I clean so much right now that I had a dream I could grow feathers out of my fingers and dust the furniture with them.
My home is so spotless that I walk around looking for more things to do. I end up picking crumbs off the carpet by hand because I'm a perfectionist. It's hard not to be when you're me. I mean, look at the goods I have to work with.
I no longer care that my taps have no water spots on them or that the floors around my toilets no longer smell like little boy urine. I should care, but I don't. I cared three days ago when I first scrubbed down the bathrooms. Now that I do it at least once a day I'm praying for the day I find dried pee down the wall again and have the option to leave it there for a while longer.
SOS pads are by far the best inventions ever. They've replaced 'sanitary napkins' as one of the ten items I'd want to bring with me to a deserted island (which would be come a very, very clean deserted island with some strange, blue residue all over the shiny foliage).
Sometimes I just don't feel fresh.
Oops. Wrong list.
The computer is this rectangular, metal thing that sits on a chair in the diningroom most of the time. I sometimes get to use it, but usually I just dust it with my feather fingers.
My realtor and I are having an emotional affair. I currently speak more to her than I do to Geekster. The husband and I are too tired to to talk. We just sort of sigh at each other a lot and mumble things about de-cluttering.
I hate de-cluttering. I like the concept, but closets are meant to have crap in them. E.T. wouldn't have been able to hide if Elliot's mom had thrown out all the dustmite condos we call stuffed animals.
People who make me clean my house twice in two days so they can come over and make an offer $7,000 below the asking price really, really piss me off. We will counter off tomorrow and
hope they aren't bitches about it. I don't like bitches. Except me. I like me.
Six-month-olds will decide to get teeth and hence not want to be put down or left alone for more than two seconds right when your house goes on the market. My biceps look great, though.
Ten-year-olds will decide to start copping a 'tude when you need it the least. Ah, puberty. You finally figured out where we live. I hate you more than de-cluttering.
When you think about it, 'de-cluttering' is a very stupid word. They never had to make a word out of taking away clutter. It could have been a term like 'clutter removal' or 'junking the junk'. Much better. I still don't know why I wasn't consulted when the english language needed improvement.
Four-year-olds will make the biggest messes right before a showing. They also don't know the meaning of 'Gutsy, please get off my bed. This is the third time I've had to make it in five minutes.' That's code for 'I have nothing else to do so please find work for me.'
Dogs will defecate on a baby's bed an hour before a showing.
The Maven will lose her mind while a showing is taking place and hold her cellphone in her hands eagerly waiting for a phone call. The Maven has a bit of a control issue. Just a little.
I am so sick of fast food that I want to cry. And speaking of fast food, check this out.
HDTV is highly addictive and great to veg out to on the off hours. Not that there are many of those, but they are sacred and worthy fo viewing shaky tornado footage in all its crisp, colourful glory.
I get too tired to do much of anything, including writing coherent blog posts, at midnight after over a week of sheer chaos.
A showing tomorrow and one on Monday. Busy has taken on a whole new meaning.
I'm going to crawl into bed. Maybe I'll take out my fingers and clean it off first, though.
My home is so spotless that I walk around looking for more things to do. I end up picking crumbs off the carpet by hand because I'm a perfectionist. It's hard not to be when you're me. I mean, look at the goods I have to work with.
I no longer care that my taps have no water spots on them or that the floors around my toilets no longer smell like little boy urine. I should care, but I don't. I cared three days ago when I first scrubbed down the bathrooms. Now that I do it at least once a day I'm praying for the day I find dried pee down the wall again and have the option to leave it there for a while longer.
SOS pads are by far the best inventions ever. They've replaced 'sanitary napkins' as one of the ten items I'd want to bring with me to a deserted island (which would be come a very, very clean deserted island with some strange, blue residue all over the shiny foliage).
Sometimes I just don't feel fresh.
Oops. Wrong list.
The computer is this rectangular, metal thing that sits on a chair in the diningroom most of the time. I sometimes get to use it, but usually I just dust it with my feather fingers.
My realtor and I are having an emotional affair. I currently speak more to her than I do to Geekster. The husband and I are too tired to to talk. We just sort of sigh at each other a lot and mumble things about de-cluttering.
I hate de-cluttering. I like the concept, but closets are meant to have crap in them. E.T. wouldn't have been able to hide if Elliot's mom had thrown out all the dustmite condos we call stuffed animals.
People who make me clean my house twice in two days so they can come over and make an offer $7,000 below the asking price really, really piss me off. We will counter off tomorrow and
hope they aren't bitches about it. I don't like bitches. Except me. I like me.
Six-month-olds will decide to get teeth and hence not want to be put down or left alone for more than two seconds right when your house goes on the market. My biceps look great, though.
Ten-year-olds will decide to start copping a 'tude when you need it the least. Ah, puberty. You finally figured out where we live. I hate you more than de-cluttering.
When you think about it, 'de-cluttering' is a very stupid word. They never had to make a word out of taking away clutter. It could have been a term like 'clutter removal' or 'junking the junk'. Much better. I still don't know why I wasn't consulted when the english language needed improvement.
Four-year-olds will make the biggest messes right before a showing. They also don't know the meaning of 'Gutsy, please get off my bed. This is the third time I've had to make it in five minutes.' That's code for 'I have nothing else to do so please find work for me.'
Dogs will defecate on a baby's bed an hour before a showing.
The Maven will lose her mind while a showing is taking place and hold her cellphone in her hands eagerly waiting for a phone call. The Maven has a bit of a control issue. Just a little.
I am so sick of fast food that I want to cry. And speaking of fast food, check this out.
HDTV is highly addictive and great to veg out to on the off hours. Not that there are many of those, but they are sacred and worthy fo viewing shaky tornado footage in all its crisp, colourful glory.
I get too tired to do much of anything, including writing coherent blog posts, at midnight after over a week of sheer chaos.
A showing tomorrow and one on Monday. Busy has taken on a whole new meaning.
I'm going to crawl into bed. Maybe I'll take out my fingers and clean it off first, though.