Thursday, November 26, 2009

The leaning tower of rotting pizza

Dear blog,

Upon returning home from a weekend of travel, I made a rather interesting discovery. Apparently my roommates did a little redecorating during my hiatus. I feel like a bit of a hypocrite now, because I can recall a few times in recent history when I suggested that they might not be contributing quite enough effort for the better good of the household.

I can't say that I would have done things exactly the same way... what do you think?

Yes I admit, the soda and beer boxes provide a sort of homey charm. Sure, I can imagine that making a Jenga-like game of adding a can to the overflowing recycling bin would provide a unique challenge.

The thing I can't get on board with is the leaning, plastic, drawstring tower of garbage.

Who knows what kind of rancid, biological in nature, and most likely very stinky liquids that bag must contain!? This bag appears that it could topple and expel its contents all over the floor at any given moment!

It truly amazes me that my roommates don't just shit in the corner like ferrets.

Thank you.

The Cat from The Exorcist

Dear Blog,

There's a serious problem in this household. This problem is caused by a certain overweight feline. The cat in question's given name is "puddin'." However, due to his physique, I feel that the trailing g simply cannot be left out. Take a look for yourself...

The cat that ate the cat that ate the cat that I like to call Pudding.

Apparently this cat's insatiable hunger can never be satisfied. My guess is that when the cat's already basketball-sized stomach fills up, he doesn't take this as a cue to stop eating. The result, as you may have guessed, is an epidemic of regular regurgitation.

At any given moment, while minding your own business in our house, you may be treated to the violent retching sounds emitted by this abomination.

Pudding doesn't discriminate when it comes to where he does his grazing. He mosies from the dog's food bowl, to the other cat's food bowl, to the kitchen floor and then repeats throughout the day. Pudding is rather open-minded when it comes to his vomit receptacles too. He's been known to lay his burden down on the couch, on my roommate's bed, on the carpet, on the tile, on the rug - you name it!

Since there's no stifling the intermittent bile storms that Pudding unleashes, the best thing you can do is try and get him to the tile before he hurls. When you hear the first rising signs of Pudding's pre-rumination ritual, there is absolutely no time to waste! You have literally 3-7 seconds before the payload is delivered.

I try and try to coax him from the carpet and on to the tile before it's too late. I am seldom successful. I can't tell you how many times I've witnessed this manner of horror while in the middle of eating my breakfast. There is nothing more wretched, disgusting, and unappetizing than a the violent throes of an overweight feline purging his engorged abdomen.

Thank you.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Out for a midnight swim

Dear Blog,
I know that you're probably sick and tired of hearing about the front porch. I wouldn't be reporting on the sad state of affairs unless they had indeed grown sadder. Let's have a look!

Oh my! It appears that a rather dirty, shirtless and
shoeless individual has spontaneously combusted!

What manner of scum are these mysterious pants covered in?

Before I show you the final piece of evidence I have gathered, let me tell you what transpired.

I was awoken by somebody mulling about in the middle of the night. Being blind as a bat, I didn't see what the hour was. I got up to get a glass of water and saw that the noise was indeed caused by my roommate, who was brushing their teeth or something with the bathroom door open.

The next morning, my other roommate was leaving for work and said "you should take a look at the front porch." When I peered out the door, I first noticed the mysterious trousers. Upon closer inspection, I was horrified to find this...

Your eyes do not deceive you.
Next to the carefully draped and completely swamp-covered jeans,
there are men's boxer briefs and a pair of socks.

I'm no lawyer, but I don't think that just because it's 4 in the morning, the neighborhood becomes a clothing optional type situation.

When confronted about the events leading up to the alleged streaking, the roommate was paraphrased saying this:

"I was hanging out with this girl I met at Eclipse and she wanted to go roll down a hill. We left the club and I found out that she meant it literally. We were rolling down this grass hill, I went too far and landed in a retention pond. I cut my knee and can barely walk."

The wound on my roommate's knee was very gnarly to say the least. The thought of a fresh wound soaking in the questionable contents of a retention pond was almost nauseating.

The roommate in question fell unspeakably ill a day or two later and was quoted saying: "*Hack! Hack! Cough!* Ugh! Which one of you fuckers got me sick?"

Sure, buddy. It was probably one of us, not the parasites, microbes, amoebas, and algae that undoubtedly poured into your every orifice.

