December 27, 2009
December 21, 2009
One Ply = Millions of Women Around the World Cringing.
Maybe men by this type because they don't have to wipe spoonfuls of discharge a day. They don't have to wipe every single time they pee. They don't get periods that cause one to wipe up cupfuls of blood. No they don't have these problems, otherwise they would spend a little bit more on a nice absorbent paper that doesn't feel like sand paper and chap your vag!
So why the fuck would a girl buy this toilet paper???
Burn the Deli Down
Dick and Jane.
Has someone ever told you the same story more than once? Probably. And when this happens we pretend we never heard it and fake the same reaction to spare their embarrassment, or we politely say, 'oh yeah you told me this.' Rarely to people keep telling the SAME FUCKING STORY over and over and over and over unless they have dementia, or short term memory loss. Dick and Jane do not have either of these. And yet, they are comfortable with having the same conversation over and over again. I stopped listening, mostly. I started to pretend I wasn't listening, but unfortunately still heard everything they were saying.
Example: Dick and Jane went to a deli about a week ago. Every day since they have talked non stop about this deli. It has sandwiches and soups and 25 different kinds of tea! Shocking. Oh and it's cheap. Did I mention it had sandwiches? And it has eggs. And 25 different kinds of tea! They told us over and over and over and over that we had to go there. That we would love it. Finally to get Dick to shut the fuck up about this deli, I told him I didn't like deli food or eggs. Guess what? It didn't work. He just continued to talk about the deli, and then would add 'except you don't like sandwiches and eggs because you're weird and you probably wouldn't like it there...oh wait do you like dessert?' Oh god. Here we go. I told Shawn I wanted to burn the deli down. Honestly, I'd almost rather spend my life in prison then hear anymore about The Deli.
The Heater is Killing Your Kidneys
Another story Dick and Jane like to tell over and over? The heater has been dehydrating them, inside and out. And that they are cold at night. But they never combine these stories together because they use the same reasoning for both but in different ways.
Example: We were all talking about how cold it is at night. I said "Our room is freezing at night, and it makes sense because heat rises, so it's all on the second floor." Their response, "no it really doesn't because our room is freezing at night too." So they complain that we should stop turning the heater down. BUT then this conversations starts not long after: "Man I've been so dehydrated, have you?" Says Jane. "Nope not really," says I. Their response, "Oh well we're obviously more dehydrated because all the heat rises to the second floor." The response I wish I said, "No, you're more dehydrated because you both drink a grip of vodka and no water before bed. You smoke a pack of cigs at night, and you both sleep with your mouths open. It's not rocket science, and it's no mystery."
I will admit my lips are more chapped and it is because of the constant dry air from the heater, but it's not affecting my kidney function in anyway.
The Never Ending Bowl of Mess
My last annoyance of the day. I'm not going to sit here and say that I am a neat freak, because I am not. In fact I tend to be a bit slobbish at times. But even I have my limits of filth. Dick and Jane don't seem to have these same limits. Which I guess, to each his/her own, which is fine when you live alone, but they don't. And not only do they not give two shits about cleaning, they are not in the least bit grateful.
Example: Shawn and I cleaned all weekend while they were out of town. They both come home and Dick goes to sleep right away. Jane hangs out for awhile and doesn't seem to have anything negative to say. Until this comes out, "Hey I know you guys worked really hard to clean and whatnot, but next time, don't touch my stuff." She was referring to the 'sewing room' which is supposed to be the 'girls room.' And all we did was place a small T.V. that was on the floor on her sewing table so we could sweep and mop. Then she followed her bitchy remark with, "I don't give a fuck if that room is dirty, just DONT TOUCH MY STUFF." So really when she said the room was for the girls she meant just herself, and when she told me that I could use her sewing machine she really meant, don't touch her fucking stuff. Awesome.
The thing that bugs me most about this household is that the rules aren't brought up to us until we break them. We are constantly being set up to fail. It's a chaotic disaster and I'm sick of worrying what they are going to disapprove of this time. I feel like I am constantly walking on eggshells. There is no bloody room in the fridge or pantry but if we move anything to fit our things, they have a fit because they cant find what's there's even though they didn't seem to need it for weeks until we moved it. They never do the dishes and the day after they got home the house was somehow a mess again. The once clean toilet seat had piddle stains again. The once cleared out sink was full of dishes. The once clutter free coffee table was buried again. And the thing that bugs me the most is they don't even care.
