Maddening
First, please read this. It is one woman's account of why it can be so scary to tell a man in public that you don't want to talk to him. I've certainly never had anything so potentially dangerous happen to me, but I have had men yell at me and insult me when I didn't show the proper joy at their advances. Never mind that I was often just taking a walk, listening to my iPod, obviously not interested in them - they felt that I owed them my time and attention. It's maddening.
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Maddening. I think we have a theme here. But I'll get to that later.
*~*~*~*
Last week I had a lovely mini-vacation/birthday celebration for my mom. I went down on Wednesday night, with both cats, and we basically hung out with a ton of kids all week and into the weekend. We went to a steakhouse for mom's dinner, with Nicky and her boys, and a few family friends. Owen, the six-year-old, ordered a 10 oz. NY strip steak! And he ate almost half of it!
On Saturday mom had all of the grandkids, and there were squirt gun fights and balloon battles, and bubble-blowing. And cake and ice cream. We all had fun, and then all of the kids went home except for Lyra, and mom and I rested. And we rested for most of Sunday.
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I came home late on Sunday night, and I immediately found a pile of mail that had been stepped on and shoved out of the way, instead of picked up and distributed. This is merely sigh-worthy. Then I found a kitchen sink full of dishes, and then a bathroom sink full of someone's clipped hair. I was tired, so I sighed some more and cleaned out the bathroom sink.
The next morning, I came downstairs and found the toilet clogged. SIGH. I cleaned that up, and I did the dishes in the kitchen, and usually I would have been ranting, but it was Labor Day, I had the whole day to myself, and the whole house to myself (Pothead slept until 9:30 PM, I think), and I just cleaned up these messes and then did whatever I wanted.
But I DID start ranting and raving when I came home from work on Tuesday and found another clogged toilet. I've been calming down a lot lately with my rages, because I just don't have the energy anymore, but I could not contain my rage on Tuesday. I actually had to leave the house, I was so pissed off. It's one (gross thing) to leave your clipped hair everywhere, but it's quite another to leave your SHIT for someone else to find and have to clean up. I say "have to clean up" because we only have the one toilet.
I know, I'm starting to rant again, but IN WHAT UNIVERSE IS IT OK TO LEAVE YOUR SHITTY MESS FOR SOMEONE ELSE TO CLEAN UP? I am not a mother, I'm not a nurse or a nursemaid, I am not the building super. In no way is Pothead's disgusting mess MY responsibility.
And, of course, when I brought this up in the past, Pothead said, "I'm not going to discuss that." Meanwhile, he has clogged the toilet more than all of my past roommates combined.
I have wondered a few times if there is some sexism involved here. After all, I am the only one who cleans anything around the house. Messes are always left and left, until I get tired of it and clean it up. If I don't take out the garbage, no one does. If I don't put dishes away, no one does. And it's always male roommates who never clean anything who try to tell me that I'm not cleaning enough, in their opinion.
I don't know. I'm getting pretty sick of it. It's maddening.
*~*~*~*
Maddening. I think we have a theme here. But I'll get to that later.
*~*~*~*
Last week I had a lovely mini-vacation/birthday celebration for my mom. I went down on Wednesday night, with both cats, and we basically hung out with a ton of kids all week and into the weekend. We went to a steakhouse for mom's dinner, with Nicky and her boys, and a few family friends. Owen, the six-year-old, ordered a 10 oz. NY strip steak! And he ate almost half of it!
On Saturday mom had all of the grandkids, and there were squirt gun fights and balloon battles, and bubble-blowing. And cake and ice cream. We all had fun, and then all of the kids went home except for Lyra, and mom and I rested. And we rested for most of Sunday.
*~*~*~*
I came home late on Sunday night, and I immediately found a pile of mail that had been stepped on and shoved out of the way, instead of picked up and distributed. This is merely sigh-worthy. Then I found a kitchen sink full of dishes, and then a bathroom sink full of someone's clipped hair. I was tired, so I sighed some more and cleaned out the bathroom sink.
The next morning, I came downstairs and found the toilet clogged. SIGH. I cleaned that up, and I did the dishes in the kitchen, and usually I would have been ranting, but it was Labor Day, I had the whole day to myself, and the whole house to myself (Pothead slept until 9:30 PM, I think), and I just cleaned up these messes and then did whatever I wanted.
But I DID start ranting and raving when I came home from work on Tuesday and found another clogged toilet. I've been calming down a lot lately with my rages, because I just don't have the energy anymore, but I could not contain my rage on Tuesday. I actually had to leave the house, I was so pissed off. It's one (gross thing) to leave your clipped hair everywhere, but it's quite another to leave your SHIT for someone else to find and have to clean up. I say "have to clean up" because we only have the one toilet.
I know, I'm starting to rant again, but IN WHAT UNIVERSE IS IT OK TO LEAVE YOUR SHITTY MESS FOR SOMEONE ELSE TO CLEAN UP? I am not a mother, I'm not a nurse or a nursemaid, I am not the building super. In no way is Pothead's disgusting mess MY responsibility.
And, of course, when I brought this up in the past, Pothead said, "I'm not going to discuss that." Meanwhile, he has clogged the toilet more than all of my past roommates combined.
I have wondered a few times if there is some sexism involved here. After all, I am the only one who cleans anything around the house. Messes are always left and left, until I get tired of it and clean it up. If I don't take out the garbage, no one does. If I don't put dishes away, no one does. And it's always male roommates who never clean anything who try to tell me that I'm not cleaning enough, in their opinion.
I don't know. I'm getting pretty sick of it. It's maddening.
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