So the husband is currently on yet another Scout camp. The only issue I have with these monthly slumber parties, is that they always take my Jeep and leave me with the BMW. And while a lot of the issue is due mostly to my completely atrocious manual shift skills and me almost throwing up every time I'm stopped on even the slightest of inclines while driving - the even bigger issue is that, without fail, when Shawn brings back my car it smells like pure, unadulterated ass. Imagine the smell of the body odor of a prepubescent boy, mixed with old campfire smoke, mixed with a dead animal carcass, mixed with male pattern flatulence, mixed with some stinky butt morning breath - and then multiply that by 1,700 dirty diapers - and my Jeep would still smell worse. And that may or may not be a bit of a dramatization - but good holy Hitler, it does not smell pleasant. If there was ever a time when I wished the internet had scratch and sniff capabilities, this would be it. Because I know ya'll would secretly take a whiff. Don't even lie.
A hand fan. That's what I need.
Anyways - so I'm sitting at home, alone. Because apparently without my husband, I'm virtually friendless. Well, that's a lie. Technically if we're speaking in virtual terms, I have lots of friends. Thanks, Internet. But seriously, I'm kind of a loser. But it kind of works in favor of my ever-progressing agenda to get knocked up. Having babies = instant friends. Hello. (This is on top of the more sex, and bigger boobs arguments - solid, right? Why am I not a lawyer?)
I actually don't really have a problem being home alone - I rather enjoy it, truth be told. The only thing I don't like about it is all the ominous chores taunting me while I lay on the couch and watch
I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant/Oprah/Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader quality television and play Words With Friends. I feel like when I'm home alone for the night, I need to have the house squeaky clean when husband returns from his stink fest. Instinctual wife thing, I suppose. Sometimes I'm amazed at the mess just two people can make - and sometimes it's so embarrassing that I just blame it all on the dog. (It's mostly embarrassing because half the time it's all my crap that is scattered from Hell to breakfast, let's be honest.)
(Ignoring the fact that Shawn may or may not die when he sees that I've posted pictures of our messy house on the internet.)
This is my kitchen right now. It looks 10 times cleaner in the picture than it does if you were standing in it. (Aside from the mess, isn't my kitchen AWESOME looking?)
This is the medicine/frosting/baking/spice/candy/crap cupboard that gives me anxiety every time I open it. With people living in our basement, cupboard space is limited. Obviously. But this cupboard is sad. You should have seen the inside of my fridge a few days ago - moldy goolosh, old breakfast quiche... we're not very good at leftovers, apparently.
This is reminiscent of all the messes my dog really does make in the house. It is unbelievable. Apparently we don't feed him enough, because he can't get enough of those blinds. Last time I checked, babies don't eat blinds, or couches, or wedding shoes? Cough.
This is the literal dog mess that is currently plaguing our backyard right now. I'm pretty sure you can't take 3 steps without stepping in dog crap. The good news is we just bought a nifty pooper scooper, I just don't want to be the one that has to use it. And yes, I felt super awesome taking this picture. Only refined, classy people take pictures of dog poop and post it on their blog.
Bathroom messes are 90% mine. I never put my stuff away after getting ready in the morning - and it drives Shawn insane. I always tells him that if it bugs him so bad, then he can do it. Wife points. Instead he just puts everything in the sink. Nice. And the wipes? They totally embarrass Shawn for whatever reason, and he hides them whenever he knows someone is coming over. You'd think I had a vat of vagina cream on the counter. I tell him there's nothing to be embarrassed about, people will just be confident that we have clean butts. Because obviously people are concerned about that kind of stuff. (Plus? Wipes totally save toilet paper in certain situations. Just saying.)
Sometimes it amazes me how much stuff we manage to cram into a garbage can before someone finally caves and takes it out. All of those paper towels are from cleaning up dog urine - well, except for the full roll of paper towels. That is from when my genius husband threw it in the toilet to be funny. I think it goes without saying that I wasn't amused. Just in case you wanted an analysis of our garbage.
If the bathroom isn't my downfall, then it's the clothes scattered all over the floor. Sometimes I'll try on 5 outfits before I find the one. And sometimes the previous 5 outfits end up on the floor. Or on the dresser. Or in the dirty laundry - even though they're clean. That way when Shawn questions me, I just bat my eyelashes and tell him that I already wore that outfit, so it's obviously dirty. Then I hurry and hang it up before he notices otherwise. You know, or I just wash it again. Because who likes the "putting away" part of laundry anyways?
And then there's the bed. Which I think I've only ever made on Saturdays and maybe Sundays.
And there you have it, a bunch of nonsensical rambling and my messy house that I should probably be cleaning. All my whining about cleaning aside, it's nice to be able to get it all done by myself once in a while - because my husband is usually the one who does a lot of it, all without complaining - because he rules. Look at us, taking turns. Fer cute.
Talk about airing your dirty laundry.
Have a super weekend, Internet!