I'm going to be rich!

I just received the following e-mail. I can't believe it, I can get gold dust! Where do I sign up?


Dear Sir,

I wish to introduce myself as Captain. Kojo, a mandate and representative of the Asare Bunso family resident in the Eastern Region of Ghana.
As you may know, our region remains the richest in terms of annual turn over in the mining industry in Ghana. Relatively every house whole has a mining concession or the other, either inherited from our late parents or just discovered as a result of geological analysis conducted in our communities.

It may also interest you to know that we currently have in our dear country Ghana, a Gold mining concession that is said to be in exhaustible even in the next 100 years!Based on this statistics, we in our family has decided to request for genuine foreign partnership with very truthful and honest investors who will come down to buy our produce (Gold Dust) and in return, pay for the produce part in cash and the balance In the supply of machineries to enable us boost our mining strength and capacity.

We are willing and ready to go into a long term purchase contract with you if you proof to be reliable and will respect the exclusive sale of the produce to you or your company only.
If this proposal interests you, please kindly reply us immediately and we will be glad to give you further details as to how much quantity we have for offer at the moment and other relevant procedures regarding the smooth completion of the transaction.
Looking forward to hearing from you soon.

Regards,

Yours truly,Captain. Kojo.


I can't wait! I knew I'd be rich some day!

She's an evil girl ...

Megan just sent S the following e-mail, as if she doesn't know that he still hasn't found a place to move, even though he's only paying rent 1 week at a time. I love her.


Hey S****,

I was just calling & e-mailing around to some different movers to see if someone was available on Sunday to move the rest of my stuff. But I wasn't sure what time frame to give them.

I know G*** and I would like to clean your room while it's empty, since it will be a lot easier than when it's full of my boxes. But I wasn't sure when you were planning on moving on Saturday (or if you had a time yet). I'm not trying to nail you down to a specific time, but if you had one, that would help me. Just because we were talking about shampooing the carpet and it would need time to dry, so if you didn't leave until later in the evening, then we'd do the carpet in the morning on Sunday and I'd try to schedule movers for Sunday afternoon. But if you moved early morning on Saturday, then I'd try to get movers for Sunday am.

So what I'm asking is, if you have a time on the 15th -- and no pressure to have a time -- would you share it with me?

Thanks so much,

Megan


It's amazing how sweet she can sound while saying "GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE, YOU LOSER!!!!"

Now if only he'd pack up and get out.

Sick, sick stuff

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That Cold November Ra-ain ...

S's concern for his Schwinn continues.



I pulled into the driveway the other night when I was getting home from work. It was raining fairly hard, and I was surprised to see S on his knees in my neighbors parking spot. This was surprising for a couple reasons. First, I've never actually seen him outside of the house before. I mean, I know he leaves, I've seen him walk out the door ... but this is the first time I've seen signs that he has actually been off the property.

Second, this was surprising because of what he was doing. I had to look twice, but to my surprise, he was wiping down his bike chain with paper towels. I guess he didn't want his 30% reduction in efficiency to become a 40% reduction. One problem. He was wiping it down, in the RAIN! He did put the tarp on it when it was done. Of course, the tarp has a big old rip in it.

PS: I've always said that S's one redeeming quality is his timeliness with rent. Unfortunately, it's the third now. No rent yet.

Over the River and Through the Woods ...?

No, that's simply too much work.

On Wednesday, I asked S what he was going to do for Thanksgiving, since it was the next day. He responded, "I'll probably go to my Grandmother's house in (city 12 miles south of here)."
"Probably?" I asked. "Well, it depends on the weather. It might rain, and I don't want to get my bike wet, and if it's raining too hard I won't want to walk to the train."

Fast forward to Thanksgiving. We leave to go to my aunt's house at around one o'clock. Megan looks at the clock and says, "Should we tell S that the train is on the holiday schedule today? Maybe he should get out of bed." I know, yes he was still in bed. I responded that there was no way he was going to grandma's.

We got back from dinner around 9 P.M. When I came in the house of course S was standing in the kitchen. I said, "Lemme guess, you never left the house, and disappointed poor grandma." (I want to note, it didn't really rain.) He said, "yeah, I didn't go anywhere." I responded with guilt of course. "What did poor grandma say when you called? That's so sad, she had an empty seat at the table." His response? "Oh, I probably should have called, but she probably figured I wouldn't come." Well, if she's smart, of course she knew this, but come on ... it's a holiday. He couldn't get over his end of semester "stress" to go see grandma for a day. He's truly pathetic.

