Plumb Pudding.

I have a headache that could kill a man. It is actually affecting my brain. I couldn’t say “iPhone” just now. All that sputtered out was, “uh….uh…..wait…..uh….”   It’s bad. Like, my eyeballs are hurting. I have popped some naproxen sodium in hopes that it would battle the migraine pounding away in my skull like Travis Barker. So far I still feel like the Keebler Elf is chopping wood in my cerebellum. I can’t live like this you guys.

The plumber came. GOD BLESS IT THE PLUMBER CAME!!!! Our five-day sink-clog has finally been remedied. After plunging the drain and opening the trap, we discovered two plastic knives, a popsicle stick, a straw, and half of a plastic fork. That’ll clog your drain. Whoops. Due to an unusable sink for nearly a week, almost every single dish we owned was dirty and piled upon every square inch of counter space we had, stinking it up worse than Fergie at the Superbowl. The kitchen smelled like spoiled algea and pussy. It was disgusting.

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After tackling the pile of dishes, I went on a full-fledged cleaning rampage. It actually smells GOOD in here. Like, if you closed your eyes, you might actually think you weren’t somewhere completely f-cking disgusting. I Febrezed everything. Candles were lit. The floor was swept and scrubbed, the counters disinfected, the microwave cleaned, and the carpet vacuumed. SPEAKING of which, today was the day I got to try the ol’ Dyson Ball Animal vacuum cleaner for the first time. I came. It is an incredible machine. It turns on a dime, it has multiple easy-to-use attachments, it’s a beast—I love it. I can’t believe how much dirt is in the carpet. It’s nauseating. And I eat Cadbury Mini Eggs off that floor….

I won’t stop.

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I want Mexican food. I would like to be showered in queso blanco. Is that too much to ask? I could bury my face in a cheese enchilada right now if a) I had one and b) no one was around to witness it. Motorboating food is a sure-fire way to become judged harshly. (Fat). Sometimes I get over certain types of food for years at a time. From 2008 to 2010, I could not stop eating Mexican cuisine. Then I did. Chinese and Italian took the lead and I stuffed my gullet full of pasta and fried rice. Two years later, Mexican food is creeping back in. Boy is it. Give me some rice and beans, Jose. Fire up the grill.

WELL, I’m leaving. It’s none of your business what I’m going to go do.

…..but if you must know, I’m putting on more pants because there is a chill in the air. Nosy pricks.

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“Brian, you came!”

“No, I just spilled my drink.”

Home sweet home.

I cannot wait to leave the dump that I am living in in Pennsylvania. Pennsylvania itself is a dump, but the apartment we have been staying in for the last year is a direct reflection of the crummy, vapid state itself.

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Currently, our plumbing is all f-cked up, and nothing will drain. The tub fills up with water while you’re showering, the washing machine leaves your clean clothes sitting in three inches of water after the cycle, sopping wet , forcing you to hand-wring each heavy article of clothing out before tossing it into the dryer (for two cycles, because consequently it takes forever to dry), and the kitchen sink is completely filled with water, and has been for FIVE days now. This is a problem. 1) It’s f-cking disgusting. 2) It’s f-cking annoying. Our counters are PILED high with dirty dishes, and the kitchen smells like afterbirth. Thank god the toilets are flushing, but the way things are progressing, it’s only a matter of time before those stop working, too.

We have no garbage disposal. That means two tiny macaroni noodles can clog the kitchen sink entirely. This also means stinky spoiling food sits in the trash for several days, stinking up the place.

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We have no air conditioning. “Get a window unit!”  Our windows do not slide up, they angle out. Window units are not a plausible option. The date is March 24th, and the apartment is probably 82 degrees. We are all sweating. The opposite issue is that we do not control the heat in this building. Instead, the old couple that lives below us does. This is problematic because the heat travels from their apartment up the air ducts into our apartment. What’s wrong with that you ask? See next issue.

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Our downstairs neighbors REEK of pee. It is a geriatric couple that do nothing but sit at home all day, pissing in their elastic waistband pants on the couch. Each time they leave the apartment to slowly shuffle down the hall with their walkers to retrieve the mail (which takes them like ten painful minutes somehow), they leave the door open to their apartment, and the gut-wrenching stench of urine permeates the entire building. Passing through the hallway at this time will surely put you to death. The ammonia levels in this apartment are life-threatening. It gets in your mouth. You need to scrape your tongue after an accidental run-in with Mr. and Mrs. Peebody. It’s f-cking terrible. I don’t know how the ammonia level hasn’t killed them yet, but I hope it does soon. When they die, the apartment will need to be cleansed by fire. Industrial strength cleaning supplies will be as effective as using a cardboard box as shelter from an F5 tornado.

