There's some really weird shit in my old bedroom closet

I was having dinner at my parent's house, and my mom asked me to clean out my closet once and for all.  I took a look in there and to my horror, found a bunch of totally freaky/embarrassing shit that I absolutely do not want in my home, but that for some reason, I cannot bring myself to get rid of.  For example:

• George Michael pin (acid-wash jean jacket nowhere to be found)

• Great America photo key chain from 1990 with picture of me and my brother and two of our friends striking "white-kids-trying-to-appear-urban" pose that makes me sort of uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable as the fact that I am wearing cut off jean shorts and a strapless bikini top (why am I at Great America in this get up?  shouldn't I be driving a Jeep?)

• three grocery bags of "irregular" bras and nylons that my mom bought me while shopping at outlet malls over the years, all wrong size (but maybe I'll be a size 32A someday, or some tragedy will befall me and my left leg will be four inches shorter than my right leg?)

• blue, construction-paper Saturn that says "Julie and Jason" written in silver puffy paint from the "Redwings in Space" dance that I went to with a closeted gay guy (this commemorates only the first of multiple high school dances and college date parties that I attended with closeted gay guys)

• My first pair of Birks, which my mom begged me to stop wearing, worn down so much that there is no shoe left behind the arches

• folder filled with pictures from Elle and Glamour exclusively of Claudia Schiffer, my eating disorder role model

• posters of Madonna and Depeche Mode (is it more embarrassing that I had these posters in the first place, or that I still like them and don't want to throw them away?)

• folder of secretive material that was never supposed to leave the Kappa Kappa Gamma chapter room that I lifted from the Kappa Kappa Gamma chapter room while high and in possession of chapter room key when I was president (all material in Latin, thus, secretive nature of materials continues to remain safe in my possession)

• my Berkeley (plaid uniform skirt, which is indestructible and looks exactly the way it did the first time I wore it even though I wore it every day for four years in high school, and which, even if I were to double in size, would still somehow miraculously fit)

• little gold ring with diamond chip in it, which was a birthday gift from my first [non-gay] boyfriend (sitting on top of a shoebox full of love letters from this guy, who should wish (1) that Al Gore never invented the internet, and (2) that he didn't cheat on me, because now that I have a blog, the next stop for these love letters seems inevitable)

• 8 prom/homecoming-type dresses, some very puffy/some very pretty, but also very unlikely I will attend any more proms

• shoebox full of mix tapes from ex-boyfriends (I don't feel right tossing out what may be the only existing hard copy of "More Than Words")

• white pumps, scuffed

• a caboodle containing my fake IDs underneath a one-hitter and a baggie of assorted brands and colors of free condoms, exp. 1993 (NOTE: one of the fake IDs, and I'm not joking about this, is an Asian girl named Ann, age 28) (ALSO NOTE: interesting moral dilemma must have preceded decision to hide fake IDs under excessive amount of condoms)

• David Gotmer English Award

• one million pairs of slippers