At the end of every year, we all start to think of what we want to go different in the new year. I have been through the list of things I wanted to change in my head. I went through my typical "I am going to lose twenty pounds" and then "I am going to quit smoking". Then, I think of how many times I have said that I was going to lose weight and how many times I have said that the cigarette in my hand was going to be my last. [insert excuses i will make up for the rest of the year]
I have decided that I want to actually make goals that I wanted to make, and could possibly make. I like smoking and I am not that upset about the few (maybe more than a few) pounds I have put on this year. I figured out the few things I wanted that I would actually go out for and I would not say on January 3rd "Ew, I hate these headaches I get without my morning smoke" or the "OMG! JON JUST TAKE ME TO JACK IN THE BOX WHAT CAN TWO TACOS HURT?!" Here is my list of things I hope to accomplish in the next year (some sooner than later):
Get a new job
Let go of what has happened with my parents
Get my license
Maybe even learn how to drive a stick
Get a dog
Move into a new place
& stop stressing out as much (because i am sick of damn panic attacks)
There is my list of things I want. There are a few other things I want to happen this year but some of them are far-fetched so I will just keep them in my "dreamer" list. For now I just hope that my bebe can make those idiots at his job actually work tonight so he can come home before one am. Here is to 2008. I hope that shit can get better this year.
Monday, December 31
Sunday, December 30
Bruises
i should give you away.
and these hours pass.
but the clock doesn't talk.
laughter.
mocking.
there is the tears again.
disappointment tends to burn
typical bruises.
cheap.
liar.
fake.
liar.
fake.
and these hours pass.
but the clock doesn't talk.
laughter.
mocking.
there is the tears again.
disappointment tends to burn
typical bruises.
Friday, December 28
Short
sifting through the truth and fiction
that stale taste of redundancy
sticks to the roof of my mouth.
the blood drips from my finger.
i got cut on one of your lies again.
collateral damage.
that stale taste of redundancy
sticks to the roof of my mouth.
the blood drips from my finger.
i got cut on one of your lies again.
collateral damage.
Thursday, December 27
Ghost
Yum sushi, what a delicious lunch. Sushi is one of the very few foods me and Jon can agree on. He hates Mexican; I hate Italian. Imagine our dinners.
After a half hour debate we have agreed on sushi. We sit down and order. My stomach is growling and I am glad they have Las Vegas rolls. Food comes quickly and we scarf it down. It is kind of disgusting how we eat sometimes. Right in the middle of a luscious piece of prawn tempura I see a disturbing figure by the window. A very loud, obnoxious, evil bitch of a woman I used to work with. I immediately lost my appetite. I started to pray, to a god I do not really believe in, for her to want to leave and go get drunk (because that is normally what she is doing anyway). She turns catches my eye and smirks. I stifle down some vomit and ask the waitress for two to-go boxes.
Jon starts to inhale his food so we can leave quickly. She walks in and starts barking around orders. "It's here! I will sit HERE! WHERE IS ASHLEY? Shh! Charlie listen to this story NOW!" She is always way too loud and is always talking. She does not know how to close her mouth (for the gutter minds here the pun i s intended). The waitress is being to move at turtle speed, inching away from the table with the bitch at it. She lingers longer in the back. I just want to leave. I can feel the bitch stare at me. She pokes her pathetic boyfriend and he glances over. I try to keep my face from growing red.
I knew we should not have gone to lunch anywhere near work. I ask Jon for the keys and walk calmly (and quickly) to the car. The friend (my old friend) of the bitch has just parked her car next to mine. She looks up and smiles, "Hi." I think it is funny how people can ignore you for such a long time but then one day it is okay to talk to you. She must be happy. I got everything she wanted at work. I was paid more. I had more hours. I had a higher title. I worked hard for everything. She kissed ass. I guess it has paid off in the end because I am the jobless one and now she is making more than I ever made.
I just ignore her. I sit in the car and smoke. I am clenching the cigarette waiting for her to realize that I do not want to talk. After being ignore for so long I defiantly am fine not talking now.
These people I used to work with. these people who used to treat me like their slaves, these people who pretend to be your friend but really they talk shit about everyone and everything behind their backs are ghost to me now.
After a half hour debate we have agreed on sushi. We sit down and order. My stomach is growling and I am glad they have Las Vegas rolls. Food comes quickly and we scarf it down. It is kind of disgusting how we eat sometimes. Right in the middle of a luscious piece of prawn tempura I see a disturbing figure by the window. A very loud, obnoxious, evil bitch of a woman I used to work with. I immediately lost my appetite. I started to pray, to a god I do not really believe in, for her to want to leave and go get drunk (because that is normally what she is doing anyway). She turns catches my eye and smirks. I stifle down some vomit and ask the waitress for two to-go boxes.