Love shack ... baby?

S recently told me that he was interested in one girl in each of his classes at school. I managed to not laugh out loud and told him that was good, and had he done anything to pursue it? His answer? "Well, I ordered a 50 pack of condoms over the internet."

First, let me say that I'm certain that God does these things to punish me. I'm certain He wanted to torture me to see if he could make me laugh. Well I didn't. I may have lost a year off my life, but I kept a straight face. I said, "Fifty, eh?" He told me he was trying to think positively, that he'd need 50, not two. So I asked him more directly, if he had expressed his interest to any of these girls. His reply was that he hadn't yet, but he was thinking about how to do so. I told him to be direct and say, "Hey baby, just ordered 50 condoms, thinking we could use them together." He looked like he was considering it.

Fast forward a few days. Megan breathelessly says to me "Oh my God, S just asked if he could ask my opinion about something. He then told me he was interested in a girl in one of his classes, and how should he approach her? They used to look at each other, but it was meaningful, and I feel a connection." My first thought was, "from a safe distance would be good." Megan told him to talk to her before class or after class, and ask her if she wanted to get a coffee or something. Let me remind you that this is a 29 year old man that we're talking about.

So it has been several weeks since he asked Megan about all of this. We've asked him once or twice what's going on. There is always some excuse why he wasn't able to talk to her before or after class. She now keeps her hood up and doesn't really look at him anymore. I think she's trying to avoid smelling him, but who knows, maybe he just missed his chance. It's comforting to me that the condoms sit in a corner, unused.

Bike Chain .... RUSTED!

I've mentioned S's fun little bike before. He really loves his bike. He takes it quite seriously. The other day I came home to find his bike up on the third floor back porch. I came in the house and asked him if he had given up on the concept of riding the bike to school for the season. He replied that his friend who works on bikes told him that leaving the bike out in the "elements" was a really bad idea, and that the chain will rust. When S heard this he realized that the bike had experienced a 30% reduction in efficiency. He said he has to peddle much harder than before.

I thought it was really funny that it took someone else telling him that the bike wasn't efficient for him to notice anything, but as soon as someone did the bike wasn't up to snuff anymore.

I left, and when I came back later the bike had moved back to the bottom of the stairs, chained back to the tree where he usually keeps it. One thing had changed, though. The bike is now covered with a pretty gray tarp. You'd think it was a motorcycle, or corvette, not a used, single speed bike.

Bang Bang, on the door baby!

S recently left a passive aggressive note on the back door of the second floor people's (SFPs) condo.

Apparently the banging of their door when Mr. SFP leaves for work in the morning was too much for S, and woke him up every day. I'd imagine that when you sleep for 20 hours a day, pretty much any noise will do that. Maybe that's just me though. He then eavesdropped when they got the note, and the two SFPs had a conversation about how loud Mr. SFP is or isn't when he leaves at 5 AM. Did I mention that S wears ear plugs when he sleeps?

My new laptop is scheduled to be delivered today. My doorbell is rather loud. Anyone want to bet he sleeps right through the UPS guy ringing the doorbell and I have to spend the next week trying to track the thing down?

The More things change ...

... the more they stay the same.

Came home the other day. Lights on. Get out of the car, look up at the windows. Lights on. See S's face appear in the window looking down. See him dart away. Get to the top of the stairs, all the lights are off, including the one in his room, and there is no sign or sound of him. I'm starting to get offended. I don't think we saw him for 3 hours after that.

Yesterday, same story. Get there, no lights on, no sight of him. We were there for six hours, and assumed he wasn't around. Go out around 6 PM to get a calzone, leave the lights on because we'll only be gone 10 minutes. Come back, all of the lights are off, including those in his room. We're there for another three hours, no sign of him. So from noon till 10PM yesterday he came out of his room for not more than 10 minutes, and apparently slept all day long. It's SO strange.

I'm wondering what would happen if I sat in the living room and watched TV for 24 hours. I'd try it, but I'm afraid he'd take care of his bodily functions in his room.

That reminds me, actually. I couldn't deal with the grossness anymore. I cleaned the toilet yesterday. There was stuff growing in it. Now, I use it maybe once or twice a week. He uses it every day. He's never cleaned it. I also wonder how bad he'd let it get if I refused to clean it.

The toilet paper is almost gone. One roll left. I'm not buying another one. I want to see what he'll do. He's been there since June 15. He's never purchased any toilet paper or cleaning supplies. He may not know how. (See coffeemaker operation) I'll report back.

