Jerry: "Let me ask you this. When she comes over, you cleaning up a lot?"
Jerry: "Just straightening up, or are you cleaning?"
Jerry: "You do the tub?"
Jerry: "On your knees, Ajax, scrubbing, the whole deal?
Jerry: "OK. I think you're in love."
George: "Tub is love?"
Jerry: "Tub is love. So there you are. You've got a nice girl and a clean apartment."
Sometimes I wonder if I'd ever clean if I didn't have company. Of course, I would. But knowing someone is coming over is the kick I need to get started. And probably assures that cleaning happens more often. Which is a good thing.
The amount and depth of cleaning is directly related to the type of company. Mom, dad, or sister, I make sure there is no underwear lying in plain sight, and close the shower curtain. For extended family, such as aunts, uncles, and cousins, I usually vacuum, use the feather duster downstairs, and close the shower curtain.
For friends, it all depends on how long they are going to be there and the likelihood they will need to go upstairs. It can range from just picking up a few things downstairs to a fairly thorough cleaning. And close the shower curtain.
But the ultimate clean, the most I ever clean, is when I'm having a girl over. It's major I'm talking vacuuming, sweeping, moppping. Sink, stove, kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, living room. Endust, 409, Comet, Pine Sol, and on and on. Until eventually I find myself on my knees in the tub, wearing an old t-shirt and yellow latex gloves, singing Bryan Adams and Richard Marx love songs, high on Tilex fumes. Or at least that's how it was last night.
George: "But it's a great building. It's two bedrooms!"
Jerry: "Two bedrooms? Why do I need two bedrooms? I got enough trouble maintaining activity in one."
Also on the agenda for the coming weekend is reorganizing my spare bedroom. Maybe. I'd like to convert it into an office. Right now it contains an ironing board, small desk, bookshelf, and assorted other items. Along with several boxes that have yet to be unpacked from the move. Most of which I probably don't need. I mean, if I haven't needed them in seven-plus months.
How did I accumulate so much stuff? I remember when I moved out of my parents house, I was begging for stuff to put in my first apartment. Cruising the streets hoping someone had thrown out an old couch. My living room furniture consisted of one couch and a red bean bag. My aunt had given me the couch. It had a pastel floral pattern and a couple of tears in the cushions.
I moved out in my early twenties. A lot of my friends commuted to college, as did I. And almost all of us moved out within several months of each other. Almost. It started when Little Joe's mom and step-dad came home from a camping trip and found alcohol in the house.
He apparently used to have these parties when they were gone. I really wouldn't know. They were sort of Nintendo-playing-drinking parties. Where you'd stay up all night and then go to school the next morning at 8 AM. I heard.
Anyway, he never had anymore of those parties after that. Just immediately started looking for a place to live. He never said, but I always assumed he was strongly encouraged to do so.
This was supposed a post about cleaning. Not sure how I got off on moving out. Although something Pia wrote yesterday reminded me of something I've always believed. That it's good to move out and be on your own, at least for six months or a year. Rather than go straight from your parents house to a spouse. Think you're missing a part of life if you don't.
It's one of those little rules or beliefs you have about life. Not really sure where they come from or maybe even what you base it on. I call mine Bone logic. Never got a chance to talk about them or share them. Until blogging came along.
I'm not sure how to end this post. I just keep smelling my hands every few minutes a la Mary Catherine Gallagher. To see if they smell like Comet.
I also do gymnastics. Superstah!
"Tell me what we got. Tell me it's a lot. Tell me it's the real thing..."