Last night was an unfortunate night in my house all around.
First I will tell you the rousing story of me losing to a vacuum cleaner. I was cleaning my room up and was vacuuming around the edges of the room with just the hose so I could get my dogs little bits of kibble. I dropped the vacuum on the floor so I could pick up some clothes and I heard this sound like something was stuck in the end, I turn around thinking perhaps my dog was getting sucked into the vacuum (it could happen, she is tiny). It wasn’t my dog, it was a sock. No big deal right? Yeah that is what I thought too, until I picked up the hose to remove the sock from the end and the sock went up the hose.
This would not be a huge deal if I had a standard run of the mill vacuum cleaner that you would buy from places like Wal-Mart, but it’s not. It is a central vac, you know the kind that has a big canister in one part of the house and has the pipes running through the walls? I THINK the sock just went all the way through, at least I hope it did because I rent this house, I do not want to have to call the landlord and be like “um you know your vacuum cleaner? Yeah I broke it. Well I didn’t really break it buuuuuuuuuuut there is a sock stuck in the wall somewhere.” That would just be embarrassing. I also just want my sock back – it was one I use to work out in.. its important to me.
I am in no way a crafter, I love crafts, I love doing them but every time I finish something it looks more and more like a 5-year-old did the work and not an almost 30-year-old. However; I am currently in the process of making Christmas Presents for my mom and my gramma. My niece and I started this project in mid October so that we could have them done by Christmas, everything is right on schedule. I do not have pictures of the things because we do not want anyone seeing them and spilling the beans before Christmas, once they are with their new owners I will take pictures.
In the midst of my crafting I decided a great idea would be to get my glue gun out and glue things on to these decorations so that it wasn’t just paint, paint and more paint. This is a good idea if you are not clumsy, ridiculously accident prone, or just an unfortunate mess. I am all of these things and more. So you can imagine what may have happened. Last night while putting the final touches on one of the crafts I dropped a little fuzzy pom-pom that had HOT glue on it, not thinking I scooped it up off the kitchen table (that looks more like a kindergarten class had its way with it at the moment) with my index finger and thumb, that’s when it hit me, the hot searing pain of a fuzzy pom-pom adhering itself to my finger.
Yes you read that right I hot glued a piece of my craft to my index finger. I didn’t swear or yell though, I sat looking at it in disbelief all the while not computing that the hot glue was really burning my finger. I did finally realize what I was doing, and unstuck the item from my finger – today though I have a blister, which serves as a constant reminder that I should never be allowed to use anything that could cause bodily harm.
If you have ever been a gamer, know a gamer, or are thinking about becoming a gamer you know what rage quitting is, or you have at least heard if what it is right?? No? Well according to urban dictionary Rage Quit is defined as “When overwhelming rage caused by the online gaming world drives you into such madness, you quit from doing whatever the hell it is you’re doing.”
I do not game – unless you consider playing Wii bowling, zumba, fit or the Sims gaming, than I guess I do. But that is not the point of this post. I have a brother, we shall call him Cordee ( I am so brilliant, this is actually his nickname that I use frequently). Cordee games, he is a rage quitter. His rage quits are often loud and sometimes he seems pretty violent (remotes have flown across the room, chairs have been broken) , and he will punch me if he ever reads this. Again I digress this is not the portion of the post that has me rage quitting.
I normally don’t rage quit, I rage… but never rage quit. That is until the other day when Cordee called me and asked me where he could put some crafts I had sitting on the kitchen table. This is the conversation that happened after:
Me: Uh… I don’t know. Somewhere that they won’t get broken please, they are leaving this afternoon.
Cordee: so… throw them against the wall gotcha.
Me: No put them on the treadmill, they will be fine until I get home. Why are you cleaning the kitchen table?
Cordee: Poker night. This table is disgusting when did it get used last?
Me: I don’t know I fucking hate it so I never use it, unless I am crafting and then I use it.
Cordee: oh… I… See…
Me: Yeah its your other brothers table, I fucking can’t stand it. When I get a place of my own there will not be a kitchen table, all the damn thing does is collect mass amounts of other people’s shit, and get in the god damn way.
Cordee: whoa, calm down. It is OK, no need to get angry. And if there is no kitchen table where will people eat?
Me: I am not angry, I am stating a fact, while using a lot of profanity. It’s totally different. T.V. Trays.
Me: T.V. Trays. I will have tons of TV Trays and when people eat over they can eat off a fucking TV tray, and they can clean them off themselves. I seriously hate kitchen tables.
Cordee: yeah well.. um.. I think every place should have a table.
Me: Yours can. I refuse to have a kitchen table that will collect crap. I must have counters, but I do not have to have a fucking table.
Cordee: so you will just be like “eat off a fucking TV Tray”?
Me: Damn right I will, and if people don’t like it well too bad for them they don’t have to eat at my damn house!
Cordee: You realize you are rage quitting on an inanimate object right?
Me: yeah so? Shit.. my office phone is ringing, we will continue this conversation later.
Cordee: laughing – ok, talk to you later.
And there you have it people, I rage quit on an innocent kitchen table. In my defense, the kitchen table in my house is a glass top table (worst fucking thing ever), and it shows every single finger print that is on it, had I been home I may have smashed the damn thing, and then made up a story as to why it was broken. It also is home to everyone elses shit – none of it is mine. Mine is all in my room, and that is a totally different discussion.