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We have no dishwasher. This is more of an inconvenience than a serious problem, but a problem nonetheless. Four people in one apartment: the dishes pile up fast. One minute you’re eating dinner, and the next minute you’re feeling hopeless, facing a pile of dishes the size of Mt. Everest.

Our carpet sheds like a Newfoundland dog in mid-July. I have never seen carpet do this before in my life. It doesn’t matter how many times you vacuum, carpet fibers continue to unpluck themselves and scatter about the floor. Somehow it does not seem to be thinning. I don’t understand.

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We have only two-prong electrical outlets. Welcome to 1976. My computer, flat iron, blow dryer, vacuum cleaner—almost all of my appliances are three-prong. This is very annoying. I had to purchase several plug-in adapters so that I could use all of these items.

Bugs invade our home in a very serious manner. Our windows aren’t exactly “airtight,” nor are the screens that loosely occupy them. We have an infestation of tiny flies right now. They wind up in your glasses of water, on your toothbrush, they fill the light fixtures—it’s disgusting.

Things are just permanently dirty in this house. Like, no matter what you do to the tub/shower, it will never look, feel, or smell clean. Same with the floors. Nothing can be done. Get me out of here.

WELL, that’s enough agony for now. Enjoy your day, girls and boys.

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“When I first came from Russia, it said this was an ‘alcohol free campus.’ I was like, ‘Oh my god, they give alcohol for free here?'”

The scent of a woman.

I keep snapping my head from left to right and nosing the air after catching whiffs of something really fresh and delicious smelling. *Sniff sniff*–what is that fantastic smell? I wonder. Then I realize it’s me. More specifically, it’s my shirt, because Tide laundry detergent + Febreze is the elixir of life and Proctor & Gamble’s gift to the world. Every article of clothing comes out smelling like what I imagine David Beckham smells like. My clothing emits a delightful, welcoming and comforting aroma of freshness like a field of wild flowers on a spring afternoon. I want to eat my shirt. It’s irresistible. I recommend it.

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Coincidentally, I just logged onto Yahoo News to find other shit to write about, and the first story that caught my eye was the following:

http://news.yahoo.com/blogs/trending-now/tide-detergent-being-stolen-stores-across-country-162253268.html;_ylt=Aiht5k2xXggiSp4Ij_KL3yKs0NUE;_ylu=X3oDMTNqbW1zNWxxBGNjb2RlA2N0LmMEcGtnA2IyNGRiMDM5LTBkYTAtM2M5Yi1iY2NjLTYxYTA4ZmIzMzQ3OQRwb3MDMgRzZWMDbW9zdF9wb3B1bGFyBHZlcgNjYTEwOTlhMC02ZGQ2LTExZTEtOGZhMy02YjdhZjM5NTU4MjM-;_ylg=X3oDMTFrM25vcXFyBGludGwDdXMEbGFuZwNlbi11cwRwc3RhaWQDBHBzdGNhdAMEcHQDc2VjdGlvbnMEdGVzdAM-;_ylv=3

^ People stealing Tide. Haha. It’s not about the drugs, Yahoo. It’s about the heavenly smelling Tide.

Tide + Downy is also orgasmic. Try them both, choose for yourself.

The Voice continues to grab me by the balls. I love this show. I also love Adam Levine’s face, eyes, mouth, and body. That is when I’m not so distracted by Christina Aguilera’s bazoongas to see it. What the f-ck is up with Cee Lo Green and his giant white cat?

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Am I watching The Voice or Austin Powers? The cat’s name is Mr. Purrfect. Unbelievable. One second I’m watching a very intense singing competition, and the next second I’m watching Cee Lo Green stroke his white cat in his red silk pajamas and make commentary on the show like it’s perfectly normal. He’s doing it to f-ck with everyone. Haha.

There is perhaps nothing more frightening than having a full bottle of soda erupt in your face while driving 80 miles per hour down the interstate in the winding, snowy mountains. The other day after five hours of intense snowboarding, my brother and I stopped at a 7/11 to get some garbage to put into our bodies to not help it recover from all the aggressive physical activity we put them through that day. We picked up some Doritos, Dr. Peppers, and Cadbury Eggs, gassed up the car and hit the road. About five minutes into the drive, I asked Richard to pass me my Dr. Pepper with much anticipation. With my knee on the steering wheel, I twisted the cap, and like Mt. St. Helens in 1980, it violently exploded all over the driver’s side of the car with the fury of a thousand volcanoes. I was literally dripping in Dr. Pepper from head to toe. I have no idea what happened. It was never shaken, bumped, or disturbed. Richard stared at me with his mouth agape. We were so confused.