Jon starts to inhale his food so we can leave quickly. She walks in and starts barking around orders. "It's here! I will sit HERE! WHERE IS ASHLEY? Shh! Charlie listen to this story NOW!" She is always way too loud and is always talking. She does not know how to close her mouth (for the gutter minds here the pun i s intended). The waitress is being to move at turtle speed, inching away from the table with the bitch at it. She lingers longer in the back. I just want to leave. I can feel the bitch stare at me. She pokes her pathetic boyfriend and he glances over. I try to keep my face from growing red.
I knew we should not have gone to lunch anywhere near work. I ask Jon for the keys and walk calmly (and quickly) to the car. The friend (my old friend) of the bitch has just parked her car next to mine. She looks up and smiles, "Hi." I think it is funny how people can ignore you for such a long time but then one day it is okay to talk to you. She must be happy. I got everything she wanted at work. I was paid more. I had more hours. I had a higher title. I worked hard for everything. She kissed ass. I guess it has paid off in the end because I am the jobless one and now she is making more than I ever made.
I just ignore her. I sit in the car and smoke. I am clenching the cigarette waiting for her to realize that I do not want to talk. After being ignore for so long I defiantly am fine not talking now.
These people I used to work with. these people who used to treat me like their slaves, these people who pretend to be your friend but really they talk shit about everyone and everything behind their backs are ghost to me now.
Wednesday, December 26
Lift Your Razors High/Here is the Cure
Since my boyfriend is banned from my parent's house for reasons that are quite silly now, Jonathan and I spent our Christmas seeing movies. My choice was Sweeney Todd, because I fancy musicals. His choice was I Am Legend, because he is a man.
Sweeney Todd: Point of the movie (at least in my eyes): all men kill the thing they love. It makes me think of the poem "The Reading Gaol" by Oscar Wilde. I am a fan of the play. I have the original soundtrack. Sweeney Todd is one of my favorites though I just gave a poor synopsis. My only problem was (and it surprised me that I only had one problem with the movie because I do not care for Tim Burton nor do I care for Helena Boham Carter) the fact that Johnny Depp and Helena Boham Carter (Sweeney Todd and Mrs. Lovett) had no vocal range. They both could only sing at one pitch. It made me laugh because the first Depp-less song in the movie done by Johanna was sang beautiful. Johanna, the Sailor boy, and Toby had great voices. They sang the way a song, especially a song in a musical that needs such amazing ranges, need to be sung. It made Depp and Boham Carter sound even more lackluster. Otherwise, I really enjoyed the movie. I would go see it again, but only as a matinée.
I Am Legend: I went into the movie expecting bs. I like Will Smith, to a degree. He is only exciting and great if you do not seem the majority of his movies. I say this because all of his movies tend to be "end of the world" apocalyptic themed. I had also heard fifty-fifty reviews on the movie. I really like the movie though. The movie is, of course, an "end of the world" type of movie. Someone tries to cure cancer and because of it there is a mass breakout of some sort of disease that makes people turn into vampire-like creatures. Almost the whole world catches the disease because it is both airborne and caused by being bitten. Turns out Will Smith is an expert on it. He says in Manhattan, where the infection started, and tries to figure out a cure. World basically ends. He is all by himself, except the dog his daughter tells him to have (for safety). I cried. I was frightened. I wanted to know what was going to happen next. I was also surprised at how well-built Will Smith was; they show him doing chin-ups in this one scene. Anyway, point is: if you do not mind paying for a ticket this movie should be in your top three "i-want-to-see" list. I was definitely not pissed for using the last of my Regal gift cards on this one.
Now sorry if these reviews were a tad rudimentary but it is my first time putting down a "review" of any sorts.
Sweeney Todd: Point of the movie (at least in my eyes): all men kill the thing they love. It makes me think of the poem "The Reading Gaol" by Oscar Wilde. I am a fan of the play. I have the original soundtrack. Sweeney Todd is one of my favorites though I just gave a poor synopsis. My only problem was (and it surprised me that I only had one problem with the movie because I do not care for Tim Burton nor do I care for Helena Boham Carter) the fact that Johnny Depp and Helena Boham Carter (Sweeney Todd and Mrs. Lovett) had no vocal range. They both could only sing at one pitch. It made me laugh because the first Depp-less song in the movie done by Johanna was sang beautiful. Johanna, the Sailor boy, and Toby had great voices. They sang the way a song, especially a song in a musical that needs such amazing ranges, need to be sung. It made Depp and Boham Carter sound even more lackluster. Otherwise, I really enjoyed the movie. I would go see it again, but only as a matinée.
