Fair warning. This is a post which should be read by no one. It especially should not be read by anyone eating, or who will soon be eating, or who has recently eaten. You’d do best to hit the back button now. Here there be dragons. There’s no sex. Go away now. Abandon all hope ye who enter here. Really. I mean it.
If I’d dug around hard enough, surely I could have found a store in my town that would have rented me a hazmat suit for the procedure. I really should have investigated this possibility before proceeding.
As it was, I entered the affected area—his bathroom—dressed in old shorts and a t-shirt, armed with two rolls of paper towels and some cleaning products. Outside the door waited three large moving boxes as well as some very large trash bags.
Click below to read more…tho you really shouldn’t.
I first hauled the trash out of his bathroom. Two large garbage bags full of trash, and when I say “trash” I don’t mean things that could be donated or sold. I mean actual trash, the sort of things that normal people get rid of on a regular basis.
But for whatever reason, the man to whom I’m trying to get unmarried has a problem in dealing with trash, to the point that his trash overflowed from the trashcan and crawled up the wall in a leaning pile of excrement that dominated one corner of the room.
And the scary thing was that he’d already removed two large bags of trash on his own.
After the trash was out, I put his usable and semi-usable possessions in packing boxes. I collected three boxes full of stuff from the bathroom; it’s a room with an unexpectedly large closet, which he’d used as sort of a dumping ground for old stuff.
Then the truly disturbing part of the evening began. The cleaning. I’d like to give you the details of what I found, but I’m afraid of horrifying you. Let me just say this: Even with the trash and possessions out, his bathroom reeked, and every possible surface was contaminated.
I went through three-plus rolls of paper towels in sopping up and scrubbing down the various repulsive messes. It sickens and depresses me to think that I allowed such a disaster to bloom in my house.
However, on a positive note, I don’t think I’ll ever again be tempted to bite my fingernails.
Cleanings this thorough take time, and during this time I thought. I knew after the first few months of marriage to this man that wed have a hard time sharing bathroom space.
One of the things that kept our union ticking along for so long was the fact that for a very large proportion of our time together, we did not share facilities. When we did share a bathroom, I’d clean it for the both of us. And then immediately, as in the very next day, it would be trashed again.
I tried to get him to clean up after himself but he would not or could not. I tried leaving the messes in the hope that he’d get the idea to clean on his own. He did not.
So when it became possible for me to have my own bathroom (a hallway or guest bathroom), I took it eagerly. I reasoned that I’d be able to maintain my own levels of cleanliness and he could do the same. I thought that once he had sole responsibility for the cleaning of his area, he’d take pride in keeping it up.
He did not. Because he could not or would not get into the habit of wiping up messes as they occurred, weeks of daily use (during which he never had time for a thorough cleaning) would leave the bathroom filthy in the same way that gas station bathrooms are filthy. Only worse. Much, much worse.
Eventually I’d take pity on his “lack of time,” and I’d wade through the mess in his bathroom both as a favor to him and so that I wouldn’t have to deal with the creeping stench. Each time, I’d beg him to keep it clean, please. At least rinse out the sink after shaving, I’d beg.
He wouldn’t, or couldn’t, and in a matter of days things would begin the inevitable slide toward chaos.
I’d resolve never again to clean up his messes, hoping that he’d finally be able to take responsibility for managing his bathroom himself. It was just a bathroom! One tiny room! It was essentially the only cleaning he was responsible for doing himself! How hard could it have been?
But it was too hard for him. No matter how hard I resolved to allow him to deal with the repercussions of his own messes, I never could hold firm. Five months, six months, seven months would pass with no cleaning done whatsoever in his bathroom. It would stink loudly enough that I would lie in bed able to smell nothing but nasty-ass bathroom, and my will would weaken.
I’d try to get him to clean it himself; sometimes he would do a cursory cleaning but he’d never finish. He’d wipe down the sink but leave the floor; or he’d take everything out of the bathroom, pile it in the corner of the bedroom, then be “too busy” to put things back to rights.
The only time it got clean was when I did it.
As I cleaned the final mess the other night, I second guessed myself mightily for how I’d handled his bathroom. Maybe if I’d taken over the regular cleaning of it. Maybe if I’d just let it disintegrate forever. Maybe if I’d never allowed us to have separate bathrooms.
