Trash or Not Trash

We had our house cleaned a few weeks ago by some professional cleaners.

It looked super fab and beautiful and shiny. I could see my reflection in the floors. I could drink out of the toilets (ew, just kidding, ain't nothing that clean). They worked their fingers to the bone, sweeping the bunnies out of every nook and cranny in our house.

They had their work cut out for them, too. It had been approximately 13 weeks since the hum of a vacuum cleaner was heard at the Casa de Austin; approximately 4 months since any toilet or shower was cleaned; approximately the whole amount of time we've lived in our home since someone pulled out the fridge and cleaned behind it. Holy disgusting, batman.

Ten bleach filled hours later, the Pledge and Windex haze started to settle and we discovered some things were missing.

Nothing important like jewelry, cash or game systems -- although we do have so many game systems, we probably wouldn't realize if they WERE gone -- but little things we take for granted as not trash.

Let's play a little game, shall we? It's called Trash or Not Trash. I'll give you a picture and two line breaks to guess, and you tell me if it's Trash or Not Trash. (and by "tell me", I mean, "guess silently to yourself"). I'll also tell you how the cleaning guys categorized these items.

2010 Page-a-Day Civil War Calendar

What's your guess?

The answer is:

The cleaning people said: NOT TRASH! That's right, they kept that page-a-day calendar, as well as two more from 2010 that we'd neglected to throw away.

Next up:

Slightly dirty but not torn up at all yellow flip flops.

Your guess?

Actual answer:

Their answer? TRASH! What person in their right mind throws away a perfectly good pair of Old Navy flip flops, circa 2005? Really now. What if those are my bathroom cleaning flip flops? (Hint: they are.)

Let's move on to the next item!

Vogue magazine from September 2010 

What's your guess?

Answer is:

The cleaning people? Put this in a safe place in our linen closet, where all outdated magazines with torn, crinkled pages, covered in bath powder should go. OR NOT!

This last one basically stabbed me in the heart, then twisted the knife, then blood spewed out of my heard and all my blood drained out and I died. And I'm writing this blog from the great beyond.

My favorite stuffed penguin I slept with for probably 18 years of my life and that's not an exaggeration.

What's your answer?

What's the REAL answer?

OF COURSE it's not trash. What about a cute stuffed penguin, almost in mint condition, might I add, would make a person say, "Welp, to the trash can you go! Clearly nobody wants you, even though you're on the floor of a bedroom right beside a closet!"

Apparently, everything about that cute stuffed penguin says "I'm trash!" because that's where we found it, folks, along with the other "not trash" items.

Picture it: hubby and I digging through upwards of 8 black trash bags, pulling out things that were tossed but not trash. Dog toys. Belts. Dress socks. Baby socks. A bag containing craft scissors and thread. My Venus razor, perched in the shower right next to a bar of soap and my shampoo. Don't worry, cleaning people, I don't like shaving my legs anyway and wasn't using that brand new razor.

EXCEPT FOR THAT I WAS USING THAT BRAND NEW RAZOR.

Anyway, this experience leads me to two conclusions:

1. We all have different ideas about what should be trashed.
2.  I'm glad I'm not independently wealthy enough to have housekeepers. With the energy I expended digging through trash bags, I could have cleaned my own house.

Have you had your house cleaned before? Do you hate searching through garbage bags?

The magic dishwash fairy and other pet peeves

One pet peeve that shouldn't drive you crazy, but does.

 

I'm a confusing person. There are things I don't care about at all that I should care about, like the fact there are at least 10 empty Starbucks Frappuccino bottles bouncing around in my car or the Cheerio I dropped under my desk just out of reach that just chills there, making it look like a toddler lives in my cubicle. No, those things don't bother me at all.

Then there are those pet peeves that shouldn't bother me but instead turn me into a crazy person.

We have a dishwasher at my house. There are two of us and really, not many dishes, so we don't have to run it that often. It stays relatively empty -- empty enough that there is always room for an extra glass or small plate. Every few days we run it and the cycle starts again. The magic dishwasher fairy stops by, unloads the dishwasher, puts dirty dishes that are in the sink into the empty dishwasher and sprinkles magic fairy dust all over the kitchen so it stays spotless.

But there's a small problem. There is no such thing as the magic dishwasher fairy. That dishwasher fairy is me. I'm the one who loads and unloads. I'm the one who takes the dishes out of the sink. The dishwasher fairy is dead. 

