Dun Dun DUN!!!

Last week was my yearly crazy week at work, with early bedtimes, early work times, and WAY TOO MUCH freaking out (not by me, but sort of at me, or in my general direction). It all culminated in a huge event on Saturday, and then... the exhaustion of a job well done.

I might still be exhausted, or maybe I'm PMS-ing, but I have been a bit of a thundercunt since yesterday.

I came home to a really bitchy note from a new roommate about how I don't clean up after my cats enough. This because Zelda had the audacity to vomit in the hallway while I was at work yesterday - apparently I'm supposed to come home from work regularly to check to make sure that everything is vomit-free, because HEAVEN FORBID I wait until I'm actually home to clean up the messes... the messes that I don't know about until I get home. I've tried different medicines with Zelda, and she won't take them - she is a cat with a nervous stomach. So I do my best to clean up the messes that she makes. Seriously, for every Zelda vomit that my roommates have to walk around (while I am working or away from the house, like an evil bitch), I clean up about 30 messes. I do a patrol in the morning before I go to work, and I look around at night too. I may miss some spots in out-of-the-way places, but it's not like I see messes and then ignore them willfully for weeks on end.

Oh, and he also said that the kitchen is "covered in fur," and he is sick of cleaning it up. Covered in fur? Exaggerate much? ...I have seen no evidence of this alleged cleaning - things don't get cleaned unless I clean them. Nothing gets vacuumed or dusted or sanitized unless it's me doing it, so BITCH, PLEASE to that statement. How can you clean anything when we are out of paper towels because I'm the ONLY ONE THAT EVER BUYS THEM?!? Also, I'm the only one who buys toilet paper, though I'm obviously not the only one who uses it. Though someone did buy a Swiffer and place it (unopened, unused) in the corner of the kitchen. So way to go with that "effort," fuckwad.

I fired off a bitchy note of my own, that I was doing my best but would try to do better, and maybe he could stop leaving food messes on the counter and in the sink so much? And maybe he could stop parking his tiny fucking car so that it takes up two spots on our very crowded street? Then I decided to be an adult and take the note down. I completely nullified my adult-ness, though, when I came downstairs to get ready for bed last night. New roomie saw me from the kitchen and waved and smiled like he hadn't bitched out earlier. I glared at him and stalked into the bathroom, without saying a word. I am not very mature, but it sure did feel good.

You do not get to write me a seriously bitchy, unfair note and then act like we're friends. No, you don't.

Comments

A Fuss said…
OOOHhhh, ooohhh -- this situation calls for the Holly situation! Post it notes on the paper towels and toilet paper with notes like: "This is my toilet paper, don't wipe your ass with it!"

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