Tuesday, March 30, 2004

Like lambs to the slaughter.

I am finally over my cold for the most part. All that is left is the damage I have done, you know, sore nose.

Last night I spent 5 hours with the new hires at the Undisclosed Customer Service Center� they were taking a final test before they hit the phones and I was sitting with them in case they needed help. I had 5 in all and the first three pretty much nailed it. The thing was, they could only ask me a question if they put the �customer� (which in this case was a team manager) on hold. Otherwise I had to ignore them. They had to take 2 fake calls and pass them both.

Number four was a little nervous, she knew her stuff but she talked a little fast and put the customer through for support on one call without verifying that they were entitled to it. So she passed one call and failed the other. No big deal, she will take another call tomorrow.

The final girl of the night started strong, I could see she was shaking a little, but she was doing well. Then she says, �I am just going to ask a few routing questions�.� And when she looked up, there were no routing questions. She got a �deer in the headlight look� and just stared at me. I couldn�t help her unless she put the �customer� on hold. She panicked, she started talking to herself under her breath and at one point said �I don�t know what I am doing.� At that point I held up a piece of paper that read HOLD, because her tears had started.

I knew she failed the call because the customer heard her say she didn�t know what she was doing. But I told her she was doing fine, don�t give up, finish the call. She was upset that now the caller was on hold.

�Leave her there, don�t worry about it. Take your time and pull yourself together.� She did and got through the rest of the call fine. She would have passed it the TM had not heard her say those words.

Her trainer, the TM and I all told her she was doing fine, but when the trainer said she failed the call she lost it again. She still had another call to do but she was too upset.

By this time in the day I had been five hours without a smoke so I was getting punchy. �Screw it, lets go for a smoke first.� I told the TM we were going and went outside. After a smoke, she splashed water on her face and nailed the last call.

The most stressful part of the Undisclosed Customer Service Center� experience is the unknown. The reason the tests upset so many people is that they know the people on the other end know what they are supposed to be doing. But the general public are not going to know if you are saying everything you need to say and doing everything you need to do. The stress level will go down when you realize this. I told the girl that after a week this would all be second nature to her. That a monkey could do the job. She was more upset that she had cried and I told her she wasn�t the first and she wouldn�t be the last. Tonight I will find her before she takes the test again and give her a little pep talk.

It is always the ones who think they will never get it, that turn out to make the best agents.

Sunday, March 28, 2004

Vermin Update!

The reason for the move.

Let�s see, how to put it? I have recently become aware of a few undesirables at work reading my blog. Namely a couple who are in the middle of a soap opera of their own making. Let�s call them Skank and Hank.

Skank and Hank are married, just not to each other. This was fine until a month or so ago when the shit hit the fan. They got caught by their respective spouses. When this happened they, of course, blamed everyone but themselves. They even went to the manager of operations at the Undisclosed Customer Service Center� to complain that people were talking about them. More like laughing hysterically. What he was supposed to do about it? I am not sure what they were thinking.

Anyway, they have brought my name into it more than once. Mostly because I am friends with one of his ex-friends. If you are a regular reader, this is the first you are hearing about this. That is how little I care about the whole thing. It was a complete non event for me. Granted, it was funny and the gossip was juicy but apart from that, I could not have cared less.

The other day, my friend (Mr. Spilly) discovered that Skank and Hank found his site and decided to comment on it. It was a bit much I thought. You would think that they would want this to go away but apparently not. Not only did they comment on his blog, but they sent the URL of it to a team manager. This is how they found my blog. Although they have not commented on it so far, and I doubted that they would, (they are gutless wonders, those two) it is only a matter of time before they try and fuck with me. Which is a mistake. You do not want to fuck with my livelihood.

So long, long, long story short. I moved the site. When I first heard of it, I was going to take the site down altogether, but then I thought, fuck them! I am not the one fucking around with anything that moves. I am just here minding my own business.

