What is that creepy orange red glowing porch, you ask. Could it be Provo's red light district? Or maybe the insane asylum portion to a homemade haunted house? No, folks. I regret to inform you it is actually a locally famous apartment known as the CHEETAH MANSION and I happen to have the honor of living there.
Why are all three of these cups a different height, you ask.
Why are all three cups a different shape?
Why is our ottoman broken? haha.
Why do we have 8,000 wedding announcements on our bulletin board?
Why are our stairs filthy when we got the carpets cleaned three weeks ago?
Why is there constantly a half eaten tub of funfetti frosting in the fridge?
I do believe it is because we are in COLLEGE.
And we are too poor/lazy (debatable) to buy a real light bulb so we use the anti-bug one we find in the basement. And we have a ghetto dishwasher that likes to melt our ugly brown cups into art projects. And Dani throws too many parties to keep the carpet clean. And all our friends are married. And because of that we have to eat frosting.
I admit I'm excited to get out but I admit even more that I kind of love College.
I know it looks like a bunch of diapers, but in reality it's a bunch of rags, one of the Christmas presents my Father gave to my Mother. No it wasn't a sexist insult, she really, genuinely can't get enough of these things. In fact, they have been a staple around our kitchen for as long as I can remember. They always look so perfectly sanitary while also being shockingly absorbent.
So before giving these 'gifts' to mother, of course father consulted Groesbeck Wrapping Co., an unofficial organization created by my sister and myself many years ago. (Yes, we made a commercial for ourselves and showed it to my family in the hopes of gaining gift-wrapping business. Do you think i chose the right career?) As we emptied the bag full of rags into the above pictured box, we encountered several disturbing objects, namely surgical tape and a syringe.
"Dad....where did you get those rags you're giving to Mom??"
And I am happy to report that my father is not, and never has been associated with doing drugs in the back alleys of Provo.
"At the Hospital...like always. We use them to soak up all the bloody guts and gore that spew out of patients during surgery." ok maybe i exaggerated that a little bit but....