Monthly Archives: June 2009

The Chronicles of Aurghville: Ah, Shit.

I try to see the positive in every situation. Once again; stop fucking laughing. I do! So even though things here in Aurghville haven’t been necessarily pleasant (to say the very least), I’ve been trying to figure out what I’m getting out of the situation. I find that even the shittiest things that happen in life happen for a reason. Perhaps it is just to give you clarification on how no matter how shite life can get, it can get worse. Perhaps there’s some sort of lesson you can learn (other than how life is a pile of poop sometimes).

Wait a second… what’s with all the fecal talk here? Why is all this poop just slipping (ew) into my writing? Has something happened lately in the septic tank that is my flat that I’m just warming up to?

Oh yah. Something has. And the Denizens of Aurghville sink to a new low! Well done, my turdy little flatmates!

But let me finish warming you up for this. And for me… can’t write stories with cold fingers and a slow mind. I was talking about finding the silver lining in this noxious cloud of a living situation. What have I learned from being here?

Certainly not patience. And not tolerance. I already knew how much I hated people that don’t show respect for other people’s space. I already thought that other people weren’t as clean as I am. What could it be?

I’ve been worried that I’m just finding out that I can’t live with other people. London is far too expensive to live on one’s own. And one day I may want to do the whole matrimony and motherhood thing which I understand involves living with other people


Settle, moms. I said “one day” and “may” which is not the same as making a plan. So don’t start picking out baby clothes or anything.


So I would hate to find out that I’m now incapable of living with others. I don’t think that is it though. I will do my best, however, to never ever live with strangers again. That may be the lesson I needed to learn. Don’t jump into things that actually matter… like committing to living with idiotic people you will have to share a bathroom with.

Sigh. It is always the bathroom with these people.

I promise I’ll tell you guys some of the other stuff I tolerate some day: the inside of the microwave is a story worthy of a science publication focused on exploring new territory for emerging ecosystems. ‘Cause there seems to be some freaky-ass shit growing in there.

Or I don’t think I’ve mentioned that there is a moth problem in my room. Oh yah, moths. A moth infestation is all kinds of awesome. There are moth carcasses all over the walls because they don’t squish cleanly. And even if I wipe the wall after I moider them, there is still some sort of moth remnant on the wall to mark the fallen. Moths. Sick.

But once again I’d like to focus on the bathroom. Because we’ve hit a new low. Which is pretty amazing… you know. Considering who we are dealing with.


First, I need to tell you guys that I’m not the only one withholding loo roll these days. The couple that lives here are also keeping paper in their room because they are sick of buying it all the time. As far I can tell, it’s been Captain Tuberculosis’ turn to buy the toilet paper since time immortal. And I don’t think she’s actually bought any; the size of the toilet rolls that do show up occasionally are industrial. I think the little cretin is stealing it from work once in awhile. Class act, that one.

Yesterday when I first got home I noticed there was no TP when I went in to pee, which no longer concerns me because I’m using my own.


I just realised a rather terrible side effect of me relaying the Chronicles: Y’all are hearing WAY too much about my toilet habits.


Before bed I went back in to pee one last time (no midnight tinkle trips for me!) and was stunned by what I think I saw.

I say “think” because once again, I didn’t do any close examinations or anything. And I was grossed out enough by this one (yah, after everything else… I’ve even seen another wee puddle that may have been spit again – gahhh!!) that I couldn’t even react.

There was still no TP in the toilet.

But there was poop once again left in the toilet because some stupid son of a bitch doesn’t understand how the fuck the toilet brush works.

Sorry. Sorry! The cursing. But I’m baffled about this. Look: poop happens. It happens to everyone (except me… I perform an act of immaculate excretion – true story). Everyone poops. And sometimes nasty things happen when people poop (I assume, as previously mentioned I personally have no first-hand experience). Toilets clog. Poop doesn’t feel like getting flushed. Poop is sometimes ill-timed. Many, many things can go wrong socially when it comes to pinching a loaf. But the thing is… the thing I don’t understand about these people… is that I believe most people try to cover up their poop tracks a little bit. So if you stink up the toilet, you strike a match. If you clog the toilet, you plunge. If you get poop stuck up all the side of the toilet, you swipe a brush through that mo-fo.