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“I don’t even know what’s going on right now,” he said. Haha. I was pissed. My coat, pants, face, lap, seat, center console, door, and steering wheel were coated in sticky pop. What happened, Bill Nye? Did the cashier pull a prank on me? I did make her go through a bit of trouble with manufacturer’s coupons during the checkout……what a bitch.

Anyway, time for me to go paint my nails. I’m becoming a nail painting addict. It’s fine. Gotta keep my game tight, knowhadamsayne?

BYE!

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“Imagine your dick as a bus. Even a small bus is still a huuuge bus. You know?”

It’s a boy!

Sadly I have left the wonderous state of Colorado behind to once again travel to the dismal, vapid, grumpy east coast. There is nothing more painful than driving away from the mountains and seeing the hazy blue Rockies slowly disappear in your rear view mirror. Except maybe my right ass cheek after enduring the ten hour drive. That’s painful too. I got Taco John’s part-way through the drive to numb the pain. It worked.

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So my life continues to be a routine cycle of packing and unpacking. What sucks about this time is that I had to pack all of my stuff to leave Colorado, come home to Iowa and unpack it all, then re-pack for Pennsylvania, then unpack when I get there, then in two weeks when I’m called to the next storm somewhere else in the country, RE-pack all of that, and then unpack AGAIN when I reach my final destination. Somebody shoot me square in the face.

I am currently at Performance Chrysler-Jeep-Dodge in Omaha getting my leaking sunroof repaired, but you could convince me I’m at a Westin Hotel. The staff is incredibly welcoming and kind, and they have a waiting room fit for a king. There is a Goldfish dispenser, a trail mix dispenser, a popcorn machine, hot chocolate, coffee, lattes, tea, bottled water, chai (the list of hot drinks goes on for miles), plus a computer lab, televisions, magazines, and wireless internet. The only thing I need is a Heavenly Bed and I’m set.

Well, and for them to stop playing “Just Another Manic Monday” on the radio. Beggars can’t be choosers.

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I came home and immediately got pissed off at my full closet again. This thing is impossible. Six weeks ago when I arrived home, I gutted it out as much as I thought I could. I tried again yesterday. I am successfully getting rid of another pile of clothes. I was too lazy last time, but this time I am going to try to pawn some of it off at a consignment shop. My goal is to make some cash money and go purchase a Bose Sound Dock from Craigslist. I have wanted one for a long time. SPEAKING of things I’ve wanted for a long time, guess what we’ll be welcoming into the family soon!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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A brand new Dyson “DC 41 Animal” Ball Vacuum!!!

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Praise the Lord! I am so excited. I have never been this jacked over a household appliance in all of my life. Probably because we’ve never really owned real household appliances yet. I hope it sucks, in the most literal sense of the word. The last two vacuum cleaners we owned were completely f-cking useless. The first one was a Bissell that got clogged in 14 seconds by the grotesque cocktail of my long red hair + my dog’s shedding coat, and then I got another one off Craigslist that I thought would be better by leaps and bounds, but that one was even worse if that’s possible. I had resorted to periodically going to different neighbors and asking to borrow their vacuum cleaners. This was fine, except my closest neighbor’s vacuum was an 80 pound steel tank from the 1980s that required both a crane and a pro-wrestler on steroids to maneuver, and the other neighbor lived a block away. Inconveniences that make you say, “F-ck it,” and live in the filth.

But not anymore. OOOO WEEE!!!! I am going to be a vacuuming son of a bitch. There won’t be a hair, fur, dust particle, or crumb in sight after I get this beast. There might not even be furniture.

Things might get out of control.

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My Jeep is filthy. A drive through the melting mountains coated it in a baker’s dozen layers of dirt, salt, mud, sand, and oil. It needs to be seriously cleaned. Too bad I don’t already have my Dyson Vacuum or I could just SUCK ALL THE FILTH OFF!!!!

I think my perception of how this vacuum works may be becoming a little distorted.

The high for every single day this week is 79 degrees. SEVENTY-NINE.

…DEGREES.