I wonder if they'll care once we leave.
Has someone ever told you the same story more than once? Probably. And when this happens we pretend we never heard it and fake the same reaction to spare their embarrassment, or we politely say, 'oh yeah you told me this.' Rarely to people keep telling the SAME FUCKING STORY over and over and over and over unless they have dementia, or short term memory loss. Dick and Jane do not have either of these. And yet, they are comfortable with having the same conversation over and over again. I stopped listening, mostly. I started to pretend I wasn't listening, but unfortunately still heard everything they were saying.
Example: Dick and Jane went to a deli about a week ago. Every day since they have talked non stop about this deli. It has sandwiches and soups and 25 different kinds of tea! Shocking. Oh and it's cheap. Did I mention it had sandwiches? And it has eggs. And 25 different kinds of tea! They told us over and over and over and over that we had to go there. That we would love it. Finally to get Dick to shut the fuck up about this deli, I told him I didn't like deli food or eggs. Guess what? It didn't work. He just continued to talk about the deli, and then would add 'except you don't like sandwiches and eggs because you're weird and you probably wouldn't like it there...oh wait do you like dessert?' Oh god. Here we go. I told Shawn I wanted to burn the deli down. Honestly, I'd almost rather spend my life in prison then hear anymore about The Deli.
The Heater is Killing Your Kidneys
Another story Dick and Jane like to tell over and over? The heater has been dehydrating them, inside and out. And that they are cold at night. But they never combine these stories together because they use the same reasoning for both but in different ways.
Example: We were all talking about how cold it is at night. I said "Our room is freezing at night, and it makes sense because heat rises, so it's all on the second floor." Their response, "no it really doesn't because our room is freezing at night too." So they complain that we should stop turning the heater down. BUT then this conversations starts not long after: "Man I've been so dehydrated, have you?" Says Jane. "Nope not really," says I. Their response, "Oh well we're obviously more dehydrated because all the heat rises to the second floor." The response I wish I said, "No, you're more dehydrated because you both drink a grip of vodka and no water before bed. You smoke a pack of cigs at night, and you both sleep with your mouths open. It's not rocket science, and it's no mystery."
I will admit my lips are more chapped and it is because of the constant dry air from the heater, but it's not affecting my kidney function in anyway.
The Never Ending Bowl of Mess
My last annoyance of the day. I'm not going to sit here and say that I am a neat freak, because I am not. In fact I tend to be a bit slobbish at times. But even I have my limits of filth. Dick and Jane don't seem to have these same limits. Which I guess, to each his/her own, which is fine when you live alone, but they don't. And not only do they not give two shits about cleaning, they are not in the least bit grateful.
Example: Shawn and I cleaned all weekend while they were out of town. They both come home and Dick goes to sleep right away. Jane hangs out for awhile and doesn't seem to have anything negative to say. Until this comes out, "Hey I know you guys worked really hard to clean and whatnot, but next time, don't touch my stuff." She was referring to the 'sewing room' which is supposed to be the 'girls room.' And all we did was place a small T.V. that was on the floor on her sewing table so we could sweep and mop. Then she followed her bitchy remark with, "I don't give a fuck if that room is dirty, just DONT TOUCH MY STUFF." So really when she said the room was for the girls she meant just herself, and when she told me that I could use her sewing machine she really meant, don't touch her fucking stuff. Awesome.
The thing that bugs me most about this household is that the rules aren't brought up to us until we break them. We are constantly being set up to fail. It's a chaotic disaster and I'm sick of worrying what they are going to disapprove of this time. I feel like I am constantly walking on eggshells. There is no bloody room in the fridge or pantry but if we move anything to fit our things, they have a fit because they cant find what's there's even though they didn't seem to need it for weeks until we moved it. They never do the dishes and the day after they got home the house was somehow a mess again. The once clean toilet seat had piddle stains again. The once cleared out sink was full of dishes. The once clutter free coffee table was buried again. And the thing that bugs me the most is they don't even care.
I wonder if they'll care once we leave.
Moving from Hell to Hell
Recently I made quite a big decision to move across the country. 1400 miles to be exact. I was told by, let's say their names are Dick and Jane, that this new town, Covington, was a secret treasure. I was told that this town has so much to offer. And even more specifically that the neighborhood we were moving into was really amazing. I was told that the neighbors are all really nice people. In fact, Dick and Jane couldn't seem to stop talking about how amazing this town, this neighborhood, and this house was. My boyfriend and I were so excited and couldn't wait to pack up the moving truck and head up there.
