Bustedus Domesticus; Shoot Me Now

Oh the fun I have had tonight.

As you may know, I have been slowly getting moved into this trailer for a while now, heavy emphasis on slowly.

After my weekend long bender, I decided to sober up a bit and start taking care of business.

My friend Suzanne came and helped me out a ton last weekend and got me pointed in the right direction but then I got a wild hair up my ass and nothing else got done.
I found a cool vacuum cleaner and some extra bags and finally got one to fit right and did a couple of cursory passes, uhm, yeah, I filled the joint up with dust is more like it.

So tonight I figured I would get with the program a bit.

Let me tell you about how this worked out.

Suzanne told me the best way to go about cleaning and organizing is to start in a corner of one room and work your way out and just repeat the process.

I ain't that fucking smart.

The first thing I did was to go around dumping half empty beer cans and ashtrays, then I got rid of the evidence from the last week, all the empty jugs.

All good and well, progress, ya know.

I took out the garbage, then I tripped over the vacuum cleaner. When this thing was new, it was an expensive sonofabitch.

Kind of like a cannister type on wheels with more damn attachments than I know what to do with, a huge remote agitator unit that is remotely powered up through the hose, everything plugs in and is electric.
So, I crack a beer and hook this thing up and turn it on.
Grumpy Old Woman Cat bangs her head on the wall getting the fuck out of Dodge.
Why is it that this cat can tell the difference between Judas Priest and a fucking vacuum cleaner?

Anyway.
I am going to town with this thing and the next thing I know, it gets real dark all of a sudden.

I look behind me and see the Dustbowl from Kansas behind me.

Shit.
Of course I never put away the clean dishes that Suzanne was so kind to do and now they look like Terra Cotta.

The fucking carpet looks like a freshly unearthed Woolly Mammoth carcass to begin with and now all I am doing is spreading some seriously nasty shit around, with a brand new bag in the thing.

I turn the damn thing off and open the door to air the joint out and here comes the other cat.
Dude!
I like what you are doing to the place.
I see you have a beer open so I am going to go shed seventeen fucking pounds of cat hair behind the stereo you haven't hooked up yet because I know you won't find it for another month.
By the way, feed me man!

Little fucker.


I change the damn bag, it was full, surprise, and remember Suzanne told me to spread Baking Soda on the carpet.
Have I mentioned Suzanne is the shit?

So I break it out and start sprinkling it around and then it just dumped half the motherfucking box out in one spot.

Time out, my beer is getting warm.
I smoke a cigarette and mutter under my breath, the whole time knowing I have a kitchen full of dirty dishes.

I get the damn mess cleaned up in the kitchen and then go to mow the bathroom.
That's right, there is carpeting in the kitchen, the bathroom and every square inch of flooring in this thing.

Who the FUCK puts carpeting in a bathroom?

Idiots.

I filled up another bag and called it good.

I am going to have to rent a cleaner, I also went through half a bottle of Fabreze.
Somebody before me had cats and I swear half of what I vacuumed up was cat hair of a different color.
Another beer and I had to come up to the nightstand to get a pack of smokes.
The old bitch bit me again, out of the blue.
She must really hate vacuum cleaners.

I can tell you she doesn't care for flying lessons much either, sonofabitch.


On to the dishes!
YAY!
My fucking favorite.

There is a really old mechanic joke,

How can you tell a mechanic has been on a date?
He has one clean finger.

How can you tell Busted has been doing dishes?
All his fingernails are clean.

I redid all the ones that Suzanne did,then everything else, after I went and got two bottles of Propane and relit the Hot water heater.
Now I see why I go through so much propane, the hot water heater sounds like an F-15.
That thing literally roars when it is going.

I had put my cast Iron pans in the sink because they were ,um, needing a soak can I say?

I had to scrub the shit out of them and then of course, you have to re-season them.
Lucky for me, I had some Pepper Bacon in the fridge that I can pretty much guarantee was Swine Flu free, if not Salmonella.

Did you know that the engineers who designed the little gas stoves in trailers had a wicked sense of humor?
They did.
They actually put a mark on the burner controls that says medium.

Ha Ha.
Fuckers.
They are either on or off, High or pilot light, bitches.

I had three cast iron pans with bacon scorching in them at the same time.

OFF.
Beer, cigarette, repeat.

Before the first one of ya suggests I was drunk because I had a couple of beers, let me remind you that this episode took three hours and after drinking straight whiskey for three days, a couple of beers here and there is like drinking soda pop.
There ain't much room to turn sideways in one of these things when there isn't shit stacked up all over as it is and they have shit for counter space.


I finally got the bacon under control and since I haven't eaten anything real solid for three days, I decided to fry up some eggs and make some toast and call it a day.
The first motherfucking thing I did was knock a half a dozen eggs off the counter while wrestling with the big cast iron pan.
Where do you think they landed and broke all over?
The carpet, in the kitchen, that I had just vacuumed.

I think I will just go piss all over the bathroom carpet and be done with it.