providing us with his own, fresh from overseas, Peter Walsh-brand furniture, he taught us how to keep things organized and in order -- even when there isn't a world class de-clutterer present.

When Peter spoke, we listened. We followed him around like over-anxious schoolchildren, wanting to pick his brain about this and that and pick up spare tips that he happened to spill. From him we learned amazing things like, Your space is limited to its space; when you get something new, you have to throw something away.

Peter even organized my bookshelf, which prior to his visit looked something like a mini-library that had been throw together in a disaster relief effort. This morning I sat on the couch and stared at his handiwork. I'm now able to admire them and pull one out without inciting a chain reaction.

The entire team worked tirelessly and without complaint, hauling furniture up and down two flights of stairs and never compromising, never settling for "OK." 2E's and I felt like we'd won the lottery, only we didn't have to leave home to collect the winnings.

Thanks, props and all other appreciative nouns to Beau Haralson from Office Max, who provided us with far more than peace of mind; O writer Amanda Robb, who documented the proceedings in her chic, vintage notepads; make-up artist Mary Klimek; Peter's right-hand man, Barry; photographer's assistant Hans; Christina Weber, photo director at O Mag, for connecting all the pieces; Kathy Nguyen, our woman on the inside; and our dear friend and blog enthusiast Teresa, without whom we would never be organized.

As for the article ... it will appear in the March issue of O, with crisp, otherworldly photographs by Dave Lauridsen, who made our home look like it was worth living in.

And now ... to sell our couch and purchase a new one. Hell no we're not living with this old thing.