I have been around the block a time or two, and I have experience with assholes like that. I keep meticulous records and if this in any way effects my ability to provide for the boy you may want to run for the hills. Even if you were squeaky clean, believe me, I could fuck you up! .

I am a nice person, but if I don�t like where you got it, I can tell you where to put it.

Friday, March 26, 2004

When Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.

I have been sick since Monday. And let me tell you I am a poor, pitiful pain in the ass when I am sick. I could tell I was getting sick Sunday night and I whined the whole night. I called in sick on Monday, but of course the boy tortured me the whole time. No sympathy from that front.

Decided I might as well go to work, since I was getting no sleep. Every time I laid my head down I couldn�t breathe, what fun. I always get sick in the weirdest possible ways. For instance, I never get all the symptoms of a flu at once. First day cranky and sore throat. Second day cranky and coughing. Third day cranky and stuffed up, fourth day runny nose, sneezing and, you guessed it, cranky. Oh and during runny nose, cranky day? If I do not get the tissue with the lotion then fifth day becomes cranky, sore nose cold sore day.

But I digress, Tuesday I go into work. I forewarn everyone around me that I am still sick and as an added bonus I am super bitch cranky. By the end of the night I am cursing like a sailor on shore leave and telling my TM that, no matter what, I was not giving anybody anything but the bare fucking minimum and he could have my ass fired if he wanted but I was sick and I warned everyone that I was in a foul mood.

Wednesday I showed up for work, in a slightly better mood although I did mention the desire to kick someone. I made it to 10 before I went home early. Got home and crawled into bed. I have not strayed far since. Today is the absolute best. Alternating from stuffed so bad I can�t swallow without popping my ears, to my nose running like two booger faucets. I am sorry, but I have blown enough snot to fill a bathtub. Where the fuck does it come from? Relief from the alternating runny/stuffy nose comes in the form of 5 minute, non stop sneeze fests. Did I mention I was cranky?

I am NOT getting out of bed tomorrow for anything. I have instructed the boy not to cross the threshold unless he is either bleeding or on fire and even then he is taking his life into his hands.

Tuesday, March 23, 2004

People kill people.

Watched Bowling for Colombine the other night. Anyone who hasn't seen it, really should.

Bowling for Columbine" is an alternately humourous and horrifying film about the United States. It is a film about the state of the Union, about the violent soul of America. Why do 11,000 people die in America each year at the hands of gun violence? The talking heads yelling from every TV camera blame everything from Satan to video games. But are we that much different from many other countries? What sets us apart? How have we become both the master and victim of such enormous amounts of violence? This is not a film about gun control. It is a film about the fearful heart and soul of the United States, and the 280 million Americans lucky enough to have the right to a constitutionally protected Uzi.

... From a look at the Columbine High School security camera tapes to the home of Oscar-winning NRA President Charlton Heston, from a young man who makes homemade napalm with The Anarchist's Cookbook to the murder of a six-year-old girl by another six-year-old, "Bowling for Columbine" is a journey through America, and through our past, hoping to discover why our pursuit of happiness is so riddled with violence.

One of the most interesting parts, for me, was when he asked Americans why they thought that the gun death rates were so much higher in America (over 11,000/year) than in, say, Canada (under 200). Their reply?

Canadians don't have as many guns. (10 million people, 7 million guns. That can't be it.)
Canadians don't have violent movies, TV, or video games. (Hello! We get all the same stuff.)
There are no poor people in Canada. (really? we have welfare, I wonder what for?)
There are no black people in Canada. ( I realize that he probably interviewed the dumbest of the dumb for effect, but please.)

It is amazing to me how much we (Canadians) know about America and how little Americans know about Canada. It's like they get all their information from TV, and that is just sad.

Monday, March 22, 2004

Even the Taliban knows you have to diversify.

This is what I have to deal with. Even though I am in Pro now, I do get the odd redneck. I use that term for lack of a better, you be the judge.

