Paint It, Black
May 2nd, 2007
I’ve got to get over my clean floors. I won’t let anyone walk on them, and given that a vast amount of our first floor is tiled, that means I’m demanding that every living creature – two- and four-legged – avoid making a mess. There are multiple paw wipings each day, and the amount of litterbox scooping I’m doing is incredibly unhealthy. I mean it’s to the point where I’m hovering over him while he pees and immediately whisking away the results. If I hear scratching down there, I’m hurtling down the stairs at breakneck speed, pooper scooper held aloft. Today, Adam dropped an ice cube in the kitchen, and I attacked him with the fire of a thousand suns, screeching “BUT…MY CLEAN FLOORS!” like Donna Reed on meth. God.
We also went a little Glade Plug-in happy, and in retrospect, perhaps I should have gotten corresponding fragrances, because oh holy shit, the sticky-sweet vanilla from the dining room is not meshing well with whatever oceanic breezy-type thing we’re rocking in the kitchen. It’s like having a vanilla cupcake up to your neck in seaweed. Tell me, is this not the most exciting thing you’ve read all day? Because I could go on. I could talk about my toilet cleaning and the intense pleasure I feel every time I wield a toilet wand, because clean toilets are extremely important for everyone involved, and I am a bit of a zealot about them. I am not, however, a zealot about the toilet cleaner I picked up, which smells like mint, the implication being that I want minty-fresh toilets. Which is gross, really, because there is no licking of the toilets happening. This isn’t Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Room, for chrissake.
The truth is, we’re milking whatever sad calm we have before my parents arrive on Saturday. Which, for those of you keeping score, means that we’ve either had family in town or been visiting friends and family every week for the past three weeks, and while I’m looking so forward to seeing my parents, there is a small part of me that’s just sort of had it. Also, I’m a little disappointed that all of my cleaning efforts are being focused on parts of the house that we don’t actually utilize, i.e., our bedroom is pretty much the grossest place ever, although it looks passable, if you don’t inhale the sheets deeply, that is. And if I don’t get in there and clean that toilet, instead of focusing my attention on the other two, however, I’m going to have to start doing the Stall Squat right in my own master bathroom.
Speaking of clean: I’ve discussed my neighborhood’s frustratingly pervasive poop wars before (incidentally, the Asshole Bag is still in full circulation, although I believe the originator has been outed), but what’s bothering me is that there are some – nay, there are MANY – neighbors who don’t want my dog pooping anywhere near their yards, even if I clean it up. Now, this hardly seems fair, given that postage stamp-sized lawns are the norm around here, and unless I feel like circling Sunny in a two-inch radius, screeching, “Sunny go POOP?” over and over again, I’ve got to walk her. Is this reasonable to anyone, and if so, for the love of poop, why?
Also, thanks for the comments on the bad habits, because Jesus, I am so happy there are at least that many quiet eaters out there. It’s worth noting that Andrea made the most insanely accurate observation of a smacky eater I’ve ever heard, which is that loud eaters sound like someone is stirring a big bowl of very creamy chicken salad. And um, EW? HOW ACCURATE IS THAT?
Finally, after watching Bon Jovi on American Idol tonight (what?), I can’t help but notice that there’s Jon Bon Jovi (hot), Richie Sambora (also hot) and then there’s the other guy with the bad perm. Kind of like the bass player in the Goo Goo Dolls, or, say, Turtle on Entourage, I wonder what it’s like being the unattractive dude with bad hair in a hot band-slash-entourage (ha!)? Or do they just not care that people think they’re relatively unsightly because, hey, at least they’re getting laid? And further, what the HELL is with that guy’s hair?
*Rolling Stones, of course. And, I might add, it’s the frillionth – THE FRILLIONTH – song that I love that American Idol ruined for me with their cheesy Ford commercials. I don’t care how overplayed it is, I’ve always loved Paint It, Black (comma and all).
Entry Filed under: Nuttin'
19 Comments Add your own
1. -R- | May 2nd, 2007 at 7:58 pm
I think that the less attractive friend does not care because at least he is getting laid. In fact, I bet he (in every single case) thinks he is extremely hot, just as hot as his friends. Men are weird that way.
2. Carol | May 2nd, 2007 at 8:17 pm
After reading about all the cleaning of toilets – I’m feeling pretty great about my one bathroom!
3. Kristi | May 2nd, 2007 at 8:26 pm
Ya, PIB has always been my favorite Stones song too (Ruby Tuesday, close second). hmm…color theme? Please Idol, don’t ruin yet another fav! I am a HUGE BonJovi fan (in high school I swore that when he was old and in need of fans I’d be by his side to reassure him of my undying devotion – ya, anyway…) and that guys freakin’ hair has been like that for the last 20 years!!!! What up wit dat?! Perm much?