And so it ends ...

I received the following today. The funny thing is that I actually saw him yesterday. I guess I can call the exterminator and fumigator. Of course, I may have to rename this blog.

"Hi G. I think it's time for me to be moving on. It's not my cup of tea here. I think you can understand. I'm planning on moving by Jan. 1, maybe as soon as Dec. 1. Just wanted to let you know. - S."

Not exactly a shocker. He's been leaving notes about apartment listings on MY desk for the last week, and cruising craigslist on my computer, mostly looking at apartments, but occasionally at "casual encounters" focusing on "group action." I hope he doesn't plan on hosting.

He's also recently taken to hiding whenever we go over there. Last night, pulling in the driveway the living room and kitchen lights were on. By the time we made it out of the car all the lights were off and he was in his room. This is a fairly regular occurrence. We left the house at a little after 10, and he sent that e-mail at 10:29.

I can't wait to de-smell the place.

Two more games ...

Till free Tempurpedic! Go Sox!!

Funny S story about his bulk condom purchase coming soon.

By popular demand ...

and by popular demand, I mean that one person asked, here are the dogs in their Chippenpups costumes.

Don't they look happy?

Sick. So not fun

I've been sick since Friday. Life is not fun right now. I think I may drill a hole in my head to relieve some of the pressure. So not fun.

Al Gore's internet is amazing ...

I'm shocked at how smart the internet is. Maybe it's just Google. I thought it would be funny to put google adsense on this blog, to see what it matched me up with. Hey, maybe in 6 years I'll even get a check for a penny.

So every time I visit this page I laugh at the different "odor neutralizing" products that appear in that little box. Today it was Orange Magic or something like that. The internet clearly knows what I need. Megan has started lighting a candle in the kitchen every time we go over there, to try to combat the odor. I'll have to have her start shopping here. Like cashback almost.

A dog has more hygiene sense than S ...

My dad came over yesterday to witness the annual cluster that is the Boo-tiful Pets Halloween Costume Contest. Because we are either gluttons for punishment, or learning deficient, not sure which, we entered Wally and Gus for the second consecutive year. After not winning a prize last year with their fantastic and funny Blues Brothers costumes, Megan decided that clearly sex sells. After that, she vowed that we'd never have to enter again. (Let's just say that the contest is horribly run and extremely inefficient. Golden retrievers don't like wearing clothing, so putting them into outfits, and then making them sit in them for hours, while you try to figure out how to parade 60 dogs around in costumes is torture for us and them. The thirty minute wait for them to calculate results after also wasn't fun.)

Probably two weeks after last year's contest she announced, above my protestations, that she had come up with the perfect costume idea for "next year." When reminded of her earlier vow, she decided that this costume was too good to pass up. So this year they entered as the "Chippenpups" complete with Right Said Fred's I'm Too Sexy as their musical accompaniment. Sex does sell, and the boys came home with a third place prize and a legion of new fans. Unfortunately, there was no cash to contribute to their future puppy therapy needs as a result of the contest. Also unfortunately, this taste of satisfactory judging results may mean that we have to go through it all again next year. The dogs and I are so oppressed.

That's all really beside the point. So, my dad came to witness this, and follow that with a little Patriots destruction of the Cowboys action. Maxwell, his min pin with an attitude, came with to see all of the fun, and possibly sport his lobster costume. While Maxwell has poor fashion sense (you really should see the necklace that he wears in addition to his collar. Let's just say that it wouldn't be out of place on one of Tony Soprano's muscle men.), his sense of smell is clearly intact. Every time S opened his door and came out of his room Maxwell stood up, and barked fiercely at S until he went back into his room. At one point after he returned to his chamber my dad turned and said, "Well Maxwell's sense of smell works perfectly." Well said.

OK, I know, I'm a slacker

It's been a while since I posted. Bad me. So what's new in the world of S? Well, he dropped a class because the professor was a little too "gung ho" and assigned them 90 pages of reading in one week. Wow... 90 whole pages. No wonder he had to drop.

The other day S made chicken. By made chicken, I mean that he turned the toaster oven on, put some boneless, skinless chicken strips in there, and cooked them for 10 minutes. He then proceeded to leave them there, at best half cooked, for a minimum of 4 hours. Yummy salmonella.

I think he literally hides from us every time we come into the house. I may have said that before.

The house smells worse every time I go there. He's icky.

I love the office!

