Posts Tagged ‘garbage’

Husband may have to go.

There is nothing on earth, that I hate as much as crawly things without legs.  (Opps!  That did not come out right.  I don’t mean to say he is a crawly thing without legs.  He just likes to ignore things that need to be done.)  Now, my hatred does not include larger things, like snakes, which are also crawly and without legs.  Although, after I found a snake in the basement, it did take me about six months to stop searching the basement floor for snakes everytime I went down there.  I am quite sure they know it is me descending the stairs and they then hide behind the washing machine, or on a more evil note, the toilet so as to scare the holy s__t out of me.

But, show me a maggot and I will become a quivering mass of jelly.  A quivering mass who will sit on the couch for days making sure I do not have one of those things on my skin or in my hair.

So, the other day we had tiny little fruit flies; LOTS of tiny fruit flies.  Husband took out the inside garbage and hosed the can down inside and the lid and also did it to the outside cans.  He did not tell me he had found maggots in the lid.  The lid which I put my hand in and brush the top of.  So, this week those same flies are everywhere.  I tell husband, that’s it, the garbage can goes outside (the inside kitchen one.)  I was refusing to use it.

He took the can out, bleached it, did not wash the outside (I have no idea why that bothers me, but it does) and then proceeds to come in and tell me that the whole domed  lid was covered in ::::::::::   MAGGOTS.  OMG, MAGGOTS.

Freakin, I stuck my hand in that lid.  I felt the warmth and humidity and probably touched them.  OMG, MAGGOTS.

I’m off to shower now, for about five hours.

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This is Irritating little Chihuahua at six weeks, January of 1999.  She is eleven years old this month, and she has her daily exercise routine.

It consists of sleeping, and

going outside and surveying her driveway, from the great sniffing of automobile tires down to the Yucca plant.  I have yet to figure out what is so intriguing about the Yucca, as it does not seem a normal “pee” spot to me, but it is on her daily route. 

It is also on her daily route to debate whether to go on down the driveway to the road.  She will look back, to see if we are watching, go a few trots, stop and look back.  This continues until I rap on the window or yell at her.  Then, she ambles off into the yard as if, “No, I never intended on going down the driveway.  I know my boundry.” 

The rest of the day is taken up with sleeping with nose buried,

and begging for food, and sleeping.  Mostly sleeping. 

Oh, and there is the occasional — jump up and give me a dirty look because she swears I touched her haunches, when she actually has a flea. 

Before I am yelled at, she has a frontline flea application monthly, as well as her heart worm pill.  She has had neurological problems with other flea applications, so Frontline it is.  This was working well for her until the St. Bernard family decided to eat our garbage and deposit their “city of fleas” in our yard.  They DO NOT get flea applications.  Chihuahua  added the garbage cans to her morning run as those St. Bernard’s leave behind all kinds of things, including their fleas. 

The St. Bernard’s eating the lid of the garbage can, to circumvent the ties and boards and anything else we could find to keep them out, finally resulted in putting the garbage cans in my studio (which I rarely use in winter).  The city of fleas resides on the ground yet, as well as the smells do.

Twice a day I comb her with a frozen flea comb, catch the fleas that freeze on it, and put them in the freezer of doom; a disposable container in the freezer.   I know this is wierd, but, yes, I have a container of frozen fleas in my freezer (Try saying that three times fast.).  On top of which, sits her flea comb.  Someday the City of fleas will all die —– I hope.

So, back on topic, the Chihuahua sleeps, eats, poops, and sleeps all day.  For ten minutes, at night, she also plays with her Taco Belle Chihuahua.   Taco Belle Chihuahua has more sewn body parts than you can imagine.  Irritating Chihuahua loves to grab it by the neck and try to knock herself sensless with it.

My fear, the year we had floods, was that our home would be flooded, fall into the pond and the Taco Belle Chihuahua would be history.  I have searched ebay, Good Will and yard sales for a back-up Christmas Taco Belle dog.  Chihuahua has a basket of stuffed toys and will occasionally play with the Turkey Buzzard and rarely with the cat mouse toy.  Taco Belle Chihuahua is her love.

Now, we have found another exercise outlet for Chihuahua: The Wii.

Yes, Gaffer brought a Wii home.  One of the games sounds rather like a bark, so she stands on the couch and barks back at the Wii.  But, bowling drives her nuts.  It took her three hours to figure out they were not throwing food for her.  She loves her Wii.  She does not understand it, but she loves it.

