Title: Pestilence, disease and bleach
Music du jour: The new Xena episode
My house has once again become the pit of nastiness that happens when neither me nor any of my roommates can be bothered with cleaning. I'm so bad about that; you'd think I'd be the civilizing influence in a house full of men, but this has never been the case. I'll become a neat freak about the time NORAD starts seeing swine on its radar. This being Sunday, I had big plans to get things cleaned up. Yeah, right. We ended up taking a trip to DIA to see if we could catch Missy -- apparently she flew into Denver this afternoon, so we thought what the hell. We didn't know what flight she was supposed to be on, so we made a couple of valiant attempts to catch her on the direct-from-Miami flights, gave up and went to eat supper at Cinzetti's. That killed most of the day. So we came back here; Ian has been playing Quake most of the evening, and I have been talking to Lynn on IRC and trying to figure out today's entry.
In other words, procrastinating.
To Ian's credit, he did vacuum downstairs earlier. I even heard the clanking of dishes down there. He may have gotten a start on... the kitchen.
The kitchen. Oh, God, the KITCHEN! I weep with despair. If my house is a pit of nastiness, the kitchen is the epicenter of pestilence. PESTILENCE! I tell you. There are crusty dishes piled up in the sink, styrofoam containers from last week's expedition to Chili's, fermenting dishwater that's been in the sink longer than I want to think about, ripped-open bags of pet food... oh, God, it's gross. The ironic part is I don't cook, so my involvement with the kitchen begins and ends with getting a glass of Coke. I absolutely refuse to touch it. The boys are going to clean it by tomorrow, or there's going to be much pitching of temper tantrums. I'm putting my foot down. Dammit.
Hmph.
I think I'll try doing some laundry. It's a start.
-- marcie.