House Kinda Beautiful

(Forewarning: This entry is meandering all over the place, just like my brain has been lately. If you're looking for one coherent theme, you're in the wrong place. This way for random thoughts....)

I don't believe it. My apartment is finally clean.

OK, not really. But it's as close as it's going to get. The floor of my bedroom is, for once, not littered with CD jewel cases and books I've read a hundered times and dirty clothes. (The clothes are still dirty, but I actually managed to get them to the hamper.) With the exceptions of a popcorn bowl and the filter basket from the coffee maker, all of my dishes are done. I still need to do those few dishes, take out some trash, and change the sheets on the bed and I am officially ready for houseguests.

It's a good thing that I did manage to finish early, since Roger Mexico is now planning on getting into town late Wednesday night. And even though he's staying until Monday morning, I'm still not sure if he will manage to get everything on his tentative itinerary done. It's hard to get six months of catching up with several friends done in five days, but he's most certainly going to try.

I'm included in some of the plans; we're planning on seeing a friend's band at Southgate House, Rosencrantz is having a birthday cookout, there's been talk of possibly going to see what's going on at CCM this weekend. A lot of his plans, however, are guy-only things, which will actually give me some time to rest, and have a girls' night out with Zappagirl.

Even though he insisted once again last night that I shouldn't go to any trouble on his account, I've tried to make every effort to ensure that his visit is as stress-free as possible. I went grocery shopping, stocked a few bottles of wine in the cabinet (just in case we actually have a night with no hectic plans), made sure there was enough coffee to maintain the insane schedule he's undertaking. I even called my resident manager in to get some maintenance done on my apartment.

Those who know me and have been to my apartment are muttering "About time," under their breath in reaction to that last line. My kitchen sink had been clogged and the garbage disposal had not been working for some time. And the sealant around the toilet had come loose, meaning that each time you stood up after using it, you were given a score on your dismount by a panel of international judges.

I'd been meaning to call the resident manager about these problems for a while. But, as most of you know, I'm really good with the procrasinating thing. I kept figuring I'd drop a note in with my rent payment, but when the first of the month came around, the house would be a mess or I'd just forget. Oh well, I'd promise myself, I'll get it done later.

And then there was the Kismet factor. According to my lease, I am allowed to keep one spayed/neutered and declawed cat in my apartment. I currently have two spayed/neutered cats with claws firmly intact residing with me. (And I have the little pinprick scratches to prove it.) Not that I figured that I was going to be booted from my residence of 8 years over an extra cat, but there was always that chance.

This weekend, I finally just decided that the maintenance had to be done, regardless of the extra cat. I left a note with my rent check and hoped that one of the cats would hide all day.

As it turned out, I had nothing to fear. Kismet worked her magic on my resident manager and was cute enough to the point that he mentioned her in the progress report that he left on my answering machine. "Hi Myo. it's Manager Guy. You need a new disposal and toilet; I'll be back up tomorrow morning to replace them. And that little white kitten is a hoot."

Yes, he actually used the word "hoot." Kismet got extra kitty treats for that.

So now I have a new disposal and toilet, and I can't get used to it. I still find myself steadying the toilet so it doesn't crash into the wall when I shift my weight. I caught myself taking my coffee mug to the bathroom this morning to rinse it out, even though it had been sitting on the kitchen counter right next to the sink. It's force of habit. I'd gotten used to the weird little quirks of my aparment, and it's going to take some time to get used to the new ones as well.

I also got a new radio installed in my car this weekend, which is another novelty in my life at the moment. After driving for over two years in a car with no speakers, the idea of listening to music is a luxury. I spent nearly thirty minutes on Sunday afternoon selecting driving music. I can go from Prince to Tom Jones to Ben Folds Five in seconds. Cool.

So, things are finally coming together this week, and I'm impatiently counting hours 'til Roger Mexico's scheduled ETA. (30 hours and counting....) I'm not sure if I'll get a chance to post for the rest of the week; with all of the plans he's made for the extended weekend, I may not get a chance to even turn on my computer. As with most things in my life, I'll just play it by ear and see what happens.

Spring Cleaning

I'll be the first to admit that I'm a lousy housekeeper. It's one of those things that sounds like a good idea in theory, but when reality sets in, it's something that can always be put off until tomorrow. The cats don't judge me on whether I've dusted the furniture or washed the toothpaste out of the sink, and they actually prefer it if I don't run the vacuum cleaner. (Ma Huang is terrified of the vacuum, and cowers under the bed for a few hours after I run it.)

Eventually, however, things reach a point when action must taken. The tub gets too grungy, all the forks in the house are dirty, and all of the clean socks seem to have vacated the premises. Or (as the case is at the moment) company is coming.

I've been doing some work around the apartment in preparation for Roger Mexico's upcoming visit, although I doubt that he really cares any more about dusted furniture than the kitties do. As long as he has a place to sleep, reasonably clean bathroom facilities, vegetarian-friendly food in the fridge, and a place to plug in his iBook, things should go smoothly.

But despite knowing this, I'm still working on getting the apartment clean. I'm doing it slowly, a few chores each night. I know my limits, and any thoughts of doing everything in one evening usually ends in me throwing my hands up in the air in exasperation, muttering "Ah, screw it," and collapsing on the couch to chain smoke and watch Bring It On for the millionth time.

