MikeyOpp.com

I don’t really know much about houses, or housekeeping. But there is one occasion that deserves some hardcore housekeeping, and that is “security deposit cleaning time,” which is whenever I move out of an apartment. This is because I’m obsessed with getting my full security deposit back, and I’ve learned that a house that sparkles and shines, tends to win over management and the old landlord better than a dirty, smelly apartment that smells like stale bong-water and Cheezit crackers. I’ve been a renter since June of 1999, and I’ve lived in ten different apartments in a little under seven years. I have very few claims to fame, but as a renter, my biggest boast is that I’ve never lost any money from my portion of the security deposit. We had some real close calls back in 2000 at the six person house when I lived in Pittsburgh (see: skinheads who come to parties and rip toilets out of the floor, or High School kids who get tossed from parties and then retaliate by throwing cinder blocks through windows), but when I die, I am sure that my epitaph will read: “Mike Oppenheim, he always got his security deposit back, and when he played sports, he never slapped a teammate on the ass, ever.” So this week, I’m offering a free, and uneducated approach to keeping house, and keeping guests out of your house.

The first rule of housekeeping is putting your own needs and desires ahead of others. You should care more about getting your own security deposit back then letting your friends get drunk and throw darts into your walls at your ultimate bachelor hang out pad. What your guests think of your house doesn’t really matter, and the less they like it, the less likely they are to constantly come over and mooch your food, beer, and free time. If you want to hang out, go to a dive bar, which is basically a frat house that tries a little harder than college fraternities to follow the alcohol consumption laws of your state.

Part of getting your security deposit back means taking care not to actually move into the house or apartment that you are renting. This involves a minimalist approach. If you don’t invest heavily in decorating or modifying the place, it will be very easy to move everything out and get all your money back in a timely manner. Everything I own, except my bed frame, can fit in my car. Hanging pictures, posters, and drapes tends to not only brighten up the home, and encourage visitation, but it also leaves obvious holes in the walls that landlords can claim as ‘damages to the apartment.’

I don’t know if I’m lazy—well, I do know that I’m lazy, but I don’t know if I deserve to be called lazy because I hate decorating! It’s not really laziness, so much as the fact that I’m not a visual person. I observe, and I take notice of things (See STBY#10), but I don’t necessarily care much for aesthetics that aren’t related to the female body. There are many things I don’t like about overly decorated homes and apartments. People who spend more than a quarter of their paycheck so that one room of their house can resemble an authentic Mongolian entry chamber circa 964-972 AD have serious mental issues. Ambiance does matter, and I’m not discrediting aesthetics, but if you spend that much time and money on decorating, then you’re going to end up being nervous all the time in the room, fretting away your time worrying ‘what if he or she spills their drink’ or ‘what if they drag mud onto the Mongolian Warrior replicate rug?’ So what’s the point?

Speaking of which, I can’t stand it when people force you to take your shoes off. My whole life, I’ve been flat footed, and it’s not getting any better. My ankles need extra support, because my ridiculously large and clownish feet (I wear a size 13 and I’m only 5’11”) can’t handle the lack of an ankle or arch. Despite my flat footedness, I’m sure that Bush will still “let me fight” in World War III (scheduled to debut this fall on CNN and FOX News, starring Iran, North Korea, Russia, China, and of course, the good ‘ol U S of A. Don’t miss the debut as President Bush flies on a rocket ship to outer space with a cowboy hat on, declaring himself “The best Wartime President ever!”) At any rate, because of this severe medical problem from which I suffer, I don’t think it’s fair to force me to take my shoes off when I enter your home. It’s okay to encourage your guests to take of their shoes if they don’t mind it, but to strictly enforce it as a policy is fascist. When someone asks me to take off my shoes, it reminds me of being asked to pay to get on a ride at an amusement park. I have to weigh the cost of taking my shoes off, and exposing my hideously flat feet to the ridicule of many, against the potential fun that I will have at the house I’m entering. Making people remove their shoes to enter your home is akin to forcing children to pledge their allegiance before they can be educated.

I grew up in a home where you could wear shoes in every room but one, and I think that’s why I’m a staunch libertarian, valuing freedom of choice over personal safety. But recently, my parents went completely insane and moved to a remote town on the southern edge of Iowa (that’s a state, by the way). Now, when I visit their home, they enforce the ‘no-shoe’ policy, and that’s why it’s their home, and not mine. I think my brother and his last girlfriend almost broke up over the ‘shoes-no-shoes’ issue (he refuses to marry anyone who isn’t a hard line no-shoes-in-the-house-ian). Personally, I think it’s quite un-American to enforce policies with no room for lenience. Much like our supposedly elastic constitution, there are certain situations that mandate interpretation of policy. Mom, Dad, seriously: I suffer from having no ankles. Please let your grossly deformed child wear shoes in your home in Iowa. I’ll let you loan me more money in return.

