Archive for June, 2005

Do It Yourself

Here’s how I feel about People Cohabiting and Keeping the House Clean:

One: I have no problem with people in amorous relationships living together in the same habitation (which would be living together, see how clear I am about this) whether they are married or not, of the same gender or not, or practice polyamorous relations or not.

Two: When two people live together, they are doubtless going to have different ideas of what constitutes “clean,” whether in their living space, their sleeping space, or their shitting space.

Three: Two people living together ought to share mutual respect for the similarities and differences of viewpoints of the other person, whom they presumably love (or like) enough to shack it up with.

Four: Regardless of the mutual respect and inevitable compromise that must come from cohabiting with anyone, let alone a lover, the rule for peaceful settlement of the differing ideas of clean issue is this: (ARE YOU LISTENING INTERNET BECAUSE THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT) the person with a higher (or, in some cases, more anal) standard of cleanliness is allowed to keep to those standards AS LONG AS HE OR SHE IS WILLING TO DO THE WORK HIM OR HERSELF. I.e., if you want to dust under the bed, baby, DO IT YOUR DAMN SELF.

I say this with full disclosure that I have a anal-retentive view of cleanliness in my flat. I abhor dust. The notion of dust lying on the floor somewhere in my tiny little shoebox of an apartment makes me uneasy. Dirty dishes in the sink keep me awake at night. Clutter makes me fidgetey and (even occasionally) distressed and angry.

But despite this ocd view of how clean I would like my apartment to be, I would never DREAM of making Bartender Dude dust the chair legs or wipe the countertops to the standards I keep for myself. When he is mouthwateringly sweet enough to do my dishes or make my bed (which he does with some frequency, I might add) I count it all joy and shower him with kisses.

I do NOT make a face and say “You didn’t use hospital corners” or “Use a SWEEPING motion with the sponge on the countertops so there are no streaks.”

That’s the deal people. You want something medical-standard antiseptic clean? DO IT YOUR DAMN SELF.

On tap for today:

Get up, make tea and egg sandwiches for me and BD.
Give BD backrub because he has been working too damn hard for too damn long.
Have sex. (YUM)
Go shopping for mattresses.
Buy groceries.
Go to Target (just because).
Meet the Rajah and Pablito at Hank’s Oyster Bar.
Get drunk.
Stumble home and text drunkenly to BD.
Fall asleep.

Happy Weekend Folks!


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Scratchy Scratchy

I woke up this morning (not feeling too bad considering I propped up a Georgetown bar with the Professor last night until well past midnight — we had a lot of catching up to do) to discover the BIGGEST MOSQUITO BITE on my ass.  Well, technically it is on the back side of my thigh right below my ass.  Anyway, I then foolishly decided to wear my new jeans (thank you outlets of Myrtle Beach!) which are flatteringly tight and allow for no satisfying scratchage.

Now I am sitting at my desk uncomfortably shifting my ass muscles back and forth because this damn bite is so ITCHY and it looks like I am doing something very rude.  Something very rude indeed.  BUT I SWEAR I AM NOT.  Man, this mosquito must have been armed with some weapons of mass destruction because this bite is BIG.

You see how I have so much to post about?  My life is fascinating.  Hey I’m going mattress shopping this weekend!  WOO HOO.

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So I am on vacation with the FAM down in Myrtle Beach, NC, and I forgot the attachment for my camera.  THIS IS A TRAGEDY.  The cutest child in the world, and her incomparable older sister, are at this moment going unphotographed.  I am dying to share pictures of them but won’t be able to until I return to Washington where I have DSL and a connecting cable.  At the moment, they are being fed cheerios and yohgurt and making each other laugh which is the most hilarious thing.  "Ha ha these idiot grown-ups," they are saying to each other in baby babble and carefully choreographed sign language.  "They have NO IDEA that at this very moment we are coming up with a formula to crack cold fusion.  Too bad we will forget it by naptime." 

Jane (aka, Sack of Sugar) is the social butterfly and also younger of the two.  She is instantly aware of any audience for her astonishing cuteness and will not brook a gaze turned away.  She must have all your attention.  Anna (aka Annabean) is more mobile, more thoughtful, and more introspective than her Look-At-Me sister.  She can amuse herself for hours with the curtains or opening and shutting drawers or a pile of boxes.  She understands everything we say to her and a good deal else, but she pretends not to, which is a very clever way of doing exactly what you want whilst retaining the ability to get your needs met.

The trip down here proved as eventful as all the trips we ever took in childhood, when there were no such things as car seats or seatbelt laws, and my mother had to deal with three of us under the age of six AND A DOG by herself.  On this trip, the van, a vehicle to which my father is only slightly less attached than he is to my mother, burst its head gasket and black smoke billowed out, enveloping LS’s car (in which I was traveling) in a cloud of oily antifreeze.  Ick.  Eventually all got sorted out with a tow and a rental car and a very depressing (at least for my father) diagnosis of what it would cost to repair the van.  I’m telling you the man moped about it for two days.  He waxed lyrical about how he had driven it on so many trips with all of his four children in the back and pulling a camper behind and how it was the end of an era.  I’ll spare you the details.

