Jobs I hate/most cranky.
All righty then, We all have them, the little jobs we do that no one else seems to do. These things are essential and they fall to us and we do them. Normally we do them unasked and under appreciated. but what are they?
Well I"m gonna give you my top five most FUCKING hated jobs that I do on a regular basis.
1-Cleaning out the litter trays. Bleaugh!So minging it is monk to the core.
2-Washing out the kitchen bin- Bleaugh.
3-Hoovering- I hate the sound of a hoover. It drives me nuts, but at least the one I have now doesn't fall apart like my last one, which used to drive me into spasms of rage, until I dragged down many flights of stairs threw half way across the street one Saturday, this was after the head fell off it for the one millionth time.
4-Having to ring people about stuff. Any stuff, especially work related stuff, I just hate it. I have email for a reason. I hate phones.
5-cutting hedges.
The last one is new, and I didn't realise I hated cutting hedges until I was forced to don gardening gloves the other evening and go out into the wilderness we call a garden and try to reclaim some of it. The warm weather, sunshine and abundance of green mature bushes has caused an explosive amount of growth and something had to be done. Three hours later and I could no longer lift the secateurs, but a vast mountain of chopped stuff lay about the place. All that remained then was to rake it into a pile and dispose of it.
I raked it up, then I went in for a drink and a think. How the hell am I supposed to dispose of a mountain of branches and hedge? It is illegal to burn it, and leaving it piled like a green sugerloaf in the middle of the lawn/meadow is not the way to go about it.
Right, I called on my neighbour-who has a wonderful garden, complete with actual lawn and raised flowerbeds, with FLOWERS!!- and he informed me I have no option but to chop it all into tini-tiny pieces and bag it up and transport it to some recycling place down in Crumlin somewhere.
Great. It's going to take forever and that pile is FULL of spiders and bits of nettles.
So that's today's plan. I'm refusing to work because for some reason I"m typing everything backwards. I typed have as ahve and later as alter and, well I ALWAYS make a haymes of because-becasue. But it seems especially bad today so I'm not doing it.
Also, while I'm having a rant, I do not see the point of people who hit the snooze button on their alarms more than once. Just fucking sleep the extra half hour and then get up when the alarm goes off, waking and hitting snooze and waking and hitting snooze is VELLY annoying and creates shadow sleep, where you're neither one nor t'other. It's totally pointless and really cross making.
And another thing.
Let me just say this because this is my blog and I can say what I want.
What happened to that family is Wexford is very sad. It is always very sad when two innocent children are killed by those who should offer up their lives to protect them.
But If I hear one more middle-class angst riddled wanker waffle on about how 'it's society's fault' and how 'we don't care for others we only care for material things' or my personal favourite, 'we are all to blame', I will implode and explode at the same time.
Fuck off with yourself, gobshite. Who the fuck do you think you are kidding? Do you think people didn't kill themselves before now? Do you think us being supposedly wealthier is the fucking cudgel you were all looking for to beat yourself over the back with. 'OOOH we're so wealthy, mea culpa mea culpa, my faux memory of a simpler time, a picture perfect Ireland from days of yore leads me to believe that we-as a society- don't care any more.'
Don't care anymore about what? You po-faced moss licker. Fuck off, you're sitting there on your computer talking to bloggers from all over the country and the world but you're wringing your hand about isolation and 'the change'. If anything people are less marginalised now. And you know what? Even if every person was living up every person's own arse in a compound, some people would still kill themselves. Its fucking sad, it's fucking tragic and it's fucking unstoppable. But what it's isn't is 'all our faults' and like I said the other day, YOU don't get to talk for me. And if you're so worried that your kids are not 'mixing with people from different socio economic groups', yank him out of Gael School, drive little Dymphna of Rocco down to The east wall or Limerick or where ever the fuck and enroll him/her in there. Let the kid mix freely and learn a whole new set of skills. You can call it something wanky like 'organic self awareness' or some other trite shit like that.