It is early March in Iowa. What is going on? Bring on the storms. Anyway, the point is, I could just get out there and wash my car myself. But it’s just so much work. I’d rather have Jeff’s Riverside Car Wash do it. (They have a sign outside that says “We’ll detail ANYTHING!” I wonder if they mean that. Someone bring them a microwave). If you are from or are ever in Council Bluffs, Iowa, go ahead and bring your vehicle into this place. You won’t recognize it when you go back to pick it up. They clean it like there’s no tomorrow. A full interior and exterior detailing is like $70 or something. Pretty great for floor mats you could eat chicken pate off of afterward. I recommend it.

Anyway, time for me to go check out my leaking sunroof and hope it doesn’t cost me $400 to fix. I’ll keep you posted on how badass the Dyson Ball is. Bi.
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“*GASP* – He took the pepporcini! GOOD LUCK!”

Never trust a skinny chef.

My roommate (husband) has been watching Masterchef for the last couple of hours. Or should I say Masterdouche.  I’ve seen freshman cat fights that have been less dramatic. I would very much like to choke each and every person on that television show. More importantly, I would like to slaughter this man simply because of the way he looks.

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They say to never trust a skinny chef, but my personal policy is to never trust someone who is large enough to eat you. This man is a hog. Like, he might actually be a direct descendant of swine. He is such a fat bastard. Like, he could have guest starred in Saw III as one of the pigs that went through that giant destructive machine that turned all the dead piggies into a pig smoothie of sorts (gag).

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V – Uncanny resemblance.

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I went on an absolute cleaning rampage today. I went to bed with plans to go measure and inspect a few properties in the morning, but awoke to torrential rains and nonstop crackling thunder and lightning. Something came over me and I cleaned the shit out of our apartment. I turned into a Merry Maid in the blink of an eye. Apparently turning 23 put me into domestic housewife mode (temporarily). I mopped the kitchen floor, vacuumed the entire house, did two loads of laundry, washed the dishes, cleaned the toilets, scoured the shower, disinfected the counter tops, cleaned the sinks, took out the trash, organized the living room, and then topped off the extravaganza with a quart of Febreze, a Bath & Body Works Wallflower, and rubbed my dog down with a Downy dryer sheet for good measure.

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I won’t touch another Lysol wipe til Christmas.

I want you to go ahead and search images of “vacuuming” on Google right now.

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Oh my god, you lazy f–ks, here:  http://www.google.com/search?tbm=isch&hl=en&source=hp&biw=1108&bih=624&q=cleaning&gbv=2&oq=cleaning&aq=f&aqi=g10&aql=&gs_sm=e&gs_upl=1265l2097l0l2764l8l3l0l0l0l0l139l272l0.2l2#hl=en&gbv=2&tbm=isch&sa=1&q=vacuuming&oq=vacuuming&aq=f&aqi=g10&aql=&gs_sm=e&gs_upl=137056l138035l0l138092l9l3l0l0l0l0l536l768l1.1.5-1l3&bav=on.2,or.r_gc.r_pw.&fp=f065e8756ae6259d&biw=1108&bih=624

Just browse the photos. Why are all these people smiling? Nobody is traipsing around their living rooms having the time of their life whilst pushing around a bulky vacuum cleaner picking up pet hair and dead skin cells. Who are these people?

The vacuuming needed to be done so badly. I purchased a $32 Dirt Devil from Big Lots upon my arrival to Greensburg, and it worked for about 11 seconds before it turned into a useless hunk of plastic that clogged constantly. Had I been blindfolded and someone attached a dead cat to the end of a vacuum handle and had me run it back and forth across the carpet, I wouldn’t have known the difference. The Dirt Devil did nothing more than move carpet particles and tufts of dog hair around the room. My next door neighbor, Kathy, let me borrow her prehistoric vacuum cleaner that was probably made in 1985. It weighed about a hundred pounds. I was drenched in sweat by the time I finished. It looked like I had run the mile. Dammit it worked though.

Nothing ruins a delicious frozen fudgsicle treat like the wood stick it is frozen onto. I cannot stand the feeling of my teeth on that wooden stick, nor can I stomach the taste of the wood on my tongue. It is truly like nails-on-a-chalkboard feeling to me. Why don’t these companies put popsicles and things of the like on plastic sticks? This would solve the problem. It would also be recyclable that way. I am going to start boycotting wooden stick treats. You should all join me.

Sign up sheets are at the back of the room.

Ok, bye.

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“Did you ever play this game as a kid?  ‘The floor is lava!‘  They all meant the same thing. You were poor.”