Midnight cleaning in your underwear...and other reasons to murder your cat.

Well, I've been trying to get myself going with the packing and stuff, and according to the few pieces of advice I could garner from the internet it is a good idea to start packing the room you use the least first. Very well, 'Kitchen' it is then. While I was considering what to pack first it occured to me that I had better clean those things I want to pack first...so I decided to clean my stove. Boy, was that a mistake.

Have you ever read the side of can of oven cleaner? By the sounds of things it would be safer to brush your teeth with anthrax than clean one lousy stove. The instructions make absolutely no sense, of course, for example: 'Lemon Scented' and 'Do Not Inhale Fumes' Why the hell would you make something lemon scented and then tell people not to inhale? Make it dog poo scented if you are so bloody safety concious. Then it tells you to spray the foam inside the oven but 'Do Not Spray On Electrical Circuits Or The Heating Elements'. One entire surface of the oven is covered with heating element...how am I supposed to clean it if I can't use oven cleaner on it? So I dutifully didn't spray anywhere near the element and now the oven sparkles except for the grimy patch behind the heating element...it huddles there behind it's protective forcefield and mocks me. I hate cleaning.

Well, that kinda put a swift end to my cleaning enthusiasm for the weekend. Well, not quite, my cat was at least partially to blame. One night just as I had crawled into bed, warm and snug, the stupid cat knocked over a bottle of grenadine onto our bookshelf. For those of you who have not had the pleasure of cleaning up a pool of grenadine at midnight, in your underwear, let me explain to you its vast pleasures. Grenadine is a syrup, a sweet, sticky syrup. It sticks to everything, except, of course, the cloth you are trying to mop it up with. It also stains everything it touches purplish red. So there I was, freezing cold, covered in sticky syrup, in my underwear...and where is the cat I hear you ask? Curled up on the bed, fast asleep. I hate cats.

This week I had an exam so I kinda ignored OMT. I had more important things to do, like watch the Survivor finale and ignore my beckoning study notes. Well, the exam went okay, only had to guess 2 answers so I figure there's no way I can fail...but then again, that's what Hitler thought, right?
So I have a short column this week, blame my Psychology exam, I do.