OK, so this is only vaguely S related, but I have to tell you that I absolutely love "The Office" on NBC. If you haven't watched it, you're entirely missing out. What other show could turn a beet farmer killing his girlfriend's cat into hilarity? And a 5K fun run to support rabies? Seriously? I don't understand people who don't get this show and don't love it.

So how does this relate to S? Well, when we pulled into the driveway to watch The Office on the big screen, I looked up at the windows. They were open, and the lights were on in the living room and kitchen. Before we had the dogs out of the car he had managed to shut off the lights and duck into his room to hide. It really is too strange. Every time he hears us coming he hides. I think he really doesn't like Megan. She thinks so too, and is being less quiet about her dislike of S. Her subtelty seems inversely proportioned to how far the smell spreads from his room. Last night not only had the smell spread, but there was nastiness in the toilet. She started hypothesizing that maybe he doesn't actually know how to clean. In retaliation for his extra stinkyness she started giving him the finger behind his back. Some of this may be related to the book and inscription that I have yet to tell you about. I promise I'll get there. Next week.

It works how?

Like most people, I have an automatic drip coffee maker. It's actually a pretty nice one. You can see it here. S, neanderthal that he is, has lived on instant coffee from the microwave. You know, flavor crystals and all. Gross. So I showed him where the Dunkin Donuts coffee is, and told him to feel free to use the coffeemaker. He did, and hilarity ensued.

S: I tried the coffeemaker.
Me: What did you think?
S: What a pain in the ass.
Me: What do you mean?
S: It took forever to just make a cup of coffee for me.
Me: Huh?
S: Yeah, it took like half an hour of me pouring the water in, letting it run through, then lifting the lid, and pouring it on the grinds again, and letting it run through, and it took forever for it to get dark enough, and hot enough to drink.
Me: Are you shitting me?
S: No.
Me: (Laughing)
S: What?
Me: (Laughing with tears by this point)
S: WHAT?
Me: OK, let me show you how this "AUTOMATIC" coffee maker works.
S: OK.
Me: (Lifts lid) See this big open compartment in the back, with the numbers at different heights?
S: (quizically) Yeah?
Me: That's how far you fill it with water depending on how many cups you want it to make. Then when turn it on, it takes the water from there, up through that hose, heats it to temp, and drips it onto the coffee, making a full pot in 5 minutes or less.
S: Huh, I wondered what that part was for back there. That's pretty neat.
Me: I just want to tell you, fair warning you know, I do HAVE to tell Megan about this conversation.
S: OK.


People, I wish I was making this stuff up. It's simply amazing to me. I pray to God that he never asks me where babies come from. Maybe I should add this picture to the kitchen cabinets. (Thanks to the office sign project.)

Parents, lock up your daughters!

S is 29 or so. I think I've mentioned this. Even so, he is still in college, full time. School just started. A week or so before classes started we had the following conversation. It scared and scarred me a little.



S: Did I tell you about the tennis courts?
Me: What are you talking about.
S: I guess not.
Me: (pausing) OK, what about the tennis courts.
S: Well, sometimes, when I'm in the student center, I find myself just staring out at the tennis courts for hours on end.
Me: Brain freeze up again?
S: Huh? Oh, no, the view is just absolutely stunning.
Me: Oh, do the tennis courts look out onto the ocean?
S: No, but there are always gorgeous young girls out there.
Me: Umm ... are they students?
S: Well, they may be students who are back early, tennis team or something, or maybe it's some kind of summer tennis camp for high school kids ...
Me: You know this is vaguely pedophilic, right?
S: I'm just staring ...
Me: This must be difficult, huh? Going to school with all these girls who are too young.
S: Too young? Who said they're too young?
Me: Me!
S: Well, I *probably* wouldn't go *much* younger than 20 0r so.
Me: I feel like I should warn someone.

So yeah, if you know anyone with a daughter (I think only daughters) who attends a certain Massachusetts state college on a harbor, tell them to be on the lookout for a smelly older student who looks kinda like Sylar during his dorky glasses wearing phase and rides a Schwinn. They may recognize him from his offers to buy them beer.

Is that a banana in your pocket?

After the grossness of yesterday's post, I think we could all use something much lighter today.

I may have mentioned that S doesn't have a car. Ready, in unison "Pooooooor S!" Well, his solution to this problem was getting himself a handy dandy Schwinn. It is several miles to school, after all. There is a picture of this fine piece of machinery below. I only have one question. With the way he has the seat set up, shouldn't he call it a "Schwiiinnnggg?" Seriously. S is a boy, we think. That has to hurt.