But if you're not going to do that-and we all know you're not- shut the fuck up with the bleating and the hand wringing.It's boring as hell and hollow as a length of Wavin pipe.
There. Now I"m off to have toast and chop wood.
Well I"m gonna give you my top five most FUCKING hated jobs that I do on a regular basis.
1-Cleaning out the litter trays. Bleaugh!So minging it is monk to the core.
2-Washing out the kitchen bin- Bleaugh.
3-Hoovering- I hate the sound of a hoover. It drives me nuts, but at least the one I have now doesn't fall apart like my last one, which used to drive me into spasms of rage, until I dragged down many flights of stairs threw half way across the street one Saturday, this was after the head fell off it for the one millionth time.
4-Having to ring people about stuff. Any stuff, especially work related stuff, I just hate it. I have email for a reason. I hate phones.
5-cutting hedges.
The last one is new, and I didn't realise I hated cutting hedges until I was forced to don gardening gloves the other evening and go out into the wilderness we call a garden and try to reclaim some of it. The warm weather, sunshine and abundance of green mature bushes has caused an explosive amount of growth and something had to be done. Three hours later and I could no longer lift the secateurs, but a vast mountain of chopped stuff lay about the place. All that remained then was to rake it into a pile and dispose of it.
I raked it up, then I went in for a drink and a think. How the hell am I supposed to dispose of a mountain of branches and hedge? It is illegal to burn it, and leaving it piled like a green sugerloaf in the middle of the lawn/meadow is not the way to go about it.
Right, I called on my neighbour-who has a wonderful garden, complete with actual lawn and raised flowerbeds, with FLOWERS!!- and he informed me I have no option but to chop it all into tini-tiny pieces and bag it up and transport it to some recycling place down in Crumlin somewhere.
Great. It's going to take forever and that pile is FULL of spiders and bits of nettles.
So that's today's plan. I'm refusing to work because for some reason I"m typing everything backwards. I typed have as ahve and later as alter and, well I ALWAYS make a haymes of because-becasue. But it seems especially bad today so I'm not doing it.
Also, while I'm having a rant, I do not see the point of people who hit the snooze button on their alarms more than once. Just fucking sleep the extra half hour and then get up when the alarm goes off, waking and hitting snooze and waking and hitting snooze is VELLY annoying and creates shadow sleep, where you're neither one nor t'other. It's totally pointless and really cross making.
And another thing.
Let me just say this because this is my blog and I can say what I want.
What happened to that family is Wexford is very sad. It is always very sad when two innocent children are killed by those who should offer up their lives to protect them.
But If I hear one more middle-class angst riddled wanker waffle on about how 'it's society's fault' and how 'we don't care for others we only care for material things' or my personal favourite, 'we are all to blame', I will implode and explode at the same time.
Fuck off with yourself, gobshite. Who the fuck do you think you are kidding? Do you think people didn't kill themselves before now? Do you think us being supposedly wealthier is the fucking cudgel you were all looking for to beat yourself over the back with. 'OOOH we're so wealthy, mea culpa mea culpa, my faux memory of a simpler time, a picture perfect Ireland from days of yore leads me to believe that we-as a society- don't care any more.'
Don't care anymore about what? You po-faced moss licker. Fuck off, you're sitting there on your computer talking to bloggers from all over the country and the world but you're wringing your hand about isolation and 'the change'. If anything people are less marginalised now. And you know what? Even if every person was living up every person's own arse in a compound, some people would still kill themselves. Its fucking sad, it's fucking tragic and it's fucking unstoppable. But what it's isn't is 'all our faults' and like I said the other day, YOU don't get to talk for me. And if you're so worried that your kids are not 'mixing with people from different socio economic groups', yank him out of Gael School, drive little Dymphna of Rocco down to The east wall or Limerick or where ever the fuck and enroll him/her in there. Let the kid mix freely and learn a whole new set of skills. You can call it something wanky like 'organic self awareness' or some other trite shit like that.
