I am bachelor.

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Bartholomew

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I am eating generic rice crispies out of the measuring cup, because every other dish in the house is dirty.

I could cook, but it would require removing the turkey-husk (as well as the blackened, brackish, lump behind it) from the oven, not to mention remove the pots of festering side dishes from the stove-top.

There might be something microwavable in the freezer--but the freezer is frozen shut, and I will not chisel it open until a true emergency--such as Ice Cream being brought into the house.

The expensive leather couch and matching chair are both covered in ratty bed sheets-rather than bother cleaning, I can run these through the washer once a year, guilt free.

The bathroom paper sits in its packages atop piles of clean, but semi-folded towels, all handily next to the toilet.

The soap on the sink is glued to the soap-dish by years of its ancestor's accumulated gunk. (It's soap--it's clean, right?)

I have conversations with the mildew in my shower. (They're/It's reading Tolstoy at the moment.)

My cat does battle with critters not yet identified by science, all of which seem to come from my vents.

The computer might be on a desk; or it might be on an array of carefully stacked rubble. I cannot tell anymore.

My apartment does not have rooms. It has tunnels. The safe ways are marked by dirty laundry; the cave-in areas are marked by discarded soda bottles and cans. I do not have a parrot because its a good pet; I have a parrot to test the O2 before I enter any given room.

Other men accept this as they step into what Tolkein described as a wet hole, with moist walls filled with the ends of worms.

But if a woman announces that she desires to call upon me, the place will be immaculate before she arrives, and return to the status quo ten minutes after her departure.

I am bachelor. Hear me roar.
 
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KiwiChick

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Bartholomew said:
I am eating generic rice crispies out of the measuring cup, because every other dish in the house is dirty.

I could cook, but it would require removing the turkey-husk (as well as the blackened, brackish, lump behind it) from the oven, not to mention remove the pots of festering side dishes from the stove-top.

There might be something microwavable in the freezer--but the freezer is frozen shut, and I will not chisel it open until a true emergency--such as Ice Cream being brought into the house.

The expensive leather couch and matching chair are both covered in ratty bed sheets-rather than bother cleaning, I can run these through the washer once a year, guilt free.

The bathroom paper sits in its packages atop piles of clean, but semi-folded towels, all handily next to the toilet.

The soap on the sink is glued to the soap-dish by years of its ancestor's accumulated gunk. (It's soap--it's clean, right?)

I have conversations with the mildew in my shower. (They're/It's reading Tolstoy at the moment.)

My cat does battle with critters not yet identified by science, all of which seem to come from my vents.

The computer might be on a desk; or it might be on an array of carefully stacked rubble. I cannot tell anymore.

I'm married, and I'm a chick, but same deal. Except the measuring cup is dirty too.
 

Bartholomew

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KiwiChick said:
I'm married, and I'm a chick, but same deal. Except the measuring cup is dirty too.

Do you have an ashtray full of used prophylactics?

I do. :)
 

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KiwiChick said:
No, but please wear shoes in the kitchen or you're likely to be sueing me very soon.

I hear ya there. Is it glass, ancient eggshells, or a mixture?

Mine's mostly busted glass and stuff. There are probably poisonous bugs, too, but I don't know.
 

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Bartholomew said:
I hear ya there. Is it glass, ancient eggshells, or a mixture?

Mine's mostly busted glass and stuff. There are probably poisonous bugs, too, but I don't know.

I don't want to look too closely, but I know some's cat litter.
 

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KiwiChick said:
I don't want to look too closely, but I know some's cat litter.

You actually change your cat litter?

Weak.
 

MacAllister

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ewww, okay?

Just eww.

I'm a metro-sexual sort of a bachelorette, I think. My house is clean and warm and insanely comfortable, and there are numerous yummy things to eat, and my computer sits on an oak roll-top with mellow golden light falling from the wrought-iron lamp...
 

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MacAllister said:
I'm a metro-sexual sort of a bachelorette, I think. My house is clean and warm and insanely comfortable, and there are numerous yummy things to eat, and my computer sits on an oak roll-top with mellow golden light falling from the wrought-iron lamp...

In a hole in the ground there lived a MacAllister. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a MacAllister-hole, and that means comfort.
 

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Birol said:
Mac: Freak.

