Why Clean For Guests?

Something that drives me crazy about guests coming over is my wife insists that we have to clean the house. She claims we “can’t look like pieces of shit,” and I insist that oh yes, “we can look like pieces of shit.” Still, she won’t let us. But this baffles me in that I simply cannot imagine coming into another person’s home and giving a single shit about how it looks inside. Is this really something that people care about?

My wife insists that it is, but I refuse to believe her. I don’t believe these people exist, and if they do exist, they are not the sort of people I would want to impress anyway. Inevitably, my wife starts stressing out about having to get things clean for guests, and then I have to pitch in and help. I’ll admit, she does the VAST majority of cleaning, but every finger I lift cleaning is one that isn’t coming down on this keyboard to type out CONTENT for the masses.

So stop cleaning your house for others, and start cleaning it for yourself.

Never Use Housekeeping

Whether it be for work or pleasure, I have traveled a fair amount in my day. And despite my white trash tendencies, I have stayed in some pretty upscale places. Those were all work related. I have also stayed in some dumps, because I'm a cheap piece of shit, and my wife has to convince me that maybe the Murder Inn is not the best place to spend an evening.

But through that time, I feel like I have learned some important lessons. The most important of these lessons is the relative worthlessness of housekeeping during your stay. Now, before I get going, let me say that they are VERY important between stays as I depend on them to not be lying in a mixture of blood, semen, and bedbugs. But once I get there, I really see no purpose in them coming in my room each day.

First off, I hate having the sheets tucked in. Seriously, who wants to be tucked that tight? I rarely wear shoes or underwear, because I am a man who needs freedom. Getting in one of those super tucked beds is one of the most aggravating feelings in the world. Nobody can possibly enjoy being tucked in like that. It is already too much of a struggle to get those sheets untucked. To have housekeeping come in and retuck might be too much for me to physically remove, and it is most certainly too much for me to mentally go through that struggle again.

Also, it's not like I need extra towels. Most of my trips to hotels are three nights or less. I can use a towel for three straight days without much stress. Even if I do need more towels or toiletries, I can get that separate without getting the whole housekeeping service.

Finally, I like my stuff where I leave my stuff. I don't need things moved around and put into proper places, because I like things laying around with no rhyme or reason as I thrive in chaos. I don't need things put in drawers and me having to search all around because a random woman, or man (I'm progressive), decided this was the best method moving forward. 

The only people that can justify using housekeeping are complete slobs who make the room into a shithole in a matter of hours and total sociopaths who enjoy the feeling of being tucked in. The former needs to clean up their act, and the latter needs professional help; not even housekeeping can save you from that.

My Dog Pooped In My Car

Well, the title really tells the story. My dog pooped in my car. We were driving over to her favorite park, so I could throw the ball for her and wear her out. It was about 8:00 Sunday morning, and I wanted to get her out before the weather got too hot for her, as she is basically a princess who likes to take it easy when it gets too warm.

So, we are going through our normal routine. Me in the driver's seat, her riding shotgun with her head out the window, getting all of that precious fresh air. As we were turning into the park, she started really sticking her head out of the window, as she got further and further outside the car. I had to convince her to calm down and stay in the car, as she looked like she was ready to jump out of the moving car. 

I smelled it before I saw it.

The car stunk, and I thought she just farted, but then I looked down on her seat to see one juicy turd laying on the passenger seat. She was even more adamantly trying to get out of the car, but I calmed her down enough to at least not jump out, as we only had about 30 seconds until we could safely park and she could be let out. I was also impressed that she was being very careful not to step on the turd that she had dropped off in the passenger seat. At this point, I was more miffed than anything as I was still processing everything that was going on while making sure my dog didn't seriously injure herself.

I finally park to let her out, and she of course jumps to my side of the vehicle to get out of the car. In her anxiety to get out of the car, she managed to somehow turn and spin to get every single one of her paws into the turd. She spread it all over the front seat and got a significant portion onto my driver's seat. Also, I noticed that her nub was bleeding, and there was actually shit and blood all over my front seats. Amazing. 

She took a big old dump, and then I gathered up a bunch of toilet paper from the nearby restroom to wipe up as much as I could, but, not surprisingly, my car still reeked of shit. 

At this point, we were already at the park, so I figured we still might as well play a little bit. I threw the ball for her for a few times, but she knew that she messed up by pooping in the car, so she wasn't all that into it. Either way, it gave the car a little time to air out, but it still smelled like poop when we got back inside. 

Anyway, we got home, I cleaned my interior (luckily it's leather, because I'm a BOSS), and went on to have a nice little Sunday. And that concludes the story of when my dog pooped in my car.