How to Clean Your Room in Five Minutes

Uh oh. Your parents are coming for a surprise visit, and you haven't cleaned your room since... well, you've actually never cleaned your room since you moved out. Sometimes you only have 5 minutes' notice that someone is coming to hang out in your dorm or apartment, and that thick layer of clutter covering every horizontal space in your crib is definitely an eyesore. It really isn't too hard to make your room look presentable and company-ready.

First things first. Prioritize. You know those 3 month old dirty dishes in the sink? Now is not the time to work on them. Fill the sink with hot sudsy water to make it look like you're on top of it (4:40 left). Now throw all your dirty laundry in a big box or bag and put it in the hall; your company will just assume your neighbor forgot to move his trash (4:10 left). Put all your books and homework in a huge stack on your desk and put all your pens and pencils in that empty Starbucks cup you forgot to throw out. You're cleaning and recycling. Way to be.

Only 3 minutes and 30 seconds left. It's time to make your bed. Don't worry about straightening your sheets, just throw a big blanket over the whole thing (3:10 left). Kick all trash into a pile in the middle of your room and throw it away (2:10 left). It's important to make sure you don't confuse your big bag of trash with your big bag of dirty clothes. While you're buzzing around the room like a busy bee, pop a soothing CD into your stereo or laptop to add a little ambiance to your room. A little pizazz goes a long way in making your room feel comfortable. Take any remaining clutter and throw it somewhere out of the way, like in your microwave or in your rain boots (1:00 left). Take a deep breath... this is hard work (0:55 left).

You have just enough time to put the finishing touches on your room. Try doing a little dusting, or tear out random advertisements from magazines and tape them on your wall as artwork. Be creative, but move quickly. This will zap the rest of your time, but be sure you're finished by the time you get that knock on your door.

Now that you know how to clean your room quickly, you don't have to clean your room on a regular basis. Just make sure your friends and family know to call you five minutes ahead of time.

A Swingin' Mood

Lately, my moods have been changing more often than a neat-freak's bedsheets. They've been like a ship without an anchor, tossed about on the waves of circumstance. This past week in particular has been a roller coaster ride.

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With gas prices once again climbing past the 2 dollar mark here in happy NorCal, I was hoping that my transportation's mechanical troubles were over. But as I drove towards school one day this week, I knew that it was not to be. Pulling out of my driveway, I pressed the gas pedal, began accelerating to 55, and realized that my transmission was not shifting.

Instantly, my mood changed. From looking forward to a half hour of listening to country hits and pushing my car to its limits, I was thrown into the deepest doldrums of dollar deduction. I began mentally ticking off the greenbacks. Visions of $500, $1000, and then $1500 repairs began marching through my mind.

Sadly, I turned my car back toward home. I would just have to miss school today; hopefully the prof would understand, but I doubted it.

When I walked through the door, I was greeted with a big smile from my mom. "Class got out early? Wonderful! You can clean your room today."

Still wallowing in a slough of self-pity, I slowly dragged my feet down the hallway to my bedroom. There's a reason we don't allow guests back there. I was accustomed, comfortable even, with the sight that greeted me, but it only served to further my depression. Books and papers were piled high on a desk and dressers, clothes were scattered across the floor and bed, candy wrappers leftover from last year's Valentine's day lay heaped in one corner, and cobwebs hung from every cranny of the ceiling.

I sat down on my bed, instantly exhausted by the sight. For a good 10 minutes, all I could do was look around and stare at the mess. Finally, some resolve began to form in my little finger, and I slowly moved my hand to pick up a t-shirt that lay on the floor. I folded it and set it next to me. I repeated these actions until all the clothes had been folded and then put them away in my dresser. Turning around, I noticed something shiny lying just under my bed. I stooped down and picked it up.

Instantly, I became elated. It was my John Williams' Greatest Hits CD! I thought we had lost it in our last move, but here it was, in all of its shiny wonderfulness. Freshly energized with renewed energy, I popped the disc in my stereo and set about sorting the papers that lay scattered around.

As the glorious notes of Schindler's List and Home Alone soared through the air and reverberated against my ear drums, I mechanically shuffled the various documents...trash, school stuff, trash, bank statement, school, trash, paystub, trash, trash...wait, what's this? My hand closed around an envelope that I'd never opened. The return address said "California DMV." Uh-oh.

I quickly tore it open and began scanning the pages. "Registration overdue. Must pay $300.00 by February 2, 2009." Oh dear, that was yesterday! "Or car will be seized and impounded." OH NO! Even though my car wasn't operating properly, it was still my only means of transportation. Losing it meant being grounded 40 miles from the nearest major city. Frantic, I ran outside, only to see a tow truck leaving our driveway, my car trundling along behind it.

The notes of John Williams' music forgotten, I dejectedly sat down on our front step and cried. How could my day have gone so horribly wrong? I decided I was in need of a nap, but as I got up and turned my feet toward the front door, I remembered the mess that awaited me in my room. Granted, it wasn't as bad as before, but it was hardly conducive to rest.

Emotionally and physically drained, I decided to sleep on our trampoline. And that's what I did. Until my younger brothers came and started bouncing, ruthlessly returning me to reality.

Elephant Bar Restaurant

My hometown - not the city where I receive my mail or my parents pay property tax, but the town where I attend college - used to boast a Lyon's Restaurant. I use the past tense because the decrepit building that housed the senior's diner beneath its 60s era architecture was given the demolition ball a few months ago. Before the destruction, the Lyon's building had a rusty [Ralph Nader] orange exterior that looked like it would be more at home on a shag carpet than on the outside of a dining establishment. Soon the citrus relic was replaced with wood frame that shouted "what will I be?" for several months.

