_ (07/17/2009) Today is cleaning day for Donna. And not in any metaphysical clearing my mind and rearranging my soul sense, but actually vacuuming up the piles of dog hair, washing all the glasses with red wine dried to the bottom, taking out the overflowing trash (which I think has a hole in the bottom from a broken martini glass so coffee grounds and rancid scraps are bound to spill out), and worst of all, dusting--did you know that dust mainly consists of dead skin, insect waste, animal dander, and mold. God, I'm equally bored and grossed out just typing about it. I hate housework more than most anything, except gyno exams, Jim Carey films (only exception, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind--brilliant), and ordering Chinese food over the phone.
And yet, inevitably, in every crowd there is the one total psychopath who says, "I love to clean. It gives me such a sense of accomplishment. It's sooooo relaxing and rewarding. I just love getting all soapy up to my elbows and showing that dirt whose boss" If you are that person, hightail your apron-clad ass over to my casa pronto. Yes, I'm aware that I just called you a psychopath, but I guarantee you won't be nearly the craziest person to ever polish up our place. There was one guy that we only invited parties because of his tendency to get all coked up and then clean. Inevitable, sometime around midnight, he'd be so wild on the white that he needed an outlet for all that energy. So I'd give him a trash bag and the dust buster and let him tear that mess up. Oftentimes, we went to bed with him still in full Hazel mode, and then awoke to find a sparking clean apartment. I bet he now has the most spic and span cell in his medium-security prison.
Since, as we've established, that Flo on Blow is now locked up and no one is knocking at my door with a big smile and bucket full of cleaning supplies, I suppose I am going to have to scrub and sanitize this hellhole myself. Where the fuck is Mary Poppins when you need her with that spoonful of sugar? Whoa...revelation...a spoonful of sugar that makes you actually enjoying cleaning and be able to finish a whole room in the time it takes to sing a song...Disney's favorite nanny was referring to nose candy.
But that still doesn't dissolve my dilemma...I still have a house to polish and purge and not even a trained helper monkey to assist me. So, I'll just use my old stand-by strategy and bribe myself. If I finish the dishes, I get a game of Bubbletown. If I vacuum by 2, I can watch ten minutes of a rerun of Laguna Beach. If I organize and file my desk, I can buy that Gladiator Troll Doll on e-Bay. If I get everything done, I can move Happy Hour up to 4:30. Or...I can just call Merry Maids.
(07/06/2012) A domestic diva, I still am not. I have spent all morning sewing, cooking, cleaning house, and attempting to pack for the weekend before heading off to the lake. I am now two hours late. All I have to show for the day is a pile of crooked hems, a chickpea concoction that tastes like cuntberry curd, piles of still unswept Doc hair, and an empty overnight bag. Screw packing. I am going nude. Summer Style Tip: Naked is the new black. For a pop of color, dye your pubes coral.
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