Guilty pleasures or just guilty feelings?

Mother of god, I'm glad I'm not married to nor living with any of you. Not even in college did I live in that kind of squalor. I'll admit to leaving the laundry in the dryer and then basically living out of the laundry basket instead of putting my clothes up. And I'm not so big on vacuuming, but damn, you gotta take out the trash and keep the kitchen clean.

 

It's true. Well, except for the bottles in the living room.

The landlord didn't respond to issues with the apartment, and I couldn't afford anything else, so I said "fuck it." Not the brightest thing I've done.

 

I can't deal with dirty bathrooms. It makes me sick to walk into a bathroom that isn't clean at all.

 

Guess you won't be hanging out at Trey's anytime soon.

 

Laughed out loud at that one.

 

Maybe it's because I had a lot of wine with dinner, but this made me laugh *very* hard. Especially the use of the word "fancier.''

 

HA! Honestly, I've been much better since the move.

 

Did you find that picture in Arkansas?

 

Nah. I think it's Tim Hardaway's place.

 

It was a little out of my price range.

 

Did all the laundry and dishes last night, all while trying to make dinner for my son, whom I had unexpectedly last night. Part of my laziness stems from the fact that when my little man and I are together, I HATE spending any of my time cleaning because it means I'm not paying attention to him.

 

This isn't really a guilty anything, but speaking of odd living quarters, my first "apartment" in Fort Lauderdale in the early 1980s was an own-access room at the side of a house (in other words, I didn't have to interact with the owner).

My furniture: A metal folding chair and a mattress. My electronics: A 12-inch black and white TV. There was a refrigerator.

That was all my furnishings.