I Am Legend: I went into the movie expecting bs. I like Will Smith, to a degree. He is only exciting and great if you do not seem the majority of his movies. I say this because all of his movies tend to be "end of the world" apocalyptic themed. I had also heard fifty-fifty reviews on the movie. I really like the movie though. The movie is, of course, an "end of the world" type of movie. Someone tries to cure cancer and because of it there is a mass breakout of some sort of disease that makes people turn into vampire-like creatures. Almost the whole world catches the disease because it is both airborne and caused by being bitten. Turns out Will Smith is an expert on it. He says in Manhattan, where the infection started, and tries to figure out a cure. World basically ends. He is all by himself, except the dog his daughter tells him to have (for safety). I cried. I was frightened. I wanted to know what was going to happen next. I was also surprised at how well-built Will Smith was; they show him doing chin-ups in this one scene. Anyway, point is: if you do not mind paying for a ticket this movie should be in your top three "i-want-to-see" list. I was definitely not pissed for using the last of my Regal gift cards on this one.
Now sorry if these reviews were a tad rudimentary but it is my first time putting down a "review" of any sorts.
Saturday, December 22
Street Walker
My ass is quite simply my ass. I have a few rules about my rear: "Nothing in. No one but Jon can touch it. Lastly, no one speaks about ass good or bad, and that's final!" Unfortunately, male drivers do not seem to understand this rule.
I decided to suck up my dislike of public transportation/walking over thirty minutes to get anywhere and went to the mall with my sister. I had receive my gifts from my family a little early and, of course, mostly got cash. Time to spend! The mall part was fun. I enjoyed spending time with my littlest sister. I feel like we have more in common than me and the other one.
The part of today I had a problem with was the hour walk home. The problem was not the fact that I was going on in hour walk in the freezing cold in my flats. (Why did I choose the most unsensible walking shoe ever created? Why?!) My problem were the male drivers that interrupted my walk home.
First creep: I have already been walking for about twenty minutes and realized that I was ten times more out of shape than I ever thought. Out of the corner of my eye I see a car slowly down near me. I, because I fear being alone in the dark, carry a little flip-y open-y knife that I found in the parking lot of my old work. I put my left hand in my pocket and open the knife a little, ready just in case. The car is now right next to me. I try to quicken my pace a little and then the driver honks at me. I look over and the guy says, "Want a ride?" I sneer and say, "If I really needed a ride would I be walking dip-shit?" He looks me up and down and says, "There is no type of ride I can offer you?" I reply coldly, as I display the tip of the knife, "No, I do not fuck creepy losers nor do I let them give me a ride home. Now drive off." The guy must have had a stroke of genius because he sped off.
Second creep: Now I have my left hand glued to my knife because I am a little freaked out and my other hand is stuck on my cell phone. I hear a honk. I turn my head a tad and there is a guy half-hanging out of the window saying, "Sexy lady want to get high with us?" I roll my eyes and think to myself Great first sex is offered and now drugs. What next? Some guy will ask if I want to join him and ask if I want to do a drive-by? I shake my head and start walking even faster. "Come on baby. I won't bite, unless you want me too." I laughed to myself thinking of how dumb that guy sounded and how much I wanted him to fall out of the window. "I suggest you leave me alone fuckface." The guy laughed and told his friend to drive off and leave "the dumb bitch".
Ugh, seriously some guys out there are really sad and need to grow up. Just because I am walking (granted in the dark) by myself does not mean I want to get laid or get stoned. I wanted to get home!
I decided to suck up my dislike of public transportation/walking over thirty minutes to get anywhere and went to the mall with my sister. I had receive my gifts from my family a little early and, of course, mostly got cash. Time to spend! The mall part was fun. I enjoyed spending time with my littlest sister. I feel like we have more in common than me and the other one.
The part of today I had a problem with was the hour walk home. The problem was not the fact that I was going on in hour walk in the freezing cold in my flats. (Why did I choose the most unsensible walking shoe ever created? Why?!) My problem were the male drivers that interrupted my walk home.
