monster sarcasm rally

I want my dishwasher back already. They came and picked it up on Tuesday, which (by the way) is not the same thing as Monday, and said they hoped it'd be done by the end of the week. Funny, I had hoped it would be done last Saturday. For that matter, I had hoped it would work when it was first delivered to my house!

On a related note, Shane pissed me off but good yesterday.

On Tuesday he and Gina cooked an elaborate meal and left all their dirty dishes and pots and pans and disgusting raw sausage bits and went upstairs to make like bunnies. I washed all their dishes. On Wednesday they made another elaborate meal, which they proceeded to leave spread over every surface in the kitchen and dining room. Cute but Kinda Evil washed all their dishes.

Here's the kicker... On Wednesday, along with the disgusting mess, Shane left an enormous note telling everybody to clean up after themselves. He's been doing this a lot lately: grumbling about the state of cleanliness, while being the worst offender.

Gee, how very like the Complaining Wonder. The Complaining Wonder whinged vociferously and to anybody and everybody that our house was disgusting. He was horrified by everything, and yet he was far and away the worst mess-maker. It's one thing to cook and then not do your dishes right away. It's another to cook and leave everything wherever it lands for days on end. Greasy frying pans with bits of meat still in them left on the stove... Open pots of pasta left on the counter... The stove-top covered with grease, tomato sauce, sauce-covered stirring utensils, bits of unidentifiable food... The kitchen table covered with dirty cutting boards, leftover bits of raw vegetables, open tins with most of the contents removed... The counter covered with plates still covered in sauce and leftover food... The dining room table topped off with half-empty glasses of whatever...

The Complaining Wonder eventually declared that he was going to move out, which was absolutely fine with us. To top things off, though, he talked about the house as being 'intolerable'. You want to tell me you don't like my house: fine. You don't like living there: fine. You hate it with every fibre of your skinny, little being: cool. Whatever. What I have a problem with is his refusal to accept responsibility for his feelings. If he hates the house, that's his right. To say that the living conditions in the house were 'absolutely intolerable' makes a statement about anybody who lives there, anybody who chooses to live there. I don't find my house intolerable. I love my house.

Um... I have no idea where that came from. This was meant to be a short post about the fact that the dishwasher's still in the shop.