May 31st, 2011 | Author: trancejen
There is an overwhelming cloud of funk in my bedroom. I do believe it might be the funk of forty thousand years.
It is not your garden-variety foot funk or armpit funk, lest you think I am that kind of dirty girl. I am clean and I do wash my sheets.
Unfortunately, though, I had a little seepage during our recent monsoon season; and my beautiful vegetable-dyed (Vegetable dye? RUNS.) wool rug got wet. If you’ve ever smelled a wet sheep, you know what I’m talking about. The funk has been outrageous, and no amount of Febreze or Oust or scented candles has touched its vile, nose-offending stench.
Yesterday my mother and I finally put our little bleached heads together and got the bright idea to put our industrial-strength dehumidifier in the room for a few days to see whether that would help.
So far I’ve had to empty three huge bucketfuls of water. This is how much evil moisture was lurking in my carpet and room.
Of course, it’s probably also sucking every drop of moisture out of my skin as well, making me look old before my time, but what can you do?
In other news, this summer we are taking a family vacation to a local amusement park/”resort” (I use that word EXTREMELY loosely) with my sister and her kids. We are renting a cottage that sleeps eight for the eight of us, instead of renting separate motel rooms.
This means that my stepdad, who pretty much hates children/getting up early/life itself is going to have to bunk with not one, not two, not three, but FOUR kids.
I am going to have to bring a flask.
Seriously, my stepdad seems to be rapidly losing his shit. Even though he is a Devout Cath-O-Lic who prides himself on his Holy Behavior, he’s been dropping F-bombs at the drop of a hat lately. If it’s hot in the house: F-bombs. If he drops something: F-bomb. If he has to drive in the rain: F-bombs.
I may swear like a motherfucker on this page, but I’m no Cee-Lo Green. I don’t really drop fucks and such that much in real life. I do say shit a LOT, though. Shit is probably my very favorite word.
The J-Man acts shocked on the few occasions he hears me say it, and I always say the same thing. “You’ve heard shit before, and you will hear shit again.”
After all, shit happens.
Happy Tuesday.
First off, I have a new email address. My EX has decided to FUCK with my old one so I made it go Bye-Bye. Second, the funk of the wet dog in your rug? That is stinky stuff indeed. Such an Oy to the day-am. Now as for the word SHIT. Such a useful word. Oh yes! As for the F-bomb? Well it too has it’s uses albeit saved for those special occasions when the word ‘Shit’ just doesn’t cut the mustard as it were. A delicate balance is needed to make sure that each word has it’s desired impact. Examples: “Shit, I dropped my damn toast buttered side down on the floor again” VS. “FUCK! I HATE Social Security Disability with the heat of a million white hot suns…!” Ya know what I’m tawkin’ here?
And so it goes. I hope that your humidifier does the job, but I would suggest hanging the rug outside (if possible) in the sun for a few days to really de-stink-i-fy your beautiful rug. Otherwise just use the favorite cuss word of your choosing and run in a tight circle 3 times while saying: Make the shitty stink go away before I go out of my Fucking mind !” Does that work for you my darling girl? Many kisses and a big hug from me who now lives with his 70 year old parents. God bless us all. Oy Vey… (Please forgive my rotten use of punctuation, I SUCK at writing).
– John in Tucson
John, I know exactly what you mean, sometimes “shit” won’t do. E-mail me with your new addy.
How is it, living with the Ps?