Thank you for calling the Undisclosed Customer Service Center' my name is Evel....blah blah blah'

'Ya, I was just talking to a tech and was cut off.' hung up on you mean, I can tell by this guys snotty attitude that he probably deserved it, but I give him the benifit of the doubt.

'Sorry about that sir, do you remember his name I can put you directly back to him.'

'Ah, no, and I would appreciate NOT going back to India.'
Ok , I was wrong, no doubt here. I give him the schpeel about being a global company and all I could do is transfer him with no guarantee where he would go.

'Well, this is the thing. I refuse to speak to any member of the Taliban. Or anyone else in the middle east.' I kid you not, he actually said those words. He stuns me for a second. Most rednecks try to mask their ignorance by telling you they are not prejudice, they just have problems understanding people in India. Not this guy.

'Well, Sir, I can guarantee you that the Undisclosed Customer Service Center' does not employ members of the Taliban.' this prompts surprised stares from my coworkers. I didn't bother to point out the fact that India is not even in the middle east.

'Ya right. Fine, you can get me back to the guy I had before, his name was Chris, (sarcastically) I am guessing it is not his real name I could sorta understand him.' I check the file and have to mute the guy, I am busting a gut.

Aside from the fact that he got India confused with Afghanistan, the tech he spoke to wasn't even in India. He was in Canada, and his name? Could not have been anything but Chinese.

Perhaps the Command Post should look into this. Apparently the Taliban is now headed up by Chinese Canadians who set up customer service businesses in India. Neat trick moving India into the middle east, and no one noticed.

Alert the media!

Saturday, March 20, 2004


Here�s the dilemma, do you update the blog every day so your millions two of screaming fans regular readers don�t stop coming here all together? Or do you wait till you actually have something interesting to say? I mean, blogging for the simple sake of blogging can get pretty dull don�t ya think? And dull has already been done to perfection.

So then you have to think up some thing that you can put up regularly as a backup filler type thing. Like - I have nothing interesting to say today, so here�s the up to date weather for Southern Iceland.

I know! I can rant about the boy. Up until now I have shielded you, gentle reader, from the satanic day to day torture that is the boy.

He comes home from school and before he even gets his coat off flops down on my bed and moans, I am bored. Of course he only does this if I am trying to write something or am doing just about anything that needs some sort of brain cell activity. I list off everything he could be doing but he is having none of it. There is no answer to his problem. Do not even try.

If I am reading, it is the exact time that he must speak with me, or he will, apparently explode. And it is usually something earth shattering like, he farted.

He never, ever, ever calls his own father. He will not call him to come and pick him up. He will however make my life a living hell until I call his father. I think it is because he knows how much I hate to do that, and because when his father says no, he can somehow make it my fault. And in a way it is my fault. I was the idiot that slept with that loser all those years ago.

Once every day I go completely horse from screaming. The boy has Chinese water torture down to a science.

I can never, ever, ever go shopping with him. Since he was a baby it has been the same. He would go on and on about a certain, specific toy that he just had to have. We would proceed to the store and look for it. But, and it�s a big but, if I was the first of us to lay hands on said toy, it made the toy null and void. �But this is the exact one you described?�

�I don�t want that one.�

�Is it just because I have touched it? CUZ I CAN STOP TOUCHING IT!�
So instead of walking in the store, knowing what we want and walking out 10 minutes later, it becomes a day long affair.

He did this to me yesterday. �There are $10 hats at Cleves, can I get one?� We go into the store and for some reason I lose my mind and actually lay hands on the hat. What the hell was I thinking? Do you know how hard it is to find a ball hat in Canada, in the winter? I do now. TWO FUCKING DAYS AND THIRTY TWO FUCKING DOLLARS!

And what, pray tell, is my reward for this? He is, at this very moment, shooting golf balls against my closed bedroom door.

Drip, Drip, Drip!

Friday, March 19, 2004

The soup Sub Nazi.

Last night at the Undisclosed Customer Service Center� the CSR�s were rewarded with free subs for meeting and exceeding customer satisfaction stats. This reward was strictly for CSR�s not techs, it is important to note this.

