The Semi-Annual Clean: Doggy Detection

So... I hate our rental house.

I know we are lucky to have it, the yard is huge, and we had no other options for a place to live.

I get that. I should be thanking my lucky stars. Though I don't know if I actually own lucky stars, and if I do, which box they were packed in from Ontario, but I digress.

The house smells. And it's grungy. And it's got some serious structural problems and is cracking everywhere. It's the smell, combined with the aroma of two dogs' farts, that really sends me into stomach convulsions most days.

So, here my enthusiasm is nil. I withdraw into myself and don't have much get-up-and-go. Needless to say, between the hubby's work and play schedule and my general malaise and  laziness   shameful housewifery  couch-potato-ness   fatigue, the house has been, shall we say, neglected?

It's hard to be  even willing  enthusiastic to clean a place that CAN'T BE SCRUBBED. Shit is so dirty and had previously been SO NEGLECTED that it simply cannot be scrubbed clean or made devoid of the stains and spots that seem to be everywhere.

So as the MLS real estate papers pile up, the "need to file" paper list expanded, and the tables seemed to become covered with crap, I felt no pressing need to rectify anything. It was like "who'll notice?" and even "it looks better covered up", etc.

Well kids, that all changed when the Hubs let me in on a little secret. A good friend would be staying with us for a couple of nights.

HOLY HELL.

A minor sampling of what I let it get to. And the Dane. I'll let you imagine the fart/house odour.

 It's amazing what shame and embarrassment can do for a girl. I highly recommend it. Not only does it make you feel gross and inadequate, but it could make my queasy, apathetic ass turn it into high gear in the matter of a day.

The Hubs turned  me  it on. He let me go to bed early last night while he did all the large-awkward-not-immediately-needed dishes that were in the queue. He vacuumed the stairs and all the upper floor carpeting (well, you know, AROUND the stacked up piles of my shit everywhere). He gathered up all the crap that he could. He cleaned both bathrooms and scrubbed the tub. He's a good man. A lifesaver, even.

So today was my job to "tidy" up, which doesn't sound nearly as terrifying and all-consuming as it turned out to be. (Flair for the dramatic much? No, not meee.)

I did at least 9 loads of laundry. I found a pile of delicates I left because the rain started and I couldn't dry my stuff outside, so I figured I would wait for a nice day before washing it. I remembered one dress I wore to Jericho Beach and that was back in mid-September. LAUNDRY HAD BEEN SITTING THERE FOR TWO MONTHS... dear Jebus.

I washed the guest bedding, the towels, my clothes, blah blah blah.

Didn't even have a fraction of the time required to actually SORT through all the papers everywhere, so took hours just GATHERING. I wish I was joking here, but I am not.

I would have posted pictures, but the Hubs probably would have divorced me.

The best part? The dogs damn well know that we are having company today. Schultz, the Dane, has been on the lookout with hyper-sensitive-hearing all damn day.

How could the dogs know, you ask? Considering we've had two guests in the house so far?

BECAUSE SCHULTZ KNOWS I ONLY CLEAN WHEN STRANGERS ARE COMING INTO THE HOUSE.

Not only is that fascinating, it's also terribly sad.

Those two guests I mentioned? Our moms. At different times.

So not only am I a horrible house wife, I have no friends I can invite over. lol. Truth be told, I don't WANT people to see this house and its grossness. I want to get into our new house, but that's not happening until mid-February.

So, I still need to put away my semi-wet delicates. I have to hide that stack of piled papers in my bedroom closet. And I have to pretend that the dogs aren't strung out on stranger crack and hope that the Dane isn't a jackass when our friend arrives.

Wish me luck.


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Record Breaking

Now that I have your attention...

I feel like I should be posting more often, but my heart is just not in it.

Surprisingly, I shattered my page view statistics in the month of October even though I've been a slacker. I wondered why the display had changed when I viewed my stats, and I realized it was because I had surpassed 10,000 views last month. One month.

10,000.

Those stats are almost as big as this rhino. At least, in my mind anyway. FYI: In Kenya they don't seem too concerned about that thing called "liability" or "litigation" and "deadly injuries".