First creep: I have already been walking for about twenty minutes and realized that I was ten times more out of shape than I ever thought. Out of the corner of my eye I see a car slowly down near me. I, because I fear being alone in the dark, carry a little flip-y open-y knife that I found in the parking lot of my old work. I put my left hand in my pocket and open the knife a little, ready just in case. The car is now right next to me. I try to quicken my pace a little and then the driver honks at me. I look over and the guy says, "Want a ride?" I sneer and say, "If I really needed a ride would I be walking dip-shit?" He looks me up and down and says, "There is no type of ride I can offer you?" I reply coldly, as I display the tip of the knife, "No, I do not fuck creepy losers nor do I let them give me a ride home. Now drive off." The guy must have had a stroke of genius because he sped off.
Second creep: Now I have my left hand glued to my knife because I am a little freaked out and my other hand is stuck on my cell phone. I hear a honk. I turn my head a tad and there is a guy half-hanging out of the window saying, "Sexy lady want to get high with us?" I roll my eyes and think to myself Great first sex is offered and now drugs. What next? Some guy will ask if I want to join him and ask if I want to do a drive-by? I shake my head and start walking even faster. "Come on baby. I won't bite, unless you want me too." I laughed to myself thinking of how dumb that guy sounded and how much I wanted him to fall out of the window. "I suggest you leave me alone fuckface." The guy laughed and told his friend to drive off and leave "the dumb bitch".
Ugh, seriously some guys out there are really sad and need to grow up. Just because I am walking (granted in the dark) by myself does not mean I want to get laid or get stoned. I wanted to get home!
Thursday, December 20
Return of the Pussy
Just when I thought my lesbian stalker had realized I was satisfied with my sexual preference my phone rings. Even after I had deleted her number off my phone a few days ago I still knew it was her calling. I quickly pressed ignore, naively thinking that would do the trick. I mean come on! Have you ever had the ignore button pushed on you? I have, and damn could I tell I was being ignored. You know what I did? Took it as a lost and moved on. I just figure said person ignoring me either would call me back or would fuck off.
I received a text message next, "Baby, are you there?" What in the name of all that is good? Baby? No, I am not your baby. When did I accept this nickname? I decided to ignore the text. I was hoping she'd figure her "baby" was not available to talk.
Nope. I was wrong. Soon enough I received a picture message. "Look I got my nails done. They are almost as cute as you!" Oh joy. This was a never-ending battle. This girl will not give up. The Army or something needs to recruit her. She does not surrender.
My phone just went off. She waited about half an hour to send another text. "I have been thinking a lot about you." I want to say, "Is it how I am straight? I keep telling you I do not want you in that way, yet you have seemed to just ignore me and go along in this fantasy world where I am crazy about you."
Instead, I ignore it. I am going to Verizon tomorrow to change my phone number. I am already in the process of deleting my myspace but I think I accidently clicked on some myspace newsletter and named it spam so I do not receive emails from myspace anymore. Ha, I guess I will just delete all my stuff and never use the account again.
Then, I will not have to deal with this girl. I tried being as nice as possible, but it is just getting a little out of hand.
There goes my phone again.......
I received a text message next, "Baby, are you there?" What in the name of all that is good? Baby? No, I am not your baby. When did I accept this nickname? I decided to ignore the text. I was hoping she'd figure her "baby" was not available to talk.
Nope. I was wrong. Soon enough I received a picture message. "Look I got my nails done. They are almost as cute as you!" Oh joy. This was a never-ending battle. This girl will not give up. The Army or something needs to recruit her. She does not surrender.
My phone just went off. She waited about half an hour to send another text. "I have been thinking a lot about you." I want to say, "Is it how I am straight? I keep telling you I do not want you in that way, yet you have seemed to just ignore me and go along in this fantasy world where I am crazy about you."
Instead, I ignore it. I am going to Verizon tomorrow to change my phone number. I am already in the process of deleting my myspace but I think I accidently clicked on some myspace newsletter and named it spam so I do not receive emails from myspace anymore. Ha, I guess I will just delete all my stuff and never use the account again.
Then, I will not have to deal with this girl. I tried being as nice as possible, but it is just getting a little out of hand.
There goes my phone again.......
Wednesday, December 19
Keep It Covered Already!
When I was fourteen I kept my clothes on. I also did when I was fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, and well right now at eighteen. I like to keep it dignified. I like to make someone wonder, not expose it all like a cheap fifty cent hooker. Apparently this is not the case for all girls out there.
I normally keep my opinions on these kind of matters to myself. I do not know what makes these girls (necessarily) do these things, nor do I really want to truly know why. Today though, I have been astounded and I am sick of it. I have to speak on this matter.
