This morning I got an email (actually, 1 p.m., but it SHOULD still be morning, loosely, anyway, stupid time change!) that made me lol. I had been lamenting the fact that I never seem to be done cleaning around Chez Bang Bang, and yet it is always in some disheveled state regardless of my efforts.
Looking around me right now, I see at least twenty-five things that need to be cleaned/swept/wiped down/picked up/put away. And I spent a couple hours last night cleaning things!! Maybe I’m just really ineffective at it.
I don’t know anymore. It seems as soon as I get one thing handled, one of my seven three cats or my one lone man undo’s my efforts.
This line from that email is the one that made me lol:
They say man was made out of dust, so I’ve got enough to make one, but hey, One is enough!
I could make a man, too, but like she said, ONE is more than enough when he’s a contributor to the dust and the dirt.
As part of my Saturday Night Funsies last night, I pulled the bed out from the wall – because one of my clowder knocked the remote on the floor with such force the back flew off and the batteries rolled to the darkest reaches of the underneath – and boy howdy, did I ever discover where #1/ All of The Mister’s socks have gone and #2/where my eighth fourth cat has been living.
If my house has enough dust to create another man, there was certainly enough fur and dust under that bed to create at a minimum one giant Maine Coon cat. And I do clean under there!!
But apparently not towards the top, where my head rests on the pillow, and hey, maybe that’s why I have a smokers cough despite the fact that I’m not a smoker! I have a cat-hair cough. It just keeps getting sexier around here, Reader.
Well, it’s clean now, Reader. And also I’ve tackled one of the other issues that I have in there (no, this is not about my vagina, Reader, eyes up here!) – my stupid headboard has these screws on each side that stick out way past where they should and have actually dug into my drywall. When I first noticed that (several years ago, when the house was new and still nice – we are apparently systematically destroying it without intent to do so), I cried a little at the disfigurement of my new pretty house, but then “fixed” it by knotting a big thick black sock around the screws so there was a cushion to stop it from continued damage.
In case you didn’t know, a big black sock is suitable for various things. Ahem.
I’m a regular Jack Handy Ms. Fixit. Get me a sock, stat!* I think I need – no – DESERVE my own tv show. You know you’d tune in, Reader.
Except.
Over time, those genius-fix-it big black socks**** slipped down and created even bigger problems that I just didn’t know how to address. I guess if i had put just a little more thought into I could have concocted a solution, but frankly it’s exhausting thinking of everything and even though there is a Mister in the household, those sorts of things absolutely never-ever-in-the-history-of-ever cross his mind. Now, that’s not “bashing” him (well, I do feel a little judgey, to be honest, but it’s nothing he hasn’t heard before, so no spoilers here for him) it’s merely stating some facts. He has never seen a problem in the house and addressed it unprompted. I wish I could borrow his everythings-fine colored glasses and just never see the shit that needs to get done.
But I can’t, and so I do.
Last night I took a stroll through the Walmart to try go figure out a solution. And it was as if the hands of Mike from Holmes on Homes reached down and steered my buggy into the arts & crafts aisle where I spied a perfect solution. Craft foam ball half thing, which quite frankly I’m not even sure what this would be used for in it’s intended purpose.
Yes, this exactly what Mike Holmes would recommend. I’m sure of it. Joann Fabrics needs to reinvent themselves as a crafts and home repair store. Go ahead, Honchos of J-Fabrics, you can have that idea for free. Put chapstick at the register for incremental purchases to fix all squeaky and chapped things.
*several one time, when the bedframe was super-squeaky and it needed some lube, I used chapstick.**
**get your mind outta the gutter, Reader. I know what you thought I used.
***also, the chapstick worked, so there ya go. another handy-gal tip from Trixie Bang Bang. You’re welcome.
Now, where this genius solution idea went a little askance was in the over-thinking. Because I didn’t really want a white foam thing sitting there on the black headboard, so I grabbed a can of ninety-six-cent black spray paint, and when I got home I found some cardboard and got to work spraying them on top of the recycle bin. Because that’s how my Saturday nights roll, bitchzees.**
****i don’t really think you’re a bitchzees, Reader, I just got all caught up in myself for a moment. I beg your pardon.
Hey, Fun Fact: Guess what happen to styrofoam balls when you spray paint ’em?
Who guessed melts??
So then I was left in a conundrum, because I wanted to push the bed back into place, but not until I had this sitch fixed once and for all.
I grabbed a kitchen knife. And began melted foam ball surgery. I cut away at it until I had a good-enough area to work with, took it into the bedroom and to my shocked disbelief, it sort of worked perfectly, so BAM! Trixie Bang Bang, Ms. Fix-it is now added to my credentials.
It stayed right in place and there was enough foam left to absorb the sticky-outty screws, which also served to keep the foam in place.
And that’s how you do a Saturday night like a Boss, Reader. Bitchezz get shit done.
****twelve-year-old me is enjoying typing big black sock repeatedly. you know you’re enjoying it, too, Reader.
******in the event it crossed your mind that “surely that Trixie is an exaggerator story-teller” I offer you proof of the big black sock*******pile that I unearthed from under my bed, complete with hairs and dirt attached. I’ve put them all on top of the washer, that is the last I shall handle this mess. Unless they are still there when I go to do laundry, then they will be whisked right into the garbage. Bitchzees only have so much good-will towards man.
*******still fun typing “big black sock.”