This is Skeeter, trying to communicate with the blue jean leg of the Wii player.  She is either saying, “Okay, where is the treat you have been throwing for three hours?” or “GO TO BED!”

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I sit here watching husband pour water back and forth between two plastic juice cans and then holding one up to see that he has gotten every single last drop of juice out of the can and I wonder at just what point are we certifiably our own parents?

I hear myself saying my mother’s words at times and saving things because they “might be useful” someday. I obsessively lock doors, as my father did, which was an irritation to my family until someone near us was killed when two teenagers entered their house. Mind you, the elderly man let them in, but a few days later, someone checked our door lock, at night. This is not something you expect when you live on four acres, in rural Brown County.

There is also the little matter of husband saving every jelly jar and butter and yogurt container we use. I have solved the jar situation with recycling. I no longer have to save them in the cabinet for the time I might make jelly.

The plastic butter and yogurt containers are another matter. We do use them for food scraps. They are free, have a lid to keep it in and when we put them in the garbage, they do not stink. Since we take our garbage in, that is important.

However, there comes a time, when stacks of them are more than enough for disposables. Since I refuse to eat out of them, when we have perfectly good dishes and when re-washing a plastic butter dish is as difficult as washing a plate, at that point I have taken to throwing them out, when he isn’t looking. Just like my mother did.


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In the last couple of weeks, I have felt well enough again to start cleaning the house. You know that television show where they show you just how bad of pigs some people can be? Well, I have entered the room of the “child” and realized, that’s my home.


It has been a long recovery and with too many people, in too small a house, and the rest of them being men, who think cleaning is to use the sprayer, at full throttle, to rinse dishes, thus ensuring that that area of the kitchen also receives a shower —- well, you see my life.


Since the last two years of my life has consisted of me going from the treadmill to the couch, I have not traveled the vast wastelands referred to as:






1. That JRockGuitarMan (youngest boy) is able to now provide homework from six months ago? Mind you, it’s too late!


2. That, while EMT (middle boy) keeps his room clean, he will manage to leave his stuff in every single other room of the house?


3. That a three month visit can turn your screened-in porch into a rabbit warren store room?


4. Did you know that Gaffer and girlfriend are able to amass more plastic drink cups, from fast food restaurants, than McDonald’s buys in one year? 


5. That one carefully emptied lower shelf, in the bathroom, is not enough for a college girl’s makeup and that the teeny tiny counter in the bathroom will be unable to hold the extra roll of toilet paper because it too is covered with makeup?


6. That just one day before Gaffer and Girlfriend are to leave, (The flight is scheduled for 8:45 am tomorrow, meaning they have to drive off just after 5am) and they are off on a stay at the State Park and this is what their room looks like?


7. And, that this is the sum total of dirty laundry and garbage (including those drinking cups) from the cleaning they HAVE done? 


GOSH, I WILL miss them.

I really will!

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Women are always complaining they are the only person in the house to change the toilet paper roll. How is it that a man will leave one sheet of paper on the roll to make sure he is not responsible for the duty?


Okay, gals, to be fair, we probably do use a mite more of the hopefully soft stuff than the men. So, I have given up looking for their spare roll, you know, the one they take paper from so they do not have to go to the effort of actually changing the roll.


What I do know, without searching, is that if I die tomorrow, it will only take one week before they are taking a shower without any soap. Apparently, I am the only person in this house, of currently six adults and one teen, who actually know #1. Where the soap is kept, and #2. How to open it.


You know, those little paper wrappers can be soooo confusing. And, at this point, they have not figured out how to put the soap back in the soap dish after they use it, so I am sure opening the paper is beyond all of them.


There is then the whole issue of shampoo and cream rinse. It is something that must surely magically appear in the shower during the night, as they never run out. Hence, they never add it to the grocery list, nor do they ever throw out the empty bottle.


Garbage can emptying is also done by the nighttime elves. The upstairs bathroom is, at the end of their stay, purely used by Gaffer and girlfriend, as the rest of the family is afraid they will be lost forever, if they try to enter their room. Well, everyone except JRockGuitarMan (teen of the house), who will climb Mount Everest if a PS2 or other gaming machine is at the top.


The garbage can in this room is purely a decorative object as nothing is ever thrown in it until the pile around it gets so high, that the tissue falls over and into it by accident. I recently ventured, risking life and limb, to enter this sanctuary and filled a half of a black garbage sack from the floor and around this tiny little container, which holds one walmart bag.


Wet towels: Don’t even get me started.

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