Myspace: This down-right mindless site keeps children, and adults a like, trapped for hours. I am a victim too, and I have seen many things on that site that, quite frankly, almost make me run to my bathroom and vomit. I have seen children, I sometimes still consider most eighteen year olds children though the law tells me different, almost as nude as you can be in pictures. I see them showing off as much breast as possible and lowering pants, or just going straight to a lacy type pair of panties. It makes me sick. Sure, I have a picture of me in a tank top but you cannot see my lovely ladies. I make sure that Jonathan is the only person that gets the joy of seeing my party pads. Girls in mini-skirts and a bra. Girls in just bra and underwear. Girls in no bras holding their breast, maybe letting a little nip sneak through, and I am sick of it. I used to tell Jon how proud I was that my sisters have not fallen through and got stuck in the brothel house along with the rest of their friends.
For a while I did not have a myspace. I did not really have a point. I have a cell phone. Whoever needs me can find me. And that was that. Well, one day Jon was browsing through his myspace and saw that (edited on Dec. 22nd to protect a girl I deeply care about.)
I just do not see why girls think they have to be, well what is the word I am looking for, sex kittens (to use a nicer term) at such a young age? Or in general really. I understand wanting to be sexy when you are older. When you are an adult. When it is legal for you to have consensual sex, but what is the whole deal with wanting to be some sex machine at fucking fifteen years old? I think it is sick really. I think the grown men who look at pictures like that are fucking sick, and I think it is sad that not more people are disgusted by this type of thing.
Maybe I am alone on this. Maybe I am the only one who thinks having sex outside of a relationship is tacky. Maybe I am the sole person who believes that the modest are indeed the hottest (and probably have less s.t.d.s and baby mama drama). Maybe I am the last person alive that still wants real love and romance and not just some chance at an orgasm. I do not know, but I hope I am not.
I normally keep my opinions on these kind of matters to myself. I do not know what makes these girls (necessarily) do these things, nor do I really want to truly know why. Today though, I have been astounded and I am sick of it. I have to speak on this matter.
Myspace: This down-right mindless site keeps children, and adults a like, trapped for hours. I am a victim too, and I have seen many things on that site that, quite frankly, almost make me run to my bathroom and vomit. I have seen children, I sometimes still consider most eighteen year olds children though the law tells me different, almost as nude as you can be in pictures. I see them showing off as much breast as possible and lowering pants, or just going straight to a lacy type pair of panties. It makes me sick. Sure, I have a picture of me in a tank top but you cannot see my lovely ladies. I make sure that Jonathan is the only person that gets the joy of seeing my party pads. Girls in mini-skirts and a bra. Girls in just bra and underwear. Girls in no bras holding their breast, maybe letting a little nip sneak through, and I am sick of it. I used to tell Jon how proud I was that my sisters have not fallen through and got stuck in the brothel house along with the rest of their friends.
For a while I did not have a myspace. I did not really have a point. I have a cell phone. Whoever needs me can find me. And that was that. Well, one day Jon was browsing through his myspace and saw that (edited on Dec. 22nd to protect a girl I deeply care about.)
I just do not see why girls think they have to be, well what is the word I am looking for, sex kittens (to use a nicer term) at such a young age? Or in general really. I understand wanting to be sexy when you are older. When you are an adult. When it is legal for you to have consensual sex, but what is the whole deal with wanting to be some sex machine at fucking fifteen years old? I think it is sick really. I think the grown men who look at pictures like that are fucking sick, and I think it is sad that not more people are disgusted by this type of thing.
Maybe I am alone on this. Maybe I am the only one who thinks having sex outside of a relationship is tacky. Maybe I am the sole person who believes that the modest are indeed the hottest (and probably have less s.t.d.s and baby mama drama). Maybe I am the last person alive that still wants real love and romance and not just some chance at an orgasm. I do not know, but I hope I am not.
Poem #3
I wrote this one on August 26, 2007. Enjoy.
"Language"
Each syllable slips from my grip,
I want to spill my soul and free this rage,
Yet I find no words to express my prison.
All I see is your laughing face.
And my tears mock me once again.
While you remain victorious on your platform,
Keeping the letters of the alphabet all for yourself,
I scratch at the roof of my mouth for one vowel,
One single consonant to free me of this silence.
The fools around yammer on and on,
Taking full advantage of language with no remorse.
How many words will they use up until they are silent?
They have no idea of how words can dry up,
And crack up into a million pieces before the point is made.
