You can see the carpet

Today I hoovered my room. I’m not sure if you’ll understand the importance of this event so I’ll repeat it in caps… I HOOVERED MY ROOM. This is a rare event. So rare that the professor of Rare Events, who holds a BA (Hons) in Astonishingly Rare Events at the Rare Event University would be astonished at its rarity. It is neat. It is tidy. There are neat and tidy stacks of books, books that are not randomly flung about the room as if in a fit of readers pique. Books that occupy one of three stages: have been read, are being read, are awaiting being read. They lie in piles, waiting for me.

I may hold a rally to celebrate the uniqueness of his event. Small sentient motes of dust are no doubt holding a pageant at this very moment to commemorate this monumentous event. They wave tiny banners and flags to celebrate being able to see the carpet and having a clear path from wall to wall. Perhaps hold tiny little fairs.

Frannie, I periodically have these fits of cleaning/organization/trashing the expendables and I fully understand enjoying the aftermath thereof.

Savor it. While you can.

Will you come hoover my apartment?

I’ve been trying for weeks now. I’ll finish one room, but the rest of the place is left untouched. By the time I get through everything else, the first room is a disaster again.

I blame the dog.

Congrats! Professor Rare Events has been notified several times in the past few weeks about the possibility of my Hoovering my room. Sadly, it seems as though that rare event will soon be extinct.

Really, isn’t vacuuming the most horrific thing ever? I would rather participate in a ritual sheep slaughter than vacuum. I straighten and neat-ify daily, but Hoovering is far too distressing. There’s always that one damn thing that the resists Hooveration, but instead of bending over and picking it up, I Hoover it until I pass out.

I’ve actually excused myself from Hoovering by saying, “I’ll do it after I watch MASH, okay?”

I’m sorry, but you guys are driving me nuts. To my mind, there’s only one meaning for the word ‘hoover,’ and I can’t stop laughing, and you all keep saying it. I’m dying here.

Wasn’t Herbert Hoover an awful president? :smiley:

But today an even rarer event occurred. I cleaned my kitchen.

Francesca, can you come over here and vacuum my apartment? I swear, it really needs it… of course, the fact that I don’t own a vacuum doesn’t help! :o

Sounds like the beginning of a new ecological age in your room, Francesca


Post college, a couple of buddies and I shared an apartment. When vacating, we rented a rug cleaner. That was when we discovered that the kitchen rug had a pattern.

I’m actually cleaning out my bedroom closet and I think I’ve stumbled onto (better than into) some kind of spatial anomaly.

My closet is smaller than my bedroom, yet all the stuff I’ve pulled out of said closet has filled up my bedroom and is spilling over into the hallway.

I wonder if NASA would be interested?

Two words that should never be spoken together.

I hate to vacuum, yet every time I break down and do it, I’m pleasantly surprised by how nice it makes the house look. Vacuuming makes the place look cleaner than any other single thing will, maybe because it’s impossible to do it unless the majority of the floor is clear. Our wall-to-wall carpet, upstairs and down (although not in the bathrooms or the kitchen, thank God) is a very, very light gray. I put a black and beige area rug in the living room, thinking that would hide the kid-stains nicely. I didn’t stop to think how that rug would look after even a single day of dog and cats and children.

On the bright side, it makes me vacuum more often.

I cleaned the fridge. Mr P informed me yesterday that he thinks kicking things under the furniture is a good way to get rid of kiddy junk. Mr P is shortly to be a dead Mr P unless he learns to pick the crap up.

For a long blissful spell in our relationship Mr P was the Official Person what Vaccuums because he thought I did a shite job of it. Now apparently he is beyond caring and thinks a shite job is better than no job ::sigh::

What’s the big reason for the cleaning spree Puddin’? Someone coming over? It’s not that evil bastard lno, is it? Oooo how I hate him. Everytime I see his posts I just shake my fist at the screen and say “Evil bastard lno!” So if it is him, I don’t want to know.

…of course if he were to teach me how to spit fire, then he’d be my great friend and I’d always be glad he was around…

But, Happy day! Puddin’ has a clean carpet. And when the dust motes hold their fair, will there be a teeny tiny coconut shy? (I read about coconut shies in a book once and had to look it up.)

Must be the full moon - we cleaned yesterday, too. The Perfect Child[sup]TM[/sup] finally got around to emptying the dishwasher and I loaded 2 days worth of dirty dishes back into it. Then I cleaned the sink and the counters while hubby shook out the throw rugs and tidied piles of junk. I ran the vacuum thru all but the bedrooms and he moved furniture for me and cleaned the coffee table. Within about 30 minutes, it was amazing!! Close the doors to the bedrooms and the house looked great. We were ready for visitors. Lucky for us, there were none, so we went out. That kept it cleaner longer. And my vacuum cleaner is a Hoover. It’s blue. That’s all.

I am seriously considering mopping the kitchen floor. With a mop and a suds bucket.

What are these strange things - “Hoovering”, “vacuuming” and “mopping” - of which you speak? Are they some kind of ritual? Ancient Druid practices? Modern interpretive dance?

No, you can’t. It’s got cat and dog toys and my shoes over every square inch…Oh, you mean YOUR carpet…well, that doesn’t do ME any good!

[sub]Congrats on the clean room, Francesca![/sub]

It should be noted that it’s 24 hours later and the room is still tidy. I feel like I should take photos for posterity. Snapshots of me standing proudly in my room, pointing and grinning at the lack of mess.

Alas, I am not available to clean other people’s apartments and/or rooms, unless they’re willing to have me live there for five years until I reach the point where Something Must Be Done.

Tansu- careful now. Moping is a big step. Perhaps you could start with a dustpan and brush. We don’t want to over-extend ourselves and burn out too soon. Cleaning - it’s a dangerous game.

dwyr - clearly you own a Tardis Closet. They’re more common than you might think and it is not NASA that needs to be told, it is the good Doctor ( Make sure it is Tom Baker and not Sylvester McCoy). Who knows what dimensions it might lead to? Not to mention the lions and the witches.

Homebrew - what a clever guess! You’re right - it’s modern interpretive dance. I belong to a troupe called Dyson’s Anti-Cyclone Dancers. We put on shows for poor children. They laugh and clap with joy at our Hoover-des-deux and demi-vacuums. The shoes are quite uncomfortable though.