You know the one. It slices, dices and removes dirt from grout like, well, like nobody's business. I vaguely remember the host of that info-mercial being all "Nobody likes to clean the bathroom, but with Turbo-bathroom-cleaner-3000 you won't have to ask family members to do it!" WTF? Who was that aimed at? Moms? Because if I had kids *and* a Bathroom-Cleaner-Turbo-Thingy *and* a bathroom, I'd still make them do it! Also, just because you have the amazing machine doesn't mean everybody will suddenly want to clean the bathroom.
The thing with bathroom dirt is? I don't want to see it. Ever. I dispise soap scum. I am adamantly against the sludge that builds up between the back of the faucet and the wall behind the sink. I detest the hard water rings that appear in the toilet. I have an intense desire to wash myself after even coming close to touching anything below the bowl level of the toilet. So that's why I always put off cleaning the bathroom.
Since I've moved in to my new place (Now with less rats!) I have already cleaned the bathroom really well once. Got the tilex and the comet out and busted several moves scrubbing the tub and the floor and the shower head and the sink and under the sink and behind the toilet. I was a super cleanin' *FREAK* yo!
But now that Booker's moved in, there's twice the dirt. And he does the dishes and cleans the kitchen and takes the garbage out. I tidy the bathroom and living room.
It came to my attention through an inter-apartment memo that the tub was not draining properly. Should we call Gus? No. We should most definitely not call Gus. Gus is the landlord. He is old and cranky. And Greek. And he calls me "My dear" and treats me as if I am five years old. So no. Gus does not figure into this equation.
I already had a sneaking suspicion about what's wrong with the tub.
I ran a little water. It sat there. I swore. The water still sat there, unimpressed by my cussing, all: "Look, lady. I don't know what you're thinking, but I'm sure as hell not going down *there!* It's dark!"
And hairy. Oh yes. It was hairy. The main problem seemed to be that the previous tenants were wookies.
The amount of hair that came out of that drain? There's no other explanation. Sasquatch. They walk among us. Hey! This is Canada! It could happen!
So I was using Q-tips and attempting to pull it out, but lo, the Q-tips were not strong enough. The hair pulled them apart like so much fluff. I must have been creating quite the ruckus, because Booker emerged from his room.
"The hell?"
"Cleaning the bathroom."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"Is it bad."
"Dude! Look at this!"
"I don't wanna..."
"I am serious. If I have to touch it, you have to watch."
"Sheeee-it!"
"Yeah."
"That's...that's..."
"That's a lot of hair."
"Dude!"
"It's *not* mine!"
"How do you know?"
"Is this short red hair?"
"No."
"And is your hair long and dark?"
"No."
"So it's clearly from the people who lived here before us. Get me that old pair of tweezers from the medicine cabinet."
"You're my hero."
"Thanks. Now c'mere and help me pull this out."
*Insert girly scream followed by retreating footsteps and slamming door*
"Wussy."
So now, we have free flowing water. And the people who lived her before us must be bald now. They must have had long, dark hair covering every inch of their bodies until one day, it all went down the shower drain. And most of it got caught on that little cross bar and clung for dear life. Until last night. When I removed it. And they all lived happily ever after. Except the hair which ended it's non-life in a safeway bag in the garbage in a dumpster in my parking lot. Very sad.
Listening to: Wide Mouth Mason. Earl is my bass playing boyfriend. We're going to elope in Vegas.
Hungry for: some cheese. Gouda to be exact.
Watching: New season of Trading Spaces begins tonight! Vern is my boyfriend! Uh. After Earl.
Drinking: Vanilla Coke.
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