I was asked, at one point in the evening, to work security for the fridge. �Are you serious?�

�Yes, the subs are for the CSR�s and they only ordered enough for one for everyone.�

Great�.a cushy job off the phones. I soon realized that it was totally necessary. Is this high school? I thought you had to at least be the age of majority to work in this building? At first it was just directing everyone to which box held which variety of sub, but soon escalated into a full blown inquisition. I felt like the Sub Nazi. �Are you in CC? No? NO SUB FOR YOU!�

These subs were by no means a gourmet meal. They were crappy old cold cut subs. What was the fuckin� obsession with getting one by any means necessary? Why did grown men feel the need to deceive me in order to get one? One guy gave me a whole song and dance about how he always missed out on every free food day they had here at the Undisclosed Customer Service Center� because he was always diligently trying to help a customer and when he finally had time to go for the food, it was all gone.

�That is why I am here, because people like you wanted to take what wasn�t due them and you ended up with nothing. Suck it up, princess.� Later he walked by me with a sub in his mouth, he had gotten a girl in CC to get him one. Kids!

Another said, �I don�t see why the techs have been excluded.�

�Did you reach your customer satisfaction stats? No? Then NO SUB FOR YOU!�

Now there are hundreds of people working at the Undisclosed Customer Service Center� and I couldn�t possibly know all the ones in CC, so I would ask the question and since I figured these people were not twelve, they would answer truthfully. I figured wrong. Even a team manager in CC couldn�t get with the program, she actually went into the fridge (for the second time I found out later) and removed 2 subs and gave one to her boy-toy boyfriend who was a tech. What a great role model.

After my shift as the Sub Nazi I suggested that next time each team manager receive a ticket for each person on their team, no ticket, no sub. Simple. Of course I have no confidence that management will take my suggestion.

That would make sense, and sense just baffles these people.

Wednesday, March 17, 2004

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Almost pissed myself last night at the Undisclosed Customer Service Center� got a guy on the phone calling all over hell and creation trying to activate his software.

I ask a few probing questions, like, "Is the computer asking for activation?"

"No, but my buddy told me it had to be activated."

After 15 min or so I come to find out that he has ancient software, it works fine for what he is doing, no internet.

"Sir, you do not have to activate that software." he went silent, I didn't know what else to tell him. If it ain't broke, I can't fix it.

"Are you trying to tell me that I wasted the last 3 hours calling everyone trying to get help with this and you are REFUSING TO HELP ME?" He was actually pissed off! I was trying so hard not to laugh.

"I can't help you, there is nothing wrong with your software. You might want to take it up with your buddy for giving you wrong information." He was ranting that he wanted to speak to a supervisor. What for?

I should have told him that before we could go any further I would have to ask him to please put on the tinfoil hat. I just hooked him. I doubt he will call back, I think he was more pissed off once he realized he had just wasted his time and money trying to get help on a problem that didn't exist.

Oh well, he was good for a laugh.

Anyway, have a good one . And may you be half an hour in heaven before the devil knows your dead.

Monday, March 15, 2004

Trouble in paradise.

Had a little tiff with a co-worker tonight she was pissed at me and, frankly, I ended up pissed.

There were only four of us working. The TM decided to do all our end of month reviews, which is kinda cool we all got a little time off the phones. Even though we are not busy, it is still nice.

Anyway, my turn comes and when I get up there he is coaching someone so I wait until he is done. Then he brings out my month end. �Didn�t we already do this?�, he says.

�Ah, ya. But I can still get time off the phones can�t I?� and we laugh.

�Hmmmm ok, you can sit here, or we can go for a smoke?�, he says.

�Cool, lets go.� If he is bluffing, I am calling him on it.

I get my coat and we head out. The others stand up and everyone notices.

