I have 2 completely boring things rattling around in my mostly empty head, so I am going to give a 2 for 1 special at bargain basement prices.
I Hate Being Poor
Looking at houses has been a reminder of exactly how incredibly poor we really are. Within our price range is a lovely selection of the most hovely hovels in all of hoveldom. The very first house we looked at was so incredibly horrible that the only good that came from it was the knowledge that it can only get better from there. The realtor that was really trying to get us to buy also owned their own construction business and if we bought that house and had them "flip" it for us, they would give us a great price! Any electrical and plumbing that they did would come with a lifetime guarantee and they would fix any problems in the future for FREE! Damn, baby, where do we sign? Never mind all the holes in the walls, the broken, splintered stairs, the suspicious holes cut out of the carpet when the carpets are so disgustingly dirty it makes you wonder what had been so bad that they needed to cut out just those areas. It wouldn't have surprised me if there had been chalk outlines of bodies and they had just cut along the dotted lines in those carpets, so odd were the shapes of the chunks taken out. When we left Princess said it looked like a mass murderer had lived there. And that sums up that house perfectly.
Another house, which we really liked besides this one little flaw, had floors that were dangerously sloping into what I can only assume was a massive sink hole that is about to swallow that house. As much as we would have loved that house, we aren't quite desperate enough to be sucked into a sink hole, never to be heard from again.
It just goes on and on and on. I can understand being poor, but do you have to be so filthy? After looking at some of these houses I just want to come home and soak in a hot bleach bath. *Sigh* Our search continues and our bleach supply dwindles.
Is That A Hint?
I accept that the dogs like my room so much that they must drag all their toys into my bed, chew up everything under my bed, and regurgitate those things that didn't agree with them all around my bed. But lately they have been dragging a hair brush into my bed. I keep putting it away and it keeps finding its way back into my bed. I know my hair is a wild mop, but if I brush it it becomes all frizzy and even wilder. I explained this to the dogs and they kindly dragged a little gardening rake into my bed last night instead of the hair brush. They finally realized that this steel wool pad on my head needs more than a hair brush and I feel lucky that they didn't drag a bigger rake into my bed. The hair brush will never get to run its bristles through my luxurious locks, but I may start using the gardening rake. I could plant some seeds in the furrows and grow a new chia hairdo. I think the dogs are on to something...
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