Excuse me whilst I vomit.

I appologize in advance, for the graphic nature of this post.

Stopped by the house on Saturday. Hadn't been there in a few days and wanted to check the mail, get the bills, see if maybe I won the sweepstakes, check the smell, that sort of thing. In the course of my errands, I happened to go into the bathroom. Let's just say this was a BIG mistake.

The AC was on, so I went over to shut the window (that's a post for another day) and looked into the tub. Interestingly, there was water in the tub, about 3 inches deep or so at the drain, extending a decent length towards the back of the tub. It looked pretty dirty. I toggled the drain switch, and realized that the drain was open, and the tub just wasn't draining. I looked down at the drain, and this is when I almost lost my cookies. The drain was completely covered with hair. This wouldn't normally bother me, as I've lived with Megan for how many years? (I'm just saying, when the girl's hair is long, it can clog a tub drain.) Megan's hair is clean, however. Mixed in with the hair in the drain (plenty of which looked like ,ahem, body hair) was a hodgepodge of I don't know what. Dirt was involved. as well as what looked like maybe underwear fuzz or something. The thing that almost made me lose my cookies was the little chunks of something that were clogging some of the holes in the drain cover. They looked organic, and I shudder to think of what they could have been.

So the obvious question was, what the hell do I do about this? It's only 11 AM, so S is clearly still sleeping, if he's there, but I haven't seen him in a week, so he might be dead in his bed. I start to wrap my hand in paper towel, at which point Megan shrieks and forbids what is about to happen. (Thank God!) Then I remember that I am a diva, and insisted on installing a spa massage shower head. I call one of the settings on the shower head the "rip your nipple off" setting, because it is a centered, huge high pressure blast of water. I decide that I will try to blast the cover of the drain free from debris, and hopefully at least get the standing water out of the tub. As I'm preparing to do this, S comes out of his room (unbeknownst to me) to give Megan (also unbeknownst to me, I swear punkin!) a book, complete with inscription, that he got her. (Definitely more on this another day.) So I hear his voice, and go out in the living room to ask if he has any idea what's going on with the tub. He states that he doesn't and what do I mean? I explain the water to him and he follows me into the bathroom. He looks down and says "Gross, I'll have to clean that out. It kinda smells." HOLY SHIT! S smelled something, and knew it was bad? Something overpowered his sense of smell? Can we bottle that shit and send it off to the troops to use? He then follows that with vomit in my mouth moment number 2. "Hmm ... it must have been there for a couple of days. I didn't shower yesterday. Do you have any draino?" Through my wretches I explain that draino won't pick up all of his grody hair from on top of the drain. It's designed for hair inside of the drain. His response was "Oh, well, we have some of that scrubbing bubbles crap someplace, right? I'll clean it later."

So, long story short, I blasted the drain with the hose a few times, waited for it to reclog, and did it again until the water subsided. I then sprayed mold and mildew killer all over, got out as many cleaning supplies as I could find, left them all on the counter, and got the hell out of the house. I waited more than 24 hours before returning. The tub was clean, but the memory is burned into my brain.

Aren't you glad I spared you my story about what the toilet was like yesterday, after I hadn't been there to use it in a week?

Are all sports inherently gay?

I think there must be an inherent gayness in sports. I went to the Red Sox / Blue Jays game at Fenway Park last night. Excellent game, the Sox won. Beckett and Halladay both pitched extremely well. I was struck by this sight on the field before the game.

Now, obviously that is the trainer stretching out one of the Blue Jays. It was quite a sight when he was working on big Frank Thomas (who almost killed me with a foul ball) right there. As much as I know that's what he was doing, at times it almost looked like a gay porn video. The world of sports is famous for naked men in locker rooms, butt slapping, and "working each other out." Isn't it strange that there have been almost no openly gay athletes? My guess is that sports stars, knowing the inherent gayness of their rituals, act out as vehemently homophobic, just to feel more secure in their masculinity. You'd think scoring touchdowns and hitting homeruns would do that for them, but guess not. You know what they say. 1 in 10.

I know, I know. No mention of S here. Sorry. Haven't seen him since my last post.

Let's Talk About E. Coli

S has some interesting ideas about food prep. He loves to eat browned hamburger. He often mixes it with mac and cheese or potatoes. That's it. ground beef and potato mixed together. He pretty much lives on it. He loves browned hamburger so much that he waits until it turns brown or gray to cook it. I took this picture on Aug 29, which is also the expiration date no the package. This was red when he put it in the fridge back on the 24th or so, but by this point it had turned a nice gray/brown. The slight redness is actually little beads of hamburger juice in the package. The meat itself is all gray. He finally cooked it on Sept 2. Now it is in the fridge, cooked, waiting for him to nuke it and eat it.

