Last year my husband and I decided that our 1000 sq ft home just outside of Peoria, Illinois wasn’t big enough for us (It really wasn’t, you could wash your hands WHILE you were sitting on the toilet. It was fucked up, really.), so we began the search for our dream home. We looked all over Central Illinois. We looked at some really beautiful homes, but there was always something that one of us just absolutely could not live with. For Kurt, it was always “The yard’s too small. There’s no basement.”. For me, it was “THIS is the closet? Seriously? What do you mean there’s only one fucking bathroom?” Finally, after our poor realtor had a nervous breakdown, she began showing us homes 40 minutes from Kurt’s work. It really was a last resort for her. It was that or murder/suicide, I think. Well, she showed us this house. Small town, good schools, VERY low crime. The house is just over twice the size of the old house, sits on just over a half an acre and has a basement, so Kurt’s happy. The master suite has a 12 by 8 walk in closet and a bathroom with a shower and a jacuzzi bathtub, so I’m happy. What doesn’t make me happy is cleaning this motherfucker.
It’s not that my house is filthy or anything like that, it’s just “lived in”. First off, we have all hard wood floors in this bitch. Yeah, they look pretty but they are a serious pain in the ass to keep clean. We have a cat and I’m sorry, but I fucking flat-out refuse to sweep this entire house 4 times a day. It’s just not going to happen. Secondly, I have a husband who lays shit just where ever. We got junk mail on the dining room table, the foyer table, in the bathroom, in the livingroom, on the breakfast bar, just where ever the fuck he decides to set it. I’d move it, but every time I do, he’ll ask, “Did you see what happened to that Farm King ad I had on the table?” So, there’s some sort of method to his madness I guess. (I picked all that mail shit up for Thanksgiving, he’s STILL looking for half of it.) Third, We have kids. One is a 12-year-old boy. Boys are gross. That should be all I really need to say about that. (We’ll get into the sticky towels and never touching his laundry without rubber gloves and a hazmat suit another time.)
Anyways, I have two girlfriends coming to visit tomorrow and I’m really excited about it. I don’t get a lot of visitors here. We don’t know anyone in this town and my closest friends are at least 40 minutes away. These two friends, Carrie and Stacy are driving two hours to get here, so their visit is special… That and they’re funny bitches. I’m going all out. I’m making Quiche Lorraine and a crab Quiche for them, the thing is… I don’t want to clean the fucking house. I want to sit my ass on the couch, and watch tv. I already have to make dinner tonight, why do I have to clean too? “Have the kids do it.” you say? Don’t make me fucking laugh!!!! These little monsters are cute, but they’re about as useless as the tits on a boar.
“Two tears in a bucket, fuck it”, I suppose. I’ll half ass it. I’ll send Carrie and Stacy the link to this, then at least they’ll know what to expect.