Once again, I'm kinda, sorta cheating by writing this up on the following day (12:30 AM 2/8/11 but shhh, let's neglect that).
First, a big Happy Birthday to my blog. It's four years old today. Such a toddler... that I almost killed back in '09 after so much drama and depression... but the stubborn little bastard survived... just like me :)
Now, on to today:
Long, long day.
There were the typical house duties like dishes, the daily four mile jog, bathing the doggie (poor little guy), the catching-up on TV sitcoms (yo, that's a duty in my book), shit like that.
Then came the drama: feeding the dog.
Sister feeds him in the morning, I feed him at night and put him to bed (long story. Long, long story).
So, Sister was supposedly out feeding the dog, but comes in the house, fuming mad.
I'm wiping the sleep from my eye and stare at her wondering what the fuck I've done wrong now.
Sister: The motherfucking door is stuck!!
Ok, so the dog has his own house. It wasn't originally his house. It's a guest "house" that is in the backyard. The only thing missing is a toilet. Since toilets are vital to survive in a "house" (at least in my world it is), we use it as a game room where I shark the fuck out of guests at pool and foosball (this one more than anything. I can take on two fools at a time and I still rape at this game. Yeah, I know that sentence can be manipulated in a very negative way. Do I care? Of course not). We also used to throw house parties in there during our teen years, but seeing how all of us are of legal age to drink now, we take that shit elsewhere (like a real fucking bar).
Well, now with this crazy cold weather... and my poor baby Tyson being a little old man in his 10 years of age (my heart CRIES! He was supposed to be a puppy FOREVER!)... we gave him the room (he's a Pit, of course he's an outdoor dog). Tyson only inhabits it during the night, though. Something he seems to understand.
ANYWAY, here, in Tyson's room, we keep his food and we prepare it (half wet food, half dry, well mixed. We spoil him). Usually it's very straight forward. But not today. The door wouldn't open.
Sister and I went back there and started going all neanderthal on it by banging on it... poking it with a stick... throwing rocks... grunts of frustrating... eventual screams of rage in invented languages (usually a very fucked up version of Spanglish that no one would understand).
We broke a window to finally have Sister squeeze into the room. When I say break, I don't mean "we threw a rock through the glass and shattered it," I mean "We pounded on that motherfucking window and unhinged it off the wall." Yes, we're violent, freakishly strong (and quite idiotic) girls.
So, once Sister broke into the room, she prepared Tyson's food (I'm sure the neighbors think we're fucking psycho... but are too nice to call the cops on us. I told you living next to Mexicans was a bad idea, honey!). Once that was over, Sister and I had to fix this problem. Fix the window, or fix the door? We chose "fix the door." The doorknob was removed (civilly this time. We went all Handy Manny and used REAL tools) and dismantled. We were short on dough, so we left going to HomeDepot for tomorrow. All we did was put some WD40 on that bitch and prayed it held up for the day.
Just our fucking luck, the wind picked up late at night, and now I suspect I'm going to wake up to a wide-open door... and a shattered window on the floor (because all we did to "fix" the window was place it back on the spot and gently let go once it appeared to hold up. Smart... so smart).
Ok. So that was part one and it took up a couple of hours of my life.
To de-stress, I had dinner with Mooney and her brother. It was great. Totally cleared my mind for a bit.
I came home and more news:
Sister: I'm having Game Night on Wednesday, so WE have to clean the fridge.
WTF?! WE?!
I pouted and all that shit I do when I'm caught off-guard and really upset about a situation... but it didn't last too long, since I've been eyeing that damn fridge for a couple of months.
I've already mentioned how Mom never dreamed about being a mom... she wanted to study, but her dad was a total machista who tricked her by telling her she'd get to go to middle school, then high school, and possibly college, if her baby brother (I think he's 3 years her junior) agreed to move out with her and get an education as well, if he said no, she'd have to forget about school forever. Mom coached her brother into agreeing... but when they approached their dad, Grandpa played a dirty trick and told Mom's bro "Mijo, do you want to go to the city and study with your sister... or do you want me to give you five cows of your own so you can start your own ranch?" He went for the cattle, and Mom's hopes and dreams were shattered. FIVE cows. So fucked up.
Anyway, because Mom never had that maternal instinct or any desire to be a housewife... she... doesn't do things moms usually do... cleaning the fridge is one of them.
I honestly TRY to clean the fridge, but Mom goes completely berserk on me and threatens my well-being if I throw anything away... or rearrange anything because she has "everything sorted out" (like the fucking rotting jalapeños at the bottom of the vegetable pile... VERY sorted out). You could call her a hoarder... but usually those people keep shit for sentimental value. Mom just doesn't give a fuck... and doesn't enjoy having other people fuck with her shit.
SO, since Sister and I are home alone, it's our one and only opportunity to turn the house upside down with cleaning.
We cleaned for two hours. We scrubbed away at the insides of the fridge.
We discarded anything that was too wilted, too mushy, or too smelly. We even threw this shit away:
That's right... we had banana-flavored Barium-Sulfate in the fucking fridge.
Ok, I didn't throw that away... I need permission for that shit.
It has been an eventful day. I'm tired... I'm angry... I'm concerned... and now I have to find some sort of diversion for Wednesday night. This would be a great time for someone to abduct me.