But if you're not going to do that-and we all know you're not- shut the fuck up with the bleating and the hand wringing.It's boring as hell and hollow as a length of Wavin pipe.
There. Now I"m off to have toast and chop wood.
Labels: jobs, pure and unadulterated crossness., society
posted by fatmammycat at 9:35 a.m.
21 Comments:
I feel society has failed you. This is why you're so angry.
Thank fuck someone's talking sense about that Wexford thing. Tragic, yeah. But all this "it could've been prevented" guff gets on my tits.
On my top five list would be emptying the dishwasher. Not exactly a skanky job, I just hate it. Dumb as it sounds, sometimes I just wash the dishes rather than load them in the dishwasher.
Dishwashers are gay.
I don't see the point of dishwashers myself, by the time it takes to scrape off the plates, rinse, load and then unload you'd be quicker just washing them in the sink.*
* unless you have a large family, then I suppose I might think differently.
Either way Kav, it's not daft, if it's something you hate to do then it stands.
Jesus I hope I never get on the wrong side of you Mrs Cat. However I agree with your rant and its the likes of you that make returning home seem almost acceptable.
Really Im getting sick of people moaning about how Ireland has changed and its all bad. I dont know where they are living but in the Ireland of the Eighties when I was going to School and grwoing up life was shite and hard( Somehow we still managed to have fun or at least I think we did), Massive unemployment , mass emigration, real poor people and lots of social problems. It may not be eden now but its a much closer to it than it was . Thank god for the Nineties when we started pulling our act together.
Yeah, this is exactly the sort of tragedy that has everyone jumping onto the bandwagon so fast that half of them misjudge the distance and fall VERY short of the mark.
Putting the duvet cover back on the duvet is the worst job in the world. I always get tangled up in it and I hate it. So I usually leave it for someone else to do.
Dishwashers are gay.
Not as gay as you, you gay bender who is gay.
Cat, sometimes they're useful when two tiny kids have caused a shitload of culinary carnage, but mostly I can't be arsed.
Duvet cover and indeed a bit of a bitch to change. Especially king size ones. Well played madam.
Also, cleaning the oven is filth.
Washing floors. I fucking hate washing floors.
our dishwasher at work isnt gay, very all man if you ask me. The new one from Poland is though, she is very martina navrattlpavloa.
Oh you meant actual dishwashers, oh yeah, gay.
Well said, Madam Cat. Fantastic rant to start the day. I find when murder suicide happens, it's generally the person what done it is to blame.
I'm not a huge fan of scooping the litter box either, but himself refuses to do it, and with three cats, it has to be done daily - thank Christ for clumping litter. If I ever get knocked-up, I'm going to make him pay by taking on that chore himself. That'll learn him.
Woo hoo someone rattled your cage and stole your bun too.
I want to know who the smug "our fault" blogger is, maybe I should but I've whittled my blog reading down to just a few so I'm not as up on these things as I could be.
My most hated chore is all of them really, I hate cleaning of any kind, dishes, laundry, floors toilets, oh especially round the back of the jax on the floor, fucking hate that.
Solution for litter boxes - outdoor cats, my 2 haven't had a litter box in years, unless they've been sick or had to be shut in for some reason.
Putting a new toilet roll on the holder.
My list of loathsome jobs are
Clearing hair out of the bath plughole
Emptying stale beer, wine and floating fag ends the morning after a party.
Cleaning the seeds out of a melon or a payaya
Preparing kidneys for steak and kidney pie – ugh!
Washing the car, changing the oil, testing the tyres – in fact anything to do with the car.
Clearing wet leaves out of drains.
Double ugh!
Bravo!
Evening folks, I've been in a stinker all day, foul black black humour. Not to be confused with 'just a bit irked'.
Anyway, after chopping the shit out of wood and branch pile in the back garden, I finally got the whole lot bagged and I loaded up the car. I eventually found the recyling place on Windmill Road and hauled all of the bags out, cursing because I had left my gloves at home and the thorns were cutting the bloody hands off me.