This makes me think a few things.

1. GROSS!
2. How hasn't he died?
3. When did I last clean the fridge?
4. Does this contribute to the smell?

Let me just say that I'm thrilled that classes start this week. Megan stuck her nose in his room the other day, and it's clear from the utter grossness of the stench that he is spending too much time in the house.

A Follow Up ...

We got to experience another splish-splash moment yesterday. Meg and I were sitting on the couch watching an episode of Monk on Demand. (I know, we lead such exciting lives.) S came out of his room, towel around his neck, and said "Anyone need to get in the bathroom?" At the moment neither of us did. By the time the episode of Monk was over, and we had sorted the recycling, had a snack, remodeled the kitchen, organized the kitchen closet, and finished several days worth of dishes, Megan needed to pee. Badly. This would have been OK, except for one thing. S was still in the bathroom.

This seriously had to be over an hour. What can he be doing in there? He was still in there when we eventually left, and I drove her to Dunkin Donuts to pee. The water only ran off and on this time, with no discernible pattern, so it's not like he was on the can for the whole time. I just don't get it. Someone help. I think Megan has had it. She asked that from now on every single time he asks his fateful question I make sure she says yes as a "prophylactic measure." She's also decided "he's just a fucking weirdo."

Splish-splash, I was ... taking a bath?

S has some very interesting bathroom habits. I can't really figure them out, and will take any suggestions anyone has for what is going on. More than once a day, S comes out of his room with a bath towel around his neck. Every time he does I think "Thank God! He's going to shower." He then says to whoever is in the house, "I'm going to go in the bathroom. Do you need to get in there first?" It's really rather polite of him, actually. He then proceeds to lock himself in the bathroom for 45 minutes or so, running the water and making all sorts of crazy splashing sounds. You'd have to think he's showering or taking a bath or something. His face is definitely wet when he comes out, and usually his hair is as well. However, if you go into the bathroom after all is this, the shower and tub are completely dry. Of course, he still smells as well.

This isn't to say that he never showers. I believe he does. Occasionally. But I'm dying to know what he does with all of this time in the bathroom. Any ideas out there? I have a couple.

He may have a rubber ducky hidden someplace that he plays with in the sink. The counter around his sink (thank God he has his own sink. He hasn't cleaned it in the entire time he has lived there and I refuse to do it.) is always completely soaked, so it's clearly the sink that produces all of this splashy water.

He may also be playing war games or something (You sunk my battleship!). I've seen no evidence of battleships or destroyers though.

The water could be a mask for more sinister "personal" activities. Oh God, tell me it's not that one!

He does have some weird de-stress, detoxification rituals that he goes through as well. (More details some other day.) Maybe the splashing and the water sounds help him with those? Like Enya music? I'm not sure I buy that though, as he usually does them in the living room as well.

So what am I left with? Well, I have a dirty bathroom, which proves that there is no truth to the myth that if one thing gets dirtier and more smelly, that something else gets cleaner and less smelly. I'm left with a still smelly S, and a whole bunch of questions about what the hell is going on in that room for all that time.

Seriously. Suggestions? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

Can we talk about dishes for a minute?

Here are a couple of interesting observations about the urban jungle species S. S has a few dishes that he brought with him when he moved in. A plate, a bowl, some silverware, a cup or two as well. Now, the apartment has a dishwasher. It’s fully functioning, and does a pretty good job. Yet we observe that the species S refuses to use it. There is also ample antibacterial Palmolive, and a brush on the sink, which I run through the dishwasher regularly to sanitize. The species S refuses to use these as well. I think it’s his fear of clean rearing its ugly (smelly?) head again. S’s method of cleaning dishes is as follows.

Step 1: Turn on water (Go S!)
Step 2: Hold dish under water. (He’s doing so well so far!)
Step 3: Raise right hand. (Uh oh, where is he going with this?)
Step 4: Make motion with right hand half way between a wave and a one handed clap. (I’m just confused at this point.)
Step 5: Lower right hand onto dish in sink, while continuing to make weird motion with hand. (It’s really kinda funny to watch. Like an upside down come hither motion)
Step 6: Scratch at dish with hand motion.
Step 7: Hold dish up close to face and examine.
Step 8: If necessary, use two fingers to pick at stuck on food.
Step 9: Re-examine closely, lifting glasses to forehead if necessary.
Step 9: Place dish in dish drainer.

