I don’t like spending my hard earned money on things that aren’t either sparkle nail polish or edible, so when it’s my turn to buy toilet paper, you’ll either be getting some stolen rolls from my mom’s house (if you’re lucky) or one of those big econo-sized rolls from the restroom at Bruegger’s Bagels. Yes, it is the consistency of gift wrap, but it’s free if you have a big purse and a swift hand. I am blessed to have both.

For some reason, I regard refrigeration as merely a suggestion. This means I don’t really worry if the ketchup bottle stays on the coffee table for three days after I eat my hangover breakfast sandwich on Sunday morning while watching Dance Moms reruns.

If you guys conferred with each other you’d realize that I’ve been blaming the bathroom mirror toothpaste splatters on each of you when discussing this shockingly juvenile hygiene issue with the other. They’re actually mine. They’re all mine. Sometimes I forget to turn off my Spin Brush before I take it out of my mouth. So sue me.

I won’t consider the apartment to be dirty enough to warrant a cleaning until I have to literally brush crumbs off my feet before getting into bed. Even then, I’ll just Swiffer a five-foot radius around my bed and call it a day. This means if you have an issue with dirty dishes, overflowing recycling bins, or *ahem* toothpaste splatters on the bathroom mirror, you’re gonna have to take one for them team and clean it yourself. Don’t be mad, it’ll build character.

I don’t buy any junk food at the grocery store because I take a vow every Monday morning to start eating healthy. Everything goes according to plan until I get hammered playing darts and dancing to Ke$ha singles on Wednesday night. I then tear the kitchen apart looking for anything you might have bought with trans fat. The tub of frosting for the cake you were going to make for your mom’s birthday this weekend? Nope, haven’t seen it.

I hate hand-washing dishes, but don’t know how to use the dishwasher. I also have absolutely no concept of what things can/can’t be put in the microwave. Sorry about ruining every Tupperware you own and exploding that aluminum can of tomato soup. My bad(s).

– Kelsey McDonough