While the turkey burger and eggs were slammin'...
I drunk washed the dishes and drunk grabbed the large bottle of olive oil and then proceeded to drunk spill said olive oil in an arc across the kitchen. Jackson Pollack would've been jealous.
Was going to take a picture, but let's be honest: nobody likes a homely photo.
What makes this a truly lazy wife moment: yeah. I left it there. I rubbed in the splashes across my hand (grrreat moisturizer) and then went to watch TV on demand.
Hey, at least I remembered to buy paper towels on the way home. What? I live alone biotch. I can do what I want.
In sober reflection,
L.W.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Investment Cleaning
So, you know, this blog is like, for lazy ho's right?
But clean lazy ho's. Paradox? Think again my friend.
I like a clean bathroom. Nay, I love a clean bathroom.
-take a little regular liquid car wax on a cloth and give it a pass across all the surfaces you cleaned
But clean lazy ho's. Paradox? Think again my friend.
I like a clean bathroom. Nay, I love a clean bathroom.
Know what I don't particularly love: cleaning my bathroom. Lazy woman solution: car wax.
No, not for your legs or your down there zone - for your sink! To cut down on the frequency of needing to clean your sink and counters try this:
-clean once, properly, with real cleanser (comet - dude, it's like a. awesome and b. one dollar) and a scrubbing sponge (I had an ex boyfriend who only possessed soft sponges... how can you clean like that?!)
-dry with your dirty towel (comon - you've got to rotate the hand towel eventually)-take a little regular liquid car wax on a cloth and give it a pass across all the surfaces you cleaned
-wipe clean with the other side of the cloth et voila!
It's slippery, it's shiny, it's nearly impossible for dirt to stick to. You'll have to scrub again at some point, but having a smooth protected surface is a fo sho dirt deterrent.
Just don't do it on your tub floor or you'll be in traction.
Hollaaaaaaaaaaa
Friday, September 21, 2012
Sunday, September 16, 2012
In The Words of Usher...
This...
This is indeed my confession.
And yes, I'd better tell it, better tell it all. And yes, I damn near cried, cried when I got that - no, OK, I'll stop.
But truth, let's get things straight right off the bat: I am nobody's wife [yet].
However, I am [apparently] vain - my use of brackets around the term 'yet' might indicate to some that there's a gentleman or heck - a lady waiting in the wings to agree to tend me the rest of my life.
There's not.
Yet.
See, while a rapidly-approaching-thirty spinster, I have the optimism of a brace-faced A-cupper (something I actually know little about what with ample genetics, etc.).
Nonetheless, I am a lazy wife. I will be a lazy wife. I need my own lazy wife.
Born to a family that wasn't interested in supporting the lifestyle I wish I'd become accustomed to I learned proper floor sweeping techniques, the wonders of bleach, and how to start dinner before my parents came home. Yes, in their infinite wisdom my family and the fates conspired to teach me the ways of self sufficient housekeeping.
Luckily, growing up in sax-man Clinton's sitcom 90's I became adept at such nouveau conventions as half-assing a room-cleaning, leaving just enough dishes scattered around the house to avoid parental directives, and a penchant for speed-baking from oh so handy cardboard box cake mixes.
Shake and serve on the rocks: The Lazy [wannabe] Wife.
So, I come to you with a love of through cleaning... and a sense of boredom halfway through. Expect me to show you food that is prettier than yours, original clutter re-shuffling ideas, and the occasional figurative face plant (see: 'pesto soup fail' or 'why Nigella is famous and I'm not'). I sew. I craft. I cook. I entertain. I never break a sweat. I recommend clinical strength deodorant.
Let's keep home... half-assedly together.
This is indeed my confession.
And yes, I'd better tell it, better tell it all. And yes, I damn near cried, cried when I got that - no, OK, I'll stop.
But truth, let's get things straight right off the bat: I am nobody's wife [yet].
However, I am [apparently] vain - my use of brackets around the term 'yet' might indicate to some that there's a gentleman or heck - a lady waiting in the wings to agree to tend me the rest of my life.
There's not.
Yet.
See, while a rapidly-approaching-thirty spinster, I have the optimism of a brace-faced A-cupper (something I actually know little about what with ample genetics, etc.).
Nonetheless, I am a lazy wife. I will be a lazy wife. I need my own lazy wife.
Born to a family that wasn't interested in supporting the lifestyle I wish I'd become accustomed to I learned proper floor sweeping techniques, the wonders of bleach, and how to start dinner before my parents came home. Yes, in their infinite wisdom my family and the fates conspired to teach me the ways of self sufficient housekeeping.
Luckily, growing up in sax-man Clinton's sitcom 90's I became adept at such nouveau conventions as half-assing a room-cleaning, leaving just enough dishes scattered around the house to avoid parental directives, and a penchant for speed-baking from oh so handy cardboard box cake mixes.
Shake and serve on the rocks: The Lazy [wannabe] Wife.
So, I come to you with a love of through cleaning... and a sense of boredom halfway through. Expect me to show you food that is prettier than yours, original clutter re-shuffling ideas, and the occasional figurative face plant (see: 'pesto soup fail' or 'why Nigella is famous and I'm not'). I sew. I craft. I cook. I entertain. I never break a sweat. I recommend clinical strength deodorant.
Let's keep home... half-assedly together.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)