Maybe if I’d done something–anything!–differently, that one bone of contention would not have become such an enormous problem.
And I found myself getting furiously angry that a grown man, a man who manages a large office, a man who has earned many letters behind his name, could not or would not manage a small thing like keeping a bathroom in such a shape that one didn’t need shots in order to enter the room.
The anger was the only thing keeping me from sobbing in disgust and frustration at the situation.
I was so angry that for all the time we’ve lived in this house, I’d allowed him to take over both the master bath and the largest closet—both of which he’d completely trashed—while I used a different bathroom and had no closet of my own. He had these wonderful, nice things and he didn’t take care of them in the least.
He had nice things but he didn’t value them enough to take care of them.
But I will. The anger made my decision for me: Instead of lurking in my subterranean dwelling without a closet and with a mattress on the floor, I will take back the master bedroom. I’ll use the nice bathroom and the largest closet, even if it’s just for a little while, until I have to sell this house.
The bedroom is now clean. The bathroom is now clean. The closet—ah, let us not speak of the closet. The door cannot even be opened yet; his things have collapsed behind the door and need to be shoved aside to allow one entry. But it will soon be clean too.
Then it’s just a matter of burning sage and chanting by the light of a full moon. Next Tuesday I have a priest coming in to bless the place. The bleeding from the walls is mostly under control now, but I really don’t want to have to clean the carpets again. I’m hopeful that the priest will be able to get that little problem entirely rectified.
If you’ve stayed with me through this godawful post, I thank you immensely. Now, do you happen to have any other suggestions for exorcising foul spirits from bathrooms?
******
I will say that you should sell the house.
Foul spirits, I send out for professional cleaners if possible.
I’m SO sorry!
Oh – that brownfield.
I thought you were referring more to this kind of a brown field.
Oh, honey, I know how this feels. My ex (boyfriend, not husband, but of six-plus years) moved out, and I scrubbed down every surface. It was utterly amazing how revolting he was willing for our life to become, both in cleanliness and in emotion. He treated our living space as though it was disposable. He treated it exactly the same way he treated me.
Congrats on your housecleaning.
Also, as someone who still feels lost in the same apartment two years later… move. I know it’s miserable, I know it’s hard and disruptive, and I can’t imagine doing it with kids, but… move.
Seems like he valued (took care of?) his bathroom like he did his wife… both, not well. Good for you for taking over the bedroom and bathroom… and perhaps it is wise to sell once you exorcise the foul spirits. Double, double, toil and trouble.
I will never forget the 2 weeks spent eradicating all the terrible messes my Ex left behind. Two weeks.
With each trip to the dumpster, or recycling facility (loads of empty liquor bottles) I felt just a touch cleaner, fresher…new.
Hang in there kitty.
Soon you will feel sparkly.
Such is the way of men and messes. My ex’s apartment, when he moved in, was appalling. The current resident hadn’t cleaned anything.
There was a large pile in the kitchen of god knows what that *Stank* The current resident had taped, literally taped, a towel over it. Out of site, out of mind, I guess. It took about four hours and about 15 pairs of latex gloves to get through that pile. I found two tables. Two tables the roommate didn’t even know he had.
Three bags of clothing, belonging to the roomates first roomate, who moved in with him three years before Franklin moved in the place.
A mini fridge, with an exploded can of coke inside.
Four dead roaches. (I almost worry when I see dead roaches – how bad does your place have to be that it kills the roaches?)
And about 30$ worth of beer cans and bottles.
This guy never took his bottles out. He just left beer cans on top of the fridge.
I refused to eat or drink anything from that kitchen till I did a thorough scrub down.
Did you know, if you have enough roaches, you can see their poop?
I won’t even tell you about the bathroom.
Lets just say that, if I didn’t spend three years before that dealing with the dead, I wouldn’t have had the stomach to even tackle that.
OK, i am SO sending the sympathy vibes.
Although i did laugh at “However, on a positive note, I don’t think I’ll ever again be tempted to bite my fingernails.” That elicited a mild guffaw from my open-mouthed amazement.
But a little smooch to Wendy above me. A plce so dirty it kills the roaches? Whoo, bleugh!
Am sending you sparkly girly nail polish for your soon-to-be-4″-nails…
Juno x
Makes you wonder what state his new place will be in come Christmas time. You might need to insist that it’s fit for human habitation if ever he wants to entertain your little ones there.
