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Thursday, November 30, 2006

Things Zombie Hates Thursday: Special Bathroom Edition

Apparently, while I wasn't paying attention, I turned into Suzy flippin' Creamcheese.

You see, this evening, after having dinner out with the kiddos and some friends, we stopped at The Holiest of Holies, Big Lots. And I got excited. About buying a garbage can.

Yes, it's sad.

If you don't have a Big Lots in your area, woe unto you. Closeout stores rule the earth, people. They rock my world. Because I am a cheap bastard. There's something deeply satisfying about buying namebrand items at closeout prices. I learned this from the Big Lots commercials featuring that large, angry-looking black woman and that white dude that looks mildly retarded. Shopping is therapy.

So, anyway, I bought a new garbage can. For my bathroom, which is now New and Improved.

When I moved into this house, my bathroom was (insert rending of the garments Old Testament-style here) carpeted. Carpeted bathrooms are a plague on humanity. You can't keep a carpeted bathroom clean. It's just not possible. No matter how much you vacuum the carpet, no matter how many bathmats you put down, no matter how often you wrap the children in Saran Wrap before they even step foot out of the tub after a scrubbing, it's going to be messy up in there.

When I first saw this carpeted horror of a bathroom, I was immediately reminded of a time shortly after I moved in with my foster parents. You see, they too were cursed with a carpeted bathroom. I am not sure what possesses people to put carpeting down in a bathroom, but some people do it. And then they sell/rent that monstrosity out to other people who are in need of housing.

So my foster parents had a carpeted bathroom. Both of them were horrified by it, but, as they told me, the time they attempted to rip it out turned out to be a bad idea, because as soon as they lifted up one corner of the evil carpeting, they found...bare plywood underneath. So the carpet had to stay for a while, because they couldn't, at the time, afford to fix the flooring and put tile or linoleum in.

And they were resigned to their fate. They accepted it with quiet grace and dignity. I was in awe of their fortitude and courage under such pressure. They did not complain.

Well, not until one morning, about three weeks after I moved in there, when I was sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the TV as I am wont to do, and I heard hideous shrieking coming from the bathroom.

"AHHHHHHHH! WHAT THE FUCK! AHHHHHHHH! I CAN'T LIVE LIKE THIS! MOTHERFUCKER!" came the anguished cries of my foster mother.

I trundled back to the bathroom to see what the problem was. She was standing in there, waving her arms around, screaming obscenities at my foster dad. "AHHHHHHHH!"

"What?" I asked. "What?"

She flung a hand out in the general direction of the wall. I looked over, trying to discern what evil had made itself known in the bathroom there. At first, I did not see it. And then... the corner the bathtub made where it met the wall...I saw...

...a mushroom.

A big one, too! At least 4 inches tall.


"Yeah, I see it. Take a deep breath."


"Okay. Well, it wasn't there last night when I took a shower. It's awfully big. That's pretty neat."


My foster dad remained wisely silent throughout this debacle and eventually, a few days later, we were relieved of the evil carpet that grew mushrooms overnight and got some nice clean tile.


And this brings us back to my bathroom. My bathroom with the carpet. I had visions of mushrooms springing forth from its artificial fibers like insidious little mushroomy springing things.

It caused nightmares. I worried. I cursed whatever maniac put carpet down in the bathroom. Would I, too, end up with mushrooms growing in my bathroom because some deranged interior decorator from Hades thought cream-colored carpet added a certain special something to the bathroom's aesthetic?

I did not know.

Of course, this did not stop me from renting the house, because, as I've mentioned before, the rent is freakin' cheap. And I love me some cheap like a fat kid love cake.

At any rate, the other day, I decided to brave whatever might lie beneath the carpet in my bathroom. After all, it was possible there was acceptable flooring underneath the carpet, just waiting for me to find it and let it free from its captivity.

And it turns out there was linoleum under there! Perfectly fine, acceptable bathroom flooring, covered up by ridiculous, porous, inappropriate wall-to-wall carpeting. And the carpet was hardly even nailed down!

The lack of proper nailing leads me to believe that the aforementioned maniac was really, deep-down, hesitant about the whole bathroom carpet idea and not entirely ready to commit to it in a concrete way.

I tell myself that, anyway, because it is things like these that let me sleep at night.

Anyhoo, I ripped that shit out with fiendish glee and dragged it to the basement. I then scrubbed the crap out of that linoleum, and while it appears to be older than Moses and therefore somewhat shabby, it's clean and easy to keep clean and not goddamned carpet.

