"Housework is a treadmill from futility to oblivion with stop-offs at tedium and counter productivity."*

    I’m feeling pretty smug today because I pumped some serious iron last night while watching Around the World in 80 Days (we’re talking at least 12 reps of various curls and extensions with 8-lb-dumbbells. Also...Around the World is a 3 hour movie, and I made it through the first 6th). And I got to bed at a grown-up person’s hour (11:30), so I was raring to go at 8 a.m. But, as so often happens at 8 a.m., I find that I don’t have anywhere to go, and I wonder if I should go back to bed. Especially since my arms and legs were sort of weak and hurt-y from all the iron pumping.

    But I didn’t go back to bed. I worked out (again!) and ran some errands and talked to my parents on the phone.

    Here’s the thing: my mom’s coming in town in under a week and I have to get my apartment to look like it’s a) very clean, b) not trashy and c) like a responsible adult lives in it.

    To that end, I have cleaned the dickens out of my bathroom (“dickens?” what am I, 90-years-old?), attempted to get all moldy and expired foods removed from my fridge, dusted my furniture and hidden all my dirty books. Just kidding. I didn’t dust.

    But I will!

    No, seriously, it’s not really about my mom, though I do want her and her buddy Laura to be comfortable while they stay at my apartment. It’s more that I’m becoming increasingly ashamed of my digs. And THAT has less to do with my digs not being good enough or classy enough (many wonderful human beings throughout history have lived in shittier places), but more to do with my inability to keep up with the day-to-day minutiae that is housekeeping.

    See, housekeeping is really boring.

    I love reading recipes and eating good food and I love looking at before and after pictures of remodeled homes and apartments. What I hate is actually getting up off my ass to clean the floor or the dishes or the fridge. I hate making myself dinner. It’s really awful and tedious and I think my mind functions on a plane much too high for such drudgery. Also, if I make dinner and it’s really delicious but no one’s there to tell me so, was it truly delicious? I’m just way too deep for housekeeping.

    Although, I'm not too deep (or busy, it would seem) for some kitchen-related photography. Check out some evidence of how I spend my spare time...

The Usual Suspects (Bryan Singer, 1995)

The Usual Suspects in my kitchen. (Lacey, 2012)

   But Mom is coming in town, so I had to stop wasting time and do some basic chores that I’ve been putting off for a while. That’s partly why I did all that laundry the other day. And then I cleaned the toilet. And I found a Tupperware in my fridge so full of mold, I chose to throw it away rather than barf while trying to clean it (sorry, god of recycling!).  And I fully intend to sweep the floors and water the plants. I may even vacuum the couches.

    See, if Mom sees me living like a derelict, she’s going to feel sorry for me and start “tending” to things around my apartment. This will be a two-fold disaster: I will resent her because she thinks I’m living like a hobo, even though I am, and insists on bettering my lifestyle. And I will feel sad that she’s spending her hard-earned money on rectifying my poor life choices. It’s a lose-lose situation, especially for me. Because I’m kind of a loser.

    My mother is very generous and very fun, so this trip will be delightful provided I make this place look like part of the Kennedy summer compound. Which will be hard because I don’t have a patio. Or stables. Or tennis courts. Or ascots. Or polo ponies. Or an ocean or toothy rich people nearby. But I do have a pool, which I will try to distract her with while closing the blinds to my neighbor’s makeshift, backyard “gym.” (Maybe I should see if he wants to spot me the next time I lift weights?)

    Wish me luck!

*Quote is from Erma Bombeck. And this was a woman who actually was a home-maker AND a humor columnist. But not like Martha Stewart. That bitch thinks we all have maids, butlers, yachts and basil plants growing out our butts.