Groceries

I measure my groceries in bulk. By which I mean, I expect to pay a certain amount for a certain heaviness/pain in the ass of getting up the stairs-ness of groceries.

But the last two weeks have completely thrown me off in this quest. To wit:

I bought a shitload of groceries last week for the princely sum of 32 bucks. Then this week I bought a relatively similar size of groceries, and ended up paying over 80 dollars.

Granted, last week I bought bread, milk, and other foodstuffs, and this week I was out of shampoo, soap, laundry detergent, and any number of other things.

Still, it's weird to have a batch of groceries I can carry with one arm cost three times as much as a batch I was struggling to carry with two.

Houseguest Guinea Pig

The fabulous Miss Cleo is coming to visit. This is the good news, for it shall be fun.

The bad news is that she's the first houseguest (who's actually staying here) I've had since I moved into my apartment six months ago. Which means that it's Flight Of The Bumblebee Cleaning Time!

The definite advantage of having a fairly small apartment is that it takes quite a bit less time to clean. I remember cleaning my apartment in Evanston was an all-day Saturday affair for three people.

My apartment now is probably between half and a third the size of that place, and it also has carpet instead of hardwood floor (which, ironically, is a lot easier to clean). I've probably done about half my cleaning in about two hours.

However, it's been a while since I've given the place a thorough cleaning. And by a while, I mean enough time for my dustbuster to have randomly accumulated grime from my assorted cooking experiments.

You know you really need to clean when even your instruments of cleaning need to be cleaned.

Cleo will probably give you all an update at some point about exactly how pathetic my attempts at cleaning are, or how if I hadn't posted this she would have been impressed by the level of (attempted) cleanliness I keep here.

But now the secret's out. And tomorrow morning, so will three large bags of assorted trash. Oh well.

"Great Show!" "WHAT?"

I just got back from seeing the Old 97's at the Troubadour.

The show was fucking awesome, and they debuted a bunch of songs from their new album, which is going to kick serious ass. But I made two major mistakes.

1. I forgot my earplugs.

2. I stood directly in front of Ken Bethea's guitar rig.

I am now, therefore, completely deaf, particularly because the sound setup of the Troubadour is such that about 3/4 of what I was hearing was Ken, and 1/4 the rest of the band.

Still a great fucking show, but next time I go there, I'm definitely bringing my earplugs and standing in a more mix-friendly area.