Making Hairy Buts Cry is More Fun than you Might Think

Have you ever had a moment (I know, there I go again with the Moment thing - only this time I'm talking about a moment in time not necessarily a Moment in time. Does that make sense? Um ... moving on.) where you walk into [a place], in this case it's my bedroom, and wonder how in the hell you let [that one thing that you always say you're going to do/take care of but never really get around too] get so out of hand, in this case it's the fact that I never clean, that you can feel the vein in your forehead start to throb a little?

No? Is that just me?

This is one of those days where I can hear my Sad Little Ghost screaming at me to get off of my butt and just do something about it.

And I think I may have figured out what was standing between me and my Sad Little Ghost all that time ... I think it's a Big, Ugly, Hairy But, BUHB for short (you can visualize that however you would like).

As I sit here, thinking about it, a whole bunch of Big, Ugly, Hairy Buts are rolling around in my head trying to block out my Sad Little Ghost and his wailing of "Clean your space! Free your mind! Put the vein in your forehead back where it belongs!".

• There's the "But I have to take the dogs to obedience classes tonight" BUHB
• There's the "But I need to spend time working on my budget tonight after obedience class" BUHB
• There's the "But if I put in a load of laundry before I leave for obedience class, it will sit there forever and then it will mildew/piss off another resident and prompt a passive aggressive note that will make me feel bad" BUHB
• There's the "But I won't have time to do my yoga tonight if I start this now" BUHB
  
• And there's the "But I need to blog about this more than I need to actually do something about this" BUHB (which is not only my personal favorite but also what is really happening right now ... sad)

Too bad my BUHB-es (that's the plural, you know) don't know that I still have another 45 minutes before I have to leave for obedience classes tonight, which should give me just enough time to walk the dogs (very quickly), fold the towels and sort the laundry so that when I get back and I do a load and do my yoga at the same time - gasp! shock! awe!

I have to say that I usually don't like to make people/things/figments of my imagination cry, but the vein in my forehead sure does relax a lot when it see my BUHB-es weeping like little babies.

To the folding!

Like sping cleaning, only smellier

While I was in Florida, and Armini was taking care of the puppies, there was an incident. The last two days I was away Tim and Bing thought that it would be a really, awesomely good idea to excrete all over the floor of my room. There was a lot wee and a little poo. And when I got home on that Thursday, I almost threw up when I opened the door to my room. I have worked in a kennel before and I have NEVER smelled anything so foul as my bedroom on that night.

It smelled so bad that you could smell it even when the door was closed. SERIOUSLY. I had a little sit down with the dogs so that I could tell them about how totally not cool it was that they had made my room stink in such an unholy way. They wagged their tails and licked me. That's when I noticed that they smelled pretty bad themselves. They got baths that night. And Armini got a roommate for the next few days.

Last weekend I rented a steam cleaner and steamed the crap out of my carpets. This is what our living room looked like for about two days (because, you have to steam the carpets and then wait for them to dry. Which I'm sure you knew already. I really like to state the obvious):

Everything that was in my bedroom, all in the living room.

And the Rug Doctor Working hard. 1 and 1/2 gallons at a time.

At the end of the day, my back hurt, the apartment was a mess, and the dogs found some new homes for when they are home alone during the day (their kennels). And my stuff is still all over the apartment, just hidden away in nooks and crannies where people who haven't see our apartment before wouldn't really notice that [the thing] is out of place. But Armini knows.

But sometimes when I walk past my open bedroom door I catch a whiff of that smell. That urine stink that makes me want to gag (only now it's worse because I soaked the carpet with Febreze a few times and so now the stink is mixed with that "breath of fresh air" smell. Which is truly a lot worse than you can imagine). So I am turning to you, my reader(s?), to tell me what you think I should do. I have already crawled around on my hands and knees sniffing the legs of everything that was on the floor during "the incident", and really nothing smells. I don't understand where the smell could be coming from ... and the dogs have not marked since I steamed the carpets because they're either following me around like tiny shadows or they are put away in their kennels.

A real time picture: This is what is sitting in my lap right now. They are just SO snuggly!

HALP!

The Conditional Confession of the Mess Maker

Last night, while Armini was scolding me for being a messy roommate (according to him I had 80 thousand things that belonged to me laying around in the dinning room/living room) he compared me to his old roommate who shall remain nameless. However, this roommate was a total slob and really liked to leave his dishes out on the kitchen counter to collect ants during the summer time (which I do not do; I am a little totally OCD about keeping my kitchen clean).

And, ok, I will admit that I have been a little more messy as of late. But most of it is from the "spring cleaning" I did (post with pictures coming soon!) and the reason that it's going back into my bedroom so slowly is because it must have a home to go back too, otherwise it has been sitting in the same place waiting for a spot to open up. And maybe I have a problem with just dropping my stuff on the couch when I get home after work ...

But when he compared me to his old roommate (and, I might add, I was cleaning the kitchen when he said this) my head almost swiveled all the way around. I looked at him and told him that if he wanted me to start living like [roommate] then I would be more than happy to show him the difference. At least I clean the bathroom!

*sigh* - I will admit that I am a little bit slobby, but since half marathon training training (yes, I am so out of shape that I have to train for the actual training part) started, I see a mess and suddenly get the feeling that my head is going to explode. It's all about the time, as in, I am too busy training [myself - the dogs] to spend any significant amount of time cleaning.

I am torn between wanting to admit that it's my fault and that there is no excuse for the little messes around the apartment, but at the same time I feel like there are things beyond my control that are helping add to the mess. Which, overall, makes me feel bad for being the messy roommate. I mean, honestly, aren't the guys supposed to be the ones that make the messes?