Now, a few things really bother me about this.

1.EWWWWW!!!!! Just, EWWW!
2. Seriously, no soap? Seriously? Seriously?
3. What the hell is wrong with the brush?

I asked him about the brush. His response? Oh, that’s probably dirtier than my hand. Three things here, as I mentioned, I run the brush through the dishwasher, which sanitizes it. The Palmolive is antibacterial. And didn't I mention the no soap? That means no soap on his hand either. Based on smell, the brush is definitely cleaner.

All of this leads to a few funny (sad) occurences. The first is that whenever I see my silverware, glasses, bowls, etc. in the drainer, I come along and take them from there and put them in the dishwasher so they get actually washed. This also means that whenever I go to use a "clean" pot, I have to wash it ahead of time (including with soap).

Megan was getting ready to make something a few weeks ago, and looked at the pots on the stove (where the species S tends to put them after he washes them) and asked me if they were clean. I said "I think so" (Meaning, not if we're going to use it), but apparently she wasn't in on the meaning. She picked one of them up, and looked at it closely, and whirled on me. The conversation that followed sounded a bit like Grey's Anatomy.

Her: You call this clean? Seriously? Seriously?
Me: I don't know.
Her: Look at it! Seriously?
Me: What? Ewww ...
Her: Seriously! It has shmutz all over it!
Me: (Points towards living room, where S is) Hey, I'm not the one who used it or "washed" it.

She then went in the living room and had a similar conversation with him, except that every time she said "Seriously?" to him, he responded with "Yes, it's clean. Clean enough, right?" Trust me. It wasn't. Not even close.

So S decided that Meg is probably a little nuts, and maybe a little too stressed. I think Megan realized for the first time just how gross S really is, and it wasn't just me complaining. (It took her a few times to notice the smell too. You have to be downwind.) Plush, she did some hyper kitchen cleaning after that. All in all, it was probably a pretty good day for me. Until later, when I found my silverware, glass and bowl in the drainer, and had another skincrawl moment.

Can we talk about paper towels and garbage for a minute?

So, among his other annoying habits, S has this wonderful habit of ripping off only half of a sheet of paper towel every time he takes one. (Due to his cleanliness issues, luckily it isn't too often.) I have one of those stand up paper towel holders, where the sheets come off sideways. He doesn't just rip from the top, halfway across a sheet, leaving a fully attached, half sheet. Instead, he grabs the sheet, goes halfway down, and tears straight across, leaving the bottom half of the piece of paper towel. I don't think I'm explaining this well. Imagine that the piece of paper towel, coming off of the stand up roll is a capital B He doesn't rip down from the top of the B halfway across, he rips off the top half of the B leaving only the part below the midline of the B. Does that make more sense? Maybe not.

I'm not sure why he does this, just like I'm not sure why he does anything he does. I have some ideas, though.

1. Being the hippie he is, he thinks that this conserves and saves the environment.

He'd be wrong of course, because what happens is that I just come along behind him and get stuck taking a sheet and a half of paper towel. Net result = Still two whole sheets used. I also mutter some choice things, which at least contributes to noise pollution, and maybe a little more carbon dioxide, and a little less oxygen in the atmosphere.

2. His aversion to cleanliness extends to paper towels.

He's afraid that taking a whole sheet would absorb too much of his smell and filth. Imagine, if you will, pigpen, with his cloud of dirt, only with S, it's a cloud of smell and dirt. Paper absorbs odor. Just borrow a book from a smoker if you don't believe me. I wonder if he's afraid that taking the whole sheet will soak up too much of his smell.

Speaking of smell, I came home last night after not being home for 24 hours, and though it had been over 90 degrees during the day, he had every window closed, and no air conditioner running. The stink that usually stays in his room had permeated the entire house. Thrilling! Did I mention that his toiletries are in the bathroom, but I've never seen any record of deodorant?

On to trash. I was leaving again after my 5 minute visit last night, and not coming back until tonight, and last night was both trash and recycling. S may or may not know this. He's lived there for 2 full months now, and his big contribution to trash and recycling is that the other day he took out a smelly trash bag and left it on the back deck of our third floor apartment. Mind you, down the two flights of stairs there is a trash barrel, that every Sunday night I pull out to the curb. So I grabbed my overnight stuff, and the two empty pizza boxes, and the trash bag inside the house, and the one on the deck (which smelled OH so good three days after he put it out in 95 degree heat) and prepared to make my descent. Only one problem. Big recycling bin and paper recycling still had to be brought out and I was out of hands. Now, I assume that S thinks we have some kind of trash and recycling fairy that deals with these sorts of things, but as much as it hurt me, I decided to burst his bubble. Our conversation follows.


