28 Truths of Everyday Life...take 2

Continuing my series on 28 Truths of Everyday Life…today I’ll tackle:

10. Bad decisions make really good stories.

This entire blog is a testament to that truth. In fact, it's the way I live my damned life. I’ll share a little different kind of story with you this time…

My friend Willow has a chronic and severe case of foot-in-mouth disease. She’s not a mean person but she just has a way of saying the exact wrong thing to the exact wrong person at the exact wrong moment. She’s really more of a victim of bad timing.

She has a knack of asking how you like your new car right after you’ve totaled it or how your job is going right after you’ve been fired or how your marriage is doing right after you’ve found out your husband is cheating on you or…well you get the picture.

Case in point…

Willow loves most anything to do with Christmas. This includes an almost fanatical love Christmas music. She knows all the songs…religious, secular, good, bad, and ugly.

One year at her job they were talking about different Christmas-related songs. She pipes up and says something about how she really doesn’t want to hear the song “Please Daddy Don’t Get Drunk this Christmas”. (See I told you she knows them all. She doesn’t like them all but she knows them all.)

She said everyone got really quiet. I’ve always envisioned that everyone’s mouth was agape and their eyes got as big as saucers as they stared at her in horror while she slapped her thigh and threw back her head letting loose a horse laugh that rattled the walls. You see…she was the only one laughing.

Bad decision…good story.

Someone pulled her aside and ask if she knew that one of the girls standing there had an alcoholic father. Of course she didn’t but with her track record she should have….what are the chances that Willow is going to start belting Please Daddy Don’t Get Drunk This Christmas at any time, much less when the daughter of an alcoholic is standing right in front of her.

This would never happen to a normal person but for poor foot-in-her-mouth Willow plagued by bad timing? She could be standing in Brazil, make a crack about Coca Cola, and somehow offend a long lost relative of Thomas Fucking Jefferson. Really…it would happen to her!!!!

Chick out…

The art of vacuuming

Last week my mother informed me that in order to vacuum adequately you must make 3 passes with the vacuum cleaner. Whattttttt theeeeee hellllllll??????? She's always been a clean freak but now I'm decided that she's out of her fucking mind.

I work at my job 9+ hours so I can take off every other Monday. On top of that I commute 40+ miles each way through hellish traffic. So...I'm doing really well to run the bastard of a vacuum cleaner even once over any of my floors in a given week. In fact, if I'm able to complete that feat I feel like a damned olympic champion! Hell, I march around feeling all high and mighty whenever I don't have clumps of dog hair clinging to the baseboards or covering my coffee table.

Three passes with a vacuum? She's certifiably crazy.

At this very moment I can shove my hand down in between any of my couch cushions and come up with a handful of stuffing from a stuffed animal. Why? Because I unhook my cushions and vacuum underneath them about twice a year. Whenever I do it, the dogs come running and try to grab the stuffing and run off with it before the vacuum can suck it up. I feel that it's best to just leave it hidden!!

Guess how often my mother vacuums her couch.....every week...and she never even sits on it!!!!

It takes her hours to vacuum her house. I'm not going to tell you how long it takes me to do the deed but let's just say it can be measured in minutes. Of course, "Alice" vacuums my entire basement so that saves me some time.

For those of you that have never met "Alice"...she's a Roomba and I love her dearly. It takes that little robotic bitch about an hour to vacuum down there so I guess she follows my mother's rule of thumb.

I try not to watch her because she makes me feel like an inadequate housekeeper. She spins and whirls around like a maid on crack. She doesn't get hung up on rugs, never knocks things over, and gets up all the crap on the floor which is better than I do.

And guess what...I've noticed that she makes 3 passes. Bitch!!!

Chick out...