May. 18th, 2011 | 01:01 am
mood: 
embarrassed
What a day. The Fire Marshal is coming into our building tomorrow to test the apartment fire alarms. They do it every year, and every year, I run around cleaning like a crazy woman because I'm too lazy to do it when I should. What fun is cleaning if you're not down on your hands and knees scrubing your floors as blood from bleeding toes tracks across the newly "clean" tile? I did finally try out my new hand-held vacuum cleaner; too bad it took me half the day to find the on/off switch, a tiny button on the back of the handle. Why find it early when you can spend your time running back and forth to the electrical outlet as the phone shrills over the sound of a loud, constantly whirling motor?
Dishes, OMG the dishes. Dishes everywhere. On the chair, under the chair, beside the chair, you'd think I fed the whole neighbourhood on a daily basis. Spoons, knives, forks, I do bring them to the sink, but I think they multiply overnight during utensil happy hour. Glad someone is having a good time.
Bags. Bags by the front door, bags in the kitchen, bags under my eyes from all this work.
Apples, apples I forgot to put in the fridge, bananas, ever-rippening bananas. A squished pair, yikes. Fruit flies everywhere. My house is their new breeding ground. They probably dance with the forks.
The table. Who needs all these knick knacks? Great, I knocked over my olive oil holder, it shatters into a million pieces as it tumbles to the floor; liked it, never used it. Lucky not to cut myself as I sweep shards of glass into the dustpan. More work, more garbage, more trouble.
Paper, paper, and more paper. Total waste of trees.
Pens, I could start a stationary store.
Gum. I just won a basket full of gum, I'll be chewing it for a year. Gum, gum stuck to the table, I kid you not. Now I know why it wasn't allowed in school. Ewww.
Money. Who doesn't like finding money? Oh boy, money stuck to the table. Apparently, it wanted to keep the gum company. Thank god for Lysol. Spray, spray, spray. The gum and money need not stay. Oh dear now I'm rhyming, it's really bad timing, clearly my mental health is declining. Probably from the spray, the spray I used all day.
The moral of the story is...The place still looks awful. Hours later and it still looks like I'm next in line to be on "buried alive-hoarders." If any of you wonder what to get me for Christmas, wonder no more. Send in the cleaning squad, I'll get cleanliness update texts at the Stabucks down the street.
All this so a guy can come in for ten seconds and tell me what I already know. My smoke detector isn't broken, the fire alarms won't fail. I'll fail. I'll fail to make it to the door as I trip over bags, bananas, apples and gum. Try explaining THAT to the Fire Marshal.
Yeah, not my best day. Fire, fire stay away.
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