aarrrrrrgh

I feel nauseous. It's not even because of anything I ate. Rather, it's from the stress of having to live with a fucktard like my brother. I'm not sure what set him off, but something did. I hear him in the kitchen, mostly not saying anything, and it sounds like he's making himself something to eat and doing dishes. (he seems to believe one should cook meat at a heat so high that it sounds identical to washing dishes. Whatever floats your boat, man.) Widget comes home and asks, "why're you cleaning?" and the boy snaps, "because someone has to." ...

Kay.

I would like to point out that yeah. The house needs some TLC. Is true. And yes, I find that I do my best cleaning when plotting how I'm going to murder the people who keep ruining my cleaning efforts. So. I bite my tongue. Then somehow they get on the topic of batteries and it appears Widget has burned through "20" batteries in less than a week and a half. I'm not sure how factual this is, but... honestly, I can believe it. He's got an mp3 player and I betcha he leaves it on and they burn through batteries like craaaaaaaazy anyway, y'know? The boy blows up and it's not pretty and that part ends with a bitchy comment made towards Widget's mother. (I do try not to say such bitchy things about her in front of Widget or where he could possibly overhear because I feel it is in poor taste. I do admit that when he's all "at least my momma loves me!" when she's stood him up for the third weekend in a row and she's been a right royal bitch to everyone, I sometimes crack. But... not often.)

And the boy goes off on Mom sleeping too much and no one cleaning and rar-rar-rar. (Edited to keep my stomach from hurting even more.) So.... Mums leaves and I peek down in the kitchen to see if I can contribute to the cleaning while I'm still pissed enough to be effectual. (Yes. I know. It's rewarding douche-behavior.)

He didn't clean.

At all.

NOTHING. If anything, he added more crap to the sink! He MIGHT have washed the pan he used, but I'm thinking no to that as well.

Nothing.

NOTHING.

He bitched for like, 20 minutes and did nothing!

Dude, I at least cleaned the damn cat box and until now you didn't hear me bitching about it, now didja?

Fuckwit.


(The true irony is that had he actually cleaned for that twenty minutes, with time to attend to whatever he was making, the house would have gone from "clean me, Seymour" to "not bad, not bad at all." *facepalm*)

Anyway. Now I feel awful (again) and like I want to stab someone. Nyar!

Also: equestriamlp: stop with the motherfucking brony shit. It's annoying.

This is day two of feeling like crap, but at least yesterday I could only blame myself. (No one told you to make brownies, self. They just hinted.)