4. Jennifer | May 2nd, 2007 at 11:14 pm
I manage to work “Paint It Black” into everyday conversation quite frequently… for example, I had a big black metal desk for many years and I noticed it had been overpainted (original desk was some government green). So the lyric for the desk was: “I see a green desk and I want to paint it, Black.”
When I couldn’t find my orchestra black dress for a recent concert I was in, I sang to my hubs “I see a blue dress but I need one painted black.”
Situations constantly come up that require the song to be sung.
5. Allison | May 3rd, 2007 at 3:54 am
My current bathroom cleaner is green apple scented. Disgusting.
6. Claire | May 3rd, 2007 at 5:34 am
huh, i never knew there was a comma stuck in there. neato.
i don’t get the sudden surge in sweet smelling cleaners. I want my clean things to smell CLEAN not like a raspberry swirl or whatever. Clean should smell clean. Nuff said.
7. jonniker | May 3rd, 2007 at 5:49 am
I feel strangely compelled to point out that I realize that Turtle is not a real person. Just in case anyone wondered, as the example now seems completely out of context.
8. Sadie | May 3rd, 2007 at 6:25 am
I can’t do Glad Plug-Ins, just like I can’t do car air fresheners. The smells are inevitably so strong and cloying and artificial that I can taste them in the back of my mouth. And that makes me want to die. And spit.
But I appreciate the fervor with which you clean your toilets, and you’ve reminded me I need a new toilet brush.
9. TwoBusy | May 3rd, 2007 at 6:50 am
Poor Robby Takac. He’s goofy looking, his songs generally suck… and now you’re making fun of him.
“Cry, Robby, cry! Cry, Robby, cry!”
There. You’ve reduced him to rubble. I hope you feel proud.
10. jonniker | May 3rd, 2007 at 6:52 am
TB: It’s my understanding that Robby is generally a total dick, so it’s hard for me to feel sorry for him. I also gather that he gets laid quite a bit, so the pity party is diminished to less than zero.
11. TwoBusy | May 3rd, 2007 at 7:20 am
Rage against the Takac.
12. Aim | May 3rd, 2007 at 7:21 am
I have two toilets here that would be happy — nay, thrilled and honored — for you to clean them. And Sunny can poop wherever she wants, provided there’s a baggy handy.
A cautionary tale: Last year I was invited to a party where I was informed beforehand that I would not be able to wear my shoes in the house. The gentleman who owned the home in question had for some reason seen fit to laquer his wooden floors black, and no one was allowed to walk on them in shoes for fear of scratching them. I seriously almost didn’t go. What kind of person installs a floor you can’t walk on? What kind of person invites 60 people to his home and then makes them all go barefoot??? I half-expected to be told, “And this is the couch, but please don’t sit on it.” With visions of that “Sex & the City” stolen-shoes episode dancing in my head, I stepped over the tremendous pile of truly awful footwear clustered on the front porch and hid mine under the bed. I didn’t stay long.
J-babe, I love your devotion to cleanliness (you’re the child my mother wishes she’d had) but don’t be that guy!
13. Aim | May 3rd, 2007 at 8:08 am
P.S. I vote for Gimme Shelter
14. Andrea | May 3rd, 2007 at 9:39 am
See, and my cleaning habits leave much to be desired. I’m slovenly compared to you.
Which reminds me, I need to clean my toilets.
15. Jennifer | May 3rd, 2007 at 12:51 pm
Hmm…when was the last time cleaned ours? Couldn’t honestly say.
On the no shoe front, I went to party recently and everyone was taking off their shoes, it was casual, and I was wearing slip ons with no socks and it just felt odd to walk around someone’s kitchen with no shoes on. What would be the appropriate thing to do? Barefoot, or shoes?
16. Claire | May 3rd, 2007 at 12:57 pm
i would like to comment on Aim’s comment and say:
That is assinine. I totally agree. And would have worn a spitefully skinny-heeled shoe to drag across his shiny, black floors when he wasn’t looking.
17. EdenEising | May 3rd, 2007 at 1:07 pm
Have just found your blog. Also hate being near smaky eaters. My eldest daughter is terrible. I nag her all the time, wish could find foolproof method of correction but can’t imagine what other than staples on lips.
18. Christine | May 3rd, 2007 at 3:23 pm
I would take Turtle over Drama any day. No. I take that back, Drama cooks. Drama, he’s all mine.
19. winterwheat | May 3rd, 2007 at 7:08 pm
Since I grew up on the shore of Lake Erie, I have actually HAD a vanilla cupcake while up to my neck in seaweed. Except since it was the 70s, the water contained chemicals and was on fire, so the overall smell was a little different. Like Gary, Indiana, with its artificial french-fry smell, plus vanilla.
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