At any rate, this blog is not called the stupidity of roommates. So, here's where the audacity comes in. The swamp covered clothes were found later that day in the bathroom draped over the side of the tub. Sounds perfectly sanitary to me! The next day, when said roommate fell puzzlingly ill, he or she absconded to the abode of their parents to be nursed back to health.

For me, this was great news. Nothing against this person, but if they are sick and want to contaminate somebody else's house, more power to 'em!

As I was adding chemicals to the hot tub in preparation for a visit from my lady friend later that evening, I realized that the swamp ensemble had once again relocated. The nasty draws and socks were now draped over the table next to the hot tub, where they'd undoubtedly stay until this roommate was off their death bed!

I had to go to my happy place, as I hurriedly tossed the offending garments into the garbage can.
Thank you.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

I am Kim's smirking revenge

Dear blog,

Ask your roommate to shave your unsightly back hair, and you may end up like this poor sucker!

I seem to have become the designated shaver in this household. Apparently dudes shaving each others backs is considered "gay." Please refer to the photo. I don't think he will be asking me again.

Thank you

Nurse Ice Queen

Dear Blog,

If your roommate ever has "something" removed from their body, hopefully they can reach it to change the bandage! I have had the pleasure of assisting my roommate with the provided image. *cringe*

They expect me to bite the bullet and assist them with things like waxing their asymmetrical back hair, changing their unreachable bandages and shaving their "neck burns." Since I'm such a great friend and roommate, I oblige with a smile, but God forbid I mention "tampons" in front of them!

Thank you

Why clean it if it's just going to get dirty again?

Dear blog,

We have lived in this lovely home for nearly 2 years now. One of my roommates is unfortunate enough to have a rather nasty oil leak in their car. The roommate in question has made empty promises when confronted about tending to the eyesore reminiscent of the Exxon Valdez spill that is slowly consuming our driveway... correction: the driveway we are RENTING from some soon-to-be angry homeowner.

Time for some journalistic photos...

In this shot, you can see just how big and beautiful the oil slick is.
I think it really brings out the green in our lovely lawn. I'm sure our neighbors would agree.

Upon closer inspection, you can imagine why said roommate is hesitant to do absolutely anything that might result in the removal of this masterpiece.
I think I see a pair of dolphins frolicking in the sea.
Oh, and over there near the bottom... I see a bouquet of pretty flowers!

About 6 months ago, after hearing me nag on numerous occasions, this particular roommate did acquire a scrub brush and a bottle of degreaser from their father. These items were intended to be used on the Exxon Valdez spill prior to pressure washing it. Perhaps 4 months later, the oil spill was growing in a menacing fashion while the bottle of degreaser and scrub brush continued to sit in the garage collecting dust.

One fateful morning, I was feeling particularly motivated. I brandished the jug of cleaner, wielded the mighty scrub brush and dove straight into the black hole in front of our house.

I know it was naive of me to think that if I did the hard part of the cleanup job of the mess that is in no way, shape or form, my own, that this roommate would take the initiative to perform the remaining part of the job.

Now, 2 months down the road, the monstrosity has returned to its former stature. Hell, it may be larger, bolder and more dangerous to local wildlife than ever! At any rate, all the work I did was for naught. The damn thing needs to be degreased again before it can be pressure washed. Every second that passes allows the oil to sink deeper and deeper into the porous concrete. Every new drop that lands on top spreads the ogreish amoeba further across the face of our landlord's investment.

I can almost hear our deposit shriveling in the distance.

Thank you.

Sunday, November 1, 2009

The saga continues (and never ceases for that matter)

Dear blog,

I overheard myself mention the other day that this blog has had a therapeutic effect on the inhabitants of this domicile (myself included.) I explained that posting on this blog has made us all better roommates and that is the reason for my recent hiatus from posting.

This morning, I found myself eating those words.

Let's have a look, shall we?

What is this? A place where a bum sleeps?

Nope, couldn't be... I doubt any self-respecting bum would leave their full pack of delicious cigarettes and lighter behind. What other clues can we find?

Well, if Rain Man were here, he's say something like "There are definitely 132 cigarette butts, 2 half empty cans, 2 empty cigarette packs, one plastic bottle, and 37 days worth of ashes. Definitely 37 days worth of cigarette ashes. Ten minutes to Wapner!"

I don't know what cigarette smokers eat. I don't know how they reproduce. What I do know is that they were born to turn front porches into absolute pits of squalor.

Thank you.