First, a big Happy Birthday to my blog. It's four years old today. Such a toddler... that I almost killed back in '09 after so much drama and depression... but the stubborn little bastard survived... just like me :)
Now, on to today:
Long, long day.
There were the typical house duties like dishes, the daily four mile jog, bathing the doggie (poor little guy), the catching-up on TV sitcoms (yo, that's a duty in my book), shit like that.
Then came the drama: feeding the dog.
Sister feeds him in the morning, I feed him at night and put him to bed (long story. Long, long story).
So, Sister was supposedly out feeding the dog, but comes in the house, fuming mad.
I'm wiping the sleep from my eye and stare at her wondering what the fuck I've done wrong now.
Sister: The motherfucking door is stuck!!
Ok, so the dog has his own house. It wasn't originally his house. It's a guest "house" that is in the backyard. The only thing missing is a toilet. Since toilets are vital to survive in a "house" (at least in my world it is), we use it as a game room where I shark the fuck out of guests at pool and foosball (this one more than anything. I can take on two fools at a time and I still rape at this game. Yeah, I know that sentence can be manipulated in a very negative way. Do I care? Of course not). We also used to throw house parties in there during our teen years, but seeing how all of us are of legal age to drink now, we take that shit elsewhere (like a real fucking bar).
Well, now with this crazy cold weather... and my poor baby Tyson being a little old man in his 10 years of age (my heart CRIES! He was supposed to be a puppy FOREVER!)... we gave him the room (he's a Pit, of course he's an outdoor dog). Tyson only inhabits it during the night, though. Something he seems to understand.
ANYWAY, here, in Tyson's room, we keep his food and we prepare it (half wet food, half dry, well mixed. We spoil him). Usually it's very straight forward. But not today. The door wouldn't open.
Sister and I went back there and started going all neanderthal on it by banging on it... poking it with a stick... throwing rocks... grunts of frustrating... eventual screams of rage in invented languages (usually a very fucked up version of Spanglish that no one would understand).
We broke a window to finally have Sister squeeze into the room. When I say break, I don't mean "we threw a rock through the glass and shattered it," I mean "We pounded on that motherfucking window and unhinged it off the wall." Yes, we're violent, freakishly strong (and quite idiotic) girls.
So, once Sister broke into the room, she prepared Tyson's food (I'm sure the neighbors think we're fucking psycho... but are too nice to call the cops on us. I told you living next to Mexicans was a bad idea, honey!). Once that was over, Sister and I had to fix this problem. Fix the window, or fix the door? We chose "fix the door." The doorknob was removed (civilly this time. We went all Handy Manny and used REAL tools) and dismantled. We were short on dough, so we left going to HomeDepot for tomorrow. All we did was put some WD40 on that bitch and prayed it held up for the day.
Just our fucking luck, the wind picked up late at night, and now I suspect I'm going to wake up to a wide-open door... and a shattered window on the floor (because all we did to "fix" the window was place it back on the spot and gently let go once it appeared to hold up. Smart... so smart).
Ok. So that was part one and it took up a couple of hours of my life.
To de-stress, I had dinner with Mooney and her brother. It was great. Totally cleared my mind for a bit.
I came home and more news:
Sister: I'm having Game Night on Wednesday, so WE have to clean the fridge.
WTF?! WE?!
I pouted and all that shit I do when I'm caught off-guard and really upset about a situation... but it didn't last too long, since I've been eyeing that damn fridge for a couple of months.
I've already mentioned how Mom never dreamed about being a mom... she wanted to study, but her dad was a total machista who tricked her by telling her she'd get to go to middle school, then high school, and possibly college, if her baby brother (I think he's 3 years her junior) agreed to move out with her and get an education as well, if he said no, she'd have to forget about school forever. Mom coached her brother into agreeing... but when they approached their dad, Grandpa played a dirty trick and told Mom's bro "Mijo, do you want to go to the city and study with your sister... or do you want me to give you five cows of your own so you can start your own ranch?" He went for the cattle, and Mom's hopes and dreams were shattered. FIVE cows. So fucked up.
Anyway, because Mom never had that maternal instinct or any desire to be a housewife... she... doesn't do things moms usually do... cleaning the fridge is one of them.
I honestly TRY to clean the fridge, but Mom goes completely berserk on me and threatens my well-being if I throw anything away... or rearrange anything because she has "everything sorted out" (like the fucking rotting jalapeños at the bottom of the vegetable pile... VERY sorted out). You could call her a hoarder... but usually those people keep shit for sentimental value. Mom just doesn't give a fuck... and doesn't enjoy having other people fuck with her shit.
SO, since Sister and I are home alone, it's our one and only opportunity to turn the house upside down with cleaning.
We cleaned for two hours. We scrubbed away at the insides of the fridge.
We discarded anything that was too wilted, too mushy, or too smelly. We even threw this shit away:
That's right... we had banana-flavored Barium-Sulfate in the fucking fridge.
Ok, I didn't throw that away... I need permission for that shit.
It has been an eventful day. I'm tired... I'm angry... I'm concerned... and now I have to find some sort of diversion for Wednesday night. This would be a great time for someone to abduct me.
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