Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Upstairs Downstairs

I didn't get a question for today, which is fine. Who wants to listen to my high & mighty advice more than once every 2 weeks anyway? I'll give you all a break then.

Instead, let's rant a bit, shall we???

I don't know if I can do this all summer. And by "this" I mean that golf club. I will do it, cause I have to, but I really really really don't want to. You know the saying "When the cats away..." well I get it. This is their dance space to be men in & they don't want to have to clean up after themselves & all that. But you really can't even put a glass into the dishwasher? That's too much trouble?

I get that I'm being paid for this gig, I get that they pay a lot to not have to clean up after themselves, but sweet Mary Mother of God I feel like I've been transported back to the 1800s & I am not dancing with Mr. Darcy. I'm cleaning out his bed pan. The tables are covered with beer stick. You can't even wipe up after yourself when you know someone is only doing it once or twice a week?

To make matters worse, I. HATE. VACUUMING. And considering it's a golf club, it's all I do. There is grass in places that I'm pretty certain they had to work really hard to get it into. Plus it's hot & I don't have the jurisdiction to turn on the air. The last thing I want or need while I'm doing this degrading work is to get home and hear from my father something about the electricity bill. I'll sweat it out thank you, trying to lose weight anyway.

And we wont even discuss toilets and urinals.

Ugghhhh & about that shit show. I took the holiday weekend off and now I want to scream cause I can't get my act together. I'm eating fine but I haven't been to work out since Friday. Bad. News. Bears. I'm going today, no dice. I don't know what's going on with me lately. Do you?

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