I have two great housemates, CreePaul and Jen. We live in a modest rowhouse with three bedrooms and one bathroom. I thought that we were relatively clean, but as I discovered yesterday, that is just not the case. We are gross, guys. I don't think that we mean to be this gross, but we are. Maybe that's just what happens when three very busy people share a space - none of us are overly disgusting, but added together, we have the potential to create quite a mess.
I planned a Thanksgiving in August dinner for this weekend, and we are expecting at least fifteen people. We knew that we had to start cleaning the house, so early this week, CreePaul and I actually decided that we would clean out the fridge and Jen volunteered to clean the bathroom. All day at work on Wednesday, I was actually looking forward to it. I don't know why; I guess I knew that we were going to need major space for the turkey and whatnot, and as a semi-OCD perfectionist, a clean fridge sounded like the best way to spend the night.
We had NO IDEA how gross we really are.
Growing up, if I didn't finish a meal, it was wrapped in plastic wrap or placed into tupperware, and went into the fridge. Generally, I finished it the next day. This habit has followed me into adulthood. I can't throw out anything - I wrap it up. I'm *usually* pretty good about eating it later, but that's not always the case. And that's when penicillin forms.
Our kitchen is nasty enough, what with the lovely floor, so cleaning the fridge is really only the first step in the eventual future deep clean. As we emptied out tupperware and threw out very, very old containers of Italian dressing, we were fine. Only one thing made us gag - not bad. CreePaul was a trooper and took out the garbage, and I got to work cleaning. We put all of the food that wasn't expired into the cooler (mostly beer, to be honest), and I started scrubbing the inside of that bitch. Now, there is food on only one of the three shelves, and most of that is due to the fact that Jen bought about ten trillion yogurts after work.
Cut to Jen in the bathroom. "Hey! Does this window open?" Talk about fumes - I'm surprised we weren't all asphxiated from the combination of chemicals. But it would have been worth it - she scrubbed the hell out of that place, and it now looks very bright, white, and pretty - as pretty as an old bathroom can get, that is.
Anyway, with a lovely, clean bathroom and a nearly empty fridge, Jen and I sat down to watch the most cringe-inducing Project Runway episode ever (seriously, Jeffrey is a FART BLOSSOM). CreePaul watched it in his room because he is a nerd. I love that I got my roommates hooked on this show, by the way.
I was in bed and asleep by midnight, which lately, is an amazing feat in itself. Annnnnd, I woke up about an hour later in a cold sweat and with my heart beating so fast I thought that it was going to burst out of my chest.
A nightmare? Are you kidding me?
I dreamt that I was sitting on the floor in the living room, watching tv. When I tried to get up, I couldn't - as if some force was holding me down. I eventually stood up and attempted to turn off the lamps on top of the entertainment center. As I switched off the toggle on one, the other lit up. The lamps fell and the shades ripped, and I was sad. Then I was pushed down the long hallway, sliding on my back. I couldn't see what was forcing me down the hall, but then all of a sudden, I was in my room. I tried to get read for bed, but I couldn't take off my sweatshirt. I just screamed and screamed for Jen.
And then I woke up. Yeah. No monsters, no ghosts, no nothing! But I was up, and I couldn't get back to sleep.
I haven't had a nightmare in years, and if I have, I certainly don't remember any. I've decided that it was caused by the fumes of cleaning products and the taquitos I had for dinner. Makes sense. K-10 has nightmares every time she eats curry.
I planned a Thanksgiving in August dinner for this weekend, and we are expecting at least fifteen people. We knew that we had to start cleaning the house, so early this week, CreePaul and I actually decided that we would clean out the fridge and Jen volunteered to clean the bathroom. All day at work on Wednesday, I was actually looking forward to it. I don't know why; I guess I knew that we were going to need major space for the turkey and whatnot, and as a semi-OCD perfectionist, a clean fridge sounded like the best way to spend the night.
We had NO IDEA how gross we really are.
Growing up, if I didn't finish a meal, it was wrapped in plastic wrap or placed into tupperware, and went into the fridge. Generally, I finished it the next day. This habit has followed me into adulthood. I can't throw out anything - I wrap it up. I'm *usually* pretty good about eating it later, but that's not always the case. And that's when penicillin forms.
Our kitchen is nasty enough, what with the lovely floor, so cleaning the fridge is really only the first step in the eventual future deep clean. As we emptied out tupperware and threw out very, very old containers of Italian dressing, we were fine. Only one thing made us gag - not bad. CreePaul was a trooper and took out the garbage, and I got to work cleaning. We put all of the food that wasn't expired into the cooler (mostly beer, to be honest), and I started scrubbing the inside of that bitch. Now, there is food on only one of the three shelves, and most of that is due to the fact that Jen bought about ten trillion yogurts after work.
Cut to Jen in the bathroom. "Hey! Does this window open?" Talk about fumes - I'm surprised we weren't all asphxiated from the combination of chemicals. But it would have been worth it - she scrubbed the hell out of that place, and it now looks very bright, white, and pretty - as pretty as an old bathroom can get, that is.
Anyway, with a lovely, clean bathroom and a nearly empty fridge, Jen and I sat down to watch the most cringe-inducing Project Runway episode ever (seriously, Jeffrey is a FART BLOSSOM). CreePaul watched it in his room because he is a nerd. I love that I got my roommates hooked on this show, by the way.
I was in bed and asleep by midnight, which lately, is an amazing feat in itself. Annnnnd, I woke up about an hour later in a cold sweat and with my heart beating so fast I thought that it was going to burst out of my chest.
A nightmare? Are you kidding me?
I dreamt that I was sitting on the floor in the living room, watching tv. When I tried to get up, I couldn't - as if some force was holding me down. I eventually stood up and attempted to turn off the lamps on top of the entertainment center. As I switched off the toggle on one, the other lit up. The lamps fell and the shades ripped, and I was sad. Then I was pushed down the long hallway, sliding on my back. I couldn't see what was forcing me down the hall, but then all of a sudden, I was in my room. I tried to get read for bed, but I couldn't take off my sweatshirt. I just screamed and screamed for Jen.
And then I woke up. Yeah. No monsters, no ghosts, no nothing! But I was up, and I couldn't get back to sleep.
I haven't had a nightmare in years, and if I have, I certainly don't remember any. I've decided that it was caused by the fumes of cleaning products and the taquitos I had for dinner. Makes sense. K-10 has nightmares every time she eats curry.
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