..."No one will take care of your shit the way you do." Thanks for the advice, mom!
I'll start at the beginning. And for the sake of other people's privacy, I won't be naming names in this one.
Ry, Franky and I were invited over someone's house for dinner. A few days prior to the day-of-the-dinner, I was asked if the dinner could be hosted at my place. Sure, no problem. This will be fun. I thought it would be cool to spend time with this family and catch up. Then the day before the planned dinner, I was informed that "the get-together would be at my house." Wait, what get-together? What did I miss? I thought it was gonna be a quiet evening with just our family and that family. Whatever, the more the merrier, right? This will be fun.
So I went Meijer-ing the night before, got a buncha groceries and a case of beer. I came home, cleaned, made my signature pico de gallo, turned the oven on to preheat then got out my dessert supplies. I fully prepared cornbread casserole (thanks for the recipe, Meg!), fudge chocolate brownies, chocolate chip walnut cookies and peanut butter sugar cookies. I rolled out the cookies then put everything in the oven and set the timer. I then proceeded to do some other cleaning and preparing. An hour later I remembered about the stuff in the oven. Fuck. How could I have forgotten about it? I was furious at myself. What a waste.
I rushed into the kitchen and opened the stove. It was barely warm. I looked at the temperature on the stove and it said 115 degrees. Wtf? Everything in the oven was still completely raw. After many attempts and doing a little bit of research, Ryan discovered that the (stupid-fucking) thermocouple went out. Great. So now how the hell am I going to cook this stuff? After much cussing and complaining, I decided that the only thing I could do was throw it all away. The sounds coming out of my kitchen were as follows:
"Stupid muther fucken oven."
"God fucking dammit." (I know that is harsh and I NEVER say it, but according to Ry, it slipped out.)
"Fucken piece of shit oven."
Ya, needless to say, it was not a pretty sight. I was furious. What a fucking waste. It was a waste shopping for the shit, a waste paying for the shit, a waste preparing and mixing the shit and a waste throwing the shit away.
I should have known right then and there that hosting the "get-together" at our house was a bad idea. I am a neat-freak and like to be in control of things and with that many people in our house, it would be hard to keep track. But whatever, we pressed on.
The next day, I decided we couldn't not have a dessert, so Ry ran up to the corner store and got a bag of Chips Ahoy and Oreo's. Then I saw the receipt. You paid ten dollars for some cookies? Wow, those fuckers were expensive.
So then everyone got here and the anxiety set in. People were everywhere. Inside and outside. Franky's play mat, in his play room, that everyone knows he plays on, got walked on. More than once. By more than one person. What the fuck. Mud, dirt and grass was trekked all over his play mat and all over my house.
Then my pizza pan was used instead of aluminum foil on top of the barbeque grill to cook the meat. Great, it's completely burned through and can no longer be used. That was strike two with my anxiety level.
Then an unnamed person had too much to drink and tried to start a fight with my neighbor. What the fuck? Learn how to hold your liquor and leave my neighbor alone. I have to fucking live here and deal with the shit you're starting. That was strike three.
Then a different person kept fucking with the dogs, even though we had them in the basement so they weren't jumping all over everyone. Great idea, Batman. Fuck with my dogs and rile them up, even after I asked you to leave them alone.
Said annoying person also thought it would be a good idea to go digging through shit in every room of the house anytime they had the opportunity. Meaning, whenever everyone was outside, said person would disappear, and when I came inside to see what they were doing, they were slamming a cabinet or cupboard or drawer shut, pretending like they weren't being fucking nosy. I literally had to follow this person around to make sure they weren't being a fucking klepto.
Thankfully Ry took today off, because he knew it would be a late night. My husband works ridiculously early in the morning, and all of the people in our life know that. For some reason, people love to "drop" in and stay late and be loud, knowing that Ry is either trying to sleep, or needs to get to sleep. No consideration whatsoever. A comment was made last night that pissed me off. One person looked at Ry and said, "Man, you're gonna be tired tomorrow." Ummm, no shit, sherlock. Way to be considerate knowing what Ry's schedule is. Nope, no consideration.
But wait, the story doesn't end there. After everyone left, I was completely exhausted and decided to clean up today (because, ya know, no one even cleaned up their own mess, let alone offer to help me clean up). I closed my bedroom door when everyone was here only to discover that it was wide open after everyone left. Neither Ryan nor I opened it, so that means someone thought it would be a good idea to be nosy and look through my shit. What the fuck? I know who it was, because this person is notorious for being a nosy klepto, but I can't prove it, so that's that.
So I woke up this morning, completely dreading the mess that I knew was left for me. As I'm cleaning, I discover that not one, but TWO of my good coffee mugs (you know, the ones that were given to us as a wedding gift) were broken. That's when I really lost it. What the fuck? Remember above mentioned klepto person? I have a feeling they are to blame for the broken mugs.
It's not that I'm so anal that I don't want visitors. It just seems like EVERY time I have certain visitors, either something gets broken (and everyone shrugs their shoulders cuz no one knows who did it) or something goes missing. It's bullshit.
So, the bottom line is, I'm not hosting anymore get-togethers at my house for said above mentioned people anymore. I'll go to their place when we wanna visit. One person in particular is no longer welcome in my house. Said person is the one who has sticky, clumbsy fingers. Literally every time this person is in my house, they break something or steal something. I've had enough.
Ry and I have worked very hard for the things we have and we work even harder to take care of our shit, so when people come in and fuck everything up, it's really unfair. So no more.
Sorry this was such a downer post, but this blog is therapeutic for me as well as being an archive of my life. So, sorry for the F-bombs and other obscenities. I'm still pretty pissed off about everything, so I can't help just being real here. Those who know me in real life know that I don't always have the cleanest mouth, lol. I try to keep it clean on here, cuz one day my kid is gonna read this stuff and I don't want him picking up on my sailor habits. But I digress. For this post, I just needed to get it off my chest. Bad words and all =)
Have any of you ever dealt with similar guests in your home? How did you deal with it? Did you confront the person you were upset with? What advice or suggestions do you have for dealing with stuff like this, especially when the people you're annoyed or upset with are close friends or even family?