Washing Dishes in the Sink

Yes, the unthinkable happened – my dishwasher broke down. I hit the on button and swanned to my bed to lay down, but instead of the usual hum, there was silence. I opened and shut the door a few times and still, nothing. Frantically, I pushed previously unused buttons in the vain hope I could get it working. When I realised, that yes it was true, my dishwasher was no more, I fell to the floor in a fit of uncontrollable sobbing – well, maybe not quite so dramatic, but life as I knew it has come to an end.

The dishwasher repairman has had it for 3 weeks, and the dishes are piling up all around me as a I procrastinate on the hideous task that is immersing one’s hands in hot dirty water and wiping the grime off plates. It’s a task that once I finally muster up the motivation for, I do with a complete lack of commitment. I just want to get those dishes in and out the water and onto the side of the sink in the quickest time possible, and if that means that the odd knife and fork still has remnants of my meal on it, well, so be it.

I hold washing pots and pans in such contempt, that I would rather have root canal than scrub them, and they inevitably sit in my sink for 3 days “soaking”. Not only am I currently considering buying plastic plates and cutlery until the return of my beloved kitchen appliance, I would conduct highly immoral acts if the repairman would push my job to the head of the queue.

Anal Retentive Bed Partners

I’m currently sharing a bed with someone whose always fighting me for the sheets. Yes, I concede I may have bad bed sharing etiquette and sometimes suck up the doona during the night, and wake in the morning to discover I’ve taken up the whole bed (and left them shivering on the edge of it), BUT, enough with the not being able to get into bed unless every sheet corner is tucked in per hospital standards. “Look, here’s your own doona, use that, and no I don’t know where your sleeping mask is. Now shut up and let me get to sleep.”

Living in a Studio the Size of a Shoebox

Don’t get me wrong, my studio may be small, but it’s lovely and only a hop, skip and a jump away from Chapel St (literally). It’s been ever so fabulous to me, taking me in and looking after me when I needed it the most and allowed me to live by myself in an inner city location, but now after nearly 2 years the walls feel like they’re caving in on me.

I need a desk that I can spread my work out on, without having my elbows jammed up against the printer which takes up half of the small desk I can fit next to my bed and in between my kitchen. I’d like a dinner table to eat my food on, so I don’t have to balance my meal on my lap in bed, and cursing every time something spills onto my freshly washed doona. I’d love a couch to sit on to watch TV and I’d like to be able to cook a meal in my kitchen without it messing up my whole house.

I’m hoping that this becomes a tale I’ll retell when I’m being interviewed by Vogue about my latest best seller, reminiscient of the latest Oscar winner, who after they’ve thanked God and their parents, go on to tell how they nearly gave it all up a few years back, because they couldn’t pay their rent and were living out of their car.

Well it’s not exactly that bad, afterall I do live in South Yarra and my studio does have marble bench tops and stainless steel fittings, but I’d still really like a living room and a wall between my bed and my kitchen, so that I don’t have to wake up next to my sink! *sigh*

Having a Doorbell Nobody Can *%*$*!! Find

My studio is hidden down a laneway and is so difficult for delivery drivers to find, that I may as well tell them I live in Narnia. I give long winded detailed instructions, knowing full well they’ll never find it and I will get one of those red cards (“we tried to deliver ….) in the letterbox and have to go to Australia Post to collect it my *%*$*!! self.

LATE NIGHT INFOMERCIALS

I’m a night owl, and this means I’m often up into the early hours writing on my mac and spending far too much time on Facebook for my own good. I’ve always liked the TV on in the background (you see, when I was a little girl, my Dad was a night owl too, which meant he was often up watching TV into the early hours and the sound of it meant I knew I was safe and the boogey man wasn’t going to get me whilst I was sleeping) but around 1am is when I want to run screaming from my bedroom in a state of manic hysteria.

Why, you ask? It’s Zumba time! If the sound of Mike Goldberg’s voice isn’t enough to provoke a boredom induced seizure, then watching Principal’s Secret, Cindy Crawford’s Meaningful Beauty, Mr T’s Flavour Waver, Wen, Sheer Cover, Cardio Twister, Ab King Pro or the H2O Steam Mop informercials for the hundredth time certainly are! The only thing worse than watching Victoria Principal take her bus out again, is it playing simultaneously on 2 different channels. For fuck’s sake!

Let’s not forget the Snuggie, which makes wearers look like they are part of a cult. My personal favourite is “you can even wear it to your favourite sporting game” – yeah like that is going to happen anytime soon without some sort of social assassination.

Seriously, who are the people picking up the phone and ordering this crap?!?!

Copyright 2009 | Gaynor Alder

Image Source