Misanthropy....

Please tell me that's how you spell that.

So roomie, non-brother roomie, to be exact, has taken my last nerve and plucked it like an out-of-tune guitar string.

Thankfully, by the time he gets up today, I will probably calmed down enough to not want to skin his face and use it to mop my kitchen floor.

It would seem--Well, it's definitely true, being as Brother J's buddies cannot keep a damn thing to themselves (which has worked in my favor a time or 14) that Roomie M knows precisely how much T and I desire his house-work ethic to change. J has talked to him (unsuccessfully), I have (over and over and over again--But that's passive aggressive!), and T has a time or two as well. Nothing has changed. I heard (via Myspace....Lord help us all) from one of the boys' friends (Who used to essentially live here. Nice kid. Has OCD and used to get stoned and mop my floor and fold my laundry for me.) that he and M had a long, detailed talk about how M knows that everyone in his life is pissed off at him, how he knows that this would be an easy problem to solve, but that he just doesn't want to.

Really? I mean, really. How apathetic can you get? I know the kid is 20, but Christ.

Anyway, OCD buddy sends me this message telling me that he tried to make M see things from every one's point of view, that I (we) need to understand that he is young, that this is his first time living without his parents, blah blah blah. I understand all these things. I, too, was 20 once. (Granted, when I was 20 I had been out on my own for almost 3 years and had been taking care of myself for longer than that, but I am the exception to this rule.) But I understand.

What I don't understand, however, is what the fuck he is thinking.

"Everyone is irritated with me because I am a schlub who makes epic fucking messes DAILY, makes no move to even attempt to clean them up, and when I am asked to help clean/do a chore/pick up after myself I cop a huge attitude, tell everyone they are passive aggressive, or lie. Works for me!"

Last night I cooked dinner for everyone. T asked M to do the dishes, and his response was, "I have to work in like, ten minutes". He then went in the living room and started to play Rock Band.

T went in, turned off the game, stood in front of the television and said, "You have to work in an hour and a half. If you have time to play video games, you have time to load the goddamn dishwasher".

I went to take a shower.

Then I re-did the dishes. (Helpful hint: When loading the dishwasher, especially if it is a late-70's model, and small, rinse the dishes first. Also, don't just fling them in there and force it closed--It no likey. They make slots and things for plates, you know.)

I then swept the kitchen floor and J cleaned off the table, T put everything in tupperware. M sat in the living room, staring at us.

Then he went to work. J went out with 'the ladies', whoever they are, and T and I went to bed. I slept soundly, knowing my kitchen was clean, and would be when I woke up. All I would need to do is make coffee, and I could start my day.

I was wrong. As usual.

It was like a winged badger went through my kitchen this morning. Crap all over the floor, wrappers and pop cans all over the counter, plates stacked willy-nilly in front of the coffee pot. Spilled beer on the stove.

After a small aneurysm, I cleaned it up, made coffee, and came up with new and creative swear words.

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See, this house. It's not the nicest house. BUT! It has good bones, good potential. It's in a part of town expected to have huge growth in the next few years. It has a fenced yard. T bought it with the intent of flipping it--and I agreed. (Hell, I'm the one that picked the damn thing out!) It was a rental for 10 years before we bought it--This should tell you something. (The carpet. Good, sweet Lord, the carpet.) I know my hand is stacked against me here--Four people in a three bedroom house that needs work. My refusal to live in squalor means that I clean....a lot.

We're talking about putting in pergo floors and painting (And getting rid of the damn popcorn ceiling.) as a christmas gift to ourselves. (It will be a whole.new.house.) If this happens--Oh, how the boy's lives will change. If they think I'm a pain in the ass now......ah.

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My friend (and ex-coworker/bowling ace/chef) A told me this story last night, and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did. Hilarity.

So there is a group of retired men (late fifties-ish in age) who come up annually to play golf over a weekend. They leave their wives at home and get stinking drunk the whole time.

The first night, a man was shitfaced and walking down the dock to his boat, and fell into the water. (He was fine.)

The next day, everyone went to play golf, and the man who fell in the water's brother is shitfaced. He is riding in a golf cart, and decides he needs to use the restroom.

Rather than go to the actual restroom to do his business and leave everyone to wait for him, he drops his pants and hangs his ass off the edge of the moving golf cart, and proceeds to begin to...relieve himself. Well, considering he is shitfaced drunk, he falls off the golf cart, pants around his ankles, and gets his head run over.

He was fine.

Again, who does this??