One thing that I hate about other people’s homes is when people attach pads or rugs to the toilet seat or toilet seat cover. I find this disgusting, since I don’t know how often the thing gets washed, and how much spray has inadvertently hit the damn thing from little kids with poor self-discipline, or fully grown adults with poor self-discipline. But worse than that, is the fact that sometimes the things are attached in such a way so as to prevent the toilet seat from staying upright while us men ‘take a leak.’ One time at a friend’s house, when I was very young, I was trying use a toilet with a precariously balanced toilet seat cover, when midway through, the damn lid fell, and I ‘lost my paddle, halfway up piss creek.’ It was awful: my own spray proceeded to hit me at all directions, as I helplessly pissed all over the furry little rug attached to the top of the toilet seat that had fallen down over the bowl. It was truly embarrassing, and I did my best to clean up my mess (See STBY #9), but I had to re-enter my friend’s house with horrendously obvious water stains on my jeans that, uh, were not composed of water.

Another thing that I’m not a fan of are lots of mirrors – especially in bathrooms. I don’t really feel any need to be able to view myself from angles that even the savviest of film directors haven’t used on screen yet, especially while I’m in the process of getting in touch with my most animalistic skills. I’m not squeamish about my own body and its natural functions, but I’m also not obsessed to the point where I need to see every part of me reflecting from an array of mirrors as I wipe myself. Instead of spending all that money on fancy carpeting, mirrors, and fluffy toilet seat covers, do the entire world a favor, and buy a can of Lysol deodorizing spray – it’s like peanut butter and your bathroom is jelly, and I won’t try to come up with a simile for what is the bread.

But when you’re a guest in someone else’s home, you have to put up with their lack of hospitality or their overachieving hospitality—that’s how it goes. My absurd, wonderful mother (Happy Mother’s Day, Mom, I love you!) implanted a secret computer chip in my head while I was sleeping, when I was very young. This chip causes me to have a seizure if I neglect to send a thank you letter to anyone who has let me stay in his or her home as a guest. It also causes me to think twice before I hurt other people’s feelings, and it causes me to worry all the time about everyone else’s future. It’s actually not a computer chip, but a gene, and I hope I don’t give it to my own children. Empathy’s a bitch.

But As I get older, I get more and more upset by the fact that I have to spend four dollars for a card to thank someone for letting me stay in their home. I think that gifts are far cooler than cards. I would feel much better just leaving four dollars on my bed, as a tip. Cards cost way too much these days, and if you’re on a tight budget, they diminish from the overall budget you can spend on a gift for someone—and the same goes for gift wrapping. I’d much prefer if someone handed me a twenty on my birthday to receiving 13 dollars in an envelope, with corny wrapping paper with cartoons and pictures, and a hallmark card that has their signature at the bottom (cost of card and wrapping = $7). In the second example, I’ve received a less valuable gift, while some wealthy guy in a suit at Hallmark gets the rest of my gift (a.k.a. your money). Who is the gift for, the CEO of Hallmark, or me? Let the boycott begin. I say we all agree from now on to throw gifts in a shopping bag from under the sink – this way, you’re giving, and recycling!

This week I’m going to end with another one of my “irrational fears:” My fear of the “Guest Toothbrush”. I’m sure this has happened to many of you; you’re at someone’s house for the first time, and you didn’t plan on staying there, but it’s too late to go home, and your teeth need some cleaning (Always brush your teeth, STBY#7). So the person who lives there comes out of the bathroom, and hands you a toothbrush, saying, “Here, this is my guest toothbrush. Don’t worry, no one else has really ever used it.” First of all, instead of referring to it as a guest toothbrush, they shouldn’t mince words, and just call it what it is: A Hepatitis C Stick. Secondly, let’s review the situation linguistically. “No one else has really ever used it” means that it has been used, just not very often. Always beware of sentences with adverbs…adverbs are best used by lying politicians. So if ‘the thing’ hasn’t ever been used, then why isn’t it in a brand new box, with a label advertising all the stupid new benefits that lab tech’s have come up with? I’m sorry, but sharing a toothbrush with a complete stranger is stupid. There are all sorts of weird diseases that I can make up in my overly paranoid mind, and I know for a fact that there are even some real ones that can be spread orally by sharing a toothbrush. What will these crazy people offer next, that I use their toilet seat cover as a face towel?