Rant-ish
I am tired of painting.
But I didn't even paint yet.
I've only just seen the containers of paint (when did we agree on an absolutely huge container of vibrant orange sweetie?) and the pieces of sandpaper in the house. You see, I tried sandpapering a door frame. Took me ages. Why did I find the idea of painting the house ourselves "romantic" and "meaningful"? Someone tell me please! How many other misguided ideas do I have in my head? Next you'll be telling me the girlfriend doesn't enjoy being tied up and spanked as much as I do, or some other nonsense!
-Ahem. Let's not drift away from the subject here-
So yeah. Meaningful and romantic. My arse. Tiring, cold (getting to that later) and dusty more likely.
It's not fair that the girlfriend has a dust allergy and could possibly use it as a reason to quit, and I can't! (Like Le Feux did yesterday when I was painting for our gay-songfestival act... though his excuse was "I don't like painting", followed by a pout. I was led astray by it! Dammit! Dammit!)
So who wants to help out? Where are all those people who also considered painting "meaningful" and "fun", not in the least for the chance to spray La Pigleta with orange paint. You can help sandpapering! And if you're really good, I'll give you a brush to get rid of the cobwebs in all the corners, or I'll let you clean the kitchen cabinets. Out of the goodness of my heart!
I can't take any overtime next week. My week is fully booked with actual work in the afternoons. Dammit.
And the cold... My father wanted to put on the heating a little bit to try and get rid of the dampness in the walls before we paint them (sometime next year probably), but the bloody new gas radiators didn't seem to work. Or the gas pipes didn't bring the gas quick enough ("Beavis... huh huh... she said gas huh huh huh..."). So still cold and damp.
And as I asked him when we would be leaving for Ikea on Saturday, he went "we were going to Ikea? You need the van from my work?" Well yes... we'd agreed on that last week... "I thought you wanted to go to Lille, and I said I wasn't driving there"... we'd kinda compromised on Ternat dad.... "so you mean I have to ask them tomorrow if I can get the van by the day after, I don't know..."
Aaargh. Parents!
But I can't kill him. I need him. To sandpaper the window frames.
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I am tired of painting.
But I didn't even paint yet.
I've only just seen the containers of paint (when did we agree on an absolutely huge container of vibrant orange sweetie?) and the pieces of sandpaper in the house. You see, I tried sandpapering a door frame. Took me ages. Why did I find the idea of painting the house ourselves "romantic" and "meaningful"? Someone tell me please! How many other misguided ideas do I have in my head? Next you'll be telling me the girlfriend doesn't enjoy being tied up and spanked as much as I do, or some other nonsense!
-Ahem. Let's not drift away from the subject here-
So yeah. Meaningful and romantic. My arse. Tiring, cold (getting to that later) and dusty more likely.
It's not fair that the girlfriend has a dust allergy and could possibly use it as a reason to quit, and I can't! (Like Le Feux did yesterday when I was painting for our gay-songfestival act... though his excuse was "I don't like painting", followed by a pout. I was led astray by it! Dammit! Dammit!)
So who wants to help out? Where are all those people who also considered painting "meaningful" and "fun", not in the least for the chance to spray La Pigleta with orange paint. You can help sandpapering! And if you're really good, I'll give you a brush to get rid of the cobwebs in all the corners, or I'll let you clean the kitchen cabinets. Out of the goodness of my heart!
I can't take any overtime next week. My week is fully booked with actual work in the afternoons. Dammit.
And the cold... My father wanted to put on the heating a little bit to try and get rid of the dampness in the walls before we paint them (sometime next year probably), but the bloody new gas radiators didn't seem to work. Or the gas pipes didn't bring the gas quick enough ("Beavis... huh huh... she said gas huh huh huh..."). So still cold and damp.
And as I asked him when we would be leaving for Ikea on Saturday, he went "we were going to Ikea? You need the van from my work?" Well yes... we'd agreed on that last week... "I thought you wanted to go to Lille, and I said I wasn't driving there"... we'd kinda compromised on Ternat dad.... "so you mean I have to ask them tomorrow if I can get the van by the day after, I don't know..."
Aaargh. Parents!
But I can't kill him. I need him. To sandpaper the window frames.
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