Tag Archives: magic

Attack of DishZilla

Happy Monday Everyone! Mark this day, that’s the only time you’ll ever hear me say those awful words. I cannot express how happy I am that last week is over, not only was work stressful (and it will be for about the next 3 weeks, I’ll be forcing myself not to suddenly come down with mono), but I also had to prepare for my parent’s visit over the weekend.  Which only entailed cleaning the house and buying my dad a birthday present, easier said than done when you live with 2 frat guys.  No big deal, right?

I waited to clean until it was around bedtime on Thursday night.  I figured that way, everyone would get up in the morning, run off to work, and not leave much of a mess for me to clean up.  When I came downstairs Friday morning everyone was already gone, but I could smell that someone had cooked a sausage and egg biscuit  (Anth, so predictable) and sure enough there were dishes in the sink with egg remnants all over them.

Like watching me run around the night before stressed out making sure the dishes that had been sitting in the sink for a week that were actually Doogie’s responsibility:

were all in the dishwasher so the house looked like a semi-clean frat house wasn’t enough of an incentive to be like, “Oh hmm… MAYBE Gizzy did all those dishes, cleaned our disgusting pube-infested bathroom, swept and mopped all the floors, washed the sticky beer residue off all of the surfaces in the place, AND made sure the couch pillows hid the spots on the couch where the leather came off because she wants it to appear to be clean and not look like we’re poor hobos, and maybe I could take 5 minutes out of my morning facebook whore creeping session to unload the dishwasher and put these dishes in there so she doesn’t have to worry about it since it’s my mess. But no, I won’t because I’m an inconsiderate ass.” So, he put it in the sink and didn’t even rinse it.  

I swear to you, a switch is going to flip and they are going to come home one day to broken dishes all over the floor because I can’t take it anymore, and they can all eat off toilet paper  and magazine scraps for all I care.  Housewives are so underpaid.  

But anyway, you can see in the right hand corner of the photo a list hanging on the dishwasher.  That’s a list of whose turn it is to unload it, when it’s unloaded we cross our name off and write weather the dishes are dirty or clean.  My name is crossed off about 6 times, Anth’s once, and Doogie’s bringing up the tail with a whopping ZERO.  I was skeptical of the list to begin with because of course no one would enforce it, it’s just there to blatantly point out who does the dishes and who doesn’t, which we all knew anyway.

But, Anth made the list because Doogie is notorious for inviting his girlfriend over to make these huge feasts for the two of them and the dishwasher is conveniently almost always full, and she can usually fit about 1 fork in there, then runs it. And, like a whore, leaves the rest of the dishes in the sink, and her and Doogie disappear for the next 5 days so that Anth or myself (ME, it’s always me) has to clean their mess up after it has sat there so long that it starts to come to life.  But, I believe now Anth is seeing how little he does the dishes and how I pretty much do everything that keeps our apartment from being roach and rat infested.   That’s a lie, he hasn’t noticed at all.  If anyone has noticed it’s me, realizing how much I actually clean up after these stupid slobs.

So anyway, back to the story… I came downstairs found dishes in the sink, cussed him under my breath, decided I wasn’t fucking unloading the dishwasher again, and I wasn’t about to leave dishes in the sink after I busted my ass the night before to get them all done.  After frantically looking around for a place to hide the dirty dishes I decided on the oven.  I threw the dishes in there and ran off to work.  When I got home from work, a mere 3 minutes before my parent’s showed up, Anth was already home and had locked himself in his room to “work”.  On my way home I had sent him a text telling him that he better not have trashed the place after all my hard work cleaning it, of course he didn’t reply, which told me there were more dishes in the sink.

And when I got home?  

MORE FUCKING DISHES! I wanted to run upstairs, karate kick his door open and ask where he thought his dishes from this morning magically disappeared to, since the dishwasher was still full and why did that provoke him to leave more in the sink!? BASTARD!!  But I refrained, and shoved the rest of the dishes in the oven, did a walk through to make sure there wasn’t anything else I had missed, and relaxed for 5 seconds before the doorbell rang.

Although they noted that the place needed a paint job, a carpet cleaning, and the hard wood floors needed to be treated, the apartment got my parent’s seal of approval and we left.  SHEW!

About 9:30 Friday night I got the following series of texts from Anth:

“Gizzy, WTF!!!!!!”

“Dishes in the oven, really?”

“I just cooked the shit out of them.”

At 3:15 am I decided to reply…

“Yeah, and you can take those dishes and SHOVE THEM UP YOUR BUTT!!!”

Thank you Stanley from the office for that magnificent one liner, you are a good man.

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Men suck, all of them

Well, we are officially back in action.  WordPress shut us down for a hot minute saying we violated their terms of service.  Which was a big lie.  I emailed them and they said it was a mistake.  You’re damn right it was a mistake! They must have been trying to put us on freshly pressed and deactivated us instead.  That’s gotta be it.  Anyway…

Lately I’ve been in a slump, I don’t feel like going out or doing anything fun, and I really just want to be left the hell alone.  By everyone other than my family and Lucky.  I’d like to go entire days without making fake conversation with people at work about the weather and how slow the copy machine is.  I don’t want to hang out with my roommates.  I want to come home, eat my dinner, and relax in my room alone while drinking a glass of wine or 5.

