Full Blown Freak Out

So, you remember that houseguest, you know, the smelly one who shared all the crap on his iPad?

Well…. he left!  Yay.

Don’t celebrate too quickly though.  His crap is still here.

After he left, Superman cleaned up the spare room (read: picked up trash that was all over the place and changed the bedding and washed it) because I refused to touch all that crap.  Plus… he smelled.  I was cruising around the house today and noticed that 2 pairs of his shoes were missing while the third pair was just hanging out in my foyer.  I walk through the doorway and his GNC bag is half empty (yes, I’m a pessimist today) but still there.  It had more stuff in it recently.  Apparently, he stopped by to pick up a few things and failed to clean up the rest.

I go upstairs and realize his crap is still in the spare closet (including ABU’s and Blues).

I walk into the garage and I realize that his stuff is still there, but the OTHER dude who’s stuff is in my garage from the flood LAST MAY… came by and took half his stuff… when no one was home… without permission.

Yeah, it’s annoying but the worst part was that I got up at 3:30am to be at work by 5 that morning.  By 3 in the afternoon I’m angry, hungry, downright hostile, bluntly direct, and I poke sleeping bears.  I also have very little reign on my anger emotion when I reach that point of tired and hungry.  I’m notorious for crying my eyes out if I’m exhausted.  Hell hath no fury like a tired and hungry Molly.  I’m a straight bitch, I’m not even going to try and sugarcoat it.  When it gets to this point, it’s safer to convince me to go to sleep and take a nap because otherwise it’s entirely possible that I’ll literally bite someone’s head off and bury it in the backyard/set it on fire/freeze it/etc.  Well, I decided to not take a nap.  God, that was a terrible idea. 

I ranted on facebook, tagged Superman so that they would all see it, grabbed a box and went upstairs.  I threw all the shit in the closet into a box and made sure to stuff his blues top in the middle of it and then pushed it down for sport.  You know exactly how annoying the wrinkles in the blues are.  I hope that asshole has fun ironing them.  After I collected all of his shit possessions and shoved them in the same box with his clothes, I grabbed his dirty laundry… including dirty BOXERS (Ew.) and threw that box in the garage.  Yes, I threw it.  It’s not even standing upright currently.  I left it on its side… hopefully the blues get more wrinkled!

Officially, I have his stuff out of my living space, it’s all in the garage.

He hasn’t said anything yet, but he must know about it because I went to the station for dinner tonight and that donkey got up and left super quick.

Superman was at his second job when I threw a tantrum.  When he got home I laid into him about feeling used… Like I said, I really should have taken a nap.  I have no idea where all this anger comes from sometimes.  But apparently, I had gone on yelling at him for so long that I took a break to breathe or something and passed out cold.  Superman’s a pretty smart guy, usually.  This time he was smart enough to not touch me and let me sleep.  I woke up 14 hours later, confused and lost this morning.  Apparently, I was non-functioning when he got up for work, flopped on the dog and semi-comatose. 

I may have the bravest husband on the planet.


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