How on earth will he attract another partner if he lives in such squalor? Wouldn’t it be a laugh if he attracted a dominatrix who stood over him with a whip while he cleaned up his own mess? ;o)
My ex wondered how his old roomie was going to find a new roomie – Franklin found out a woman was moving in, which made no sense to us. What woman could tolerate that place?
Believe it or not, the woman had no sense of smell. Guess that makes it easier, lol.
Thank you to everyone who emailed/IMed me about this issues with this post in IE this morning.
SORRY!
I have no idea why, but some narsty scripts were being inserted into the post. Naturally, Firefox ignored them, but IE got hung up on them.
I think it’s all fixed now. If not, please let me know.
Thank you!
I’ve solved the problem by moving out instead of him. I don’t have small children so it’s much easier for me.
I’m hoping that once all the anger, disappointment and disgust get exorcised from my mind and spirit, I won’t ever have to think about how he’s doing again. Maybe once you do that the evil will be gone from your bathroom.
Hurrah for your for reclaiming your territory. It’s amazing how some men can ignore those things-when my husband and I were first married the university we were at put a door through our place into the guest room next door so we had more space. A golf pro had been living there-the bathroom in there, it was awful. What I remember most is the shower curtain. The inside was almost completely covered with thick green mold. I refused to touch-my husband had to take it down and throw it out. In fact I think he cleaned the whole bathroom because I refused to go anywhere near it.
Enjoy having your master suite back!
What can I say. Some men are pigs and don’t notice that they are living in the S**t that they create. If I red you right, he has found another partner. Does she know what she has got herself into?
Not your problem.
Thank you for reminding me how lucky I am that I have a husband that does his share around the house.
If anyone ever tells you that you didn’t try hard enough with this marriage, send them to me. You should get battle pay for putting up with that.
I’m NEVER getting married now!
I can’t believe any human could live like that, but sadly it sounds like a microcosmic reflection of how he dealt with everything in life.
Slow Learner is right: you will have to check that his new place is fit for human habitation before allowing the wee ones to visit. And if it’s not fit (as sounds likely) and he insists on havin the kids over, feel free to get a court to inspect it and declare it an unsuitable enviroment for kids. Maybe the threat of never seeing his children again will pursuade him to get his act together. Maybe.
I’m not thrilled that my boyfriend is in the Navy, but i’ll say this much for the Navy: every one who wears a uniform can and does keep everything — quarters, uniforms, bodies — spotlessly clean.
AAG,
After our divorce, I bought my ex-wife out and moved back into my house and found many things similar to what you describe. Junk everywhere, stove not cleaned in the 18 months we lived apart before the divorce, etc. So some of us men are clean, and there are some women who are not clean as well. I will guess that more men are slobs though.
Pete
This isn’t a just a “man” thing. My parents were both like STB-X about taking care of things. Consequently, I am the opposite and keep things clean and in good working order. My last alarm clock lasted me twenty years.
My dad once told me that if he refused to clean or mow his lawn, then soon it would be someone else’s problem. His family would clean up after him and his neighbors would mow his lawn. He is 75 years old, living alone, and still refusing to clean. I used to go to his apartment, feel sorry for him and clean up. I noticed that he just threw his napkins and food crumbs on the floor. It wasn’t that he couldn’t put them in the trash; it just wasn’t his concern – that was for his kids to do. Now I don’t do anything like that for him anymore.
I bet that STB-X will immediately find someone to clean up after him. It could be any occasional visitor or a new girlfriend he dupes into feeling sorry for him.
Good job fixing the IE issues!
And my wife sounds like your husband. :-)
Why thank you.
Without IE issues, I’d have ever so much more time for diddling myself, so I’m REALLY GLAD they take up so much of my time.
:)
“Do you happen to have any other suggestions for exorcising . . .” his foul spirit which has manifested itself as filth, decay, contempt, apathy, abandonment?
Yes, quite a few in fact.
First, it’s not clean yet. Some of the surfaces may appear normal, but it’s not up to spec. Wait a day or two and then clean it out again. Make things shine. Unscrew the glass shades on the lights and wash them out. Replace the light bulbs. Get the bugs out of the recessed lighting. Make the counters shine and the floor glisten. Roll up your sleeves and give it another go.
