Day Drinking + Chores = A Dirty House

I had a friend in Green Bay named Kennedy. We didn’t hang out often, but she liked my taste in music, so she would sit at the bar in the Phoenix Club while I worked. She would listen to my epic playlist (appropriately titled “Flawless”) and we would chat about what most college age girls chat about: work, clothes, number and intensity of mental breakdowns for the week, and, of course, liquor.

Kennedy swore up and down that she could only clean her dorm when she was drunk. She claimed that cleaning is a lot more fun when you’re loopy. I was a bit skeptical, but honestly it made about as much sense as why going out drinking is way more fun than staying in and getting drunk or how cleaning is way more satisfying when your house is REALLY dirty.

I wanted to try out her theory when I was doing the move-out, deep clean on my Green Bay apartment, but alas, I had to drive to Madison afterwards and I didn’t want to risk being too drunk to drive, and having to sit in my empty apartment, waiting for my buzz to wear off.

However, I’ve always wanted to test out the theory. Could it possibly be true? I love drinking and I hate cleaning, so if this was, in fact, possible it would revolutionize my weekends. No more wasting time procrastinating my chores. I would even look forward to them if it meant getting tipsy in the afternoon and resulted in a painlessly clean apartment.

So, when Jake offered to make me a Shenron’s Wish, (pureed strawberries, orange zest, lemonade, and dragon berry rum) at first I resisted. I was only halfway through my chores, with the dreaded “bathroom” next on my list. I had a feeling that the second I sat down to enjoy a drink, I would not get up for the rest of the night.

But then, Kennedy’s words of wisdom rattled up from my memories. “Cleaning is soooo much more fun when you’re drunk! I can’t believe you’ve never tried it.”

With that thought I turned to Jake and said, “On second thought, I would love a Shenron’s wish, Jake”

Jake, thrilled to have an excuse to use his immersion blender, promptly produced two very strong drinks. After consuming our beverages, my lightweight fiance was down for the count. He was talking nonsense and chasing around the cat. I, however, have a bit of a higher tolerance for alcohol. I barely had a buzz going, and I knew that if I started cleaning then and there I would sober up halfway through and be miserable having to do chores instead of drinking more. So in order to avoid that future disappointment, did what any rational person would do; I drank more.

For weeks I had been telling Jake (and myself), that I was going to try my hand at making sangria. I love wine. I love fruit. What’s not to love? I blended up some more strawberries, poured some red wine, added some seltzer water, and voila! I had some concoction resembling sangria. Honestly, it tasted like sherbet.

Yet, even after watching me make it, Jake did not believe me when I told him it was sangria. Tipsy Jake could not believe that I had made sangria so quickly. Knowing that Jake is a logical man, I offered for him to try it himself. Jake refused on the grounds that any more alcohol in his system would make him entirely nonfunctional.

No arguments there.

Next, I began listing off my ingredients to prove to him that I had, in fact, made sangria. I concluded the list, and although Jake couldn’t prove me wrong, he obviously still wasn’t convinced. After saying the whole list aloud, it was me who realized I had made a mistake.

“I forgot the liquor!”

“Ha! I was right” said Jake face down on the rug playing fetch with the cat.

I quickly grabbed some dragon berry rum and splashed a shot(-ish) of liquor into my sangria.

Within fifteen minutes, Jake was entirely recovered and chopping vegetables for dinner, while I was dropping dishes in the sink, attempting to clean them.

Jake found my intoxicated ambition hilarious, and decided to egg on my drunken antics. Shortly after finding out that I was struggling with complex pronunciation, Jake asked me to finish the following Spongebob line that every 90’s baby knows by heart:

Jake: “Ravioli, Ravioli, give me the…”

Me: “Formulaoli!”

Jake: “….” *trying, unsuccessfully, to suppress laughter*

Me: “Shit! That’s not right is it? How do you say it?

Jake: “You tell me?”

Me: “Formuloli. Form… Form… Formu… Formyaloli. Shit! I can’t fucking say it.”

Eventually I just made Jake look it up on Youtube. Even with the aid of the video, I still couldn’t say it. Oh and… by the way… I didn’t even try to clean the bathroom. I guess my ratio of alcohol to motivation was a bit off.

I guess I’ll just need some further experimentation… You know, just to work out the kinks.   😉

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