Friday, June 12, 2009
When your ex tells you, ten minutes before arriving at their house, that the clean place you once knew, currently looks like a bombsite, you just naturally assume he's being a boy, and whinging that their estrogen levels have lowered and those womanly hormones that guys have, just didn't kick in.
Oh, how I was wrong.
They'd made peyote, and the cactus shit was fucking everywhere. There were even leaves from the fucking cactus, left on the bench. The filthy fucking catus pot was crusty, and burnt.
Dishes were basically piled on top of each other, with Matt's demon fucking wheatbix lodged on the inside bowls, cigarette butts on top, and some fucking red drink that Rory handed me that had mould growing on it. ("It's a dissolved redskin!")
I threw out enough goon boxes to build an entire homeless shelter with. Cleaned up a whole heap of bottles and other grot, those went out too. I nearly caused domestic outrage, when I went to throw out, what I thought was a Passion Pop bottle, than contained 6-hours of peyote brewing.
Ash and i had to fish through even more rubbish bags to find it, whilst I explained that I'd given up actually looking at what was inside bottles, at risk of some kind of mutant jumping out and disembowling me or something.
Into Ash's room, and popcorn, clothes and goon was everywhere.
So basically, i swept the floors, folded the clean shit in Ash's room and hung up his hoodies (because, you know, boys don't know what clothes hangers are), scrubbed the dishes clean so they had thigns to, you know, eat off of and drank five million coffees.
That's some vagina power. I actually kind of enjoyed cleaning; the guys got a good laugh at my general womanly outrage at how yuck the house was.
Only, the mess got worse.
The guys went to Ash's room, and I observed the giggly downhill decline of basically everyone in there. Ash busted out some chocolate ripple cake, after he'd tried to make whipped cream by adding milk to cream.
("Is this how I do it?"
"NO! STOP MAKING MESS!")
Whilst the Riplle cake was lovely, and largely enjoyed, when you put a large quantity of Goon, Weed, Sausage Rolls and a whole lot of rich cream and chocolate, all in the same stomach - there's bound to be some kind of nuclear explosion.
The munt itself, was absolutely spec-fucking-tacular.
"Ugh... I'm going to munt..."
"That's great, Rory."
Literally ten seconds later, after no-one took him seriously, the poor guy tips his head back and fucking wills himself in that position to not munt all over my nice, clean, vagina-powered floor.
He even got up, wretching, with his head back on a 90degree angle; i was completely fuckign amazed, even as it dribbled out of the sides of his mouth and down his shirt.
Well, amazed until he couldn't hold it any longer, and wretched his insides all over the floor.
In this sort of scenario, isn't it meant to be the girls who run out of the room, squealing and wailing that vomit is the most disgusting thing in the world, and that there is just absolutely no fucking way they're going to be the ones to clean it up.
"Nah, its cool," they guys say, "he'll mop it up."
Yep. Because when I green out, and I think that, you know, I'm going to end up in intensive care if I wretch one more time, the first thing I think about is cleaning up my own vom.
So, four vommy towels, a bucket filled with hot water and detergent later, Rory's vom was gone.
I needed to sleep in that room, as if I was going to leave that shit on the floor for him to wake up to, only to continue to munt his guts up at the general scent of it.
Tucked him into bed on the couch; Rory's night was over.
Chilled on the futon, got my feet rubbed, watched get Smart and critisised it the entire time, drank another five billion coffees and smoked my last cigarette.
The only good thing about cleaning peyote out of pots, cups, funnels and chopping boards - is the fact that your hands go fantastically soft. If the general texture of it was so disgusting and the scent of it even worse, I might even consider rubbing it into my face.
...only a suggestion.
Posted by Amy Jean at 5:42 PM