Furrs and Fuzz

I'm in an uncharacteristically bad mood today. I'm annoyed by alot. I've spent the day with my 13 year old daughter and her 13 year old friend. I know, I know, I was 13 once, too, but, being in a confined space for several hours with the two of them was no fun. They had fun, but, man, I sure didn't.

My pants I have on today are too big. 25 lbs. of weight loss does affect my wardrobe. These are my 'fat ass' pants. I've had these suckers for a long time. I like them because they are big and roomy and have, heaven forbid, an elastic waist band. I'm only 43 and am wearing an elastic banded pair of fat ass jeans. That's not good. But, finally, they are so big, I fear I'll have them fall down. So, I guess I wash them and pack them away.

Another milestone, besides the fat ass jeans, is the demise of Furr's Cafeteria. Finally, Furrs is no more. This place was a favorite stop for our family during the bad years, the years we were all so unhappy that we had to stuf ourselves with carbs at a buffet. It was really disgusting when I think of it -- we ate until we could eat no more. And, that is really gross. Finally, this cafeteria that has been closed for the last three years was bulldozed down. I see this is a sign of good things ahead. Everytime I drove past it, I'd think, or, say, 'WHEN are they going to tear that eyesore down?' And, it be gone, gone, gone.

I came up with the idea of painting my van for the parade. Green, for the St. Patrick's Parade. I spent a fortune on everything green -- hats, garland, this, and that, to decorate for the parade. 14 cans of green spray paint later, and the van looks kind of rotten. I don't want to spend much more on it. My son will do the stenciling as I can't draw a straight line. After the parade, I get a week OFF. God, I can't wait.

I worked over 60 hours this week, so I'm cranky. I'm tired of cleaning houses. I'm tired of rinsing away other people's pubes. I'm tired of bitchy women complaining about their kitchen floors or bathroom showers. Gimme a break. You don't like the way it was done? Do it yourself. You don't like that your floor doesn't have the shine you want to show off to your dinner guests? Do it your fucking self. There. I feel a bit better.

I actually got called back last week, to wash a woman's shower floor. I didn't 'do' her shower to begin with -- a new 'girl' did. And, she thought it was 'dirty'. Well, the thing is, this woman's house is filthy. And, I can't believe she'd notice filth with filth bordering it. So, I went back and scrubbed the filth from her shower floor. There. Done.

Then, it was off to the woman's kitchen floor that didn't get cleaned properly. Again, not my doing. So, I had to fix that one, too. Such complicated instructiions for this floor. But, I got it done. And, then, on Monday, another do-over. Dammit.

The new 'girl' that is fucking things up, is young. Sweet, a little on the slow side, but a good person. So, she doesn't clean like a maniac. Big deal. I doubt she'll last another week. I gotta figure out what to do about this job. I can't continue to work these hours. It isn't worth it. It would be one thing if this was my only job, but, then have a super job, a jumbo-size job, too, and I'm tired of that, too.

Basketball fever has hit Lawrence and I am embarrassed to admit I don't have it. I can't even name the players on the team. Pathetic. But, truth.

Back to cleaning. I gotta clean my own house, now.