So I sit and stare and wait for this all to pass
While I attempt to reconstruct my way with words.
"Language"
Each syllable slips from my grip,
I want to spill my soul and free this rage,
Yet I find no words to express my prison.
All I see is your laughing face.
And my tears mock me once again.
While you remain victorious on your platform,
Keeping the letters of the alphabet all for yourself,
I scratch at the roof of my mouth for one vowel,
One single consonant to free me of this silence.
The fools around yammer on and on,
Taking full advantage of language with no remorse.
How many words will they use up until they are silent?
They have no idea of how words can dry up,
And crack up into a million pieces before the point is made.
So I sit and stare and wait for this all to pass
While I attempt to reconstruct my way with words.
Housewife
Housewife (n)
1 : a married woman in charge of a household
2 : a pocket-size container for small articles (as thread)
Obviously my lovely Bebe does not want me to be the second part of this definition so I guess he is referring to the first part. It makes me laugh. (I do the laughing after I flip him off and tell him to go to hell) I have always loved cleanliness. I like clean. Clean works. Clean makes an small living area appear to be larger, and there really is more room because one is not trying to avoid the plates of half-eaten orange chicken next to the television. I have always picked up after myself. I do my laundry. I make the bed me and Mr. Bebe sleep in. I make sure any mess in the bathroom I have made because my ultra-steady hands yet again drop the blue eyeliner pencil is all wiped away. Point is I am clean.
Jonathan, though I love him dearly as you have probably already read a million times and probably want to puke kittens, is not clean. He likes to be in clean areas but does not make sure he helps clean.
He had this discussion with me a day or two after I lost my job and told me to just make sure the unit was in order. He dropped the "Housewife" bomb on me.
2 : a pocket-size container for small articles (as thread)
Obviously my lovely Bebe does not want me to be the second part of this definition so I guess he is referring to the first part. It makes me laugh. (I do the laughing after I flip him off and tell him to go to hell) I have always loved cleanliness. I like clean. Clean works. Clean makes an small living area appear to be larger, and there really is more room because one is not trying to avoid the plates of half-eaten orange chicken next to the television. I have always picked up after myself. I do my laundry. I make the bed me and Mr. Bebe sleep in. I make sure any mess in the bathroom I have made because my ultra-steady hands yet again drop the blue eyeliner pencil is all wiped away. Point is I am clean.
Jonathan, though I love him dearly as you have probably already read a million times and probably want to puke kittens, is not clean. He likes to be in clean areas but does not make sure he helps clean.
He had this discussion with me a day or two after I lost my job and told me to just make sure the unit was in order. He dropped the "Housewife" bomb on me.
insert insane laughter here
Now that we are all done laughing this is what I have to say. According to Websters you have to a.) be married. Oh, don't worry there fellas I am not married yet. I have no ring. I see no wedding pictures anywhere, and let me just say I am too young. (No offense Mom, it is working for you but the whole "I-Got-Married-At-18-To-My-Only-Real-Boyfriend" does not seem too tempting to me yet.) I am not saying I am anti-marriage but oh boy now I am doing that thing I do where I start rambling about a different subject.
Pause. Continue: I am just saying that he should make an effort. This is not wash and dry. I am not a single mother expected to keep a whole apartment clean all by myself. I am not picking up his stinky socks, or underwear for him. He's a grown man. I figured that somewhere in his twenty-seven years (yes, there is an age scandal) someone taught him how to pick up after himself. I have been living with him for about ten months (he is lucky I cannot remember them all) and I am really sick of picking up after him.
If he wants me to be a housewife then I suggest he buy me the nicest Tiffany's ring, shell out for a grandiose wedding, and then maybe I will think about being June Cleaver. Until that day comes (which I hope it does not happen too soon because then I will have to clean "our" area) I am only cleaning up after myself!
Pause. Continue: I am just saying that he should make an effort. This is not wash and dry. I am not a single mother expected to keep a whole apartment clean all by myself. I am not picking up his stinky socks, or underwear for him. He's a grown man. I figured that somewhere in his twenty-seven years (yes, there is an age scandal) someone taught him how to pick up after himself. I have been living with him for about ten months (he is lucky I cannot remember them all) and I am really sick of picking up after him.
If he wants me to be a housewife then I suggest he buy me the nicest Tiffany's ring, shell out for a grandiose wedding, and then maybe I will think about being June Cleaver. Until that day comes (which I hope it does not happen too soon because then I will have to clean "our" area) I am only cleaning up after myself!
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