Then go have fun. Bed Bath and Beyond fun. Fresh bath mats, new towels that have never touched his flesh, cool scented candles and appropriately sexy holders, bubble bath, scented oils, a cool table lamp. Indulge. Change the feel of the place. Make it new.
Yes, this is in fact going to be a multiple-part process wherein layer upon layer of karmic bile will be peeled away, so bear with me.
Next, you need two bottles of really good red wine. I can suggest some new things so you don’t drink anything he might have ever tasted. Try out some of your new salts and bath oils. Light the candles. Get comfortable. Play some music. Drink.
When you get too hot, get out of the tub and lie on the pristine cool tile floor and fuck yourself slowly, luxuriating in the sounds that echo from the walls, happy sounds of a woman leaving *her* mark on *her* room. (note: this can be performed with a willing partner, but I don’t know your dating situation).
Climb back in the tub when the sweat starts to chill you and let yourself sink back into the bubbles as you sip wine.
Repeat as necessary.
Let the candles burn whenever you’re at home for a few days. Burn them down to the base and let their scent get into the towels, the walls, the rugs.
Next go buy a big plant. Something green and tropical. Stick it in a corner, or perhaps the edge of the tub (that’s where I have mine) where it can brighten the room and suck out the carbon dioxide and spew wonderful pure oxygen.
Then, after a few weeks, when you can walk into the room and smile a little crooked grin because it’s yours, it’s time to find someone delicious, intelligent, and properly fuckable to bring back home and seduce, in the bathroom, with the candles and the oils and the great wine.
Then the bad karma will be gone, the spirits exorcised and you can conquer the next room: the master bedroom . . .
Send gift cards to Bed Bath and Beyond, pronto!
Exorcising:
Learned this at workshops to clear all the emotional gunk out of the air after intense sessions-
Get a pie pan.
Fill with about half an inch of epsom salts
Cover that with rubbing alchohol…not much over the top, but saturate the salts.
Light it and watch it burn.
The black crusties are supposedly the ickies.
Obviously, make it safe under the pie pan…I used to put a few cutting boards (wood) under and have a lid closeby to put on it if the fire iffy.
I do this a few times when I first move into a place or it needs a good cleanse, than about every few months or so, depending on the stress level. Oh….it can trigger fire alarms so be careful.
Really proved this one out when I moved into a house that felt creepy..had a weird family there before me. When people walked in they felt it, too. After I did this a number of times in each room (and re did it every six months or so) everyone who walked in commented on how great my house “felt.”
Thanks for the warning, but we’ve got an 18 y.o. son living in the house. We’re pretty much unshockable.
Fat Controller,
Ah. I’m going to share my pictures of the mess with you then. :)
I think that you should try letting a sage candle burn in there for a few hours, maybe that will do some good.
Also, fling open all the windows in the room and turn on the fan to flush the bad air out of the house!
Wow. Just wow. OK, riddle me this: –
– But first, let me note that I’m asking as a man, and as one who only rarely cleans in his bathroom. I’ve been known to go for a few months between clean-ups. Got that?
So here is my question: how on Earth is it possible to mess up one’s bathroom beyond even public urinal levels, and how does one continue to use it at that point?
As I have said above, I am clearly not the most diligent of bathroom cleaners. Yet I manage to use mine, even for months on end, without it ever approaching the point where you could smell its condition from right outside the door, let alone from half-way through the house. More to the point yet, I find public urinals so repulsive that I’ll my utmost to avoid using one. How can someone continue using his bathroom without throwing up after it has gotten even worse than a public urinal?
This guy wasn’t just being lax on cleanliness, like a typical man. He was a slob beyond description.
Lack of time, lack of energy, lack of motivation.
Lack of smell?
I don’t know, eyes, and I’ve stopped trying to figure it out.
someone who sites lack of time and lack of energy as reasons to not clean up after themselves also lacks any type of PRIDE
all i can say is eeeewwwwww!!!!!
sell the house!!!
xo
Wow – I actually know about Brownfield’s Credits and I can readily admit this is the last place I thought I would run into a reference.
Enjoy the MBR. As a subterranian dweller myself, I can understand the joy of moving up.
“He had nice things but he didn’t value them enough to take care of them.”
Hmmm. *You*, for instance?
What a loser. You are far better off now.
puumba