The pet peeve here is that I can't STAND having dishes in the sink. I'd rather put the dishes on the counter beside the sink. Our sink is a little tiny baby sink. Not even, because its' so small a baby wouldn't even fit in it.  Two or three dishes? It's completely full. And then if you have to turn on the water, it just stops up in the sink because, oh look, there is a dish covering the drain. All that leftover food and  stale, room temperature water combine to make my life a living hell. In fact, that's what my version of hell would be: a sink with never-ending dirty dishes.

My other pet peeve drives my husband crazy. I'm very -- how do I say this nicely about myself? -- particular about my bed sheets. Actually, I'm completely crazy about everything that has to do with my sleeping arrangement. I need to have the sheets even and pulled up before I get in. I've been known to make the bed only to *unmake* the bed and get in. My pillow case has to be straight. The comforter has to be pulled down and folded just so at the end of the bed. EVERYTHING HAS TO BE TUCKED IN. If I know the corner of the fitted sheet has somehow slid off the mattress, I can't rest until it's fixed. It doesn't even have to be on my side of the bed for the anxiety to set in -- as long as I know there is a wee bit 'o mattress showing, my brain goes haywire.

The other day we watched a show where the host was staying in a hostel in Brazil. he was given a bed with a dirty, stained mattress and no sheets. That's my worst nightmare. I'd rather sleep on the floor with a blanket than on a stained mattress with no sheets.

Hub has a habit of eating in bed. I can't stand it because eating = crumbs. A little snack of cheese and crackers while he watches some TV before bed leads to 15 minutes of me with a lint roller wiping every minuscule crumb out of the area. "What's wrong with one or two crumbs? You wont' even feel them. It's no big deal," he says. What he doesn't understand is that I'm like the Princess and the Pea, but with crumbs. And I have the uncanny ability to find the tiniest crumb and get angsty about it.

You'd think after almost four years of marriage, he'd learn. Sometimes I think he just really enjoys watching me tug on the sheets maniacally and kicks them off on purpose.

I'm on to you, Hub.

What are your pet peeves? I bet they have something to do with your significant other. Discuss!

McDonalds: Assaulting my eyes and ears as well as my stomach.

Ok, so we all know by now that I had a baby. And also, I'm on maternity leave. So there are times when a baby is needing to be rocked and I will sit my butt with the TV on and watch lots of interesting things.

Along with the interesting shows are maddening commercials.

I'm thinking about starting a new segment on the blog called Ad Nauseous, where I talk about commercials that bug me. In fact, I'm going to for sure start this.

Here's my first Ad Nauseous: The new commercial for the mocha caramel frappe.



This commercial literally burns into my brain. I will wake up at night with the song on a loop in my head, my imagination replaying those stupid hipster coffee fiends and their inane table drumming.

Some reasons why I hate this commercial:

- The table drumming. Really? Why. Just why. What purpose does this serve, besides being "interesting"? It doesn't make me want that coffee. It isn't cute. It isn't creative. In fact, it is a little embarrassing to me for some reason. I'm ashamed for those people. If this happened in real life, I would look away. And then I'd probably say, "What's wrong with those people?" Why do they act like they are in the running for a gold medal in table drumming at the Olympics? And the look on their faces at the end -- "NAILED IT!" I want to punch them. Both of them. I want to throw coffee in their smarmy faces.

- The girl who is drinking the mocha caramel while watching the table drummers and recording them with her iPhone. She's all bobbing her head like she's truly enjoying the show. Then she slowly sips the coffee and of course doesn't disturb the perfectly fluffed whipped cream on top. I want to walk by and push the cup into her face while she's drinking.

- McDonalds wants to make this a "viral video" SO BADLY, but what it comes down to is a viral video of a FAKE viral video. You know?

- I can't stand the song..UGGGHHH that song. It goes something like this: "Is that chocolate? Is that caramel? Is that expresso all mixed together? I MUST BE, I MUST BE, I MUST BE, I MUST BE DREAMING." Because McDonalds is the first place to mix these two flavors together. It's such a unique blend of flavors! Yes, you MUST be dreaming! What forward thinking mixologist came up with this brilliant plan? Because -- JACKPOT! OMG. I want to tell the person who wrote that song that the coffee is cooled and then watch as they gulp it down but it's actually hot, so they burn their throats.

