Let’s do a little catch-up. If you’ve been following me on twitter @molly_danger , you know that there is a whole lot of flood/houseguest drama around here. It’s gotten so bad that they’re gone now.
Let’s recap the drama..
1) I got invited to my own house for drinks.
2) If the boys are at work, I receive a text message every night around 7pm asking me what I’m doing (at work) and when I’ll be home.
3) I have cleaned up dog hair in piles the size of huge couch pillows for the dog that isn’t mine.
4) Said dog has gotten into my trash can no less than 4 times.
5) On one of those occasions he got red velvet cake out and left crumbs all over my white government issued base housing flooring…. and I scrubbed it up.
6) My sleep schedule is effed, I have not seen or cuddled with superman until yesterday night in almost a week.
7) I have been perpetually cleaning up someone else’s shit.
8) We washed period underwear (I’m sorry for the TMI) that wasn’t mine because they were on the floor in the laundry room and it was freaking all of us out.
9) Instead of taking the trash out and putting it in the garbage, wifey set stuff on top of the trash can to be taken out.
10) Someone jacked my A/C down to 52 degrees, luckily I don’t pay the bill.
11) I’ve had to remove their laundry from the W/D on no less than 3 occasions this week and take it upstairs.
12) Hoebag ate my poptarts and fudge rounds (and drank half the milk and ate my cereal) — but snack foods are just crossing the line.
I really feel like I’ve been a maid. We have received no compensation for this whole situation and while I don’t expect it, I do expect contribution to the household. Basically, you don’t go in someone’s house and terrorize it, leave shit all over the place, make is disgusting and not clean up after yourself, and then use all their shit and hope things will turn out well. I personally am not a sharer. I don’t have sisters, I never joined a sorority, I had a hard time with roommates. I don’t even share well with Superman, according to him (I think I’ve been doing well). What’s mine is mine. Insert the pelicans from Finding Nemo (“Mine!, Mine!, Mine!) for added effect and you understand the situation. It probably stems from the fact that I didn’t have a lot growing up, I worked hard to get my things, and my little brother liked to steal my stuff.
I think my biggest beef and the one that’s been making me the most uncomfortable besides being able to run around the house without pants on (yes, I like that)… is that they asked me to write a “receipt” to FEMA so that they can continue to collect housing benefits. I live in base housing, we’re not privatized, I don’t pay rent. I’m not down with frauding a government agency with Superman’s stripes on the line. So you know what, absolutely not. You want to pay the cable and internet bill, I’ll write you a receipt for that.
Oh and to top it off… we jumped in the shower yesterday to head downtown and I’m looking all over the damn shower for my razor. I’m making Superman look all over the place for my razor. It’s not in my bathroom… it’s not in the ONLY bathroom I use. I don’t even know when it went missing. I got really pissed off because I just knew where it went. I’ve had THAT roommate before, you know the one who doesn’t understand the concept of boundaries and feels that it’s necessary to go through your shit? Yeah, that one. I hightailed it straight downstairs, still dripping wet, and FOUND my razor in the wrong bathroom. The bathroom I don’t use to shower, the bathroom that could have a toilet only and I’d be fine with it (well, and a mirror). The one that has the dog shower attached to it. Yeah, not MY bathroom.
I know damn well that I didn’t put my razor there, I know damn well that when I’m done with my razor, I clean off the blade before I cap it. I also know that the last time I used my razor, I shaved my legs. Needless to say I’m still having a hard time looking at the razor even with a changed blade and I’ll probably need to go buy another one because I can’t handle what it was used for….
Hoebag stole my razor. What else did she use/take/hide/assume as her own?!?!
And to top it off last night, she kept texting me asking us what we were up to and they kept trying to get us to go out with them.
Abso-fucking-lutely not. I can just see it.. 3 beers in and Molly starts a bar fight over a razor. I’ve never done it before but I was so angry yesterday that if it happened, I wouldn’t have been shocked. I don’t hide my emotions well.
On a side note, I told wifey’s hubs that the dog could stay here. She told me that they would be taking it to the on-base kennel and I just couldn’t do that. I talked to him (not the dog) and they were going to take it out to a friend’s house. But, he was obviously upset about the situation and knowing that the dog is an inside dog and this is an outside place with horses and a road (albeit not traveled often), I understood that it was killing him inside. I don’t mind the dog, he’s just dumb, and it’s not his fault that the situation sucks as much as it does. So it looks like the dog is going to keep staying here where he thinks he lives and I’m pretty sure is asleep on my couch right now.
To top it all off, the only person who has said thank you is Wifey’s hubs (and the dog, you can just tell he says thank you). I think she might have said it in passing but it doesn’t really count when you sound like a bitch while you do it… or use a blanket statement about being grateful to everyone.
Moral of the story: When accepting houseguests into the house, LAY OUT THE RULES. I wish I was more aggressive on that front.. I can be with guys, but girls cry and mope and it’s just irritating. I guess I just made the assumption that she wouldn’t be pilfering my stuff and stealing personal items. I should tell her that I have Hepatitis C and I hope she didn’t get cut with my razor. That would screw her couch.