The hostage has been returned, finally...
Just got back from returning the Rug Doctor.
All the carpets are now clean.
Along with the two weeks of steady rain to insure that every granule of dirt on the entire farm can be tracked back in here.
Not to mention the palsey I expect the guys to commence with any time now, spilling liquids of various colors into those "iiiinteresting" patterns (that we just spent three days getting rid of) all over every floor surface in this house again.
(And, it prolly wouldn'ta took three days in the first place, had I used the thing on the first night AT ALL and not had to do 90% of it myself... along with everything else.) Speaking of everything else that I still hafta do, here's a short list right off the toppa my head... One of the first things I "get" to do is the most recently created "project".
When I got back from returning the Doctor, I asked the two Eric's if they could carry the large-assed, heavy tape cabinet back into the living room so I wouldn't hafta remove the 300 hundred tapes inside it to move it myself. As they go to get it, Sr. is telling Jr., "Now remember... this is an old TV cabinet or something and it has no back, so we need to keep it tilted forward so the tapes don't fall out." (They'd secured the doors on the front so the tapes wouldn't push them open and fall out.) They get in position, grab, lift... and spill about 40 tapes out the back. "Shit", they say in unison and begin to go toward the living room with it anyway. They get to the doorway and in trying to fit the cabinet, as well as their hands, through the door, spill another sixty or so tapes on the floor. They finally get it in, set down, in position and turn and look back at all the tapes. "Well hell fellas", I say, "I coulda done that", already laughing because of the endless sound of tapes cascading all over the floor. They cracked up too, then wisely decided to go to bed lest I find anything else for them to do... like "put da fuckin' tapes back in there". (More "help"? After that? Pft. I swear, sometimes I think they do that kinda shit on purpose, just to get outta being tapped for similar "chores". I don't mean this time, though. I'm talkin' about when they vacuum for ya and somehow there's twice as much shit on the floor when they're done as there was when they started. Or when you can tell whatcha had for dinner last night after they do the dishes. And, by "they", I mean men in general, not these three because they don't hafta do this kinda crap very often. But, when they do... they find the most CREATIVE ways to screw it up... man. *shaking head*) Anyhoo, after I get done picking up a half ton of tapes, there's still: Putting the furniture back in the dining room.
More laundry than we even have the clothes to create it with.
Once the kitchen is cleared out (that's where all the shit from the dining room still is), I hafta pretty much dismantle the whole kitchen and clean it as well as the rest of the place has been cleaned.
This includes, but is not limited to;
doing dishes
getting everything humanly possible off the floor and scrubbing it
cleaning out the frige
scrubbing the inside of the microwave
putting everything back where it belongs, and
wiping down every flat surface there is out there, which are considerable in number (which I might oughta do before I do the floor, huh?) Then, there's the "upstairs" shit, which involves such horrors as cleaning out closets, going through years of accumulated SHIT and getting rid of that which we don't use, wear or even remember that we own.
(Some of this shit, some of the boxes, we haven't seen since we moved in here and shoved them into closets. It is my considered opinion that if we haven't missed this shit for a year, we don't need it, so buh-bye.) There are two bedrooms and the bathroom to do this in. Then, there's the attic, which if I think about, my brain will explode, so just use your best Stephen King imagination as far as that goes. Only cool thing about that is that this is the first attic I've ever lived with.
It'll be the first time I ever clean out an attic.
I hear it's LOADS of fun.
Like childbirth. Oh and I had a cool, yet odd, experience at the Giant this time, too. I'm standing in the express lane. (I had to grab a coupla things when I returned the Rug Doctor...)
Anyway, there's this guy a head of me with just one item.
I glanced at the box in his hand, then did a double-take when my brain informed me that what my eyes had seen written on the box was "Butt Paste". Da fuck is "butt paste"? My double-take morphed into me resembling the RCA Victor dog lookin' at this box, complete with the head tilt and quizzical expression. I looked up from his box... into his eyes. He's lookin' at me, lookin' so closely at his box. ("Ummm... hi there, fella...") Soon as I realize I'm busted, my "helpful" mouth takes off like a shot... "Oh, hi... don't mind me. It's just that I've never heard of that stuff before and... *looks again*... oh!, it's for a baby..." (Him) "Well, whadya think it was for?", he asks, almost looking scared of what I might say next. "I thought at first it was like... a guy tool or something." (Him) "A what?" "You know, like putty or caulk. I mean, "butt paste"? Sounds like something a guy would use... kinda. And, I have heard caulk called that (pointing to the box) before..." Once he realizes what I'm driving at, he cracks up and I then tell him if that stuff doesn't get the job done to go to the CVS and get Balmex and we kept bullshittin' while we waited (and waited and WAITED) for the crackbaby ahead of us to get the fark outta the way... bitch took forever. Then, he turns to me again, extends his hand and says, "By the way, my name's ROB and I'm glad to meetcha." I shook his hand, told him my name and expressed like sentiments.
As I did that, my brain said, "Okay. A new Rob. Uh-huh, okay..." Now, I have NEVER had anybody, any customer, introduce themselves to me at the Giant.
Or any other grocery store I can think of offhand.
PLUS, I didn't wanna hafta be the one to return the Rug Doctor in the first place.
I tried to get George to do it so I could keep cleaning and not hafta get dressed and alla that shit. I even got "demonstritively annoyed" (i.e.: slammed a coupla doors) when it was "settled" that I was gonna hafta be the one to do it. Then, by the time I get checked out, I'm glad I went, because a guy named Rob made himself known to me. Granted, it was after I was eyeballin' his butt paste, but still... (By the way, do any of y'all know anybody else who'd hafta write a sentence like that last one?
Or is it just me?) Aaand, on that note, I'm outta here. Gawd Almighty DAMN, I still have so much left to do....
Pray for me, if yer of a mind to... Peace
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