When I get back, the girl next to me is clearly pissed. I make light of it, and she says flat out that she is pissed. I of course laugh, cuz I think it is ridiculous to be pissed. If I had been in her shoes, I of course would have laughed, called her a bitch (both jealously and jokingly) and moved on. At this point it is done, and there is nothing I can do to take it back. I realize she is pissed and I am sorry she is, but short of turning back time, I don�t see how I can make it right. Lets move on.

That is not how she handled it.

She said it was favouritism, I disagreed, since I think whoever he had up there would have ended up going for a smoke, I doubt it was because of me. She disagreed.

I pointed out that more than a few people sign off the phones and sneak out for a smoke, and she has no problem with that? No, it is wrong but she has no problem with that. �Is it just that it was me then?� No it was that a TM went with me, and it was, in her mind, favouritism.

�Ok, so if you don�t have a problem with me sneaking out, you have a problem with the TM, take it up with him�

�I think I will.�

�Fine then, it was wrong, I agree and it will never happen again. Are we done?�

Nope we are not she went on to say that she wouldn�t have gone if it was her. Ok, that�s her, I guess I am morally corrupt. Through most of the conversation I was just taking it, until she said this to me. ���..and a woman of your age should know better.� Ok, the guy sitting next to me takes one look at my face and steps backwards.

I was so mad that I don�t even remember what I said next.

I don�t know if you get this from my blog or not. But I live my life one way. I do not dwell on things, life is too short and I have been through too much shit. If you don�t like me, bite me. At �my age� I don�t have time for the bullshit.

I apologized to her, not because I was sorry for doing it, but for the fact that she was upset that I did do it. She took it as a personal affront and it appeared to me that she was more upset that I wasn�t more upset that she was upset. I felt like she wanted me to be totally ashamed of myself. Which I am not and refuse to be. So, if that upsets her, so be it.

A woman of my advanced years can�t afford to waste time with the bullshit.

Sunday, March 14, 2004


Thought I would tie up a few loose ends before I go back to work.

The boy had to sit out half of his game Thursday night, he got kicked out of the last game for smokin� some kid in the head (who frankly deserved it) and he got kicked out of practice for more of the same. On a lighter note, the ass curd that called him a rat has been banned from the rinks. I saw him the other day and waved.

I got the obligatory �fuck off� letter in response to my application for the TM position. Big Surprise. I did manage to get �recognised� with a certificate for being appreciated by my co-workers. Big fuckin� hairy deal. It does not come with a pay raise, although it did come with a new zippy thing for my badge so it wasn�t a total waste of time.

I managed to get half my house clean, like Solomon Gundy, its still half dirty. (Does anyone else remember that bit from Sesame Street? Or am I dating myself?)

The cats still live, despite themselves.

My s.up.rn.ov.a addiction still rules me.

My nails have finally grown out and I can paint them again. Currently working on shamrocks for St. Paddy�s day.

My car payments are finally up with the bank, although I still owe my sister a couple of payments. Probably why it hasn�t completely self destructed yet. It usually happens when the bank payments are done, the car falls apart.

We were promised a huge storm Thursday, that we did not get. Now they say �oh wait, did we say Thursday, we meant Saturday� ya sure, I will believe it when I see it. �heavy snowfall warning� my ass! Now it is Sunday, and you guessed it, no storm.

Speaking of my ass, it still doesn�t hurt, can�t even tell where I got the shot. This rocks!

Kimmy is making me a booze soaked triple chocolate cheesecake for Sunday, mmmmmmmmmmmmm.

It�s Saturday and I am not even broke. That has got to be a record.

However, I am getting shack-whacky, and actually can�t wait to get back to work. Clearly I am a sick, sick woman.

Friday, March 12, 2004

Sweet Jesus! I've been shot!

Had a doctor's appointment for my birth control shot. I have been putting it off because I hate needles.

Yes, I know, I got a tattoo so there are no more excuses.

I have been wanting to get this thing for a long time. Every second chick at the Undisclosed Customer Service Center� is taking it and they all rave. The number one reason? It gets rid of your period all together.

