I just let out a girlish little squeal, spun in a circle, and then hopped around my office for no other reason than the fact that I’m going to Scotland in July 2006.
Plus I get to see this vomitty, phallus-obsessed broad on the way.
Archive for November 30th, 2005
When I registered to vote I registered as an Independent. I wanted nothing to do with Democrats, or Republicans. A few years after I registered, Maryland legislators (all Democrats and Republicans) decided that they didn’t want the Independent party represented in Maryland, so they registered all Independent voters as Republicans.
We’ll ignore the eyebrow-raising aspect of all that and move on with the story.
All of a sudden I started getting flooded with mail from Maryland Republicans and the Republican National Committee. Every single day they were sending me loads of stuff, and frequently they would be sending me duplicate and triplicate copies of the same junk.
I was young and ignorant, and I thought that changing my party registration would end the mail, so I switched to the Green Party (in Maryland they’re like Liberatarians who care about the environment). No dice.
I continued to recieve more mail (still from the Republican party. The Greeens never send me anything, and if they do, it’s email) than I’ve ever recieved, or would ever receive, in my life. Finally, instead of recycling all the junk that they sent me, I took their business reply envelope (that whined “Please save us some money and use your own stamp!”) stuffed all their materials back into it, and mailed it along.
A month later I was still getting their crap. You’d figure 200 envelopes full of your own materials would cause some low-level mail-monkey to scratch their head and report to a superior, but I guess nothing happened.
So I started saving up trash in my bedroom that I could send to them. Empty bags of chips, old napkins and tissues, flattened soda cans, dried-up pens, whatever I had. At one point I tore up a whole page-a-day calendar into tiny little squares before stuffing it in the envelope with their materials. Still the junk mail didn’t stop.
Finally I took a marker and wrote “STOP MAILING ME YOUR SHIT, ASSHOLES!” with a fat, red marker on all their materials before mailing it back to them.
The mail slowed to a trickle, and then finally… almost stopped.
I still get mail from those dumb bitches from time to time, and I still send them invective laced trash back on their own nickel. At this point, I’d be pretty sad if it ever stopped.
So, short story is that I bought a house in the Baltimore area a few weeks ago. The previous homeowners needed extra time, so they rented back from us for almost three weeks. Since our apartment lease doesn’t end until next week, this was perfect for us and we happily pocketed the free money.
We immediately painted most of the rooms we wanted finished right away with the help of lots of friends and family, and then spent most of the weekend setting about the task of doing the stuff we wanted to do to the house.
Step one was to remove the carpeting. The house has some very nice, old hardwood that was covered by (I shit you not) pink motherfucking carpet. Upon ripping it out, we discovered that underneath of the carpet pad were (1) 11 hojilion staples that had connected the carpet pad to the floor, and (2) 7 gabillion staples that had held the previous carpet’s carpet pad to the floor. Great.
We have since yanked out the carpeting, but have slowly discovered that the people who lived here did everything - as my father colloquially puts it - half-assed. Case in point: they had really nice backyard landscaping put in with some fancy paver stone patios. In the process, they added new paver stone steps to the back door … and covered up the dryer exhaust vent. So what did they do? They cut a big fucking hole in the plexiglass, back-room basement window. And just stuck the vent on it. Great.
If you’ve ever lived in a house where it gets cold, you know that you need to turn off the outdoor spigots when wintertime hits so that the pipes, full of water, don’t freeze and burst. Not these folks. They drywalled right over the outdoor shut-off valve. Great.
The bathroom exhaust fans? Yeah, they just pipe right up into the attic. Which has no ventilation. Great.
On top of all of this, they were a day late getting out of the house and left it dirty. I mean, sure, it was “broom-swept,” but the showers were for the most part disgustingly nicotine-stained (they smoked in the shower or something? I mean, what the fuck?!), the carpets and kitchen floor are absolutely gross, and throughout the house we inherited seven (7) kid-boogers, swiped on the wall, four (4) sets of nasty, smelly, tacky curtains, and one (1) pair of questionably clean briefs (under the washing machine). Great.
So, it looks like I have a half-decade or so to spend my time slowly unfucking the colossal fucking they did to the house. But it’s otherwise, uh, great.
At first it was just the rotten core of a green pepper laying on the welcome mat in our entryway. Then it was a couple of old lemon wedges and an eggshell.
Shit. A mouse. I hate mice.
I was wondering what I was going to do about the issue considering we have a stupid, stupid cat, Sherlock, that would get his paws, tail, and face stuck in any snap traps, and would get his paws, tails, and face stuck in any glue traps, and would take every opportunity to nibble on any poison that we put out for the mice. Why? Because he’s dumber than the dumbest member of the graduating class of Dumb Dumberdumb’s School for Dumb-Dumbs.
As I’m contemplating what to do about the mouse and the lead singer of Dumb Dumber and Dumbettes I her the now familiar sound of Sherlock jumping onto the counter and stepping into our sink.
See, the cat’s got a hard-on for water. He drinks it more than he eats his food, so he pees like 92374 times a day. He’s always playing in our sinks and trying to will water to flow from the faucets. He even jumps in the shower when we’re done so he can play in the remaining water. It’s really retarded of him, but I guess it’s better than him playing with his own poop, which he also sometimes does.
Anyway, I look over to the sink to see exactly what he’s about to break, and I can’t see him. So I stand up and walk into the kitchen to see him up to his shoulder with his paw down the drain, into the garbage disposal. After a few swipes of his paw he manages to pull out a handful of rotten lettuce that I thought I had ground up in the disposal the night before.
So, now my cat is not just dumb, but he’s also a hobo aquaphile scat-freak. Awesome.
For a dollar I’ll let him come over to your house and eat your garbage while he plays with his poop in your sink.
