Hey, AnoMALIE! It's the hottest day of the year, what are you going to do?
I'm gonna paint a house!
Fuck. I'm exhausted.
So many things I want to rant about, laugh about, and ask about... but my fingers are killing me!
Let's see how far I can take this entry:
So we're landlords right? I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned this, but yeah, we have a number of homes, and this latest acquisition is a motherfucking handful.
My dad, ever the stereotypical Mexican Machista asshole, doesn't want to do shit. He just coughs up money to his STUPID "brothers" from church to do shit for him... everything from mopping, sweeping, or painting the walls.
Mom and I are fed up with this bullshit. It's one thing to pay people twenty bucks to sweep a fucking kitchen, and another to pay someone 100 bucks for that shit. Come on now, that's fucking shameless... to charge that much. It's not like I'm asking Paris Hilton to sweep... get the fuck out of here!
Mom has been doing EVERYTHING at this house.
Dad doesn't even call her to see how she's doing. He just comes home at 3 in the afternoon, sits in his sofa, and surfs the internet. He doesn't even bother to cook.
And people question why I REFUSE to get married? I'm sorry... umm... how in the fuck is this behavior supposed to entice me to commit such a fucking stupid action? FUCK. THAT.
I felt horrible for Mom this morning, so I decided to join her at noon.
We painted from 12PM-8PM.
At first Mom was reluctant to allow me near the paint. She's under the impression that I'm still that four-year-old who doodled her name all over the walls in her favorite magenta crayon.
She made me responsible of removing the paint from the mirrors and windows using only a razor blade.
After finishing the bathroom and all four bedrooms, Mom walked into the master bedroom, where I was checking my phone.
Mom: Look at you! You're super good with the razor!
Me: I was an angsty teenager, Mom. I'm a fucking PRO with razor blades.
At least she didn't suspect my mastery was due to cocaine abuse... right?
After Mom saw I had no more surfaces to fuck up with a razor blade, she trusted me with the paint roller.
First thing I do? Spill paint directly into my eye.
That lady knows me better than I know myself.
I was entrusted to paint the ceiling, and... because I'm an idiot, I looked up just in time to have a huge drip of paint fall directly into my right eye.
I proceeded to nearly kill myself as I jumped off the (ROLLING!) bar stool I was standing on.
Rough start, but I eventually turned into the Bob Ross I always knew I was meant to be.
I was working like a legit day-worker...
as if Mom drove to Home Depot and whistled at me.
Working hard... just Mom and I... from 12PM to 8PM. Dad NOWHERE in sight.
I'd find myself cracking up at times... whenever I thought about school... my biology degree.
Remember, kids, stay in school! Oh... wait... that's right... I'm painting a motherfucking house like some illegal immigrant... and I have a biology degree at home... hmm...
I didn't eat a bite since breakfast, which was at 10AM.
I came home at 8PM and prepared myself a meal the moment I walked into the house.
As I was grabbing spices from the cupboard, Dad waddled into the kitchen.
He had been home since 3PM-- FIVE hours, plenty of time to either cook himself some fucking food, or even drive two minutes away to the nearest fucking In-N-Out.
As I turned around with the spices in hand, I caught Dad shoving half of my meal (shredded chicken breast) in his mouth.
I almost cried.
I wanted to cuss at him SO BAD... but all I managed to do was grumble "WHAT THE FUCK?!"
I huffed and puffed... but I did not cry.
Each day I stand firmer next to my claim that I am NEVER getting married. Fuck that shit. Fuck purposely attaching myself to a man who won't do shit for me and will treat me worse than a fucking dog the moment I sign that fucking paper.
Not I. I will not do that.
Great, now I'm grouchy...
Let me just get this out of my system:
MEN CAN'T DO SHIT!
Ok, all better!
I'm gonna paint a house!
Fuck. I'm exhausted.
So many things I want to rant about, laugh about, and ask about... but my fingers are killing me!
Let's see how far I can take this entry:
So we're landlords right? I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned this, but yeah, we have a number of homes, and this latest acquisition is a motherfucking handful.
My dad, ever the stereotypical Mexican Machista asshole, doesn't want to do shit. He just coughs up money to his STUPID "brothers" from church to do shit for him... everything from mopping, sweeping, or painting the walls.
Mom and I are fed up with this bullshit. It's one thing to pay people twenty bucks to sweep a fucking kitchen, and another to pay someone 100 bucks for that shit. Come on now, that's fucking shameless... to charge that much. It's not like I'm asking Paris Hilton to sweep... get the fuck out of here!
Mom has been doing EVERYTHING at this house.
Dad doesn't even call her to see how she's doing. He just comes home at 3 in the afternoon, sits in his sofa, and surfs the internet. He doesn't even bother to cook.
And people question why I REFUSE to get married? I'm sorry... umm... how in the fuck is this behavior supposed to entice me to commit such a fucking stupid action? FUCK. THAT.
I felt horrible for Mom this morning, so I decided to join her at noon.
We painted from 12PM-8PM.
At first Mom was reluctant to allow me near the paint. She's under the impression that I'm still that four-year-old who doodled her name all over the walls in her favorite magenta crayon.
She made me responsible of removing the paint from the mirrors and windows using only a razor blade.
After finishing the bathroom and all four bedrooms, Mom walked into the master bedroom, where I was checking my phone.
Mom: Look at you! You're super good with the razor!
Me: I was an angsty teenager, Mom. I'm a fucking PRO with razor blades.
At least she didn't suspect my mastery was due to cocaine abuse... right?
After Mom saw I had no more surfaces to fuck up with a razor blade, she trusted me with the paint roller.
First thing I do? Spill paint directly into my eye.
That lady knows me better than I know myself.
I was entrusted to paint the ceiling, and... because I'm an idiot, I looked up just in time to have a huge drip of paint fall directly into my right eye.
I proceeded to nearly kill myself as I jumped off the (ROLLING!) bar stool I was standing on.
Rough start, but I eventually turned into the Bob Ross I always knew I was meant to be.
I was working like a legit day-worker...
 |
| I worked so fucking hard on that manicure last night... I was seriously pissed off. |
Working hard... just Mom and I... from 12PM to 8PM. Dad NOWHERE in sight.
I'd find myself cracking up at times... whenever I thought about school... my biology degree.
Remember, kids, stay in school! Oh... wait... that's right... I'm painting a motherfucking house like some illegal immigrant... and I have a biology degree at home... hmm...
I didn't eat a bite since breakfast, which was at 10AM.
I came home at 8PM and prepared myself a meal the moment I walked into the house.
As I was grabbing spices from the cupboard, Dad waddled into the kitchen.
He had been home since 3PM-- FIVE hours, plenty of time to either cook himself some fucking food, or even drive two minutes away to the nearest fucking In-N-Out.
As I turned around with the spices in hand, I caught Dad shoving half of my meal (shredded chicken breast) in his mouth.
I almost cried.
I wanted to cuss at him SO BAD... but all I managed to do was grumble "WHAT THE FUCK?!"
I huffed and puffed... but I did not cry.
Each day I stand firmer next to my claim that I am NEVER getting married. Fuck that shit. Fuck purposely attaching myself to a man who won't do shit for me and will treat me worse than a fucking dog the moment I sign that fucking paper.
Not I. I will not do that.
Great, now I'm grouchy...
Let me just get this out of my system:
MEN CAN'T DO SHIT!
Ok, all better!
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