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| Friday
December 2 2005. |
SQUALORVILLE.
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For Thanksgiving, The Bethy and I went down to North Carolina to spend a few days
with my brother-in-law and sister-in-law and I was quite impressed with how nice their
house is. Three levels. Sun room. Beautiful kitchen. Hardwood stairs.
Immaculate dining room. Great furniture. And perfectly clean, top to
bottom. It was a hell of a nice place to spend a couple of days.
And then we came back home.
Ick.
It's no surprise that no one ever comes to visit us unless
forced to. Even though I'm anal retentive, our little house may implode
under the weight of its own dirt. You might not notice it at first, but if you pay attention, you'll see that we live in
a barn.
Welcome to Squalorville...
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RUST.
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CRUD.
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FILTH.
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This is our beautiful front porch railing which the mailman must get
tired of looking at. We're going to paint it, but it's been on our To-Do
List for the last three years, so maybe we'll just wait until the white
paint peels off completely and then at least it will be a uniform
color--the color of turds.
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Fortunately, this isn't the upstairs toilet, but rather the
downstairs toilet which only we use. And since we've put up a
blockade of sofas and dining room chairs in the stairwell, no one will
ever be able to get down there. If the upstairs toilet is occupied, it's
probably more sanitary to take a squat in the backyard.
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Dear god! If you come to visit us, it's probably not a good idea to
look behind any furniture. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Hmm. And what
the hell is that? Is that a candy wrapper? I wonder if the person who
threw that candy wrapper back there is the same person that vomited back
there.
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FUNK.
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CRUST.
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We have a rule in Squalorville. It's a very simple rule and we have it
posted In the kitchen: IF IT GOES ON THE FLOOR, BETTER GET SOME MORE.
Once, I lost a whole ham under the fridge. Ah, good times!
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Stalactites? Hardly. When I had a new roof put on the house, the dumb
roofers accidentally failed to nail down a couple of the shingles and we
had our own private indoor waterfall the first time it rained. Sure,
they came back and fixed the leak, but I figured I could easily fix the
ceiling. No problem. Yeah, sure. This happened back in friggin' 1997,
for shit's sake. It looks like there's a goddamn tit on my ceiling.
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MUNG.
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The
Squalorville Issue. |
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Yes, a laundry room sink isn't supposed to be the cleanest sink in the
house, but sometimes it's a little difficult to do laundry when your eyes
are tearing up from the smell of dead things. Well, if nothing else, at least it matches the front porch railing.
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GUNK.
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BEETS?
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I hate to admit this, but I clean my contacts each and every night over
this horrible sink AND I brush my teeth in it. So what the hell is that exactly? Blood? Makeup?
Some kind of...DISCHARGE? Maybe someone got sick in the sink after
munching on
some ham they found in the kitchen.
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The vegetable drawer in the fridge. That may or may not be a
vegetable-type residue back there. This is why we've eaten out 457 days
in a row. Jesus Christ on a pogo stick...
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END.
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Well, I hope you enjoyed this
tour of Squalorville. Yes, this is where I live. And how I live. But after seeing the nice houses other people live in,
I think maybe it's time to spend a few weekends doing a little cleaning
around here. Or, as Beth has slyly suggested, maybe we should just move.
Like right now.
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2000-2005 by gja.
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