For those of you who are new to my brand of Crazy Town, I’m married and have 2 boys, one of whom still lives with us. His name is Max (of the famed – http://tenaciousbitch.com/2012/12/12/interesting-what-you-find-under-the-cat-shit/ post from December 2012), and he’s now 23.
Meanwhile, Taylor, his best friend, moved in with us about a month ago. Taylor’s roommates kicked him out because of a ridiculous disagreement. Their landlord had sold the house, and they had 2 weeks to move out, and he kept bugging his roomies to pack because they weren’t doing much to prepare for this event because in Taylor’s words, “All they cared about was doing drugs, and that’s just not me.”
So, GOOD FOR HIM that he didn’t follow them down that life-crushing rabbit hole. He’s a great kid, so I don’t mind that he’s staying with us until he and Max find an apartment.
That said…however, living with 3 men can be extremely challenging. Don’t get me wrong. All of them are rather amicable fellows, and Taylor, who is 21, is a good influence on Max’s bad temper. In that, Taylor is quite adept at drawing Max toward the light of reason when he’s wandering around in a dark, fist-clenched cloud of rage.
My husband, on the other hand, is usually a laid back and calm individual, and we get along really well. However, you men people…you all have habits that drive all of us ladies to the brink of madness at times. And I know I’m not perfect, but this post ISN’T about me…:) In other words, it’s my blog, and the BITCH will bitch if I want to, LOL.
So… why do they disturb me so?
1 – THEY’RE ALL PIGS IN THEIR OWN WAY. For example:
There’s always some kind of trash in Max’s room. The last time he cleaned it, he hauled out five 30-gallon trash bags full of pop cans, fast food trash and the like.
My husband’s junk mail piles up to such a sprawling stack on the kitchen table that it even irritates the CAT, who will occasionally push it off onto the floor when it gets in her way from her favorite window seat/across the table to the floor. It’s pretty hilarious. I’ve tried to videotape her, but she’s camera shy.
Max was dating a girl who had an adorable dog, who constantly shit on the floor when he visited. Guess who cleaned that up most of the time? (:
Max leaves his junk all over the house. This book/guide whatever the hell it is for some game, sat on this marble chest by the front door for months until…you guessed it, Samantha (the cat) knocked it into the floor. (Yeah, she REALLY hates clutter, LOL). At which point, I took it upstairs and left it by Max’s door…and he FINALLY put it away.
Max broke a glass a couple days ago in the wee hours after he got off work around 2:30 a.m. I realize he was tired, but he didn’t clean it up very well, and the largest shard in this photo was sitting on a pot holder on the counter where one of cats could easily get a hold of it, and off I’d go to the vet with a bloody, yowling kitty cat, which Max would’ve felt HORRIBLE about.
Max and Taylor leave their dirty clothes on the bathroom floor…Max more than Taylor, BUT STILL.
And last but not least…the lack of attention to common courtesy in the kitchen. All of the items in the sink were from Max making his lunch and/or dinner. And don’t you love the fact that my sign threatening certain death for creating this unholy mess is in plain view and completely ignored. 
It’s hanging from the cabinet beside the sink. And no matter how much I bitch and scream and beg and politely ask them to load their own fucking dishes into the dishwasher, it never happens. My husband, however, helps A LOT with dinner dishes…but he ignores the sign as well and frequently leaves his plastic bowls and whatnot from his lunch for ME to load, which really pisses me off.
2. Aside from all that, they’re rather noisy at times…
The sound of cars crashing/sirens blaring/and God know what exploding from their videogames often disturbs my zen while trying to work in my office during the day (since losing my job at Mega Bank in July)… since both Taylor and Max work at night.
3. Then, there’s my husband’s TV viewing choices. I’ve been creating various items to sell at flea markets, which I call my art from junk…i.e. the box below for keepsakes…
While sitting at the dining room table gluing fabric to shoe boxes and such, my brain is bombarded by the awesome sights of whatever freakish shit people like to hoard! Yes, my husband watches “Hoarders”, which I don’t get. He says he likes watching the therapists/relatives/friends of these folks, etc., help these individual with their obsessive need to retain garbage/old newspapers and such.
However, there are 2 shows that I cannot tolerate besides Hoarders. South Park and Bar Rescue. I know a lot of people LOVE South Park, and it’s often funny, but Cartman’s voice grates on me to the point that my entire body cringes.
While Bar Rescue is a worthwhile show in that they help people as well, I just can’t stand listening to John Tafford scream at people. Yes, he has every reason to be angry. I once saw an episode where the owner let a horse into his bar and laughed his ass off while the huge creature dumped a load of excrement onto the floor, which is why I don’t watch this crap (no pun intended!). I watch TV to escape reality, not be bludgeoned by it.
4. They can be so rude!
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve walked into the kitchen in the morning, and Taylor has just expelled a blast of flatulence so foul that Samantha, our senior cat, give him a dirty look and sashayed out of the kitchen with a sigh. And I couldn’t eat my breakfast. I set it in the microwave for a bit until my nausea subsided.
Hello…they make medication that renders your disgusting TOOTS, MOOT and void, a cure that costs less than $5.00. Alternatively, there’s a bathroom not THREE feet away, could you not have held it until you were not in “shooting range”/a.k.a. at a safe distance?
5. And if all that weren’t enough to make me load up a couple shotguns and start laying some ground fire of the buckshot persuasion…they can be so CLUELESS. This morning I started to walk upstairs to get dressed, and there was Taylor going to the loo at the top of the stairs WITH THE DAMNED DOOR OPEN! WTF? Luckily, I saw his face and rushed back into the kitchen before I saw anything else, thank God. How embarrassing!
Excuse me, but I LIVE HERE TOO, and just because I was downstairs eating breakfast five minutes ago doesn’t mean that I’m going to remain downstairs the rest of my fucking life….so CLOSE THE DAMNED DOOR…(she says shaking her head in disbelief).
OH AND P.S./BONUS – my husband blows his nose in the shower. UGH, ugh, and double ugh. Don’t even get me started on that…:)
And that’s my rant for the day.
Over and out…
TenaciousB and her Band of Truth-Spouting Hippies
~TB/KS