Me: (knock, knock, pause, crack door while holding breath) Hey, can you do me a favor?
S: (stares blankly at me) huh?
Me: Can you do me a favor?
S: Uh, sure.
Me: I have all of the trash, which I'm taking down now (in my head: just like every other week you lazy ass), but I'm not going to be back until tomorrow. Would you mind taking down the recycling bin and the box of paper recycling on top of it.
S: (stares blankly for a second) uh, OK ...
Me: Thank you. See you tomorrow.
S: Wait, which one?
Me: I'll talk slower. T-h-e o-n-e w-i-t-h t-h-e p-a-p-e-r r-e-c-y-c-l-i-n-g o-n t-o-p. The non-returnable containers.
S: Just the one with the papers on top?
Me: Ding ding ding. We have a winner. Get that boy a prize. See you tomorrow.
S: Oh, you're not coming back?
Me: Umm. Sure, wait up for me.


Anyone want to bet me that when I get home today that he has somehow managed to F it up? Place your bets!

Is it Catchy?

I think the smell of S may be contagious. Gross, eh? Megan was in the shower this morning, and when she was finished and picked up her towel she asked me to smell S's basket on the counter, next to where her towel had been. Now, I'm always stuffy in the morning, so I couldn't really smell anything, though I've noticed that his room has a regular S odor now. So I told her that I couldn't really smell anything, but I wasn't really willing to get very close to find out. Then she holds up her towel (Thanks for the view, btw.) and tells me to smell that. I was much more willing to put that right up to my nose, because I figure he hasn't actually touched that, and i definitely caught a faint B.O., S-like smell. So I'm very concerned now, because I'm wondering what else his smell may be clinging to. I go out of my way to push him towards the leather chair in the living room, rather than the microfiber couch, because I figure the leather is less likely to soak his stink in deep. When I see him head for the living room, I try to jump on the couch so that he'll sit on the chair. He's pretty much conditioned to go only to the chair now, so that may be one crisis averted, but now I'm wondering what else I need to do. Do I need to cover all of the furniture in drop cloths, like the scary old houses on Scooby Doo? Paper line the carpets? Spend thousands on an air purification system? Suddenly this cost saving move is sounding kinda expensive!

Mononucleosis or Narcolepsy?

One of S's more annoying habits is that he never leaves the house. I mean never. He's a 28 or 29 year old college junior, at least he will be in a few weeks, and he has spent the entire summer lounging in the house, and more frequently, sleeping. I don't mean normal sleeping, I mean nearly constant, end stage cancer sleeping. No job, no hobby, nothing to do all day but sit in my house and snore away.

Last night, Meg and I got home around 5:45. Where was S? In his room sleeping of course. We left and worked on the hovel for a few hours, ate cheese steaks, and came back around 9. S's light was still off. Was he home, or had he left? We weren't sure until he came out of his room 40 minutes later, went in to the bathroom, splashed around a little (no, the smell didn't go away), and then went back into his room and went back to sleep. So let's review. He was sleeping when we left the house in the morning. Sleeping when we came home, sleeping when we came home again, and sleeping when we went to bed. Rinse, Lather, Repeat, every day. Megan got up to pee at 3 AM, and he had chosen that great hour to finally rise from the dead and watch TV. I wonder if he secretly rules the world from 1 AM to 4 AM.

So rather than the age old question of "Is it live, or is it Memorex?" I must ask the new age question. Is it mono, or is it narcolepsy?

Welcome!

This is the beginning of a new era (or error, depending on who you ask) for me. I recently took a roommate, who, if you can't tell by the title, kinda smells. OK, kinda is too nice. He REEKS to high heaven. I don't know how to describe it exactly. I'd say maybe it is a mixture of sweat, hippie, death and moldy cheese. All I can tell you is that it is terrible.

I intend to use this forum not necessarily to complain about the smell, though I imagine that will happen, but also to share funny (or sad) stories about being 31 and having a roommate again, something I never thought I'd do. I have plenty saved up from the last few months, and I'm sure many more will surface in the days ahead. Beyond the smell, "S" is also just a little (read: a lot) strange. Details to follow. So I hope you enjoy my tales of living with "S."