Not My Genes

A couple of weeks ago, when we first moved into the hell hole, it became obvious that I would need some clothes I didn't really care about that I could do extreme cleaning and DIY in. This was a problem. It turns out I don't own any clothes I don't like.

If something is to old I either throw it away or give it to charity. If it's too ugly I don't buy it in the first place. If it's the wrong size the same is true, and since I've been the same size for clothing since I was about 14 the only way anything might not fit me is if I managed to shrink it in the wash. Too large isn't a problem for DIY, too small is.

However, I do own a lot of clothing, so after much deliberation and rooting-through of my wardrobe I discovered a couple of items that I don't wear much and wouldn't really miss. Especially if their destruction produced an opportunity to go shopping.

Among these items was a pair of dark blue, plain, straight leg jeans. From Gap. I worked at Gap for a while last Summer, and the discount they provided me means that it's not unusual for the odd piece of their produce to be in my wardrobe, even if it's not the kind of stuff I'd normally buy. So finding them did not shock me, I even seem to remember buying them.

What is shocking is that they're plainly not mine. They're about 6 inches too long (I like my jeans a little long for me, but that's just silly). They're too wide at the waist and practically skinny fit at the calf (I assume they're made for someone who's a weird shape, rather than assuming that I am, and I'll thank you to do the same). They're also suspiciously... male-feeling. There seems to be more than the necessary quantity of fabric in... certain regions.

Now, I don't know many guys who wear that style of jeans. I'm certainly not good enough friends with any to have them drop by my flat and change, or to borrow jeans from them. I'm not in the habit of borrowing clothing from guys anyway - I might borrow a belt if mine broke, or a pair of gloves if it got cold, or maybe like a hoodie or something, but always with the intention of washing and returning the next time I saw them.

But Jeans? No. I almost never leave the flat without jeans or the equivalent (read: skirt, trousers, shorts or whatever). So I now don't know what to do. I have somehow acquired these, I am quite certain they are not mine, and I have no idea who they belong to.

If you left a pair of jeans at my flat, or know someone who did, or indeed, if you're in the habit of breaking into people's flats and hiding your clothing in their wardrobe, like some kind of demented fashion-cuckoo, then tough. I wore them for painting, as such, they have been painted.

Guys jeans are weird though. It gave me an unusual perspective on what it must be like to be a guy. I suspect it feels a little...unbalanced.

Third Circle

So, I moved into a new flat about 10 days ago. It's around twice the size of the old one, the bedrooms, kitchen, bathroom and hall are all much larger - which is excellent. Naturally I was pretty excited by the prospect.

However (if you've spoken to me at all in the past few days, you'll already know this) the previous tenants were all completely insane. They lived there for two years, and I don't believe they ever cleaned. Ever.

There are signs that they planned to. There was a cupboard full of recycling, behind which we found cleaning products. This tendency to start with good intentions and excellent plans, and then just give up on them is evident throughout the flat. For example, it seems they were into their music, abandoned speakers were in every room, and they'd all been wired up so you could control them from a single point in the kitchen, or individually. They'd started the wiring well, it was neat in some places - in others they'd pretty much dropped the wires on the floor and pinned them to the nearest wall.

That's another point leading to the suggestion of insanity actually; they've left behind tonnes of technology. As well as the speakers they abandoned a classic mac (complete with floppy drive, but no usb ports), an unused 3-in-1 printer, a projector, a handful of amps (if you happen to have massive hands), a tv, and much more!

It's like a shit treasure trove. We even found a couple of lobster creoles. I quickly vetoed the guys suggestion that we keep them as conversation pieces. I reckon I can talk about lobster creoles, even if I've thrown them out. Hell, I'm blogging about them.

After spending a full week cleaning and working our way through the general carnage that was our new abode, we were in a position to use it without breaking into screams of despair every few minutes. Which was nice.

We're now on the DIY stage. Having thrown out most of the broken furniture (no idea why the last people wanted to keep it) we're sanding down and staining the good items. Not doing so would have resulted in splinters. We're also painting walls, ceilings, skirting boards, doors and any other surface that requires it, read: all of them. Soon we'll be able to sand and varnish the floors.

So, I'm asking myself two questions about this place.

Firstly, how exactly did the "people" who lived here before not get extremely ill from living in their own filth and die? Instead of moving away, did they in fact simply "move on?"

Secondly, how much money can I get out of my landlords for leaving the place in such a state? If we didn't have a week's overlap where we had the keys to both the new, and the old flat, we would have needed them to put us up in a hotel for a few days. If we all worked full time, we would have needed them to employ cleaners, joiners and painters.

I'm thinking that we probably deserve the deposit the last tenants paid when they moved in. At least. So, I'll be visiting the landlords at their office next Friday afternoon. I'll be asking for a long list of things, and I won't leave until I've got all the ones I actually want. Could be a looooong day.

P.S. Sorry for neglecting the blog and not being especially funny lately. What with moving, work and study there seems to be little time. I promise to try harder in future ;-)

Moving

My excuse for not blogging much lately:

I've been working and organising a flat-move. The new flat is huge. The last tenants were apparently completely insane. Also probably quite ill.

