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Cleaning Apartment Song - Anesthesia Free Teeth Cleaning For Dogs.

Cleaning Apartment Song

cleaning apartment song

    apartment song
  • Circular Breathing is the second EP released by Australian singer-songwriter Kate Miller-Heidke. It was the first to be released with a major music company, Sony BMG.

  • Remove the innards of (fish or poultry) prior to cooking

  • make clean by removing dirt, filth, or unwanted substances from; "Clean the stove!"; "The dentist cleaned my teeth"

  • (clean) free from dirt or impurities; or having clean habits; "children with clean shining faces"; "clean white shirts"; "clean dishes"; "a spotlessly clean house"; "cats are clean animals"

  • Make (something or someone) free of dirt, marks, or mess, esp. by washing, wiping, or brushing

  • the act of making something clean; "he gave his shoes a good cleaning"

cleaning apartment song - Black Dynamite

Black Dynamite (Original Motion Picture Score)

Black Dynamite (Original Motion Picture Score)

Multi-instrumentalist Adrian Younge makes his debut on Wax Poetics Records with his original score to the Michael Jai White comedy ''Black Dynamite.'' Inspired by the great blaxploitation soundtracks of the 1970s, Younge commands the Rhodes electric piano, Hammond organ, Hohner Clavinet, harpsichord, synthesizer, vibraphone, guitar, bass, flute, sax, cello, and drums, crafting with a singular vision. Whether it's the witty vocal of ''Jimmy's Apartment'' or the lowdown bass line of ''Rafelli Chase,'' the entire album is deeply authentic.

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It is a wonderful, bright & sunny Summer's morning. I'm not sure if I'm emerging from my cocoon or not, but I spent the entire day yesterday cleaning my apartment - at least half the day scrubbing my old sectional leather couch with a tiny natural bristle brush and a spray saddle soap that is simply amazing. The Italian pale gray leather couch from The Art Shoppe is almost 20 years old and has been through two kids, not just the milk burbs and apple juice but the coke phases as teenagers (well out of that now, tg), three cats - the leather worse for the wear, considering those little cat claws and all, and a fairly long-haired dog. It's ripped in one section, which I have to get fixed at some point.

My computer is full with my daughter's iPod iTunes songs and photos are a challenge, the system usually telling me the "scratch discs are full," so one at a time, saved onto a memory stick until we can figure out what to do - at this point I'm favouring a Mini Mac for her. But, oh what the heck, some morning photos for you-

And olde, fifty-five, a good age, as good as any, and lucky to be extremely fit - I notice no difference between now and 30 years ago in terms of flexibility or agility, the only thing is that I can't dance all night anymore. But even back then, I'd still be going at 4am and everyone would be flaked out around me. Now... I'm good for perhaps a couple of hours at most, though when was the last time I went to a party? A dance workshop coming up and we'll be dancing 5 or 6 hours straight, so perhaps I do myself injustice. Wrinkles on my face and tiny capillaries on my legs, but isn't that the wonderful part of aging? Seeing how far you've come? The way your journey is etched on your face, in your body?

You can see I am just moved in, more-or-less. That bookcase needs to be moved back by a strong man, perhaps my brother will drop by this afternoon. The wall needs some paintings - but with the very bright sunlight - the windows face due West, they can't be watercolour, something that can handle light like oils. Next year I hope to have some Italian silk curtains that I am lusting after, though they have to await other more necessary purchases (like a bed for the spare room). In the meantime, I went to the art store and bought kilometers of canvas, which are rolled back and clipped with Alligator clips until the sun comes burning around in the afternoons - it'll be wonderful in any other season, but those 30-35 C degree hot humid days, oh la! Steamy...

That's my doggy, Keesha. She's 8 years old, a Springer Spaniel, and very adorable.

swung swiftly into the megalopolis; life is busy. life is the sweet song of grownoise; a bitterly bitten bit of language; a secular scenario of spirit. the wrinkles of age gather and collect at the corners of my eyes, my knuckles, and my smile, waiting until morning when they hang there heavily on the shaft of my spine; well rested and finely defined. difficult to lift from the mattress. still more often i find myself awake with enough time to brew a french press and light two candles. before waking becomes daytime i find an hour's worth of it to spend in the shower. I drink my coffee there with the water at my back and the sun splintering in through the cracks between the buildings on my block. i embrace my naked body's dirty drips and, in getting clean, i split my time not between days but only just between. briefly every morning, naked, waking, crooked, tired, i straddle reality's static fringe; where the sunlight licks the lips of autumn leaves and a youthful windy whimsy sets them to a north winter waltz on my window wall and softer, then, on my retinas.

i spin records and intimacy and yarns. tall tales of old love and what and what? often i tell stories of scandal and cohesion consisting of truth in small portions and verbosity in spades. i gave and i take. I am bright brilliant, right, and in the shadows of myself i bow and i ache in shivering shades of gray. i slow my pace on albermarle road when blinded by the sunlight reflected on the outside pane of some neighbor's fifth floor compartment apartment home- I slow my pace.

that was the first day. a day mundane enough to call monday and familiar enough in passing to call a whole week.

and on the third day, a day great enough to call sunday, I woke up to you scattered about the living room like a rail track rat, frantic and shirtless, stinking of sweat and cocaine. you took big steps with big words. your eyes like rattle snakes, and wide, and rolling, love. you get upset when they wonder why you make so many trips to the bathroom, love, to the city, to the melancholy, love. why you never return phone calls. why you get to forget. and i agree with you that they only think they know. i can't stand it, though, to know.

your brain, love. your only home. your love and your moan. your poetry and your drone.

i slow my pace, love, when blinded by the light of your memory reflecting from the high mind of the living, and i can't remember the last time i didn't miss you.

cleaning apartment song

cleaning apartment song

In A Cozy Kitchenette Apartment Sheet Music

This sheet music was newly engraved from early and authoritative editions.First Line is I'm getting tired of eating in restaurants, they don't appeal to me In a cozy kitchenette apartment for two, I'll be setting the tableFrom Irving Berlin's "Music Box Revue" of 1921

This sheet music was newly engraved from early and authoritative editions.First Line is I'm getting tired of eating in restaurants, they don't appeal to me In a cozy kitchenette apartment for two, I'll be setting the tableFrom Irving Berlin's "Music Box Revue" of 1921

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