Grumbles and rants

I am being a complete stinkpot. Skip and Mollie are getting together with Bobby and me for my birthday celebration on Saturday. True to form, Mollie is expecting moi to host my own birthday party. You know: Come over to my house, play some music, go out to dinner, come back to my house, etc., etc. Of course, who gets to clean the house before then clean up after? Plus, she always brings something to eat after we stuff ourselves at dinner; so I end up with stuff I don't want in my refrigerator, dirty dishes to clean, etc. And all because the inside of Mollie's house is like one huge landfill.

Well, I'm damned sick and tired of the "Let's have a party at your house" shtick for every single occasion; and I am not "hosting" for music at my own house for my own birthday. Maybe I should feel flattered that this house is so comfortable and welcoming, but I don't. I feel pissed off and put-upon that I'm "expected" to do this because I "have someone to help around the house."

What bullshit. There are two people, two birds, and one dog living in this house. That means there are four other beings to pick up and clean up after--and believe me, the birds and Scout don't do a damned thing to clean up after themselves!

Mollie's mother's death is simply the latest excuse for not cleaning/picking up her house. The main problem is that Mollie never does pick up her house--there is not a single piece of furniture that isn't piled high with crap. Every single chair, table, sofa, TV, computer, etc., is covered. And now her car is filled to the roof with stuff from her mother's house--she can't even unload the freakin car because she doesn't have any place to put the stuff! Jesus.

You know, when my mother died, I had a house, a husband, two kids in college, two cats, and a dog to take care of while working AND single-handedly taking care of settling Mother's estate. I had a hell of a lot more to do than simply pick out what I wanted from Mother's house. Yet I still managed to keep my house picked up. It was frequently messy (it still is frequently messy), but it sure didn't look like the aftermath of a rummage sale! I didn't have shit piled three and four layers deep on every horizontal space--not before, not during, not after. There's no damned excuse for that.

Ok, that's not a Christian attitude. Too bad. Even Jesus got pissed off (Matthew, Chapter 21). But I really don't see why some effort can't be expended on my behalf for a change. (Yeah, I know: What a selfish beeyotch.) Oh well, I guess I'm just not worth it, eh?