Wait, maybe you didn't hear me. It - gets - rid - of - your - period, period! Does the Pope know about this? Are all good Catholics out there aware of this?

Lets see, you can defy your religion every time you wake up and chose to take that little white pill or you can just sin once every 3 months and never have a period again. The Pope needs to get with this program.

Anyway, my appointment is at 11 and I wake up at 7:15am, WTF? I lay my head back down, just for a minute. HOLY SHIT, it's 11:34! Call up the doctor to apologize, "How soon can you get here?" Its just a shot, anyone in the office can do it. Hoping that the janitor will be on his lunch break, I hop in the car.

And hit every fucking light in town. Finally I make it, but of course there are no parking spaces, I have to park at the grocery store and walk up. "Hey Evel, do you mind if Ann gives you the shot? She's an RN?" Gus was indeed on his lunch break.

"Are you positive you are not pregnant?"

"Well, if I was I would be accompanied today by the Enquirer. And of course the Pope would need to be notified, being as it's His baby and all."
I probably shouldn't make this woman giggle, she is holding a rather lethal looking needle that she is intending to plunge into me.

"You want it in the arm or the ass? The ass hurts less." Ok, apparently there was a question in there somewhere, albeit a stupid question. I drop my drawers and take one for the team.

A few minutes later I am on my way home, shot up with pro gestational steroid. If this works, then the Pope will just have to understand. One less mouth to feed at the very last supper.


I have not been blogging as I should. I know this, but I currently have a monkey on my back.

Before Christmas I had the satalite dish disconnected so I could save money. It wasn't too much of a hardship. I work nights so I don't really get to watch a lot of TV anyway. The boy wasn't too thrilled about it, but hey, if he wants TV, he can get a job.

Anyway, I was filling my time with music downloads on K.AZ.AA until someone put me on to a whole other trip. Its called s.up.r.no.va and I am completely hooked. It blows that other pirated music site out of the water. And here is the kicker. I can download my favorite TV shows and movies faster than you can read this post. I am addicted, I tell you! I may never get the dish back. I never miss a show, and I have more TV on my computer than I have time to watch.

Which brings me to the whole blog laziness. But I will get back to it, I promise. But right now? The West Wing awaits, and tomorrow is the last day of my vacation.

Monday, March 8, 2004

For better or worse.

I am soooo impatient. I took the bandage off. So, here it is in all its glory. I have to say that most of the redness you see was probably from the actual shaving of my legs. Not exactly a common thing. I usually do it once a year wether I need it or not.

I know the picture is crap, but you try taking a picture of your own left ankle and see how you make out.

I actually have a tattoo. Hmmm.

Sunday, March 7, 2004

And we are officially branded!

Well, it's done now. I do have a couple of pics. This one is me, in progress.

We decided to go with gradient green outlined in black. And I just have one thing to say. Holy sweet mother of Christ, it hurt! Have to say that I would never make it as a biker chick.

This one is Kimmy, finished. The tattoo's are identical but hers is up and down and mine is side by side.

I will post one of mine, when it looks a little prettier. Right now it is red and angry looking.

Nova Scotia Tattoo.

Today is the day I get my tattoo. We always said we would get one before we were 40. That sounded fun when we were 20 and even 30. But in 2005 we will both be 40, so it's crunch time.

So, today is the day. Kimmy is getting some sort of zodiac symbol. I kid her that she was born too late and would have made the perfect flower child. She was born to be a hippie, just missed it by a couple of decades. Oh well, I thought about what I would get for a long time.

I think it was this time last year when I made a decision on what it would be. So, unless the guy shows me some awesome artwork at the eleventh hour, this is it.

I decided to go with the Chinese character thing, for the simple fact that when I am 80 I can tell the grandkids it means peace and love or some crap like that. Now all I have to do is keep the boy from marrying a Chinese chick that can call me on it.

Wish me luck!

Thursday, March 4, 2004

Guess that is why they call it a roach?

YES! I am on vacation!

