Move yourself.

On Saturday, some friends and I helped a friend move out of his house and into an apartment. (That’s a long, drawn-out story that’s not really to the point of this post, so we’ll skip it.) Anyway, my friend had asked us to be at his house around noon on Saturday for the great move. Let me just add that it was BLAZING hot on Saturday. And there we are at noon on a hot, hot, hot day moving our friend out of his house.

Let me also say that my friend had said he would everything packed up. . . . which didn’t exactly happen, but, oh, well. That’s beside the point of this post also. (I am chasing rabbit trails this morning!) Anyway, the point is that this house was a “guy” house. My friend and his roommate live there. And I have a lot of experience with “guy” apartments, having helped my brother move out of at least two, maybe three. (I can’t rightly remember!)

First, let me say that I realize calling a messy, dirty house a “guy” house is a bit unfair. Not all guys are messy. Many know about things like dusting and vacuuming and enjoy it when their dishes are stacked neatly onto the shelves of their cabinents. And there are many girls I know whose apartments or rooms could fall into this category of inattention and non-cleaning. It’s just that it happens more often with guys.

And Saturday’s sweaty move reminded me of the time my mom and I helped my brother move out of the apartment he shared with two other guys when he was attending college at SEMO. In my mind, this apartment is always called “The One with the Roommate Who Mooned Me.” (All of my brother’s apartments have nicknames in my mind: The One Where I Nearly Froze to Death in Hattiesburg, MS; The One with the Crazy Neighbor/Where CSI showed up/with the Pirate Flag/with the Tiny Bathroom in Metairie, LA; The House that Could be Cute in Loranger, LA [I never actually saw this house. He had moved in at the camp shortly before Katrina and came home soon after])

But the One with the Roommate Who Mooned Me was my brother’s first apartment experience. And, man, was it a MESS! I don’t remember anything about moving him out except the kitchen. It was a townhouse style apartment, and the kitchen was at the back of the first floor, kind of like my current home. There were sliding glasses doors that went on onto a patio of sorts and the kitchen was a nice size. But apparently, these guys had never heard of washing dishes. Or cleaning up rice cookers after you used them. Or wiping the stove after you cooked something greasy. Or cleaning out that little thing that catches the grease when you use a George Foreman grill. Or, you know, cleaning up spills on the counter. I literally gagged as we cleaned that room and fridge. Everything was sticky, nothing was packed, and I am truly glad that I hadn’t ever eaten anything prepared in that kitchen. And I think during that move I may have yelled at my brother regarding the basic rules of cleanliness. After much scrubbing by my mom and me, I guess that thing passed the inspection before they handed their keys over. It would have been kind of nice if they’d gotten a fine! (Not a big one, but guys, this place was a MESS!)

So, I guess the moral of this story is that I really am Monica Geller from FRIENDS. I think cleanliness is cool!

Now, if someone would just come fold my laundry. . . .