Blog: Dude, Where's My Floor?

(originally written 5/30/11)

Sensitive to the recent terrible tragedy in Missouri (kind of redundant; is there any such thing as a terrific tragedy?), I will not compare the current state of my apartment to the aftermath of a tornado. Rather, let's just say it looks as if the FBI believes I have top-secret microfilm stashed in here somewhere, made every effort to find it, and then just took off.

 

I have a good excuse. From 7am Friday (5/27) when I left for work, until finishing work today (5/30) at 4pm, I spent about 2.5, maybe three hours awake here at home. TOTAL.

 

There was the A's game Friday night.

Then a Vallejo trip Saturday morning, followed by mini-golf, bowling and pool with the fams Saturday night.

Next: Yet another trip to Vallejo Sunday morning.

Then Sunday softball, tennis, billiards and an awesome grubfest with friends as a nightcap. 

 

Nine hours of work Memorial Day Monday. A potluck with the softball gang after that. Two reluctant hours at the laundromat (it was either that or go to bowling and work naked) and finally, a kickass Bowling Night replete with funny hats and wigs. 

 

The aftermath: a very messy crib. Messier than last week after Boyz' Nite—and there were seven other people plus a staggering hangover contributing to that mess. Not that I'm here to talk about the past.

 

Clothes are everywhere, tossed aimlessly in my harried search for particular outfits each of the last four days. There is even a sock on my ceiling fan. I must have been—to quote Robin from How I Met Your Mother—literally flinging clothes in the air in one of my mad rushes.

 

In my sink are stacked dishes from as far back as Thursday. There has been no time to do them. Now there appears to be Oscar The Grouch fingers growing on one of them. Gross. 

 

On my floor lies—practically everything I own. The makeshift beds my cousins slept on Saturday night are still in place, barely touched. New baseball cards I started arranging but never finished (mostly cuz I kept stopping to sniff them). A broken picture frame that I clumsily knocked off the wall in a mad rush. Three tennis balls I somehow didn't notice in my pocket when I left the courts Sunday and forgot to return to their proper owner at bowling.

 

And, as I said, clothing galore. The challenge will be segregating the clean clothes from the dirty ones. Maybe I should just wash everything to be safe. 

 

My bed hasn't been made in days. It looks so terrible that at first glance, it appears that camels are hiding in it.

 

Miraculously, the trash ain't funkin' the place up; no eating at home means no rotting food. Bet that changes once I'm through with the dishes, however! Well, enough blogging (aka procrastinating). Time to do my best Tony Miceli and get at that mess!