So, I rolled my lazy ass out of bed somewhere around the noon-mark yesterday (mothers everywhere, feel free to hate on me).
As soon as I was up, Feyoncé was already cleaning up papers, putting crap away, doing laundry, saving lives and giving money to the poor.
I felt like I had enough energy to eat. Maybe, MAYBE even go to the store to get fruit to have with my wheat and dairy-laden waffles and coconut yogurt.
After I bravely faced the hoardes of slow-moving elderly shoppers at the jam-packed grocery store, fought through same drivers in the parking lot, grabbed a coffee and made it home, I was ready for a nap again.
What did I end up doing, you ask?
Well, Feyoncé was talking about this "spring cleaning" phenomenon that I am vaguely aware of. He went to the store and ran some errands.
I ended up cleaning the front entrance way.
On my mother-effin' hands and knees.
Using a mother-effin' toothbrush to get all the dog drool and dirt and grossness that couldn't be reached with regular, upright cleaning methods.
People, a MOTHER-EFFIN' toothbrush.
I inhaled all kinds of "Fantastik" cleaner, I Swiffer wet-jetted that vinyl flooring like no other assault it has likely ever seen in its life. I think I vaccuumed before washing about 3 times, just to be sure. And I used that weird pointy, funnel-down-to-a-point edge attachment.
Yes, I used central vaccuuming ACCESSORIES, I was so hard core.
The soundtrack to this wondrous (if not atypical) cleaning event?
Oh yeah, Abba, on full blast, so as to hear it over the vaccuum, scrubbing, swearing, sweating, and brushing. (As in mother-effin' toothbrushing the wood floor trim).
Feyoncé came home. I could tell the music was jarring to him. So while I was on my hands and knees, Feyoncé literally said the music needed to be turned down.
WHAAAAAAAAAAT?!?
I'm on my mother-effin' knees cleaning the mother-effin' quarter-round wood trim, and he DARES to try to soften/quiet/stop the ABBA?
Anyway, the poor guy ALSO worked his butt off doing the mile-high stack of dishes, to the only slighty-quieter ABBA soundtrack.
I later found out that he truly, deeply hates ABBA, that it was an awful experience for him, and, when asked, he was hard pressed to tell me ANY OTHER POSSIBLE MUSIC I could have played that would have been worse for him. (My apologies on the abuse of the comma there).
Anyone else need loud music to clean?
Clean their floors/rim with a toothbrush?
Anyone else think Swiffer is total BULLSHIT, since it makes it LOOK clean, but makes it sticky, which will ultimately just attract more dirt, requiring you to Swiffer again, causing an endless vortex of swiffer-squirting-then-sticking-then-resquirting?
No? Just me?
FINE.
__
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As soon as I was up, Feyoncé was already cleaning up papers, putting crap away, doing laundry, saving lives and giving money to the poor.
I felt like I had enough energy to eat. Maybe, MAYBE even go to the store to get fruit to have with my wheat and dairy-laden waffles and coconut yogurt.
After I bravely faced the hoardes of slow-moving elderly shoppers at the jam-packed grocery store, fought through same drivers in the parking lot, grabbed a coffee and made it home, I was ready for a nap again.
What did I end up doing, you ask?
Well, Feyoncé was talking about this "spring cleaning" phenomenon that I am vaguely aware of. He went to the store and ran some errands.
I ended up cleaning the front entrance way.
On my mother-effin' hands and knees.
Using a mother-effin' toothbrush to get all the dog drool and dirt and grossness that couldn't be reached with regular, upright cleaning methods.
People, a MOTHER-EFFIN' toothbrush.
I inhaled all kinds of "Fantastik" cleaner, I Swiffer wet-jetted that vinyl flooring like no other assault it has likely ever seen in its life. I think I vaccuumed before washing about 3 times, just to be sure. And I used that weird pointy, funnel-down-to-a-point edge attachment.
Yes, I used central vaccuuming ACCESSORIES, I was so hard core.
The soundtrack to this wondrous (if not atypical) cleaning event?
 |
| It's pure gold... bellbottoms. |
Oh yeah, Abba, on full blast, so as to hear it over the vaccuum, scrubbing, swearing, sweating, and brushing. (As in mother-effin' toothbrushing the wood floor trim).
Feyoncé came home. I could tell the music was jarring to him. So while I was on my hands and knees, Feyoncé literally said the music needed to be turned down.
WHAAAAAAAAAAT?!?
 |
| But... they're so HAPPY, honey... it's ABBA?!? |
I'm on my mother-effin' knees cleaning the mother-effin' quarter-round wood trim, and he DARES to try to soften/quiet/stop the ABBA?
 |
| I was angry... I need the music to motivate. (p.s. I would have been much happier playing with a kite instead.) |
Anyway, the poor guy ALSO worked his butt off doing the mile-high stack of dishes, to the only slighty-quieter ABBA soundtrack.
I later found out that he truly, deeply hates ABBA, that it was an awful experience for him, and, when asked, he was hard pressed to tell me ANY OTHER POSSIBLE MUSIC I could have played that would have been worse for him. (My apologies on the abuse of the comma there).
Anyone else need loud music to clean?
Clean their floors/rim with a toothbrush?
Anyone else think Swiffer is total BULLSHIT, since it makes it LOOK clean, but makes it sticky, which will ultimately just attract more dirt, requiring you to Swiffer again, causing an endless vortex of swiffer-squirting-then-sticking-then-resquirting?
No? Just me?
FINE.
__