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tim!: My Dirty World
2002
I am a neophyte in the world of home ownership. Thirteen days now. I am also a neophyte in the world of being a clean person. Maybe 6 months now. My days of true consistent slovenly behavior tapered off a few years ago, although I still hold tight to my right as a citizen of the world not to wear deodorant. It blocks the pheromones.
The nice people that sold me their home left it quite clean. A lot cleaner than I left my previous dwelling. If anyone has ever been to 1020 Urban, Durham, NC, in the last year you'll know of what I speak. And it really wasn't our fault. It was like Nature was slowly taking Her house back, one dust bunny at a time. Which really pissed me off. Apparently I have some sick cleaning gene that gets Transcripted and then Translated much more frequently than my housemates' did. It was a losing battle. Our shining moment was 2 years ago when we decided to clean out the storage room for a garage sale, and ended up cleaning the entire house. This is like 4000 or 5000 square feet of house, and it's all dirty. The windows were cleaned on both sides. It was really something. That was the last time. I would still fight small battles here and there, but nothing like that. There was one day not too long ago when I was cleaning something, which led to something else, and it got out of hand. One roommate was returning from running, and there I am in the foyer vacuuming the floors. The thing is, there is scaffolding all over the front porch, with crossing beams and things to duck under. And then there is me in the foyer with a vacuum, dodging and parrying the dust bunnies. The fucking dust bunnies - I'll get to them in a minute. The scene was later regaled to me in all its absurdity. Me with the vacuum surrounded by a house that is literally falling down around me as I clean. The clean gene is not interested in odds, apparently.
My definition of the dust bunny is an entity that is comprised of the following: 60% cat fur, 20% dirt, 10% skin flakes, and 10% unknown. It should be called a fur bunny then. The fur part is what defines the dust bunny structuralism and mobileness. Without the fur, you just have some dirt. I loathe the dust bunny. The #1 problem with the dust bunny is its mobility. It can be flat or round-like, but it moves the same way. Is all you have to do is walk by one and it runs away. I guess people who have no cats and no animals at all have a lesser dust bunny population. I am surrounded by cats, and thus by dust bunnies as well.
The thing that inspired me to share today was the cleaning of my new kitchen. Like I said, the old inhabitants of 2937 Chapel Hill Rd. left the place pretty damn clean. Ah, but even the cleanest of us can't get it all, eh? There is always something more that could be done, a MF dust bunny that got away. The thing that eluded the Hargroves (fake) in their cleaning efforts was the kitchen. Namely the inside of the cabinets, and the freezer. Not the fridge portion, the freezer portion. Dirt in the freezer is frozen dirt. And yes, Glass Plus does freeze, so you have to spray and wipe at the same time, or then you have frozen dirt with newly frozen Glass Plus on top of it. The rules of cleaning engagement do not apply at -20 degrees Celsius.
Once I get the inside of the cabinets clean, the ambient part of the kitchen, I go to work on the freezer. Which wasn't so bad, but I'm learning about the process quickly. It's just, how can dirt and crap get in the freezer anyway? I think there was blood in there. They must have just thrown various meats in there with no Ziploc for protection. The only other thing it could be is raspberry jam, and I did not see one seed during my freezer cleaning initiation.
The peak of my dirtiness is the really great apartment I had in Detroit just before I was asked to vacate the Graduate School there. The building was an old hotel that auto execs used to stay in. I think that's true. And it was all grand and nice and had an elevator and a doorman who was quietly suspicious.
My workmates are right now talking about the types of cat litter they use. And the method and frequency of scooping and sifting the poo and rock hard pee.
So I had this giant place, 1br. with an enormous living room, a dining room, kitchen, and tile bathroom. The door to the apartment was at the far end of the living, or family room, a good 30 feet from the kitchen. I was never one much for cleaning dishes.
Day One - dishes smell when I stand over the sink.
Day Two - dishes smell as I enter the kitchen.
Day Three - dishes smell halfway through the living, or family room.
Day Five - I enter the doorway of the apartment and my first breath is that of the dirty dishes, which by now smells like someone's feet. Not just someone's feet. Wear the same socks, and don't shower for 3 days. Go running every day. Then, after the three days, take off the socks and stomp your feet around in Cheetos. Replace the original socks for an additional three days. Remove socks and soak your Cheeto-encrusted sweaty feet in vinegar. Replace socks. This is what we're dealing with.
This is truly nasty. Bacteria like those featured here today will grow in an exponential fashion until their sheer numbers start to inhibit their growth. I think maybe I caught them while they were still youthful. I washed the dishes begrudgingly. But it wasn't like the smell was magically washed out of the air as the drain drained. It lingered for a few days to remind me of its power. I remember my brother, a classic slob from all of the 80's and early 90's came to visit once and was appalled at the sight before his eyes. This was the 1994-95 season, and by this time his now current wife and then wife-to-be had the dual effect of making him a clean person, and making him forget that he ever was a serious hardcore slob back in his youth. I was still deeply entrenched in the slob lifestyle.
Even as a slob I would clean. It was sporadic and time consuming, but I did it. What I would do is begin cleaning at around midnight, cleaning everything in sight until about 5am. Papers were thrown out, floors vacuumed and swept and mopped, if appropriate. All that hair and items of liquid decent that find their way to the base of the toilet and become a sort of gel together - gone. The hair plug in the tub - gone. Sure it makes more sense to do a little here and there consistently, but it is so much more satisfying to do it all at once, and then let yourself slide for 2 months waiting for it to get bad enough again so that another five hour cleaning marathon can begin.
This leads to the purge argument. I am familiar with the idea of keeping things around for years and years. I don't do it, but I know people who do. I have a feeling that more often than not it is the female who keeps everything and not the man. See, if I say more often than not instead of always, I get out of the chauvinistic-seeking finger that will surely be pointing right at me.
I have become a master purger in the recent past. If I have a book that is sitting there that I don't like the look of, regardless of its read/not read status - bye bye. If I don't listen to a CD for 6 months - love you, and oh yeah, bye. It's very cleansing, both physically and emotionally. I just left a whole bike at the old place. Its upside down in the old darkroom upstairs. You'll know its the old darkroom because of the smell, black walls, and the fact that an old bike with new tires is on the right hand side, upside down. If you can get past the kooks that have surely consumed the house by now, it's yours. (See entry #1, Of him, for an idea of the obstacle.) It's an old bike, now with new tires, but what I know will happen is I will lug this beast, this unrideable beast to my new place and there it will sit for years and years collecting dust and clogging my already overactive mind.
My friend was watching me move things around in my room not too long ago. The focus became the stereo and stereo cabinet. Every open space was covered with dust. Her disappointment and horrified response to this sight was purely genetic. You see, this person is of German/Italian decent. Here we have some of the finest, highly tuned cleaning genes available on the planet.
Friend: "Oh my god! Tim. Clean that dust off right now!"
My only response to her was to silently stand there and smile at her, proud of my mess. Maybe more proud that the combination of events prior that has led us to this point. The neglect on my part to clean the dust, ever. The dust gets credit for finding its way to the correct spot, and also for having the foresight and organization needed to spread out so as not to form the adolescent dust tower, but the more obvious and visually appealing dust field. And also the Mother who taught my friend that cleaning is not something you do because you feel obliged to, but more like a necessity of life, alongside water and food.
Yeah, that's fine.
