The People Who Choose To Love Me

The People Who Choose To Love Me
This is my family. Watermark and all.

Monday, October 19, 2015

Leslie Stoner Can Come Clean My House Anytime.

Let’s play, “How gross is my house?”

There is both horror and satisfaction that goes along with cleaning my house. On the one hand, I’m appalled by the dirt, dust, and general funk that accumulates in every nook and cranny; on the other, I get as excited as a child on Christmas morning to see how much grossness I can collect.
Clean rug… or is it?

Some of the greatest satisfaction comes from vacuuming. Suddenly I turn into an infomercial, displaying the empty contents of my vacuum for the world to see before it miraculously changes my life by leaving my floors completely free of the hidden dangers known as dirt, dust, and dander. Behold, the vacuum canister now contains a tangled mass of gross. How did I live before this vacuum? How could I allow my small, fragile, defenseless child play on this seemingly clean rug. Truly, I had no idea what horrors lay buried in its tightly woven threads and I am somberly appalled. The shame, oh the shame. All I can do is stutter in defense, “but, but I didn’t know,” as tears well up in my eyes. And scene.

Round two, fight!
Like any good infomercial, I go for round two on vacuuming and low and behold, there are more treasures to be found hiding in my rug’s fibrous depths.

What a glorious vacuum! Amazing! Stupendous! Life changing! Blah, blah, blah. Ok, the novelty has worn off, there will be no round three but if there were, I’m sure it would yield similar results. Whatever is left in the rug has earned its right to stay. Next order of business…
The Swiffer. Oh the glorious Swiffer, savior of the lazy housekeeper.

How many Swiffer wet pads does it take to get to the center of a clean house? Five. FIVE??!! Holy hell, is my floor really that disgusting? Um, yes. In my defense, I have an asshole of a dog that gets his kicks out of playing in the mud and then running through the house. This isn’t an everyday occurrence but when it happens, it takes place approximately 30 minutes after I clean the floors, which, as you can see, doesn’t occur very often. Did you know my dog is really an angry, vindictive man trapped in a dog’s body? Don’t let the innocent looking face fool you. No joke, this fucker has thumbs. I once came home to an empty Slim Jim wrapper on the kitchen floor in which there were no bite marks and no evidence of Jim. I digress. Anyway, though appalled, I am now beaming with satisfaction over the filth I have uncovered and conquered.

Dust: The Grossest Gross Of Them All

Now the thing about dust is, if left undisturbed, you almost can’t tell it’s there. I struggle internally: do I leave it and hope no one disturbs it, accidentally creating clean spot, or do I give in to cleaning, lest my secret shame be discovered? Really what spurs me to dust is remembering that dust is mostly comprised of dead skin cells. Dead skin cells, people! My cells, your cells, the dog’s cells, stranger’s cells that blew in through the screen door, etc. Fucking sick, even by my standards.

Moral of the story, if you have to clean, do yourself a kindness and at least try to make it entertaining. Embrace the gross.
Side note: You may have noticed that I did not include the bathroom. Don’t despair, you only missed out on pictures of pee stains and stray pubes. You. Are. Welcome.

Written by Leslie Stoner, Guest Blogger 

Leslie Stoner and her husband Scott just welcomed a beautiful little boy into the world. I can say that I relate to Leslie's struggle of trying to maintain a balance between family, work, and housework, but I have given up on the housework. Long ago. Isn't she hilarious and super cute?? Dusting... *sigh* I will refrain from taking a picture of any of the surfaces in my home or any of the corners that currently serve as final resting places for several dust bunnies because eventually, I'd like to have Leslie and Scott visit us. If you'd like to see more of what comes out of Leslie's brain, she just started a new blog and will hopefully be keeping up with it for our medicinal (laughter) purposes. -No Trade Jack

Please check her stuff out at Bullshit Baby Bunk !!!  


  1. Consider yourself lucky that your dog isn't allergic to Swiffer products because they really do make cleaning easier, but, given the choice between my dog's face breaking out in blisters and having to put more work into cleaning I'll put more work into cleaning.

    Oh, and dust also consists of dust mites that eat our dead skin cells and then they shit. And now that I've told you that you'll never stop cleaning. Have a great day!

    1. You get to a point after four kids where nothing phases you. I'll take invisible shit over kid shit any day. And, how sad for your poor dogs!! :(

  2. I get it. My husband and I got a Dyson vacuum cleaner as a wedding gift and ever since I've had a kind of sick fascination with just how much junk that thing can suck out of the carpet.

    To up the gross-out factor, I can easily use five Swiffer wet pads on my tiny kitchen floor alone, because back in the seventies some asshat in their infinite ignorance decided to put down crackle-texture linoleum tiles (imagine a dried-out mudflat) that would have even Mr. Clean, that bald pine-scented god of household spotlessness, weeping in defeat.

    1. Who's handing out Dysons as gifts and can I please be related to them? Also, things in the seventies were poorly made because acid was big, I'm convinced. People just thought, "Aw man, this will look AWESOME on acid!!," and decorated their entire house with shag carpet and crackle floors. I wish I lived in the seventies.

    2. "Dyson--If there's one thing we know it's sucking balls."

      Sorry, couldn't resist.

  3. Oh I think my house could be declared the grossest of them all. I still have yet to get a new cleaning service and I still have yet to clean the house myself. I think I'll move out.

    1. That sounds like a solid plan!! Maybe I'll just do the same and start over fresh somewhere else! :D