My hometown has been inundated with a spate of new eateries of late as food businesses try to fatten the otherwise health conscious populous. Restaurants of all varieties have opened their automatic doors and extended the greasy hand of hospitality to diners, a gesture that reflected poorly on my town in Forbe's recent evaluation. Even restaurants that serve trans fat have started doing business which, in an odd sort of way, makes me happy.

The fate of the Lyon's lot was recently revealed as the new owners opened up for business. Decrepit Lyon's was replaced with Elephant Bar Restaurant - An Exceptional Dining AdventureTM. Exceptional is the keyword, as the greasy-spoon experience was also a dining adventure.

The restaurant serves American and Far Eastern food, where, surprisingly, the only elephants are in zoos.

While in theory there's no connection between the name Elephant Bar (An Exceptional Dining AdventureTM) its menu choices, one need not look farther than the portions to comprehend the descriptive nature of the title. The company's website even advertises "elephant sized eats"- a accurate description proven not only by the plate sizes, but by the many heavy customers. Only the dedicated are fed, as the restaurant does not take reservations (much like African watering holes) and the reward for waiting is a salad bar that encourages grazing.

When I entered EBR, I was greeted by a buffalo head, a lion and, of course, an elephant. I asked the waitress, a lady with a few faded 30 year-old tattoos, for a picture with the monkey. I was ignored (I hate it when characters block!) and promptly escorted to my seat where I was handed a large menu, filled with all sorts of scrumptious Asian and American delicacies. Being a true patriot and red-blooded American I ignored a delicious passing Chinese chicken salad and went for the Elephant Burger, a delicacy designed to serve up USA-sized myocardial infarction.

Fifteen minutes later the waitress returned with my drink order, and asked if I was ready to order my meal. Unfortunately, my sarcasm genes kicked in (my buck passing ability was also inherited, in case you were wondering) and I said no. Faster than I can laugh at my own joke, she was gone, and I was once again left alone with my menu.

10 minutes later when she returned, I simply answered, "Elephant Burger, medium-well, on white, no pickles or onions, and light on the fat, please."

30 minutes later when my burger arrived, I finally knew the reason I had chosen this establishment. It wasn't the creepy tattoo lady, or the menu, or the awesome monkey - it was for the "elephant." The elephant of aburger. I could do nothing to fight my heart's desire to eat it, to sink my off-white daggers into its tenderness and explore its juicy flavor. I didn't notice that they had added both onions and pickles or that they seemed to have given me some extra complimentary adipose. That didn't matter anymore; not when you've waited 45 minutes for your food.

I do vaguely remember that the burger was a little pinker than normal, a fact that manifested itself in flu like symptoms the next day. Bother.

All-in-all, I would give EBR a good review. Despite the fact that all the elephants were (big) belly-up to the bar instead of on the menu and my Sprite tasted more like Sierra Mist, I would definitely visit again.

Cleaning up the Dirt...the Dyslexic Way...

In response to our note the other day discussing the impact of the latest dirt snap, Hannah asked whether or not we were able to get the mess cleaned up. The answer is yes, we the dirt was successfully removed, but not without some confusion See, we hired some dyslexic house cleaners – nice people who looked smarter when they weren't smiling – who didn't always see eye to eye with us on basic chores. The dyslexic cleaners...

...vacuumed the tiles and mopped the carpets.

...wiped the shelves and dusted the toilets.

...put away the laundry and folded the dishes.

...chlorinated the sink and drained the swimming pool

...scoured the floor and swept the pans.

...brushed the stove top and scraped their teeth.

...washed their hair and shampooed the silverware.

...tidied the flowers and pruned the sofa.

...made spices and organized the bed.

...ironed the garden and dug in the clothes.

...waxed the porch and stained the car.

...uncluttered the coffee filter and emptied the desk drawers.

...fed the plumbing and fixed the dog.

...replaced the lawn and mowed the light bulb.

...polished the knives and sharpened the end table.

It was dirty....

The other day, we had a dirt snap.
We knew it the moment we woke up.
The dirt woke us up.
I mean, it was dirty.

It was so dirty, we couldn't see more than a few feet.

It was so dirty, our cat lived in the litter box.

It was so dirty, my sister became desperate and attempted to dust.

It was so dirty, we couldn't comb our hair, even if we wanted to.

It was so dirty, my Instascum died.

It was so dirty, the shower water turned to mud the minute we stepped under the spray.

It was so dirty, my computer performed an automatic disc clean-up.

It was so dirty, we confused the pears for potatoes.

It was so dirty, the mole from the back yard moved in to the closet.

It was so dirty, Nancy Pelosi said she would become a Republican if we could get it clean.

It was so dirty, it made the public school bathroom look clean.

It was so dirty, Pig Pen made an offer on the house.

It was so dirty, our fake Christmas tree withered.

It was so dirty, Mr. Clean went into early retirement.

It was so dirty, even Clean Films had inappropriate humor.

It was so dirty, Rosie O'Donnell and Donald Trump got together to start a clean up charity.

It was so dirty, that nobody noticed any political mudslinging.

It was so dirty, we brushed our teeth with brown toothpaste.

It was so dirty, the dog stopped eating off the floor.