That's where it's at

Once upon a time, Art & I lived in a closet of an apartment behind her parents' house, lovingly referred to as The Love Shack...or Sweet Home Alabama depending on our mood. There was a small living room that led to a tiny hall way off of which were my minuscule bed room (really, there was room for my twin sized bed, chest of drawers, and a clothes rack. That's it. I could lay in bed, open the drawers on my dresser, and that totally filled the room) and our fabulous yet itty-bitty bathroom. The hall led into the cozy kitchen and the kitchen into Art's room (possibly the biggest room in the apartment). Art's room led back into the the living room...oh, and there were no doors except for the bi-fold doors for the bathroom.

We would dance the circle. Living room to hall to kitchen to Art's room to living room....round & round to Sheryl Crow's version of Dyer Maker. We danced until we were dizzy. Then we'd collapse in a heap on Art's bed.

Eventually the apartment was too dirty for us to dance through. There were mountains of clothes on the floor. Junk everywhere. The entire apartment was normally knee deep in stuff. Between the two of us (and our used clothing store addictions) we had enough clothing to open our very own Salvation Army. It was mildly insane...all about quantity. Quality had little to do with our belongings. Eventually we traded our sectional for two cups of coffee. I think we may have gotten the better end of that deal.

We had a dear friend named Jay who couldn't stand the mess. It made him crazy. He spent a good deal of time stretching his 6' 2" frame across the orange sectional reading what ever magazines we had laying around. He must have learned a great deal from Cosmo that year.

Because we had so little of value in our house, we rarely locked the door. That and because we could never find the keys in that mess...and the glass on the back door was broken out of one pane making it real easy to "break in."

One plus to our never locking the house was that every few weeks, we'd come home to find Jay stretched out on the sectional in an exceptionally clean apartment. It was wonderful. Everything would be put neatly away, the dishes all washed, dried, and put up, candles burning, and occasionally there would be fabulous leftovers waiting for us. Jay really was awesome.

For Christmas that year Art's folks gave her a crock-pot. She was so excited about that crock-pot. She made a wonderful pot roast in our newly cleaned (by Jay I'm sure) apartment.

The house quickly fell into disarray again. One day about 3 weeks later, I was off work so I decided I'd surprise Art by cleaning up. I got to the kitchen and started the enormous task of washing every dish we owned. In the chaos I found the crock-pot. The pot roast was STILL IN IT! I put it out on the back step & left it there for my darling room mate.

It wasn't a "this is your mess, you clean it" kind of thing, I was just scared to take the lid off. I think she did clean it eventually...but I don't remember ever using the crock-pot again. Sometimes I wonder if we could have cured some horrible disease with what ever was growing in that pot...but then again it may have crawled out & eaten us.