For some reason, I decided to start with reorganizing the balcony. The mums that I planted 3 years ago had finally died (probably choked out by the weeds, which were thriving), the furniture was badly in need of a good scrubbing, and the suction cup bird feeder was empty and sadly hanging by one hook. I added flowers for repotting and a sturdy feeder to my shopping list, and headed off after work for a shopping spree at Michael's (the local arts and crafts chain) and Wal Mart.

Since I live on the top floor, there is no balcony above mine, which means I have nothing from which to hang bird feeders and the like. I purchased a large (65") gardening hook at Michael's along with a large set of wind chimes, and spent five minutes trying to figure out how to get the hook into the back of my car. Hatchbacks with fold down back seats are your friends, folks.

The next stop was Wal Mart, since I also needed to buy a new pair of sandals and some work-appropriate shorts in addition to the outdoorsy stuff. After buying a very comfortable pair of sandals, I headed down the cleansing products aisle and stopped to browse the scented candles. While standing there sniffing candles and trying to decide if I liked the Rain Shower or Tangerine Ginger scent better, I was approached by an elderly man, who immediately asked if I worked there. I glanced down at my shirt with the Zoo logo on it, and apologetically replied that I did not. (This happens every time I go into a Wal Mart wearing a uniform from another store. Come to think of it, I used to get questions about cold remedies when I worked at Warner Brothers and would run next door to CVS for a Diet Coke. Do I have "retail employee" written across my forehead or something?) The fact that I did not work for Wal Mart didn't seem to deter the man, since he proceeded to tell me about the air freshener he was looking for, grumbling that it didn't seem to be on the shelf. He finally shuffled away, muttering that he would just go to K Mart and get it there instead. Um, OK. Have fun at the House of Blue Lights, buddy. I decided to buy both candles and headed off to Home and Garden, singing Nirvana's "Lithium" under my breath.

For the most part, the Home and Garden section is a big mystery to me. I am not horticulturally inclined; I want flowers with maximum blooms and minimum care. Needless to say, I did not purchase the oriental lilies, despite them being absolutely gorgeous. I skipped over the petunias as well; while being a reasonably easy plant to deal with, I just don't like them all that much. I finally settled on two hanging baskets of impatiens, figuring I could transplant them into the large planter where the dead mums were currently residing.

While I was making my decision on which baskets to purchase, a couple asked me if I knew where the garden hoses were. Shouldn't the look of complete cluelessness on my face have given away that I don't know diddley squat about anything in this department?

I got sidetracked on my way to look at birdfeeders when I passed the citronella oil lanterns. I actually had one in my cart until I remembered that I had citronella candles at home that I'd purchased years ago and never used. (That should give you some indication about how often I use my balcony.)

Shopping for birdfeeders was almost as confusing as selecting flowers. So many decisions... hummingbird feeders, thistle feeders, squirrelproof feeders, ugly ceramic miniature houses. I've never seen hummingbirds or goldfinches in my area (they might be there, but I've never seen them), so I nixed the idea of hummingbird and thistle feeders. Any squirrel that can figure out how to actually get to my balcony deserves a few sunflower seeds, so I decided against the squirrelproof one as well. And my, were those ceramic houses ugly. All I wanted was a sturdy plastic songbird feeder, preferably with its own pole. Where were they?

At this point, a middle aged yuppie asked me if I knew where grass seed was. I explained again that I was not a Wal Mart employee, and didn't have the vaguest notion where grass seed was located. (Actually, it was right behind the guy. Several different kinds.) He replied that he knew that I didn't work there, but he thought that I would know. What the hell was that supposed to mean? The bright green button on my shirt was for the Frogs! exhibit. It did not say "Ask me about grass seed!" Whatever.

I finally found exactly what I was looking for, a plastic gazebo feeder that held six pounds of seed and came with its own pole. I tossed it into the cart and got the hell out of the store before anyone else mistook me for an employee.

It was growing dark by the time I got home. After lugging all of my purchases up to my apartment (leaving a trail of flower petals behind me), I moved everything out to the balcony to prevent the kitties from helping. (Kismet had already tried to help by attempting to eat the impatiens.) After removing the dead mums, the weeds, and a very confused snail (how did a snail get into a balcony planter?), I transferred the impatiens to the planter, making a huge mess in the process. By the time I got the wind chimes up and the bird feeder assembled, it was completely dark. I tried to sweep the clumps of potting soil and bird seed off the balcony, but I wasn't sure how successful I was, given that I couldn't see a damn thing.

I had other things on the agenda for the evening, but I decided the dishes could wait a little while longer. After vacuuming up the potting soil and bird seed that I had tracked into the house, I watched the end of Angel and took a hot bubble bath.

Last night, I cleaned out the coat closet. It wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be, and I am happy to report that I can finally fit my vacuum cleaner in there again. I also found three jars of bubbles (one unopened), a copy of Salman Rushidie's The Ground Beneath Her Feet (which I started reading three years ago and never finished), and four mostly-full boxes of litter box liners. It was like Christmas in June.

So I have an organized closet and a lovely balcony. Not big accomplishments, but I've still got a week to get everything else done. Tonight, I tackle the dishes and clean the bathroom. I'm saving the bedroom for last. It's a disaster, and could take more than one evening.

Roger Mexico needs to come visit more often. I'm much more motivated to clean the house when he's staying for the weekend.