I also have to report that before going to Atlanta  all those weeks ago (see this is why I do not deserve this blog), the Cartographer and her boyfriend, RockStarTony came for a visit.  RockStarTony is very cool, very cute, and lots of fun.  He is also very patient, I have to say, with all my squealing and talking at a million miles a minute.  On one occasion, the boyfriends met and Bartender Dude introduced RockStarTony to kittycannon, this video game where you shoot a kitten out of a cannon and see how far it bounces without hitting various spiky or explosive obstacles.  The Cartographer and I reconciled ourselves to never being able to talk to them again.  So instead we talked to each other, about the genetic evolution of dogs, my new favourite subject.  On the last day of their visit, I defied the second law of thermodynamics and rose from my bed before 8:30 am VOLUNTARILY to meet them for breakfast at The Diner (local 24hr joint).  It was pouring with rain of Biblical proportions.  Water was rushing down the streets and pouring off of rooftops.  I hope all the rats in DC drowned that day because I hate them all with a white hot passion.

We are staying in a condo-resort type thingy right on the beach and very much enjoying it.  LS is already as brown as a native and I am already as red as a lobster.  Tonight we are going to navigate the Charbydis and Scilla known as Taking The Children To A Restaurant With Grown Ups For A Nice Meal.  We have to eat at 5 pm!!!!!!!  What a reversal of nature.  That is tea time, not dinner time.  But of course the children’s schedules must prevail.  And they are so cute I will forgive them. 

Now I must go put on my cute bikini and lobsterise some more.  Think of all the vitamin D!, I keep telling myself.  Luckily I have a hat so my face is well preserved.  More than I can say for the skin on my bosom!

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Tomorrow morning at the ASS CRACK of dawn I have to haul ass up to NYC for a conference and be there by 1 pm, upon pain of death according to my boss-the-ever-charming. SO. Here is how my evening has gone so far:

6:40 pm
Race through the door of my apartment. Pick up huge bag of drycleaning including suits I need for this conference.

6:50 pm
Arrive at drycleaners only to be informed that, due to the constraints of physics and the laws of time, no, I cannot drop off my drycleaning at 7 pm tonight and pick it up on my way to NYC at 7:30 am tomorrow morning. Normal people, being familiar with the laws of physics and time, already know this.

7:00 pm
Arrive home and begin sorting laundry, which, left to its own devices in the closet for lo these many moons has mass reproduced, organised into coherent nation states, and begun negotiating the next EU constitution. Take two loads of laundry down to basement and get it started.

7:20 pm – 8:00 pm
Finish cleaning kitchen and making dinner for self. Sit down on floor (as BD broke my little coffee table the last time he was drunk. By falling on it. Another story.) to eat food and watch as much of my next installment of Buffy Season Two as I can get until food is gone.

8:00 pm to 8:45 pm
Eat all food and smoke a cigarette. Attempt (with TV on) to figure out how to work the packets of the Dryel container to do drycleaning my own damn self. Realise there are no “moist cloth” thingies and abanon that idea. Make bed.

8:45 pm to 9:00 pm
Head down to basement to put clothes in dryer, only arriving to remember I’d forgotten the dryer sheets. Swear cheerfully and load clothes into dryer.

9:00 pm to 10:00 pm
Finish round one of edits to our fall catalog which I had to bring home because I was, you guessed it, swamped today at work and couldn’t get to it and of course it is on a production schedule that is tighter than Jessica Simpson’s t-shirts.

10:00 pm
Send file to catalog designer. Log onto remote work email server to download emails relating to addresses of where I am staying in Manhattan tomorrow night. Discover I cannot open my email folders. Figure I will retrieve when I go BACK into the office tonight to drop off second round of edits and my expense report, both of which are still not begun. Attempt to print directions to the convention center where this damn conference is taking place. Printer goes wonky and skips every third line so that text is illegible.

10:25 pm
Begin to melt down like a three year old. Frantically call BD on his cell even though he is working the roof tonight which means he is probably super busy. BD is super busy and asks if I can call him back. I say oh no forget it everything is ruined [insert as much melodrama as can possibly be imagined here] I will lose my job I can’t fix anything what am I going to do never mind I’ll just figure it out, etc., etc., etc.

10:30 pm
BD calls me back in an attempt to help me in any way he can and in preparation for his application to sainthood. He remembers (because he is so smart) what hotel I am staying in, which I Google, and then draw maps freehand and write down directions due to problem with said printer. Which is brand new. Which I will have to figure out how to fix when I get back from trip.

11:00 pm
Begin blogging.

Now I think I’ll watch the end of my Buffy episode and eat bon bons and take a little nap and then sometime I’ll get around to finishing the work edits, folding laundry, packing, loading the car, driving to work, dropping off the edits and my Atlanta expenses, returning home, and getting a full 10 hours sleep before driving to New York tomorrow morning.

Because hey, the laws of time and physics, what are those???

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