Bartholomew, you realize you have the seed of an article here, don't you?

Yes, I do, and now I'm contemplating how to expand it.

And who I'd sell it to.
 
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MacAllister

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A fair bet Martha Stewart, Living doesn't want it...
 

Bartholomew

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MacAllister said:
A fair bet Martha Stewart, Living doesn't want it...

...and WOW did that rejection come back in a hurry!
 

CACTUSWENDY

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:flag: I am soooo gagged out. (Interesting reading)

I met a man/guy one time that did live very much like that...sigh.

(How do I get this picture out of my mind now.........?)
 

TsukiRyoko

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Sounds like the life-sized version of my room, only substituting most of the dirty dishes for books (it's like a book shelf exploded after reproducing like a rabbit. I'm not sure where half of them even came from). I say "most" because there is a 3 foot oddly shaped pile of fuzz in one of the corners, which only I could realize as a stack of dirty dishes.

Here's an easy trick to help keep things clean- move out and start over. :D
 
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Bartholomew said:
nasty, dirty, wet hole

Butthead.jpg


"You said 'nasty, dirty, wet hole.' Uhh...Huh huh huh.'"
 

alices

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MacAllister said:
ewww, okay?

Just eww.

I'm a metro-sexual sort of a bachelorette, I think. My house is clean and warm and insanely comfortable, and there are numerous yummy things to eat, and my computer sits on an oak roll-top with mellow golden light falling from the wrought-iron lamp...
Really dumb question – Heterosexual, homosexual, bi-sexual I understand, what is metro-sexual? Does it have anything to do with “sex in the city”, or some kinky fascination involving buses and trains? :D
 

MacAllister

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metro-sexual is a term for straight guys who could pass for queer - they dress well, they cook, they live well, etc. It's typically associated with youngish urban men.
 

alices

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MacAllister said:
metro-sexual is a term for straight guys who could pass for queer - they dress well, they cook, they live well, etc. It's typically associated with youngish urban men.
Disregarding your use of the term “queer”, I thought you were a woman? :Shrug:
 

MacAllister

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I am. Which is why I said "bachelorette." But I'm queer, so could reasonably get away with being messier and more blue-collar and well, just more butch in general. :)

See...now even I'm getting confused.
 

alices

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Well I am a lesbian, but I don’t consider myself “queer”, although the term is often hurled in my direction. Weird huh? ;)
 

MacAllister

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It might be a generational thing, actually. It's the preferred and PC term, for most of the community I'm familiar with over about 30. :)
 

kikazaru

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Ok, I'm not a neat freak, in fact one could say that I live in a state of constant cluttered chaos, however I live with 3 other people and a dog - not one of whom picks up after themselves. Cleaning up around here is like attempting to bail the Titanic with a spoon, and sometimes when the mess gets me down I turn on "How Clean is Your House" where two British cleaning ladies wade into the filthiest hovels imaginable that are inhabited by seemingly sane people, and work miracles. After seeing them chisel YEARS of hardened feces from toilets, lift pots crawling with cockroaches and take out garbage that is a writhing mass of maggots, well let's just say I feel soo much better about the mess that is my house. Now I can do one better, instead of looking about for that program, I can just read your OP - and that feeling of smug superiority will be mine in moments.

Btw your mom phoned, she said she's going to visit you for a couple of weeks and she'll be there in an hour....
 

robeiae

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Bartholomew said:
I am bachelor.
I can't imagine why...

:D



I am not a bachelor.

I cook, clean, and do the laundry for my wife, two kids, two dogs, and one tortoise.

I have to reload the dishwasher every time my wife lods it, because she doesn't utilize the space effectively.

All my cleaning supplies are carefully organized under the kitchen sink, and not a week goes buy that I don't run out of one thing or another.

I wash my shower curtains every week.

There are always snacks about, healthy and otherwise. My wife enjoys baking goodies with the kids and I must have bananas available at all times.

There are usually leftovers from meals, which get stored in the fridge. If they go uneatened for a week, I toss them. But I usually complain about it loudly, so everyone tends to eat leftovers when I suggest it.

I have a seperate cabinet in my laundry room for bath tissue, Kleenex, and paper towels.

I give my dogs flaxseed oil to control their shedding and keep their coats shiny.

The tortoise is the real problem...
 
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