It seems like if I am short with people at work I’m constantly getting the, “What’s wrong, is everything ok?” Look/questioning from everyone.  Yes! Everything is fucking fine, I just want to come in here, do my job, and leave.  I don’t care about your grandkids, or what you had for dinner, or what your plans are this weekend.  If there were people my age I’d probably feel different, especially if there were hot guys or halfway decent girls I could possibly be friends with.  But I’m tired, and I have a lot of work, and hearing about peoples lives gives me less energy to do work and stay up past 8:30.  But last Friday I had to hear a 20 minute long explanation of what Ciggy Breath was doing for his wife’s birthday month.   That I never asked about.  And I just had to leave, that was it – I was cashed after hearing that.

So to add to hating everyone last week I woke up with a 6AM text from Anth saying, “Did you stand there while they fucked with my sunglasses? And, where did you go?”

A little backstory, a few weeks ago my old college pal Gigi came for a visit and we went to a concert on the beach.  After the concert we were walking to catch a cab, something happened and I smacked Anth’s chest.  His sunglasses were on the inside of his shirt and when I smacked his chest one of the lenses popped out of his shades.  I offered to take them to get them fixed and that was the end of it.  

So, when the whole fire thing happened I sat down to take a looksie at his sunglasses.  The lenses are held in with fishing wire so I figured I could put it back in myself.  I did and then I cleaned them and all was good.  A week and a half later I got that text from Anth.

Now, I don’t condone lying to anyone, but in a case like this if I would have told Anth that I fixed his sunglasses he would’ve gone off on me and accused me of messing them up somehow.  So when I told him I would get them fixed he said I could go to any optometry place and it would be fine.  I told him I took him to sunglass hut because they’re probably all high and wouldn’t recall if I came in there like an optometry place would.  So then he goes off on a tangent about how there’s a chip missing from the bottom of the lens, you can barely notice it, and how I should’ve gone to an optometry place because they have better tools for that stuff.  Well you know what dbag? I fixed it and I didn’t use any tools, and I sure as hell didn’t chip the god damn lens using my fingers to put it back in.

I don’t know if it’s because I’m extra irritable or what the deal is, but I just did not want to deal with this.  I immediately texted Lucky and told her the sitch, she said it was stupid and I agreed.  Once all was said and done I just ignored him, if he wants me to take them to get the lens fixed (which I’m not entirely sure happened because of something I did) I will get them fixed.  But, he’s going to have to grow some damn balls and ask me to do it.  Because it’s time to be a man and stop confronting people through emails and text messages.  Yes, I confronted them about my cheese through an email, but I would’ve said it to their faces had they been at the apartment when I noticed it was all gone, I just wanted my cheese replaced before the next morning damnit. 

The day before that or after, I can’t even remember now they all run together, he was texting me complaining about me turning the air conditioning up 1 degree in the morning when I left.  God forbit it is 1 degree warmer in the apartment when NO ONE is there all day long so that we save some money/help Earth.  So I asked what his problem with it was, he said that he gets hot when he sleeps.  Ok, so turn it down when you sleep or if you get hot, who cares.  No that wasn’t good enough, he had to complain about how sometimes he forgets to turn it down and then he wakes up sweating.  But of course he’s too lazy to get out of bed and turn it down or not use a fucking down comforter in the middle of summer.  But I digress.  See what I’m dealing with here?

It gets slightly worse, after fending off my nagging non-husband all week, the weekend had finally arrived.  I was planning on eating buffalo wild wings and drinking my bud light limes and laying in bed all weekend and talking to NO ONE.   I am all independant woman the past year or so, don’t need a man, yada yada… I’m sure there are songs about it.  But, when Lucky called me last weekend to tell me about the latest with her cray cray dad I ventured out of my room and went to the roof so that I could have good cell service.  As I do, I hadn’t been up there for more than 2 seconds and here comes Anth.  So I go down to the kitchem, 2 seconds later here comes Anth.  Why?  I don’t know, I guess he needed attention or something.  Because he wasn’t following me around because he had a purpose for being in either of those rooms, he was just lingering.

So I go into my room and lay halfway in my room and halfway out my sliding doors so my phone would still get service (HATE AT&T btw) and not 15 minutes later JM busts in  my bedroom door because he’s visiting and thought I was gone, so he was going to sleep in my bed.  

Then every time I come downstairs I get shit about how I don’t hang out with them and how I’m boring and will die a lonely old cat lady because I never come out of my room.  And that is exactly why I don’t come out of my room, so I don’t have to hear shit like that.

I like my roommates, and I like to party with them occassionally.  But I don’t want to hang out with them from the time I wake up in the morning until I go to bed.  #1 they watch bad tv (sports – not the good ones either, they watch boring stuff, like wrestling, tennis, and golf) #2 I don’t want to hear about how I’m so lame #3 I don’t want to hear about your girlfriend/girl you’ve been banging because I don’t care. 

So men, I get it.  I get what you’re going through having a nagging wife and no sex.  I get it.

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