So there you go, all that anger in a 30 minute second commercial. (edited to add, I said 30 minute commercial which must be my subconscious saying, "holy crap that commercial seems like it goes on forever!)

No porch light means I'm not interested

Last year Hubby and I went all out on Halloween. We carved an awesome pumpkin.

See? Awesome. Hubby carved that last year.

We had some spooky Halloween music and set up a nice little operation from our driveway, including some pretty stellar candy options. I'm not talking, like, the generic kids mix. I'm talking Hersey's bars, Kit Kats and Nerds.

We got about 3 kids. The rest of the candy went straight to my thighs.

This year we decided to be grinches, or whatever the Halloween equivalent is. Hubby and I went out to dinner and ran errands, then lost track of time and came home right about when Trick-or-Treat was starting and our street was SWARMING with those little sugar-hungry brats.

We rushed inside so we wouldn't be spied, left the door closed and the porch light off. A few minutes later, our doorbell rang.

Who sends their child up to a dark house? Seriously, who does that?

Luckily, we had some 6-month old suckers from ye olden days of my 1st trimester morning sickness, so I popped those bad boys in the bags of those eagerly awaiting children, while their mother graciously shone her flashlight onto our sidewalk so the kids could see the dark house they were approaching. The dark house containing who knows what manner of grumpy, angry people. I mean, hypothetically, if we're cantankerous enough to deny kids their God-given, red-blooded American right to free candy on Halloween, what other deep dark secrets could we be harboring?

And additionally, I thought the international sign for, "I'm not giving out candy because I hate you. Please go away" is to turn off your light. Maybe things have changed in the past 18 years since I've been begging for treats.

We decided since we've already broken the seal, as it were, that we'd flip on the light and continue giving out stale suckers until it was over. All in all, we got about 10 kids. That includes the kids who were in such a hurry that they couldn't wait 60 seconds for me to rock my pregnant butt out of the recliner and waddle to the door. Ungrateful.

Did you give out candy? What percentage of children, would you estimate, forgot to say either "Happy Halloween", "Thank you" or both?

Wendys, you're on my list

So if you watch TV at all and don't fast forward through the commercials, you know that Wendy's now has their small size Frosty for 99 cents. I've been obsessed with them for a month or so because 1) they are delicious and 2) they are only 99 cents, so it's perfect for daily pregnancy snacks.

In fact, as I watch this SEC football game, which is sponsored by Wendys, I've seen no fewer than 5 commercials for this tasty treat.

Our Wendy's is right down the road. We actually have a couple, but the one down the road is so convenient. But the past couple of times we've gone they said their machine was down. I thought to myself, "wow, the advertising campaign must be working."

Then Friday night, Hubby tried to stop by and get a Frosty for me as a surprise and they told him they only had ONE machine, so they could only make one flavor at a time. They only serve chocolate Frostys every other day and vanilla on the off days, so that we should call before we come to make sure they have them.

Several things are wrong with this. 

1. We're talking about a FROSTY, not some fancy restaurant. Are they really telling us we have to call and make reservations for a Frosty? I mean is Wendy's black tie optional now? 
2. Who actually orders a vanilla Frosty? Even my sister, who loves vanilla cake, icing, and ice cream, prefers the chocolate Frosty. I mean, it's a classic. Who hasn't enjoyed a cold, creamy Frosty on a hot summer's day? It's the all American treat. Then somebody had to decide to mess with a good thing and create those God awful vanilla ones. I haven't tried a vanilla Frosty but I believe it's akin to saying, "Hey, you know, Christmas on December 25 is good, but you know what might be more convenient for all? Let's have it on December 30. That way we can just have Christmas and then New Year's Eve and New Year's Day all in the same week." 
3. Here is a novel idea: GET A NEW FROSTY MACHINE. I'm sure the thousands of locations have multiple Frosty machines, so tell me why it's so difficult for ours to have the same thing? I mean Wendy's is spending probably a quarter of a million dollars on advertising their Frosty's, yet we are unable to get the kind they are advertising. Bull crap is what it is.

It's just cruel and unusual punishment to make a pregnant lady look at Frosty's on the screen for 8 hours on a Saturday and then not be able to serve her one.

Do you eat chocolate or vanilla Frosty's? 

Oh, and I'm guest posting today over at Our Mommyhood! Learn how I became mortal enemies with the OB clinic scale!