Don't ask me about the move unless you have time to hear me rant. Trust me, I'll be ranting about it here soon.

Newbie

It occurred to me that last time I talked about moving out, we were looking for a luxury castle for the three of us. This is no longer the case. We've found a cute flat for four of us, including Archie, the newbie.

After testing him in several ways, we decided he would do, although he did seem slightly timid, we thought we could fix that. Also, he seemed to have no specific music taste, which meant that he probably wouldn't try to play anything dreadful, and if he did, he wouldn't get too upset when we turned it off and played something better.

I feel we've done a rather good job in choosing a new someone suitable, so, because I am kind, I've decided to develop a guide for others. It's a little sketchy at the moment, but my faithful blog-readers may have a sneak preview. I should probably mention that the "sneak preview" is likely to be the only bit that actually gets written, since I'm fair to busy and important to sit around writing nonsense all day. Obviously.

So yeah, that makes you even more special.

Five ways to test a new flat mate:

1. Interview:
It's an obvious choice, though some people get it wrong by going too easy on their candidates. All current flat mates should be present and sit at the opposite side of the table to the prospective newbie. Then ask the meanest questions you can think of. Do not laugh, if they maintain their confidence that you're just joking, even when none of you are laughing, you'll know they're sharp enough.

2. Cake baking:
I'm aware that not all students bother with a cake rota like we do, and as such it may not be quite as essential in other flats. However, even if you don't regularly make cakes (and you probably should) you have to admit that having a new flat mate who can is an advantage.

3. Absorbency.
I'm sure I don't need to explain this.

4. Ability to fight a bear.
The smart person will chose both their weapons, and the bear they wish to fight carefully, since clearly you don't want to look like a coward, but at the same time you'd also rather not be mauled too severely.

5. What would they do if...
This could go in the interview section, but there's some really important questions of this type which people often forget to ask, so I felt it deserved it's own section. Those questions are
-...There was a zombie-velociraptor outbreak?
-...You needed to destroy the population of the world with a genetically modified virus?
-...Vladimir Putin turned out to be your great uncle?

The answers to those questions really will tell you a lot about a person.

So there you go. I urge anyone considering taking in a new flat mate to follow these steps carefully, goodness only knows what kind of person you might end up living with otherwise.

Moving Out

A couple of weeks ago Amy (one of my flat mates) announced that she would be living with either her boyfriend or her parents next year, she has a really close family wants to be closer to home so she can be with them and help them out.

No really, it's got nothing to do with her hating us. I'm quite certain. We're all delightful people, I'm sure the only reason she hasn't been crying about it is because she doesn't want us to take the piss see how sad she is to leave.

This means that we need a flat for three, as it'll just be me Harry and Gav next year. Now, I thought maybe we could be sensible about this. We'd work out our price range, have a look at a few flats near the uni, visit them, and decide which was best.

For the first ten minutes of browsing online, I was right. We bookmarked a couple that looked quite good, that we could afford, and that were within walking distance of everything we would need.

Sadly though, the same data bases that hold stuff for student-style flats, apparently hold stuff for penthouses in the Merchant City. Trust me when I tell you that I have now seen more than enough beautiful penthouses that I absolutely cannot afford the rent on, even if I don't pay bills, or eat.

It didn't stop there. Here's a link to what the boys are now considering our ideal property for next year: most ridiculous suggestion ever. It's not even for sale! It's in Germany! Now they're bitching because I haven't won the lottery!

Perhaps Amy had the right plan, maybe I should get out now before the boys ruin me completely.

Uncommon Sense

Yesterday everyone awoke to find that the shower was broken, no hot water was forthcoming. While this was a horrific experience for all involved, each person decided to deal with the situation a different way.

Gav elected to man-up and take a cold shower. I believe he came close to death, it is not warm in Glasgow at the moment, being cold and wet is probably quite dangerous. Though admittedly a manly thing to put yourself through.

Harry panicked and decided not to shower at all. This meant that he hadn't got up properly, and as such was unable to properly function all day. Instead he regularly walked into the sofa, and pretended to learn medicine whilst playing piano. No one could tell how this was different to usual, but at least he had something to blame his many mistakes on.

Amy rose at around three and decided to spend the next couple of days at her boyfriend's place. In Fife. Miles from the library she hopes she wont need in order to study and pass her exams. She's probably right, and had one of the best ways of dealing with the situation.

I wasn't up for a cold shower. I'm also civilized, and as such not washing didn't seem like an option. It is also true, that while my boyfriend would have been happy to see me, we both have exams at the moment, and one of mine was today. Going all the way to Stirling for the sake of a shower would have been inefficient if I needed to come back again the same day.

Instead, I elected to speak to the landlord, and persuade him to send round an electrician the next day (electricians don't work on Sundays because they're all deeply religious). I then ran a bath.

The electrician showed up today and fixed the shower, I'm not sure when I'm going to tell everyone else about this. Maybe when Harry starts to smell.