I wake up this morning with this song running through my head.
La cucaracha, la cucaracha
Ya no puede caminar
Porque no tiene, porque le falta
Marijuana que fumar.

Ok, so it was more like:
La cucaracha, la cucaracha
Da da, da da, da da, da.

Either way, a very festive tune, right? So I am sitting here at the computer with the song running through my head and decide I should know what the song means.

Some things are best left up to the imagination.

Wednesday, March 3, 2004

Did I post this already?

I am walking up to the drug store comming from the other direction is a old woman and her even older husband. It works out that the old woman goes first, the old man indicates that he wants me to go ahead of him. Sweet old man.

Picture it, Cicily, 1938........wait...that's another story.

Ok picture it. The drug store has an outer door, a sort of entry way and then the inner door.

The old lady goes in the first door, she holds it for me and I hold it for the old man, then we get to the inner door. Again she holds it for me and as I walk through I am looking back to hold it for the old man when I hear her say in a snotty voice, "Your welcome."

Without missing a beat, my blood is boiling and I look her straight in the eye, while incidently holding the door for her cripled old husband and say, "I usually wait till after the entire process, BITCH!"

Holy Shit! I actually called that old lady a bitch. I was pumped though, how rude! Aparently I wasn't fast enough with my thank you to suit her. I can only imagine what kind of hellish existance she has inflicted on that poor old man.

I meet up with the two of them at the cash register, she gives me a snotty look and the old man winks at me.

Your welcome.

Tuesday, March 2, 2004

Looking forward to spring thaw.

The boy is trying to break me. The last two mornings afternoons I have woken up to the boy still asleep on the sofa.

"The alarm never went off." Convenient.

Not only that but the house is a mess. Now when I say mess, I mean you would not believe it. Picture a frat house after a week-long kegger party. No exaggeration.

Last night I get home after working 14 hours. I pull into the driveway and it is orange. I bought a mega box of fruit drink pouches and he has squirted them all over the driveway. Great, why didn't I just burn the money on the way home.

I walk into the kitchen and the clothes that I put in the washer this morning are in a heap. The boy has done his laundry and mine gets to dry on the floor. Great, have to start that process all over again. On to the living room, there is a tv dinner plate upside down on the carpet, and as luck would have it, it had contained dipping sauce. I say 'had contained' because it is now part of the carpet along with the chocolate brownie thingy that accompanied it.

I look up and see the familiar orange drink running down the wall. Well it was obviously running at some point, but now it is dried into a sticky mess. When I ask him about this he says, �It wasn�t me.�

Ok, that shit worked for me because I had 5 brothers and sisters. I could use that argument because there was a chance that it may not have been me. But the boy doesn�t grasp this concept.

�There is only you and I living here! I know it wasn�t me, therefore it HAS to be you! Otherwise we have a serious security breach here. Who the FUCK is coming in my house and squirting juice on the wall?�

I turn around and walk back through the kitchen, I try not to look at the table because I know that it is covered with a sticky substance the kind that used to be something liquid but has since dried. Most likely pop. The boy spills it every single time and then walks away. As I walk through the kitchen I also notice that my feet are sticking, so he as managed to hit the floor a couple of times with something. Just let me get to the bathroom and splash some water on my face.

It was a nice thought, but the sink is full of water and something that resembles beefaroni, only the sauce has dissolved. The boy has dumped it in the bathroom sink because, after all, the kitchen sink is filled to capacity with dirty dishes. I understand the reasoning. Ok, so no water from the sink, try the tub. Well that would work if there wasn�t cat shit on the floor in front of me.

He is home for two days, he is not obviously cleaning the house, why can�t he at least let the FUCKING CATS OUT????

Short of killing the boy, I don�t know what to do. I have taken the guitars, and deleted his profile on the computer, I have changed the password so he can�t get on mine and severed the link for internet access to his. If this house is not clean when I get home from work tonight, I am selling everything he thinks he owns.

If this doesn�t work? I will have to wait for spring to dig a hole in the backyard.

And one of us is going in it.