Albuquerque was Hell. But my definition of Hell is probably different from most peoples. The meaning of Hell to me is not constant darkness and depression. If you are constantly depressed and only suspect shitty things to happen then you can't really be disappointed can you? It's normal for things to go wrong if you're already in constant shit. But, if your life seems to have at least one really good thing going for it, then one would probably have higher expectations for the rest of the aspects in their life and have greater disappointment, frustrations, and annoyances to deal with. So in my case in Albuquerque, I had a great family, and a great boyfriend. My friends were so-so, typical flakes. And I had no job, and I was constantly harassed from people from my past. Voila: Hell. Why couldn't everything else just fall into place? Because in Hell they tease you with a few good things and a few really SHITTY things.
And where did I move to? Hell. Seriously can nothing go right for five minutes? I was cheated. Shawn and I were cheated and lied to. Dick and Jane sugar coated the fuck out of this town, this neighborhood, and this house. Lets start with the town shall we. Covington, home of chain smokers, boozers, bed bug freaks, liquor stores, chili hot spots, and lots of crack and meth. Our street: foreclosed empty boarded up houses, to the right of us is two cranky old white people who NEVER leave their house, to the left of us is an apartment complex full of prostitutes, and behind us is a crack motel. Did I mention there is an alley right next to the house that leads to a ghetto grocery store that has 24/7 surveillance by REAL cops. Did I mention that the whole goddamn town walks through this alleyway talking to themselves and throwing their trash in OUR yard? Did I mention the drug dealers? Did I mention that every single day ALL day long people drive down the street and honk their horns for their whores? I'm not really sure how one would even glorify this neighborhood, it's straight up GHETTO.
The house isn't even a problem, except for the fact that is really nowhere to put any of our stuff. The real problem, for me, is Dick and Jane. Because why would two normal people fail to mention the prostitutes, drug dealers, and crack motel? Why would anyone in their right mind think Covington is awesome? Oh and they also told us that there were "so many awesome thrift stores here," so far every single one has sucked.
I don't regret moving, it just sucks that my roommates are probably insane and that we probably live next to a meth house. Because that's what hell is. It's fucking Dandy.
Albuquerque was Hell. But my definition of Hell is probably different from most peoples. The meaning of Hell to me is not constant darkness and depression. If you are constantly depressed and only suspect shitty things to happen then you can't really be disappointed can you? It's normal for things to go wrong if you're already in constant shit. But, if your life seems to have at least one really good thing going for it, then one would probably have higher expectations for the rest of the aspects in their life and have greater disappointment, frustrations, and annoyances to deal with. So in my case in Albuquerque, I had a great family, and a great boyfriend. My friends were so-so, typical flakes. And I had no job, and I was constantly harassed from people from my past. Voila: Hell. Why couldn't everything else just fall into place? Because in Hell they tease you with a few good things and a few really SHITTY things.
And where did I move to? Hell. Seriously can nothing go right for five minutes? I was cheated. Shawn and I were cheated and lied to. Dick and Jane sugar coated the fuck out of this town, this neighborhood, and this house. Lets start with the town shall we. Covington, home of chain smokers, boozers, bed bug freaks, liquor stores, chili hot spots, and lots of crack and meth. Our street: foreclosed empty boarded up houses, to the right of us is two cranky old white people who NEVER leave their house, to the left of us is an apartment complex full of prostitutes, and behind us is a crack motel. Did I mention there is an alley right next to the house that leads to a ghetto grocery store that has 24/7 surveillance by REAL cops. Did I mention that the whole goddamn town walks through this alleyway talking to themselves and throwing their trash in OUR yard? Did I mention the drug dealers? Did I mention that every single day ALL day long people drive down the street and honk their horns for their whores? I'm not really sure how one would even glorify this neighborhood, it's straight up GHETTO.
The house isn't even a problem, except for the fact that is really nowhere to put any of our stuff. The real problem, for me, is Dick and Jane. Because why would two normal people fail to mention the prostitutes, drug dealers, and crack motel? Why would anyone in their right mind think Covington is awesome? Oh and they also told us that there were "so many awesome thrift stores here," so far every single one has sucked.
I don't regret moving, it just sucks that my roommates are probably insane and that we probably live next to a meth house. Because that's what hell is. It's fucking Dandy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)