I need to take a breather.
I thought that I had adequately prepared myself both mentally and physically for today’s big domestic undertaking. I got up and ran along the ocean in 20 mile per hour wind and driving rain, observing bemused expressions of Steamship Authority workers as I turned around at the ferry and headed back to Surf Drive. It was a challenging run that should have given me momentum for my journey into the cellar to start cleaning out a few years worth of unintentional familial hoarding.
I was wrong.
Note to all, just so that you are not surprised when a story about our cellar pops up on CNN.COM: I am living with crazy people, and their insanity is threatening to break my hygienic spirit.
Before I go any further, let me just say that I am well aware of the fact that each family enjoys their own particular brand of psychologically questionable practices. Indeed, I spent a fine night yesterday with old friends from my childhood neighborhood, and the scads of ridiculous anecdotes served as mutual comfort during this holiday season of close proximity.
Still, no one in their family was preparing for the Armageddon, and thus I must continue to assert that I am related to and am currently living with kinda crazy people. Here are few photos of our cellar to prove my argument:
Picture number one of our cellar. This bag is full of empty Ocean Spray Cran•Raspberry® bottles. I know what you are thinking: “Aww, you guys recycle!” Nope. These are being retained so that they may be filled with water once the Democrats finally pass a healthcare bill and all Hell breaks loose in this country. “Good idea,” you’re thinking, “but what about when the healthcare plan poisons the town’s water supply and you can’t drink all that water in the bottles?” Well, I’m glad that you asked…
Sometime while I was on deployment, an extra waterline was constructed to provide us with a separate supply of well water. This crazy contraption juts out and runs across our cellar in the most conspicuous (read: inconvenient) of ways. Take that, Town of Falmouth and your water supply!
I really hope that you like Ramen Noodles, because if you find yourself at my place once the country does collapse on itself, you’re going to be eating a lot of crunchy noodles and chicken-spiked sodium packets.
This is the safe that is downstairs. The stickers will serve as a warning to anyone hoping to get their hot hands on one of the plastic packets of Foie Gras-flavored Ramen Noodles that are stuffed inside.
Although the well water might save you from being poisoned, the current selection of towels might do your skin in, should you attempt to shower in this time of post-apocalyptic cholera. If you look back to one of my earlier blog entries, you’ll see how I explained that my house almost exclusively utilized hotel towels that were “souvenirs” brought home by my dad the airline pilot. Here’s one I found while cleaning a little while ago. I think the black stuff is plague.
This is our darkroom. Can’t you tell? It has now been repurposed to serve as an armory, and should a band of hungry and spendthrift liberals attack, our army of 300 Spartans- I mean goalies- will be standing by to bravely defend the Ramen and drinking water.
It really goes without saying that Republicans will be welcomed with open arms and a constant feed of FOX News during this period of upheaval. But just in case, we have our sign ready to display our loyalty.
Lookee what I found. I think that this might have been the last person who tried to clean up downstairs. Perhaps this archeological find is God’s way of telling me that I should head back out into Nor’easter conditions and run up to Cambridge before it’s too late.
Now that I think about it, these conditions do look much more appealing. Seagulls and the howling wind might make for more palatable companions than Glenn Beck.