Gut Rumbles

March 02, 2009

Sorry housekeeper

Originally published November 20, 2003

I look around my house sometimes and I want to puke. This place looks worse than Fido's ass and I have no excuse for allowing it to be that way. It's not as if I don't have the time to clean house anymore. I have the time. I just half-ass the work. I am no good at that shit.

I believe that my house has been nice and well-kept twice during the past year. One time happened when Recondo 32 and his lovely wife, Georgia, came to visit and she couldn't stand the mess. She cussed me for every kind of pig under the sun and cleaned my house in a frenzy. She had it looking good in less than an hour.

The other time was when Jack's oldest sister, Hillary, wanted to make some spending money. I paid her $10 to cut my grass one Saturday and let her use my riding lawn mower, so she recognized me for the lazy sucker that I am. She showed up on Sunday wanting another job to do. I told her that would pay her another $10 if she cleaned my kitchen and Quinton's room. She did.

She was finished in 30 minutes and everything looked GREAT. How do wimmen do stuff like that? Hillary is only 10 years old, but she already has the knack. I really believe that the housekeeping gene is born in ALL wimmen, but it does not exist in heterosexual men. Wimmen know "neat" and they know how to make it so, quickly.

I fucking don't. I can clean my house for two hours and it STILL looks like Fido's ass.

I'm happy if I don't have any empty beer cans on the coffee table. I'll leave the half-full one there for two days, because I'm not finished with that one yet, but I'm afraid to drink it for fear that I threw a cigarette butt in it. But I don't throw it away. I usually have at least two pairs of shoes on the floor and at least three pairs of socks scattered around them. I have a bad habit of getting out of the shower, wrapping myself in a towel and walking to the living room to watch Fox News in the morning.

I take off the towel, toss it on a chair and leave it there. I forget all about it until I am out of clean towels.

If a burglar broke into my home and ransacked the place while I was away, I might not notice for a week. The place appears recently ransacked all the time and I seldom can find any of my shit in this mess except my guns and my guitars when I go looking for them. Bejus! We won't even talk about some of the vile things I drag by tongs from the rear of the refrigerator about once every month. That Food Becoming Alive stuff is really disgusting.

I am a man. I am a slob. I am a pig.

I believe that I come by those traits naturally.

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