So the weekend.
It was a lovely weekend as weekends go. I really can’t complain. I mean, sure, I wasn’t being showered in jewels or trinkets or fuzzy pink leg warmers or anything, but it was pretty nice. Saturday morning, Esteban and I lounged in bed until almost noon, which is so shameful but it felt great so I have nary an ounce of remorse for it. Then we went to our normal breakfast place, but I had lunch because for the first time in 13 Saturdays I was not in the mood for pancakes. Thus, a third pound Black Angus burger for me and a cup of marginal chili. After lunch, we decided to walk from the restaurant to the hardware store because it was such a lovely day and also mostly because the hardware store was right across the parking lot from the restaurant.
I got a dust mask because I was hoping to attack the bedroom of its filth. Being that the cats spend 20 plus hours a day in the bedroom, it becomes rather dusty and disgusting in relatively short order, and being that no one but us ever SEES the bedroom, it is the very last thing ever attempted. I do not think that the rug in the bedroom has been vacuumed in 2002.
See how much I share with you guys? I lay out my shameful secrets to you, one by one, like pretty fish harvested from the ocean.
Yes, I know. Daylight Savings day does strange things to me and I have a harder time suppressing my inner Fruit Loop.
Anyway’ then Esteban and I parted company. His plan for the day was to fix Ward and June’s pc, then come home, work on the kitchen and make a nice spaghetti sauce. My plan for the day was to clean and clean hardily. My normal instinct was to ignore the living room and the bathroom, since they had been more or less tamed last weekend, but in fact, the living room still hadn’t been dusted and there were little piles of items needing to be put away here and there, like the nests of magpies.
See. I told you. Daylight Savings time.
Thus, I tamped down my urge to attack the bedroom and went about sprucing up the bathroom once more and then the living room. There was more to do than I thought. I did manage to get the bed stripped and the bedding washed, but that was about it. There were many trips made to and fro, much leaping for cobwebs, and so many sprayed chemicals that Rachel Carson would weep large environmental tears at my shiny dust free surfaces.
So the bedroom’ not so much.
By that time, Esteban had given up on Ward and June’s pc and come home, deflated and forlorn. He started working on the kitchen and sent me off to the video store to get four specific DVDs (Training Day, My Life as a House, Original Sin and Boob Raider’ I mean Tomb Raider). I made good on the DVDs and then stopped at the grocery store for popcorn and more Sugar Free Kool-Aid. I phoned him from the store to see if he needed anything. Apparently, he HAD needed mushrooms, but he had only seconds before my phone call, opened our 4-pound restaurant sized can of mushrooms. Then he proceeded to call me back twice with last minute items.
I really shouldn’t shop while hungry, by the way. I ended up getting two four-packs of root beer, two boxes of ice cream sandwiches, Pirate’s Booty, blue corn chips, a peanut butter Twix, strawberries, presliced fresh pineapple, fruit dip, dried apricots, whole cashews, and the world’s laziest product, pre-shaped frozen balls of raw cookie dough. You know, so I wouldn’t have to actually cut the dough off the rolls. Because that’s so hard. Grand total for stopping for popcorn and Kool-Aid: $58.95. With two $1 coupons for the Kool-Aid that were on the store shelf.
We then ate some extremely excellent albeit extremely mushroomed spaghetti while watching Training Day. Very strange movie. And it had the scary sexy guy from Urban Cowboy in it, although he’s just kind of wrinkly and soft now and not even a little bit scary.
Then we watched Trading Spaces. And I clapped my hands with glee, because the episode not only had Vern Yip on it, but also Doug, the hottie boom botty little diva of TS. What is more, the homeowner who was working with Doug kept having these passive aggressive fits and you could tell that he just wanted to slap her silly. And I couldn’t really blame him. I wanted to slap her silly too. Like she had any taste. Um’ hello? We SAW the way your family room had been decorated before, with the plaid brown furniture and the fugly Church Bazaar afghans over everything. Just suck it up, trash, and let the man in black work his magic.
Then Esteban declared that I wanted to marry Doug. I replied, ‘That’s not true. I want to go shopping with Doug. I want to marry Vern because he’d feng shui this place and I’m sure that he wouldn’t do creative dismounts with his underwear.’ Then he called me a fag hag. But I don’t think Vern is gay. I think he’s just tidy and friendly. Not to mention V-shaped. Besides, if I were to marry any of the TS folks, I’d take Ty. But not because I want to sharpen his skill saw naked or anything, just because he’s the most realistic one of the bunch. They’re all really just one big dysfunctional family.
And have I mentioned how much I want to punch Paige in the face? I haven’t? Oh. Well. I do. I’d have her on the ground, head trapped between my knees, giving her a mouth full of bloody Chiclets in a heartbeat. And I’d bet Dougie Poo would be cheering me on, too. Maybe Ty as well. And probably Amy Wynn, if she wasn’t kicking her in the skinny ass with her big old Amy Wynn work boot.
You know, I don’t normally have these violent tendencies. But something about perky people’ I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m perky. But I’m not all ‘Look at how perky I am? How much is this costing you? Do you know what time it is? It’s hour one of the first day, are you going to be able to get this finished???? Hee hee’ I’m so cute!’ Blech.
After my Paige hatred wore off, we went to bed and put the linens back on. I have plenty of sheets I could have used, but I wanted to have the exact same sheets on the bed. Because those are the 350-thread count ones. And my other ones are only 250-thread count. You’re just kidding yourself if you don’t think that those hundred thread counts make the difference because let me tell you, after sleeping on the divinely soft powder blue cloud sheets, my lower grade ones will feel like burlap. Think princess and pea, dahling.
But here’s the thing, my husband has some kind of weird body chemistry or something. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s covered in hair, like a Chia Pet. Perhaps it acts like Velcro or something, but on his side of the sheets, there’s roughness now. It’s wacked. My side, smooth soft and cool. His side, hard, gnarled and rough. He tosses and turns like a mofo, so maybe he’s wearing them out. Well, stupid me, when I put them on, I turned them around, so now the sides were reversed. Thus my side of the bed is now rough and caustic. And I’m pouting.
Note to self: check if Vern Yip has a Velcro body.