I climbed up on this ledge over a hugh recycling skip thingie and started to tip the first two bags in, the grass clippings, some weeds, no biggy. But the bags with the thornier shit was a pain in the arse and took some sweating and cursing-also some minor blood loss, but hey it was fitting wth the day that was in it.
Half way though my struggle, an old timer replete in yellow slipover, fag and jauntily styled cap, came over to watch.
I ignored him and ripped the bags open one at a time, getting stung, cut and even more vocal with my bad language.
Finally I managed to tip the last bag over the ledge and retrived the plastic-which has to be collected and put in a plastic recycling vault.
Yep,' says the old man, to no one in particular, but as I was the only one there it had to be me. 'betcha that's the garden stuff right there.'
I glanced behind me. Branches, grass weeds, moss, leaves of every variety.
And then I started to laugh.
'It sure is' I said.
Thought so.' Said sage said puffing away happily.
I drove out still grinning and he gave me a big old wave just before I disappeared from view.
On the subject of litter boxes, my lot are in and out all day long too, but I prefer them to use the boxes as it stops them using the garden, or worse, my neighbour's lovely garden.
Right on sister!
I'm with McDara on this. I done growed up in the 80's and it was ALWAYS raining, and everyone one was on the dole etc etc. etc. When I go home hearing people moan about today's Ireland makes me want to take a hammer to them.
BTW Kav, Dishwashers are great! Despite the awfulness of loading and unloading. Very Al Gore friendly too, you waste way more water and energy washing by hand.
I'm with Annie on the duvet cover changing awfulness.
FMC - as someone who bought and renovated 2 houses replete with jungle like garden. Hire a landscaper. Seriously, unless you have the tools, (chainsaw, wheel barrow, various clippers and a shovel), and a truck it's going to be an almighty pain in the ass. I worked as a landscaper during my college summers, so I knew what I was doing, but the effort of disposal drove me to a landscaper and I am so happy I did. We had those awful Leylandia fir trees that everyone planted in Ireland in the 70’s; they grow a meter a year and are a complete cunt to maintain if they are already overgrown. You can then do the fun stuff yourself, planting flowers etc
BTW Jimmy Smith? Still hatin' on the jazz /
Hello there John MC, very cute of you picking music I might be as familiar with as Barrys' tea. I will freely admit it was not so bad, very mellow, I may even listen to it again this evening.
You're right about the landscaping, but right now we can't afford it, so the garden will just have to suffice with the no nonsense buzz cut it has received.
And you're also right about the moaners. Shit, we all of us like the rosy tinted glasses now and then, but for fuck's sake, I remember the bad as well as the good, I have a friend whose older brothers, all five of them had no choice but to go abroad looking for work, I remember our house phone being cut off for months on end because there was no money to pay it (also it only had four digits in the number, imagine!)
All these folk rattlling on about society and boo hoo for yesteryear give me crotch rot, we've never had it so good, food, entertainment, holidays, hobbbies, sport, you name it we have it, but that's not enough for some people. Some folk are never happy unless they're complaining and harping on about the good old days. It is a quick fix for them as no fucker has yet worked out how to turn back the clock.
Toilet cleaning! Yuck and double yuck! And phoning bank/stuff/landlord type people. Email me, ya gits! I'll answer you when I is good and ready!
The nostalgia of 80s years etc drives me nuts. No jobs, no money for fun, general mire. Not to mention the height of our later-discovered corruption, scandal under-carpet-ness of all descriptions (church and kids springing to mind), homosexuality still not spoken of (except in bizarrely unfunny jokes), State still in last clutches of the Church, D-I-V-O-R-C-E is a sin, a SIN I tells ya! Children out of wedlock illegitimate ...........
Things are immeasurably better now (not for everyone, I know, I know). So all this clap-trap about some "good old days" notion drives me mad. Yes, awful things like that family in Wexford happen - but awful things like that always happened. Is it some weird last vestige of Catholic guilt thing, can we not just be happy for what we have now?
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