That Sink-ing Feeling

I spent 5 hours cleaning the first floor of my house this past Monday.  No, I don’t clean my house like this every week.  It’s just that I hadn’t cleaned my house since before Christmas.  As you all know from this post — Manual Labor Was Invented by the Devil — I am not a fan.  But it was getting pretty nasty in here so if I didn’t want a divorce, I figured I should probably do something about the dust monsters under the couch and the Christmas tree needles, well….everywhere.

You know that feeling when you have completed the task of scrubbing down your house?  It feels really good.  But if anyone comes in here and walks around on the floor or messes up the soap dish, you want to kill them.

Every Monday night I get together with some friends.  I know.  It’s great.  I highly recommend it.  I left at 7:30 and got home at around midnight.  It was pretty late, so I went straight to bed.  When I came downstairs to help the kid with breakfast the next morning, this is what greets me:

photoLet’s see…I was gone 4.5 hours.  When I left, there were 2 people in this house and 0 items in the sink.  There are now 2 plates, 2 bowls, 6 glasses/cups, 1 pot, 1 spoon, 2 forks, 2 knives, 1 measuring cup, 1 wooden spoon, 1 rubber spatula, 1 serving spoon, 1 strainer, 1 pan from the toaster oven and 1 sink strainer basket that has mac & cheese, tomato pieces and strawberries in it.

There is actually an allergy to dishwashing machines.  Yup.  I looked it up.   Apparently it has struck 2 of the 3 people living here.  Hmmm.  I guess I shouldn’t complain.  These DID make it into the sink.  And that counts for something, right?  RIGHT?

Soft Skin is for Woosies

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What is the aversion toward lotion for men?  I mean, in what book does it say, “All men shall go without moisturizer?”  Is there a law in some guy book?  If I’m missing something,  please clue me in.

My DH, God love him, is so particular about his appearance.  Every crease in his pants have to be pressed just so.  His tucked in shirt cannot show a wrinkle, a crease or a fold.  I can’t share a bathroom with him because he takes too damn long.  But hand him a bottle of lotion and he looks at it like it’s going to give him Herpes Simplex 2.

And my dad…he is a different story altogether.  The guy has enough flakes coming off his legs and feet to rival that of the Swiss Alps.  My mom has to wipe down his bedside table every morning because of the dust that has collected during the night.

We women must make a stand.  What can we do to get these guys to understand that using body lotion will NOT turn them into a girl?  I say to them, “embrace your feminine side”…and we promise not to call you Sue.

It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year…NOT

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And I’m not talking about Christmas either.  The kid has been a member of the Girls Scouts since 2003.  I love the good ole’ Girl Scouts.  I talk them up every chance I get.  My daughter has learned so much from being a GS.  She can light a fire (I mean camp, and she better keep it that way), she can pitch a tent, she is a master crafter, she has learned respect.  And last but not least, she can make new friends AND keep the old.

One thing she is not good at…selling GS Cookies. Nope, somehow that has become MY job.  What happened to the days of those cute little girl scouts going door to door?  Perhaps it was the realization that there are perverts and child molesters lurking about.

Yup, so in order to keep her safe, I took over the job.  Her leader (God bless her, I don’t know how she does it…in other words, better her than me.) would like for each of them to have a goal of 50 boxes sold.  Sure right okay, as soon as I charter that first flight to Mars.

Look, I know people SAY they look forward to GS cookie time, but do they really?  I have been asking, begging, promising favors in return, for my friends, family, coworkers to buy for years.

It’s for a good cause.  Yes, you can freeze them.  No, you don’t have to pay now.  You’re on a diet?  Well you can donate cookies to the food pantry because they are so nutritious.  My personal favorite complaint: “but they are $3.50 everywhere else.”

So, every year, I moan, groan and bitch when I see that blasted cookie order form and start on my quest to fill the orders.

On my honor, I will try….oh, who wants cookies???

For the Love of a Log

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Everyone knows how much I love the grocery store.  Well, I didn’t go just once this week, I went TWICE.  Why, you ask?  Because I’m the dumb ass who forgot something, or some things.  Forgetting stuff during Can-Can week is a mortal sin in my book.

I was expecting some friends over Monday night and in addition to some essentials I had, um…forgotten, I wanted to get one of those Dura-Logs so we could have a nice cozy fire.

