A dirty hole is nothing to be ashamed of.

I know I promised reruns but I had a quickie (not to brag or nuthin’) so I had to come over and share. I’m not really here. At this moment I'm probably sitting in a corner wondering where two curtain panels disappeared to. I blame the laundromat people because that is when I last saw them. Bastards.

I bought a shelving unit over the weekend (MADE IN THE USA baby!) to organize all the miscellaneous items in my life that I need to keep because I know I will use them at some point during my lifetime and because now that we shop at Costco, we have massive amounts of detergent, paper towels and enough toilet paper to survive The 40 Year Poop War I’m predicting.

Anyway, I got mad at Andy because he yelled at me for asking him to help me get it into the house. He said “Why do you need MY help if YOU yourself got it into the shopping cart and then into the car?? If you could do that, why wouldn’t you go that extra mile and get it in the house by yourself??” okay, so he didn’t say that exactly but I can read between the lines!

I had interrupted an important rescue-mission/battle/nut-gathering thing, you see and we all know this is likened to an act of treason! I calmly asked him why he couldn’t just tell me he’d get it after he conquered a new world instead of being an unreasonable butthead. He argues that I always want everything NOW NOW NOW! He said it in a manner that implied that was a bad thing.

Of course now I was angry so I decided to build the Shelving Unit of Discord myself. Who needs a man? Not this semi intelligent semi fashionable semi hungry chick! I have my own tools! (I bought them on sale because they came in a cute little black and red case.) (I got a set for my mom too.)

I was disappointed to learn I only needed a hammer.

I struggled with the damn Shelving Unit of Discord for 3 hours. At one point Andy came out of the dungeon, he must have left someone he trusted in charge of the safety of the galaxy, and he brought me a long screw driver so that I may “clean up the holes because it’ll be easier”. I don’t know if you know this about me but when I’m pissed I’m poisonous. I told him to go away before I cleaned up his hole and he said something about my mouth hole and went back to the important task of saving the Earth or you know, its ugly brother, Fantasy-troll-land.

Back to me.

I swore, I sweated, I sliced my delicate hands with the sharp edges so I swore some more but louder and with more feeling so that the neighbors would know without a doubt how much my soul was suffering. In the end I was proud at what I had accomplished. I had a nice, sturdy, shelving unit that could hold the weight of 4 miniature ponies juggling bowling balls.

I liked it so much I wanted another one. Trying to exit the doghouse, Andy offered to pick one up on his way home from work. He had it put together in 10 minutes TEN MINUTES!! He didn’t gloat though because he was happy to be back on my good side and he also knew I wouldn’t share the dinner my poor, sliced up hands made (pasta shells in Alfredo sauce with broccoli and lemon pepper chicken) if he so much as uttered a single little ‘I told you so’.

(can also be converted into 2 separate 2 shelf units which is what I did)

Now you’re probably thinking that Andy is a master craftsman and I should have left the building of things to a MAN but I’d have to hit you over the head with a led pipe and disagree. You see, when I moved MY shelving unit, I did so easily without having pieces fall apart in my sliced up little hands. Andy’s, however, came apart easily because you could only lift it, awkwardly may I add, from the bars holding the shelves and not the shelves themselves.

The difference? My shelves were forced into their slot holes by a woman determined to fit a half inch bracket into a ¼ inch hole but Andy “cleaned up the holes” so the shelves were all loose and wiggly (loose and wiggly- your nickname in High School?).

Woman 1,452,151 Man -7,487,778

(don’t do the math, Brian)(I typed in ‘don’t do the mEth, Brian’ but the top half of my eagle eye caught the error but I still think it’s good advice. Do not do the math OR the meth, Brian!)

The moral of the story?

Sometimes it’s okay to have a dirty hole.

P.S.

Brother Dan finally posted and he says he did so to take up my slack which I thought was nice of him and then I remembered he owed because he hates my dogs. He knows what I mean.

Men, Laundromat, Arm Pits.

I have a question, how does your unconscious body know when you’re mad at your significant other?

THE HUSBAND and I had a... disagreeeeeeement last night (I know, I know yesterday I declared my deluded love for him and not 24 hours later we were in a cage match but what can I say? We’re not perfect. Or, you know, he isn’t.) so he stayed in his corner and I stayed in mine the whole night. How do we know not to let our arms wander over and seek out the sleep-hug?

I have to admit though that I slept like a baby since I wasn't being tortured by his iron tentacles without freedom to stretch however/wherever I wanted. So. There.

In other life threatening news.

What is wrong with this picture?

You see that white basket there? That. Is not. My basket!
The very bad stranger man decided he would just use my table, the one I had just cleaned for my folding purposes, and put his crappy basket on it while he put his mismatched orange and purple clothes in the washer.

Me to myself: ‘Okay. Breathe. I can deal. As long as he moves it when he’s done… nope he’s leaving it there. He just sat down! Okay. Relax. Don’t cause any(more) scenes. I’m sure that when all my clothes comes out of the drier and he sees I need the whole table to fold my laundry he’ll move his basket. WTF! He’s not moving his basket and is now staring vacantly at the wall!’

I know you probably think I was overreacting but there is a strict code of conduct when at the Laundromat and this guy was breaking the rules all over the place!

Me to him “I need you to move your basket.”

Me to myself again: ‘okay, he moved his basket but now he’s just staring at me. Hey what if he’s a mobster doing his laundry after a hit? Man, I wish I would have been nicer to him and maybe smiled when I told him to move his basket. Unless he might think I was hitting on him? Oh man, what if he follows us?’

What was Andy doing during the turmoil going on in those few minutes of my life? Why, playing with his phone of course! But that’s not why we got into a fight.

In other critical news:
I am now going to share a little bit more than I usually do but it’s for the sake of the rest of the femmes out there who need to be aware of a very important crap product discovery.

I recently bought a new type of deodorant. It’s called Secret Clinical Strength (1.6 oz) and it cost $8. My usual one (I forgot what my usual one is called I think it starts with an “M”)(but it's not Maury) only costs about $4 for over 2 oz and sometimes they’re on sale buy one get one free. I wanted to try the Secret one out to see if in fact it did the job the little box claimed.
Here is my review:

Don’t buy it.

The deodorant comes out in sloppy little clumps and it doesn’t roll on as smoothly as every other deodorant I have ever used in my entire life. As a matter of fact, a clump fell on my foot which pissed me off to no end because, in my mind, I just threw out a dollar. It also burned me a little but that’s probably because I have delicate skin.

The protection was okay but I think it’s the same as my regular deodorant. In conclusion, clinical-almost-prescription my ass.

And so ends my post for today.