Friday, October 5, 2012

Friday Sorta-Randoms

Some people can probably have guests over without flinging themselves into a complete tizzy.

I am not one of those people.

I love entertaining. I LOVE IT. But oh man, do I work myself into a state.

Logically, I know things don’t have to be perfect. Logically, I know perfection is not even attainable.

Sometimes, though, logic gets crushed under the stampeding herd of my thoughts.

So, for your Friday Randoms … Five things that happened while I was preparing for houseguests:


“What did you do yesterday?”

“I made soap.”

“What? Why?”

“Because what if they don’t like the soap I have? People should have soap choices when they shower, don’t you think? So I made goat’s milk soap and shea butter soap and some has dye in it and some doesn’t and some is scented and some is unscented.”

“You do realize that you don’t run a hotel, don’t you?”

“Yes. But I SHOULD. Because when was the last time when you went to a hotel and they gave you soap OPTIONS? I would totally stay at that hotel.”

“And you MADE this soap?”


“Are you in therapy yet? Because, really.”


I can’t be the only person who has ever gotten … shall we say, carried away … while scrubbing . Especially while scrubbing a kitchen. Oh man, there are so many SURFACES in a kitchen, and the minute one of them is all shiny and clean, it’s so easy to notice that another one is, shall we say, less than shiny.

How exactly this translated into me scrubbing the inside of my fridge with antibacterial solution I have no idea. Some kind of scrubbing amnesia has taken place, possibly caused by the delicious smells of Method cleaning products (am I the only who has noticed that EVERYTHING they make smells GLORIOUS? As if I needed more incentives to clean things), but the end result is … clean, sparkly goodness.

Even the inside of the fridge.


“What are you doing now?”

“Writing down directions for the clock radio.”


“You know how, when you’re staying at someone’s house or something, you go to bed and then you’re ¾ of the way asleep and you realize you need to set the alarm? And then you’re all fuzzy brain and you can’t figure it out?”

“Are you kidding?”

“NO! This totally takes the work out of it.”

“You are insane.”



Beansie hates the vacuum. In her eyes, apparently, it is not a friendly remover of the cat hair that she has generously spread all over every available surface.


In her eyes, it is the suck monster.

However, in what can only be described as the most squee thing ever, she occasionally inserts herself between me and the suck monster, rears up, and bats at it in what I think is an effort to protect me from the loud and loathsome beast.

To which I can only say: AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.


“So when are your guests arriving?”

“In two days.”

“How do you feel? You must be tired.”

“I don’t have the time to be tired! I’m psyched! I’m ready to roll!”

“How much coffee have you had? You look a little manic…”

“Um. I don’t even know. It’s probably better if we don’t talk about it.”

“Oh dear Jesus. Do I have to have an intervention?”

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