Wednesday, November 7, 2007

God I hate cleaned cat boxes. You know why? They smell WORSE after they've been cleaned. G just got finished cleaning ours and now the whole house smells like cat ass. And why was G cleaning our cat boxes at 10:30 on a Wednesday morning you ask, instead of sitting in an institution of greater learning drawing self portraits and picking his nose? Because he's been sick on and off all week again.
Only this time his stupid sub wouldn't let him go to the bathroom when he asked so he puked in the trash can. Bet she thinks differently about saying no to a green faced kid again. I would have puked on her feet, but I'm a nasty bitch like that.
And why am I making him do slave labor when he's sick. Because I can. No really... he's right here and can puke (from either end) in the can anytime he wants. In between times this is no joy ride "oh lookie I get to be home, eating candy, playing my game boy, while watching tv, and eating everything not nailed down."
He'd be in school with a trash can at his feet if it were up to me, but they don't go for that anymore. I used to have to sit in the office all day with a trash can when I didn't feel good, still do my work, all while under the watchful eye of the office staff, who if they even for a second thought I was lying would call my mother and I wouldn't sit down for a week. Now it seems no one wants to play with the germs. Pussies.
Of course our principle had a wooden paddle in his office too and wasn't afraid to use it. I was still more scared of my moms leather strap than his paddle anyway. He didn't have a very good forehand.
So instead G will be helping me around the house today in between bouts with the porcelain thrown. As soon as the smell of cat ass wanes from the living room I'm going back to packing milk.

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