In case you haven’t already been there, I did a guest post on Naturally Inappropriate today and used up a large portion of my allotted brilliance for the day. However, I’ve been terribly neglectful of this thing lately, and that makes me feel this yucky sensation in my stomach that kind of feels like rocks mixed with moping…
…Guilt. I think they call that guilt.
And so here I am.
With the upcoming Zombie Deity Day on Sunday, I’m sure many people have plans to shepherd their family about to chase colored eggs or pay your respects to the original Lord Zombie. I, on the other hand, am one o’ them there atheist heathens, so I’ll probably be sitting around in my underwear eating Jelly Bellies straight from the Costco size container. And in true atheist fashion, we’ll be hosting Easter Dinner on Saturday.
Don’t you bastards dare judge me. I know you’ve all done worse.
I love hosting dinner parties, but I have that crushing guilt thing if I don’t clean up my house in advance. Granted, what I tend to call “cleaning up” most people call “what my house looked like right after I moved in,” but I’m mildly obsessive compulsive, and the clutter has been tormenting me lately. Don’t judge. Also, my house still smells like greasy chain smoker 6 months after we moved in, despite new paint and carpet. So while my husband went off to his weekly nerd night, I took the opportunity to scrub my kitchen from ceiling to lower cabinets (I saved the floor for my husband).
On that note, I never want to hear a tenant complain ever again about how their apartment was filthy when they moved in. I spent 2 hours on a step ladder with citrus turpene and Murphy’s Oil Cleaner stripping years of nicotine and grease off my cabinets before I ever even started actually cleaning. And then I did the same thing to my front door. My counters and floors were covered in sticky little balls of gray, gooey nicotine that the cat kept trying to eat. Everything now smells like oranges and bleach, but my cabinets are light brown – who knew?
And this is why you people aren’t allowed to smoke in your apartments.
The point is that my kitchen is clean enough that I can work on my piece de resistance: Bleeding Bunny Cake. Contrary to what people tend to believe about me, I don’t sacrifice actual bunnies. Come now – I love animals more than people (especially dumb animals), and if I’m going to gnaw on their flesh, I make someone else kill ’em. Because I’d cry. No, bleeding bunny cake is just Italian Cream Cake in a bunny cake mold filled with raspberry sauce so that it bleeds when you cut it. It’s awesome and disturbing and this holiday is only time I get to use a cake pan that I spent $30 on. Screw ham – I’m just here for the bunny cake.
So after all that hard work and dishpan hands, I woke up this morning to find that I was also voted in as a League of Funny Bitches All-Star and such a thing cannot go unrecognized.
Yeah, I made my own trophy. I is still one funny bitch.
Because there are so many people who made this possible, I’d like to take a moment to thank each and every one of you.
First and foremost, thank you to my mom for encouraging me to be snarky and verbose. Were it not for her periodically egging me on, I’d probably be normal. And thank you to my dad (rest in peace) for providing me with my genetic potty mouth and propensity for making up random words and insults. A vocabulary isn’t taught; it is built out of the misery and perturbation that comes from people who irritate the shit out of you.
To Queen Inappropriate and occasionally her family, I thank you for being a party to providing the thought provoking fodder that stokes the wildly inappropriate inferno deep in my soul. In some places (I’m looking at you, bible belt) you’d be guilty as an accomplice to crimes against decency or lewd acts or something. Just remember – those same states would never call upon family to testify against you. Cousin.
To my loving Husband, you also provide a fair amount of ammunition for my little dossier of duh, and I trust that you will forever support me in these pursuits, so long as you can maintain enough plausible deniability that it can never be traced back to you.
And last, but certainly not least —
Here’s to you, every roommate, boss, customer disservice flunky, and disgruntled employee, coworker, or tenant I’ve ever had. Without your persistent, obnoxious shenanigans and wholly vexatious existence, I would not be the appalling, offensive troll that I am today. For you, I leave you this exceedingly awesome picture of what you reduce me to at the end of the average work day:
Happy Easter, and hopefully spring!