Not my flatmates. It’s like they are proud of their sticky, stinky accomplishment and want the world to know what they’ve done. There doesn’t seem to be any other reason for leaving it like that. Because the brush is right. beside. the. fucking. toilet.

Deep breath. Okay, so you get the point. Someone pooped.

Remember I said there was no toilet paper earlier in the evening? There was still no toilet paper later that night, post poop.

That raises some interesting questions right there. Because unless there is some sort of secret, hidden bidet… well, there was no toilet paper. Now, I don’t poop, but I understand you need to clean up somehow when you do. How’d they wipe? Or are they not sure of the entire pooping process? They don’t know you can brush the inside of the toilet clean; perhaps they don’t know that you don’t have to walk around with shit stuck to your ass, either. Who knows? We aren’t dealing with the world’s brightest crayons in the box here.

Now, I can imagine what you are thinking: Okay, the ponderance of whether or not they wiped their ass is pretty gross… but not as gross as Capt. Tuberculosis trying to hock a loogie up from somewhere in the vicinity of her feet, the cup of moldy toothbrushes or the spit on the floor. And you are right. This isn’t number one on the list. Yet. But I’m not done the story. Lord help me, I’m not done the story.

It wasn’t the poop in the toilet or the lack of TP that was the low point, guys. No, no. No no no no no. Oh God, no.

It was what was on the wall.

Or what I think was on the wall. Because I hope it wasn’t what it looked like. Please, no. No no no no no. Oh God, no.

Let me outline what I think happened. I think one of the wee dumb-dumbs (I’m voting for Capt. TB, that seems most likely to me) sat and pooped without looking to see if we had toilet paper. Then they didn’t know what to do when they realised that there wasn’t any TP (and judging by the state of the toilet it was a big, sticky ‘un). Now, this is where I hope I’m wrong, but I can’t figure out how else one of those idiots managed to get shit on the wall.

I think whoever it was… they tried wiping with their own hand. And as they stood up they lost their balance a wee bit and touched the wall – maybe with the palm of their hand – as they stood up. And managed to get some poop on the wall before going to (I freaking hope) wash their hand.

Poop. On the wall. Why is that infinitely more disturbing than (potentially) poop beside a puddle of (suspected) spit on the floor?

I would have left it there, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t go in the bathroom and not stare at it. I couldn’t use the toilet and risk rubbing my shoulder against that wall (the toilet is really close to the wall). So that was one win for Team Denizen: I washed the poop. Off the wall.

Oh yah. I’ve definitely learned not to live with strangers anymore. Strangers = danger. It was true when I was four. It is true now. They can’t be trusted.

Poop. On the wall. I hate these fucking people.

The Chronicles of Aurghville: Citizen Soup and other Stories

So, basically it’s come to this: I have to move. It is either a: move or b: bring about Armageddon. And because I haven’t seen Transformers 2 yet, I don’t want the world to end just now. So, moving it is.

This begins less like a chronicle and more of an update on previous stories. I can’t even bring myself to take more pictures; it is impossible to photograph my simmering anger and rising bile. And truly nothing will outdo the photo of the moldy toothbrushes. Not even the moldy body scrubber. Which is gross… but I should have maybe started there and worked up to the toothbrushes. Move up the grossometer instead of all over it.

Something did happen yesterday that pushed me to a new level. I left a note. Oh yes, a note. Not quite a passive-aggressive note (yet) but I’m getting there. But first: the updates.

The Toilet Paper

I finally did break down and just buy my own loo roll. It is still aggravating that I have to cart TP from my room to the bathroom every time I have to tinkle, but it is less annoying than buying 40 rolls of paper every week. And here’s what I’ve learned: the toilet paper over-usage was definitely not me. I bought 4 rolls in the first week of May. I’m not even a third of the way through the third roll. So from March to May I bought over thirty rolls. From May to June I’ve used three. My math isn’t as good as it used to be but I know this: that don’t add up, yo.

