Home Life: Time to get rid of all this shit...

This past weekend, the wife and I were busy with spring cleaning.  No, really.  It's spring!

Spring cleaning has a couple of variations up here in Minnesota.  There's the spring cleaning you do inside as you get ready to turn off your hibernate mode while it's still cold out, and there's outdoor cleaning you rush to do before good ol' Mother Nature decides to take a shit on you again.

Minnesota weather can be pretty fucking fickle.  You gotta be ready for whatever it throws your way.

When I lived with all of those damned dirty hippies in Uptown Minneapolis in the mid 90's, it once snowed on April 29th.  Pretty unusual for snow around these parts... but at least I had plenty of flannel shirts.  I had enough flannel to cover Paul Bunyan.  I had enough flannel to choke his blue fucking ox.

That reminds me.  Early Pearl Jam rocks.

To make sure which type of spring cleaning you might do on any given weekend, there are a number of guidelines to follow.  I don't like to say "rules" since they're not all that strict and I'm not a nazi bastard.  Plus, if I had rules, then I'd probably need to follow them... and who has that kind of energy?

First, you should make sure that it actually FEELS like spring.  So I ran down my check list.

1. Can you go outside without a jacket?  Check.

2. Has most of the snow melted?  Check.

3. Are the five months of dog shit you let pile up in the yard visible and able to be picked up, or is it either stuck hard and fast to the ground or waterlogged?  Ready for pickup!

For those that don't have a dog, you're probably grossed out.  All I'll say in response is... don't judge me, you insignificant pricks!

The Winter Guide of Dog Poop - the pocket field guide I've written, if only in my own skull - clearly states that as long as new snow covers up old shit, you don't have to go on a treasure hunt.  This winter I was very lucky in the way that good ol' Mother Nature helped us out.  Every time it was time to pick up poopsicles, we'd get another blast of the white stuff.

Either that or it was so fucking frigid no one wanted to go outside.  It was a tremendously cold December and January, barely letting us experience highs above zero (that's Fahrenheit, for all you assholes using the metric system).  Why the fuck do I live here again?

When it came to this year's spring cleaning, I was even luckier this time around.  The wife was the one that seemed obsessed with dog shit.  No, she didn't want to wear it as a mask like Hannibal Lecter, you sicko.  She wanted to pick it up off the yard and toss it out.  Hey, man, if she wants to do it who the hell am I to stop her?  Actually, I wouldn't of stopped her even if she wanted to chuck the crap into our neighbor's yard either... at least the neighbor I don't like.

"Here," I said as I handed her a plastic bag.  "Have fun, and don't get any on your face, you crazy ass fecalpheliac!"

She stared at me blankly.

We also did some indoor stuff that we've been meaning to do for... oh, let's just say "years," as it's all been piling up for quite some time.  (Un)fortunately, we have lots of attic space, so we can disappear stuff upstairs all too easily.  Anne Frank would have been jealous.

We gathered up an old leather sectional that had originally been my dad's from circa 1987, and in three trips we managed to donate it to a charity about a mile from our house.  One section was beat to shit, but the others were okay, so we thought we'd give it a shot.  Of course we took the two good sections first.  I didn't want the volunteers turning on us with their arms stretched out to block us.

"Thanks for your generosity," the overbearing, steroid using, linebacker volunteers would grunt out as they pushed us back toward the car, "but we're not really looking for giant pieces of shit to fill our fucking warehouse you ass!"

As soon as we dropped the third section, I got my tax receipt and bolted back to the car and got the fuck out of there before they knew what I gave them.  Score one for me!

Also, in the attic were lots of bags full of old clothes.  These clothes were mainly from the 80's and 90's.  Most were definitely from my skinnier days.  Most were definitely from my college days.  Considering it took me 8 years to get a 4 year fucking degree, that makes sense.

We brought a bunch of them downstairs and spilled them out onto the floor, only to refold and shove back into the bags we got them from.  What a waste of time!

Now, dropping off stuff at Good Will on a Saturday afternoon makes about as much sense as a zipper on a tube top.  I drove in, wife in the passenger seat, and saw a sign for the drive through that wrapped around the back of the building.  

Being a complete idiot, I drove in.

As we drove through the single lane entrance, I started to see the line-up of cars and trucks just waiting to get rid of all their shit.  There were over a dozen that I could see, and no one was moving.

"Fuck me!" I said a little too loudly.

"Well, at least it's nice outside," the wife replied.

I grunted and turned the radio station.  I looked behind us as more cars came in that now blocked us from leaving.  We were stuck doing the asshole shuffle.

I got to thinking about how much of my life has been spent in lines.  Lines for tickets to a show, lines for a ride at the fair, lines for fru-fru coffee at Star Fucks.  

"Yes, I'll have a half-caf skinny no foam latte with a flavor shot and a low fat blueberry hard as a rock scone to shove in my face please!!" I would order.  I've found that saying it excited like that is the only way to get all the words out.  Otherwise I might as well just stay at home and brew a pot.

"No probalo!" shouts back the shiny employee, caffeinated to the gills and shaking like a wet poodle in a snow storm.  "Would you like anything more with your order?!?"

"No fucking way!"  I would sing happily back.  "If I order any more, I'll be broke within the year!"  Then I would casually stroll over to the pickup area and wait some more, trying to bite into my scone, hoping I wouldn't chip a tooth.

The cars moved slowly as the wife and I chatted about this and that.  I was half asleep, but it didn't matter.  We droned on for the better part of an hour until we came around to the other side of the building.

Some hapless idiot helped us unload the dozen or so bags in the back of the family truckster and gave us the receipt.  All of the energy I had earlier that day had been completely drained.

BUT, on the upside, we have a lot less shit at our house now.  No more really old couch, no more clothes we aren't wearing anymore, and no more actual shit.  The dog was so moved that she immediately took a crap in the garden.