And all was then well in my peaceable kingdom. Which is what led me to buy a nice new wastebasket for the bathroom, because it deserves something new and pretty to make it feel better about itself and bolster its newly found, antiseptic, potential-mushroom-growth-free self-esteem.

Now, if I could just figure out what to do about the bizarre, angelfish-shaped non-skid thingies they put into the bottom of my bathtub...

I appreciate that someone was looking out for my well-being by putting things in the tub to help prevent me from falling down and breaking my ass in half, but still. Angelfish.

Oh, and the swans someone pasted to the top of the shower stall. Swans, I say. Swans fashioned from the same non-skid stuff as the angelfish, only the swans serve absolutely no discernable purpose in life other than to make me glower every time I see them. After all, it's not like I'm going to be standing on the shower wall, and therefore need the swans to save my life or anything. No, apparently, someone thought this was decorative.

And you wonder why I hate everything. Silly heads.


link | posted by Zombie at 9:05 PM |


Anonymous token commented at 3:14 AM~  

A mushroom? For real? How very, VERY cool!

This post rocked!

Blogger Zombie commented at 5:13 AM~  

Yar, twas a real mushroom.

Thanks. ;-)

Blogger Sigivald commented at 12:40 PM~  

Yeah, Swans in my shower would freak me out, too.

I mean, who wants to get naked and scrub themselves while Michael Gira and Jarboe glower at you?


Anonymous Hunter commented at 5:05 AM~  

Not to sound like a horrible person who wants others to live in filth, should've left the carpet in just long enough for a mushroom to grow, just so you could get a picture of it and post about it.

As for the non-skid things, I've heard that soaking them in warm vinegar and scraping them up with a spatula works.

Blogger Ford commented at 12:22 PM~  

So mushrooms in the bathroom are bad?

Maybe I really do need to clean in there...

Anonymous wolfa commented at 6:08 PM~  

I think carpet in kitchen is just a little bit worse. I have gone back and forth on this -- kitchens get less moist and humid, but have worse stuff falling down onto their floors -- but voted, in the end, on kitchen.

I know this because visiting homes that people owned and lived in, I saw carpets in both bathrooms and kitchens. (I think carpets should be limited to stairs -- give me some wood floor.)

I understand being a cheap landlord, but if you own a place, why would you have a carpeted bathroom?

Blogger Zombie commented at 9:27 PM~  

Yeah, carpet in the kitchen would be pretty hideous, too. I have not stumbled upon that yet, though.

I have rented the House of the Most Awesome Tacky. You should see the post where I put up photos of the Rooster/Apple Orgy Wallpaper going on in my kitchen.

Also there is this post, which refers to the fact that my house is actually painted turquoise.


But! Cheap rent!

Anonymous wolfa commented at 1:11 PM~  

There's a restaurant that I like to go to which I call the scary chicken place, because the decorations are all roosters and hens (no chicks) and there's a soundtrack of hens clucking that plays only in the washroom. It's really creepy going to the bathroom there. (The food is good.)

Blogger Zombie commented at 4:18 PM~  

Ford, you freak, clean your damned house.

Wolfa, since moving in here, I have contemplated figuring out how to rig the front and back doors to moo every time they are opened, like at the Mooby's restaurant featured in Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back and Clerks 2.

If I get the mooing thing going, then I could add the clucking sounds in my own bathroom and perhaps the soothing squealing of pigs every time someone gets into the refrigerator.

I am, of course, deranged and shouldn't be let out into public, but that's beside the point.

Blogger Ford commented at 12:57 AM~  

Well the problem with that Zombs is that If I clean part of the house then it'll show how dirty the rest of it is and I'd be in serrious danger of having to clean the entire thing and well that just ain't gonna happen.

Anonymous mary commented at 8:11 AM~  

When we bought our house, I unfortunately listened to my parents who told me we needed to put carpet in our kitchen. Really, it was just so they would shut the fuck up.

I regret that day. The kitchen is where the kids run to vomit, since the closest bathroom is down a hallway towards the other end of the house. For some odd reason, they never can MAKE it in the trash can. There is just a 6 foot long vomit track, from the kid running and barf spraying out their mouth. It's fabulous. No amount of carpet shampooing, scrubbing, whatever will budge it. So, I just gave up. Eventually, we will accidentally catch the house on fire and move on.

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