The Pube Trail

There hasn’t been a repeat of the trail but there has been another grouping of mystery hair that looked suspiciously like a pube pile on the bathroom windowsill. Nice.

The Moldy, Evil, Horrid Toothbrushes

There are fewer toothbrushes (two of the citizens appear to be holidaying somewhere) and the water has been dumped out of the jar. But get this – they dumped the water but didn’t actually clean the jar. So it is still crusty and moldy. And there are still toothbrushes in it. GAAA!!

So, there you are, updated. But there have been new bathroom sorrows…

Unstealthy Thievery

I’ve had to take all my shower stuff out of there and am (like all my food and toilet paper) keeping it in my room because someone has started using it. Which I don’t support.

I know this because I’m vaguely OCD about certain things. I always close the lids on stuff. I always stand things up. I always (I probably shouldn’t confess this part) keep the shampoo to the left of the conditioner* because I use the shampoo first. It isn’t that I like to be that organised, I’m just that lazy. Keeping the shampoo and conditioner like that means I don’t have to waste my brain thinking about which bottle to grab first in the morning.

Anyway… if someone moves my stuff, I know about it. And whichever turd used my shampoo was too dumb to even TRY and be sly about it. They left the shampoo laying down on my shelf, open and dripping onto the shelf below it. Well done, Turbo. So I gave in and put everything into a container and cart it back and forth every morning.

Citizen Soup

Last night I went in the bathroom to use the toilet and there was about 3 inches of standing water in the tub. Ace. I can’t believe someone took a bath in there. I cleaned it about two weeks ago and had to use a sandblaster (or a brush, whatevs) to get the bloody grime off. Not just soap scum, not just lime build up, but grime. It was grayish and… well, and just wrong. I couldn’t leave it and my feet touch that so I cleaned.

And before you think I was being squeamish: I wear flipflops all summer in London. In the dirty east end of London. On the way back from a gig with Stefanie I stepped in a puddle that was mostly cigarette-butt soup (and God knows what else) and shrugged it off. I’m not squeamish about getting my feet dirty – the tub was actually that gross. So I cleaned it.

Anyway, back to the bathwater remains. Now, when you live with a bunch of pigs (What is a bunch of pigs called? They aren’t a herd, are they?) you don’t want to stick your hand in the water that one of them has been steeping in to get the plug out. I shook my head, shuddered, and went back into my room where I’m sure I was busy doing something cool**.

I went back in around 11:30 for my bedtime pee (I sleep badly and try to avoid anything that could wake me up, including my bladder) and the water was still in the tub. I had the feeling that whichever delayed citizen had decided to soak in that gleep was going to just leave the water in there all night. Which would mean that it would still be there in the morning when I went to shower. Which would mean that I would either have to stick my hand in there to get the plug out or risk standing in citizen soup whilst trying to shower. Sick.

So I did the only thing I could when I don’t want to actually interact with someone: I left a note. I wasn’t rude. I wasn’t friendly. I didn’t address it (even though I knew who it mostly likely was… as do you). I just said that if the water was still there the next day, I would be very unhappy.

I didn’t say that “unhappy” was my own, personal euphemism for “full of murderous rage and likely to slaughter you in your sleep”. Besides, I didn’t have enough room on the post-it note.

Ten minutes later, while lying in “bed” (read: sofa-bed-thing-from-Ikea) I heard one of the citizens trying to bail water out of the tub. I put my earplugs in and fell asleep with a smile on my face.

The next morning I went into the bathroom and read the note the citizen had left. They couldn’t get the plug out normally and eventually had to use a knife to pry it out. And that they were going to “call someone” to come and look at it. Wha? As I was standing there, reading the note, she came into the bathroom and explained further the difficulty they had draining the bathwater.

Apparently, it was her mom that had the bath. Ew. And, excuse me? It just goes to show that we are products of our parents. My moms wouldn’t even walk in the bathroom door if she was bursting – I’m fairly certain she would hold it and pee somewhere else. But the little cretin’s mother was fine sitting in our bathtub of grime and evil. EW EW EW. At least now I understand where her retardation comes from a little more. Apparently it is genetic.

