In which my weekend sucks...
My weekend started out great, if a bit dull. Saturday was the day my car finally got an oil change. The idiot light started to go on when the car first started, so I knew I couldn't procrastinate any further. She's a happy vehicle now. I putzed around the house after that, doing some housecleaning.
Here's a discovery: I hate housecleaning. I would rather give blowjobs to ten perfect strangers in exchange for housecleaning services than actually wield the dustrag myself. Sorry to be so vulgar, but there it is. Housecleaning sucks. I'm not in the least houseproud. My mother wilts in embarassment whenever she visits. "Did I teach you NOTHING?" No, but I give damn good head, Mom. My friend Melanie can verify that I have a "dirt problem." Should've bought that fucking Kirby from the outrageously pushy saleswoman. I'm holding out for a Dyson, though - they really suck, and in a good way. Actually, I'm really holding out for a houseboy named Jorge who will work in exchange for... nevermind. I've been vulgar enough for today.
Sunday was Scrapbooking day. You know I'm a suburban wife/mother. Of course I scrapbook every moment of my little darling's life. I got together with a bunch of old hens and cackled my way through a couple of scrapbook pages. They're pretty good, too. I'd show you, but people love to see pictures of people's children as much as they love hearing those oh-so-adorable anecdotes about them. As in, not at all. So you've been spared.
The only part of my weekend that sucked in real life (hey, I said I was through being vulgar) was when my grandmother asked me to create her living will.
My sweet little Italian grandmother is suffering from what the doctors think is emphysema. It could be that, or it could be idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis. That would really suck, as she would only have about 6 more months or so to live. Now I have to do her living will, where her only wishes are to NOT be sustained by machines once she is pronounced brain-dead (a la Terry Schaivo). I was brought to a crashing halt just by imagining my grandmother dying.
That totally sucked. Silently crying my way home on Rt.1, fighting beach traffic, and trying not to upset Miss Peanut sucked. The living will sucks. Losing my grandmother will suck beyond all comparison.
Writing this post sucks, too. So I'm stopping now.
Here's a discovery: I hate housecleaning. I would rather give blowjobs to ten perfect strangers in exchange for housecleaning services than actually wield the dustrag myself. Sorry to be so vulgar, but there it is. Housecleaning sucks. I'm not in the least houseproud. My mother wilts in embarassment whenever she visits. "Did I teach you NOTHING?" No, but I give damn good head, Mom. My friend Melanie can verify that I have a "dirt problem." Should've bought that fucking Kirby from the outrageously pushy saleswoman. I'm holding out for a Dyson, though - they really suck, and in a good way. Actually, I'm really holding out for a houseboy named Jorge who will work in exchange for... nevermind. I've been vulgar enough for today.
Sunday was Scrapbooking day. You know I'm a suburban wife/mother. Of course I scrapbook every moment of my little darling's life. I got together with a bunch of old hens and cackled my way through a couple of scrapbook pages. They're pretty good, too. I'd show you, but people love to see pictures of people's children as much as they love hearing those oh-so-adorable anecdotes about them. As in, not at all. So you've been spared.
The only part of my weekend that sucked in real life (hey, I said I was through being vulgar) was when my grandmother asked me to create her living will.
My sweet little Italian grandmother is suffering from what the doctors think is emphysema. It could be that, or it could be idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis. That would really suck, as she would only have about 6 more months or so to live. Now I have to do her living will, where her only wishes are to NOT be sustained by machines once she is pronounced brain-dead (a la Terry Schaivo). I was brought to a crashing halt just by imagining my grandmother dying.
That totally sucked. Silently crying my way home on Rt.1, fighting beach traffic, and trying not to upset Miss Peanut sucked. The living will sucks. Losing my grandmother will suck beyond all comparison.
Writing this post sucks, too. So I'm stopping now.
posted by Peevish McSnark at
8:44 AM
7 Comments:
I'm with you there on the housecleaning. Anything, well, almost anything, but housecleaning. Yuck!
Sorry to hear about your grandmother.
By
Recovering Packrat, At
10:05 AM
Sorry to hear about your Grandmother...my own mom (she's 71 years old) has emphysema too (and still smokes a pack of cigs a day!!!)
I don't mind housecleaning if I actually have some free time to do it (which I NEVER seem to have). Some help from The PK qould also be appreciated but is SELDOM ever offered...I have to ask him to do anything around the house...it drives me crazy sometimes!
By
Stacy The Peanut Queen, At
10:49 AM
Being poofs, we're programmed to keep things clean and tidy, in between hemming curtains and checking that the quiche doesn't burn. Or rather thats the way my Superhero would like it. I tend to be the lazy one when it comes to housework.
Living wills, while a great idea, really crystalise the thoughts, don't they? I've keep getting to that point where I think about doing one, just in case, but then shit myself in case it's tempting fate!
By
Anonymous, At
1:42 PM
Here's a thought: charge for the blow jobs and use the income to provide really good palliative care for your nan. Any money that's left over can be used to hire a housekeeper!
Both of those things certainly do suck. I hate the thought of my rellies getting old (well, Mum and Dad), but that's what they're doing and I'm kind of ignoring the fact that they're not going to be around forever. Horrible, don't like it.
I can't read the word verification.
By
Sniffy, At
4:48 PM
DON'T BUY A DYSON. They break down all the time. What you want is an industrial type vacuam cleaner, or a Phillipino house boy.
There's an 80 year old woman in my village who lives on a staple diet of whisky and cigarettes. She's still going strong.
By
garfer, At
5:11 PM
I never even knew my grandparents,either set.Still pisses me off.Oh that and my parents popping off this mortal coil.Bless em!
Enjoy while you can!
By
S.I.D., At
5:08 PM
I'm sorry to hear about your grandmother.
And, as an inappropriate addition to this comment, I have tried endlessly to pass off my half of the housework with the promise of a morning blowjob instead of the alarm clock going off. No dice. I wouldn't take his 50% for that either.
By
portuguesa nova, At
11:52 PM
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