mychai's Diaryland Diary

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Cleaning up after the Disaster.

Well, it happened again.

I don't know what it is when girls move out of an apartment, but some force of nature still largely unexplained by scientists force them to go around and steal things.

If you remember from my past, when Mandy the Psycho Lesbian Ex moved out, she not only took her things, but she also liberated a shitload of my things as well. When Jackass moved out, all he left was an unpaid bill or two. No big whoop. But now that yet another female roommate (for you British people, I am talking about my "flatmate") moved out, this weird natural force once again took over.

I first noticed it when I went to go wipe down some things in my room with my handy little Armor-All Handywipes. Those things rawk because they give everything a nice little shine. Anyway, I went to get me a wipe, and I noticed they were gone.

Again. No big whoop. Ten dollars would replace it.

Then, when Fatass Jenny moved out, I decided I would have a bowl of cereal in my newly vacated living room. I opened the cupboard to get a bowl...

Natta. Not a single bowl or plate was left in the cabinets. I. Am. Plateless.

Now, you can manhandle a guy's Armor-All. You can leave kitty litter ALL OVER THE FLOOR (even though you don't have a cat... which I am still trying to figure out). You can even leave a film of cigarette ash on everything in the house. But when you mess with a self-described Foodie's kitchen supplies, you better watch your back.

As the great philosopher Bugs Bunny once said, "Of course ya know, This. Means. War."

I am not a happy dude.

I'm still planning on filing a small-claims suit against her. She still owes me close to $200 in unpaid bills. Which, admittedly, isn't that much. But if I gave $200 to everyone who came by, I wouldn't have any money. And plus, I don't make a million dollars per month like most of you do. So, $200 is a pretty respectable fraction of my monthly income.

Oh.

And I was scanning Metafilter yesterday like I usually do. It's a decent source of usually-not-seen news stories and random web links that are pretty interesting. I found this link talking about how to find a decent roommate.

No thanks, Shacky. I'm living alone for the rest of my life.

...

I also found this game for those of you who are bored reading this here diary. Warning: It is very addictive.


I went to Wal-Mart last night at midnight. I was sick of the thin film of grime that had permeated my entire apartment.

I spent SEVENTY-FRIGGIN-FIVE dollars on cleaning supplies.

I came home and started cleaning. I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned. And, just for the hell of it -- and because I can -- I cleaned wearing only my underwear. That, my friend, is liberating!

I cleaned until 4:00 in the morning. The hardest thing to clean was my shower. I always thought girls secreted flowers and potpouri and other clean-smelling things. My mom has 409 in her spit. She could clean any spot off of any surface just my licking her finger and rubbing it. It's amazing, my friend.

Even Mandy the Psycho Lesbian Ex would leave a nice-smelling trail wherever she went. Even when she went to the bathroom, it didn't smell the whole place up.

But Fatass Jenny, boy... She's like one of the villains in a superhero comic book: The Grimester! Able to leave layers upon layers of grime everywhere she goes! It took me over an hour to totally clean my bathtub.

Now, in all honesty, I must admit that I, too, shower in there and some of it was mine. But it is easier to blame someone who stole your dishes.

But after four hours of cleaning, I now have the cleanest apartment in all of Columbia. Possibly in the whole state of Missouri.

Oh, and for all of you who were worried about my fruit fly problem (and judging by the numbers of emails I got about this very subject, I would say that not a single one of you even cared, *hint, hint*) I inadvertantly found a solution.

This came while I poured a glass of wine to suckle on while I was cleaning. It seems that fruit flies are attracted to wine like stink to a monkey.

I had fruit flies actually doing double back, half-nelson high dives into my glass of wine. It was only after they went kerplunk into the wine did they realize that they couldn't swim.

I just left the glass of wine on my counter, and when I woke up this morning afternoon, from all of the bodies floating around in there, it looked like the fruit fly Titanic had sunk .

I, personally, could think of worse ways to die than in a big vat of wine.


Well, I should wrap things up in here. I need to make some bread for the week and do a little more rearranging.

Oh, last night while at Wal-Mart, I bought my very first set of tools. It was a set of different screwdrivers. It only cost, like, $2, but still... I'm becoming a handy man. Just call me Bob Villa.

12:29 p.m. - Wed., Oct. 2, 2002

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