Anyway, I can’t find the damn log.  I have been up and down every dang isle TWICE looking for it.  I wish Shop Rite would stop moving crap around.  To top it off, I can’t find a single staff member.

I’m ready to sock the idea when I finally see not one, but two store employees talking amongst themselves at the end cap of isle number 14.  I squeeze in as closely as I can to avoid being stampeded and stare at them for a good half minute hoping to catch their attention.  They look at me and continue on.  Great.

So, just to recap real quick…I’m pissed because I’ve walked all over the f’ing store not once, but twice.  I can’t find a single employee who can help me and when I do find an employee, I’m completely ignored.  Oh, and I’m dodging can-loving freaks like bullets.  Do I sound like I’m in a good mood???

Suddenly, I hear this — “look lady, pick a direction and move in it.”  When I look up, I realize he is speaking to me.  He reminded me of Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz with his fingers pointed in both directions, but not so cute.  “You’re holding up traffic.”  Geez, if he only had a brain.

The look I shot Scarecrow could have frozen the Amazon.  I think I actually saw fear in his eyes.  And the log?  I passed the whole blasted stack of ’em coming in the front door.

Confessions of a Grammar Nazi

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I have many, many pet peeves.  But let me tell you about the one that tops the list. The improper use of too/to, there/their and your/you’re.

This makes me cringe:  “It’s you’re job too get there kids.”

This makes me bonkers: “Their, their, don’t cry.  I feel the same way to.  Your only human.”
This makes me want to jump off a freaking cliff — what I call the mother lode:
“I, to, love spaghetti so my friend invited us over there house too have some.  But they live way over their, on the other side of town.  Do you think you’re sister can stop by too pick us up since she’s going to?  Thank you, your such a peach.”
So please, tell me…who was your grammar teacher?  Dan Quayle?

Leader of the…Pack?

My husband and I decided long before we married that probably one child would be enough for us. We were completely fine with it but it seems no one else was.

Them: So, when are you going to have another child?

Me: Um, never…

Them: Oh my, I’m sorry.

Me: No, really, it’s okay.

Them: So what is it? His sperm? Your eggs? You know, my husband’s sperm are slow swimmers. Just stand on your head, it’ll turn those bastards into a pack of little Mark Spitzes.

Me: Well, no, there’ no problem there. We just don’t want to have any more.

Them: (GASP) WHAT??? Oh.my.god. That is totally not a real family. No, two is a family, but one? One is a pet.

Okay dude, like really? If I had a dime for every time I got that reaction or something close to it, I’d have to change my name to Ivana Trump. All I know is there are a lot of people walking around with more balls than Yankee Stadium.

So, if we are not a family, then what are we?  A pack of dogs?  A pet sitting service?  Well, she has always been good at fetching my slippers.  I guess we should have changed her name to Fido.

Manual Labor was Invented by the Devil

I absolutely abhor manual labor.  I know I speak for many.  I can almost hear the collective headshakes.  Honestly, if it’s cleaning day and Satan calls with an opportunity to sit in hell for all of eternity instead, I’d take it.  Anything to get out of housework.  When my DH wants me to help him rake the yard, I feign The Black Plague just to get out of it.

Laundry.  There are 3 people living in this house.  There should be no more than MAYBE a load a day and that is still too much.  But no, it’s more like 3-4 loads PER DAY!  I do believe I have one of those magic laundry baskets because as soon as I empty it, it fills up within seconds.  No I mean it…literally seconds.  Like I said, 3 humans live in this house.  THREE.  I know, I don’t get it either.

And my all time fave — Grocery shopping.  I wake up with stomach cramps and the sweats on grocery day.  I’m sorry, unless you go to the store at midnight, it seems that every day is senior day.  I love the seniors, I will be one myself sooner than I care to speak about, but come on.  I don’t mind walking slowly when I’m sauntering down the beach with a margarita.  How about when the little buggers stop in the middle of the isle to talk to their old cronies about which fiber supplement they use?  It took all the energy I had just to get there…please move along people.

My motto:  Life is short, why do anything when it will still be there tomorrow?  Well, it’s not tomorrow yet.  This is what was on my Christmas list:  a maid, a cook (oh right, I really don’t like cooking either), and/or a laundress.  I didn’t get any of the above.  And for the record, I never even asked for a magic laundry basket.  Thanks a lot Santa.