There was ham juice, like, the syrup from a baked ham? drizzled all across the kitchen floor last night. After moving the majority of my earthly possessions to Byron's basement, I decided I needed to clean the downstairs 1/2 bath. It was grody filthy. EVERYthing in this house is grody filthy, actually, and I needed to make at least one small spot of it clean. I figured the bathroom downstairs was a good place to start, because it's small and it took the prize for smelling the worst. After that, I was feeling ambitious (plus I was hyped up on Byron's energy drinks) and I began to tackle the kitchen. I had started earlier by finding all the bowls and plates from around the house and putting them in the dishwasher, but I can't empty them yet because the cabinets are totally disorganized.
It doesn't end, folks. I just doesn't end.
But yeah, there's HAM JUICE on the kitchen floor, a huge line drizzled across it, and it's SUPER gross when you step in it, and I should know.
Me, examining my oddly sticky foot: Byron, what the hell is this?!
Byron: It's ham juice, I threw away a ham and it dripped.
Me, hopping around, attempting to wipe off my foot, scowling, and saying the only thing I could think of at that point: What are you doing with HAM? You're JEWISH!
Futher grossness in the kitchen: grease on the stove, scum in the microwave and oh! *chizzle, chizzle* hey look! *chizzle chizzle chizzle* under all this crusty stuff, I found the toaster oven!
All this is not as gross, mind you, as the MONTHS OLD CAT DIAREEAH that I cleaned off the wall in the bathroom. Or the cobwebs behind the toilet. Or the British porn under the bathroom sink (Complete with up close shots of "arseholes"!)
Upside... yeah. Got nothing. But I'm not sleeping in the basement, I'm sleeping on the couch. It's too cold and, um, I'm sort of afraid of basements at night...