And as for “calling someone”… the citizen told me that she would get someone to look at the plug because it obviously wasn’t working properly. I suggested that she goes out and buys a rubber replacement plug for 59p and save some hassle. The look on her face was priceless; she hadn’t even considered that an option.

So, that’s the bathroom updated. That’s my living situation in a nutshell. Although at this point, I would rather live in a nutshell. At the bottom of a garbage can. With nine mice and some maggots. Because I can’t stand this much more. And I’ve only told you about the bathroom… I’ve not mentioned (potentially yet) the kitchen. Or the hallway. Or the garden. Or the garbage. Or how some dipshit constantly leaves their key in the lock so you can’t use it to get in the house and have to knock instead.

Hopefully it is all only for a few more weeks. Once I get a new job I’ll have a much better idea of where I will want to live. And then I can start the process of de-turding myself from this situation. The only con to this that I foresee is what will I blog about if I don’t live with the world’s most inconsiderate flatmates?

*Remember when everyone called conditioner “cream rinse”? Or was that just my moms?
**Probably not. Sims 3 came out last week and I waste all my time playing that lately. Not. cool.

The Chronicles of Aurghville: Dental "Hygiene"

You know how they have “sensitive” toothpaste? I need that. Not because my teeth hurt, but because I’m squeamish. I have an overactive imagination and seeing something gross while I’m brushing my teeth makes me gag a little. Heck, I can just think of something gross (like someone else’s hair in my toothbrush – EW) and it makes me gag a little.

In order to avoid feeling Harfy Bunger while brushing my teeth, every so often I just give into my own brain and brush with my eyes closed so nothing can trigger that gag reflex. Of course, I still have to think of pleasant things or this trick doesn’t work either… but at least nothing can accidently gross me out if I have my eyes closed.

Here in the House o’ Aurghness, I close them every time I brush.

Gagtastic Harf-Inducer #1: The Crusty Tube of Evilness and Wrong

Really? Really people? The only way this could be worse is if the cap had been left off and rolled behind the toilet. And the only reason it hasn’t done that is because the poor thing can’t escape. If I was that cap, I’d sure as hell be trying to escape. I can’t help but imagine one of the citizens of Aurghville squeezing some pound shop toothpaste that was packaged in Taiwan and is actually made of ground-up crickets and discontinued mint-flavouring that was snuck in through customs past that crusty sickness and onto their brush before putting it in their mouth. Gross.

Gag level: 4/10
Gagtastic Harf-Inducer #2: The Multiple Brushes of Sickness and Disease

First, I would like to point out that NONE of these are mine. I keep mine in my room. I keep it safe. It is hidden away from the other citizens, whom I would definitely NOT trust with something as intimate as my toothbrush. I put that in my mouth, for crying out loud. Other than me, there are three “people” in Aurghville. So WHY THE FUCK are there eight toothbrushes in the bathroom, citizens? WHY WHY WHY?

This hurts me in so many ways:

1. Why are there so many brushes?
2. How could you store them in such a way that the bristles touch each other?
3. How do you know which one is yours?
4. See that yellow one? Would you put anything that colour in your mouth?
5. Why are there so many freaking brushes already?

But it gets worse… oh, so much worse. I didn’t think the grossest possible thing in a bathroom so full of grossest possible things could be so gross. And it is so gross. So, so gross. In fact, so gross that I was worried that it wouldn’t show up in the picture above so I took a close-up.

click the pic to enlarge… if you dare


Gag level: 16.35/10
Gagtastic Harf-Inducer #3: The Aftermath

Your teeth are in your mouth. One would think that is where the toothpaste would also go. Now, I get that you have to spit it out at some point. But I normally spit it out into the sink, don’t you?

Gag level: 3/10 (got a bonus point for me thinking about stepping in it in my *shudder* bare feet)
Anger level: 11/10 (What the fuck are you, citizen? 6 years old?)

I think I’m just going to start brushing my teeth at work. Seriously.