First of all, that 10,000 should maybe be spelled out in words, and probably shouldn't have a period at the end of it. You know, not actually being a sentence and all.

Also? That number is probably squat to most people, but I am pretty damn impressed.

I know there are lots of lurkers that read the blog (why? I have no clue, but I'll take it), and lots of misguided souls who come here via some disgusting search terms that make me shudder/lose sleep. And then there's the bajillion or so who come because they are searching for SkinnyGirl Sangria reviews. They really seem to plump up the numbers.

But it sort of blows me away that stupid images I can post on my blog, from my computer, can somehow show up in the top images in Google Image search. Of all the blogs, in all the cities, and Google walks into mine.

Or something.

I don't know. It's just pretty cool.

I started this ranting space because I found Ally Brosh so damn funny. I was bored, alone, and decided I would bitch and publish it. That was just over 2 years ago.

I haven't done anything meaningful with it. I am not terribly intelligent. Obviously. I can usually get my point across (with the unnecessary use of profanity in most cases, though I try to underscore f_ck as much as possible these days), but there is nothing special here.

So thanks to all of you who take the time to read. To skim. To care enough to peel the skin back from my face and peek into my twisted and tormented brain. Ew.

Like this, but with less skull in the way.

To those of you who stop and take the time to comment and let me know that the page is actually being viewed.

Thanks to you who know me in real life and lurk along, knowing how crazy I am, and hearing my voice tell the story. And thanks for not judging me (at least to my face) for the crazy in my mind.

I hope my mood picks up. I hope my apathy goes away. I hope some of the homesickness goes away. I hope people start responding to emails and texts from me in their real lives. I moved away, but I am lonely as hell and not dead.

I hope to be funny again, and to write more, and to keep people interested in whatever this is I am living. There are more stories to tell, more crazy things happening.

And I STILL haven't finished the honeymoon story OR the cross country story.
Perhaps I'll work on those next.

Thanks everyone.

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OMG, That Was Unexpected, "Anon"

So, as a blogger, I suppose it's expected that we should anticipate hateful comments and personal slags online.

I was actually surprised that the first two comments, left by the same "Anonymous" commenter (all in caps, of course, because I suppose they were yelling at me), threatened me and implied I should die and that I am a piece of shit.

Okay, sure.

Though I don't think I leave brown smears on the furniture or anything. Do I???

Which post pissed someone off so badly they had to tell me to die?

Was it the emotionally charged post about Amanda Todd and the widespread, out of control bullying going on in the world? Nope.

Was it my video log about my personal experience with bullying and rape, that I posted as my small contribution to the "It Gets Better" campaign? Nope.

Was it me sharing Rick Mercer's rant on the tragic and unnecessary death of yet another young gay teen? No, it wasn't.

Was it about my heartbreak over the abuse our Great Dane suffered before he was rescued by Loyal Rescue? No.

I must be heading in the wrong direction here.

Someone upset over my personal health-related posts? Nope.

Could it have been the douche from the tux rental store that I railed on over a year ago? Hmmm... nopers.

When I posted the graphic and risque post on cocks and gay marriage?

Was it someone appalled that I would post Cee-Lo Green's message on my website, with such profane language? Um, no, try again.

Perhaps it was an angry interior designer, certain I had ruined their livelihood, furious that I was attempting to educate the world on throw cushions? Close.

Schultz prefers to eat throw cushions, actually.

Nope.

IT WAS THIS POST.

The fourth post I ever published, from August of 2010. 

As such, I am a "fruit", "fag", "make less money than him" who "has no life but to publish an entire site of hate about an amazing artist" and, apparently, this is "why people hate Americans".

Let's check the facts:

Just to be clear, it was one post. In which I admit my dislike is unwarranted, but real nonetheless. Also? I am a Canadian female who figures you must be a dickhead if your zinger "insults" are to imply someone is gay. Really?

No - seriously? Really?

I... I feel a little sorry for anonymous. Homophobic much?

Also? I guess it's not okay to post my own opinion about a celebrity, but it is okay for a commenter to threaten my life and insult me.

Sound argument. (This is another reason why comment moderation is on now).

If only anonymous had shown me the way sooner!! (At least they gave me blog fodder for today).

What kind of vitriol are you other bloggers subjected to?

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