kleenexwoman | Rachel Cleans The Sink

It's 4 AM. I am trying to make myself sleepy enough to go to bed in order to wake up by 11 tomorrow so that I can get to class without assistance of coffee. This is proving to be a problem, because Jessie and Sasha are practicing for debate class, or possibly for church, quite loudly, in the next room. My thoughts in bold.

Jessie: "Like, I don't hate gays or anything (oh no, this is never a good start), but I think that, like, it's wrong (is she aware that I am sitting right out here and that these walls are quite thin?). 'Cause, you know, God made man and woman (if you believe in that) for a reason, right? (I thought it was to show off his/her nifty sculpting skillz and make Satan jealous 'cause Satan can only roll snakes out of Play-Doh.) Like, a man has these, um, parts (the pancreas can be useful), and a woman's parts (my squeedly-spooch!), like, fit with them (like a fucking jigsaw puzzle, oh how original). So you can, like, make babies (I thought that's what God gave us artificial insemination for!). And to deprive yourself of the joy of having babies (for dinner?) is, like, wrong (unless you don't want to push another whole human out of your vagina). So, like, people should use what God gave them (their BRAINS maybe?) to make babies, like they're supposed to. (I don't know about you, but I'm supposed to win a Nebula. God said so.) 'Cause otherwise it's a waste of what God gave you. Men should have babies, you know? (But men have...parts...that don't include a womb. A womb is not exactly what God gave to your Big Macho Cave Man.) 'Cause I just think of men as being, like, nurturing. (Oooookay?) Like, I'd want my boyfriend to have babies, you know? (Manbabies? I thought MPREG was a slash thing. Which is GAY and therefore BAD?) And if he was gay (then he certainly wouldn't be dating you), then he wouldn't be able to give me babies." (I hope you catch your boyfriend giving his roommate a blow job.)

Sasha: "Yeah, totally." (Turn on your endless Bob Marley CD so I do not have to hear any more of this, please.)

Jessie: "And, like, plastic surgery? (How the fuck did we get from not liking hot man-on-man action to your boyfriend being gay to plastic surgery?) Like, I think it should be free (What the motherfucking hell, aren't there better things to give people for free?). 'Cause, like, some people just aren't satisfied with the way they look (nobody is, that's the whole point of Western civilization) and they'll never be happy ugly (maybe that's because our society values beauty over any other quality and brainwashes people to think that they're worthless if they don't look like some fucking plastic doll mold). So, like, you should let people change what they look like to make themselves happy, 'cause that's the Christian thing to do." (I have NO MOTHERFUCKING WORDS to express the hypocrisy of this statement, please insert comment here.)

Sasha: "Totally. Like, I saw this girl today that I think I would have let her get, like, an augmentation. (How fucking gracious of you, Queen Dictator Sasha.) She had little bitty boobs (I thought lesbianism was eeeeevil, why were you looking at her boobs?) and I thought, like, she'd probably like a little more, you know?" (Maybe she doesn't really care. Did you ASK her?)

It got worse from there, I assure you. And I also assure you that I am not making ANY of this up. I really wish I was.

At least Jessie asked me to clean today. For those of you who I don't whinge to on IM about my roommates, I recently got into a huge screaming fight with Ashley about the garbage. Apparently, Jessie and Ashley have been plotting to make me take out the garbage by letting it stack up until I noticed it. Which I did not, as I A) don't use the living room garbage can that often and B) am often preoccupied with thoughts of sociological principles or what my mage is going to do to an orc. Normal college stuff.
We never made up a cleaning schedule, you see, since it was assumed that everyone would pitch in when they felt like it. As it turns out, I am one of those absent-minded geniuses who don't actually notice a crunchy floor or a slimy bathroom until I am actually stepping on a carpet of crumbs or the algae start attacking. So I pretty much assumed that things were clean and the world was in order. And when Jessie got a little crazy with the Clorox wipes, I assumed that she didn't mind cleaning because she never said a word to me about it.
So Ashley screams at me that I NEVER EVER sweep the floor or clean the bathroom and she and Jessie and Sasha have had to do it ALL BY THEMSELVES HOW HORRIBLE. I explain that I would like to help out but I don't know what to do or when to do it, and if she'd just tell me when and what she would like me to clean, I would be happy to. Ecstatic, in fact. I believe I used the words "your willing servant."
"I'm not your fucking mom," Ashley fumes. "You should notice this stuff, OK? If you don't, there's like something seriously wrong with you." THERE IS. THANK YOU FOR ASKING.
I fail to see why I should be unnaturally vigilant about things that do not bother me as much as they bother other people when those other people are perfectly capable of taking care of it on their own. I wouldn't mind a schedule, really. Then I could look at it and say, "Oh! I must clean the bathroom. I do not see any algae, but THE SCHEDULE COMMANDS ME." I can do schedules if it means avoiding getting things (my own shoes, cough cough) thrown at me.
So Jessie asked me tonight, "Rachel! Would you please, when you have a moment, wipe the sink with Clorox wipes? It's just that it's getting a little icky, and me and Ashley and Sasha have been taking care of it all the time..."
"Certainly," I say. "My wish is your command. I will do it the moment I get offline."
"Okay!" Jessie says. "I mean, just whenever, you know? I don't want to just, like order you. Just whenever you notice that the sink is getting gross." Now, I've explained the me-not-noticing-filth thing to her before. But...this is Jessie, after all.
So this is basically going to be the first and last time I ever clean the sink. Mark this day in your calendars, people. Rachel Cleaned The Sink.

ETA: Have just cleaned sink. Used about ten wipes. Damn, there was a lot of dust on there. But the sink looks unnaturally gleaming, and it's scaring me with its immaculacy. I think I'll let it get nice and comfortable in its griminess before I attempt such a feat again.

Current Mood: baffled
Current Music: "The New Clean Song," Crispin Glover

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