I don't consider myself a girly-girl, though I am sure there are many people who disagree (those were stinging nettles Damnber and they hurt!!), but I am the one writing this blog- thus it is my reality not their's.*insert raspberry When I got home from work, took off my antique-dirty shoes with the caked mud and unrolled my jeans to release the sediment, I realized; It's mud! It's all dirt! It's ALL disgusting! Come rescue me! Eeww dirty!
You might not believe me but I work in 1864. I am over 100 years dirty from work when I get home. I have been wearing the same 2 pairs of jeans for the last month (not the ones that split- though I've been asked to) cuz I don't wanna get anything else dirty. Who thought this was a good idea? Oh, wait it was me, and dirt or not, I still love it. Though everywhere smells like horse ass, rotten teeth and dust. The dust is a million years old, it must be special dust from a special place where all things old hang out. And I am not sure my co-workers have ever been clean- I mean it's dirty everywhere, everywhere. It's in my ears, up my nose and my hair. Yucky.
Then after long hours, for my 5 th day in a row; I go home...Home to a place surrounded by temporary fence, preventing me from falling into ever deepening holes. It smells like burning cheese, which I can't decide is a good thing or bad thing. Upside: it's not 100 year old dust, Downside: it's fresh, earthy and wet. Then the rains came and it's mud. Seriously? The street is mud, the sidewalk is mud; the mud sinks into my shoe treads, making this already clumsy person start walking like Peter Sellers. I am slipping and sliding, and trying to get my stubborn Beagle to poop and she won't. She hates the mud, the rain, the wet- treating me like I did THIS to her...Which I never would. So, now I am soggy, dusty, dirty, grumpy and muddy.
My whole life is filthy, except my condo hallway. It's a hyper-barrack chamber. After the flood, my hallway was ripped apart and naked. Now, it is a plastic lined, newly re-insulated hazmat tunnel. An eerie bubble leading me towards ET; I walk through it 4 times daily. Each time expecting to enter zero gravity or meet John Travolta (the boy in the bubble for those too young), it's a strange feeling. Oh no, how rude of me, I think, looking behind me to see the trail of filth I've left on the plastic floor- World's oldest dirt-meet brand spanking new condo hallway. Everything here is new and hepa filters and static electricity. Jilly thinks the plastic drop sheet is a giant toy for her delight, it squeaks like her toys, tastes like her toys and the tape must smell like bacon- cuz all she wants to do is eat it...though I can see in her eyes, she knows she's being a bad girl.
Finally, I enter my own sweet home, where I am free to shed the dirt and grime and grumps. After taking special precautions to wrap all this fancy dirt into itself, I jump in the shower and sing showtunes, while making up fake conversations with handsome men I have never met- Ryan Gosling-and practising my giggle. Okay, so that sounded girly, but who wouldn't be in a cupcake scented shower?
You might not believe me but I work in 1864. I am over 100 years dirty from work when I get home. I have been wearing the same 2 pairs of jeans for the last month (not the ones that split- though I've been asked to) cuz I don't wanna get anything else dirty. Who thought this was a good idea? Oh, wait it was me, and dirt or not, I still love it. Though everywhere smells like horse ass, rotten teeth and dust. The dust is a million years old, it must be special dust from a special place where all things old hang out. And I am not sure my co-workers have ever been clean- I mean it's dirty everywhere, everywhere. It's in my ears, up my nose and my hair. Yucky.
Then after long hours, for my 5 th day in a row; I go home...Home to a place surrounded by temporary fence, preventing me from falling into ever deepening holes. It smells like burning cheese, which I can't decide is a good thing or bad thing. Upside: it's not 100 year old dust, Downside: it's fresh, earthy and wet. Then the rains came and it's mud. Seriously? The street is mud, the sidewalk is mud; the mud sinks into my shoe treads, making this already clumsy person start walking like Peter Sellers. I am slipping and sliding, and trying to get my stubborn Beagle to poop and she won't. She hates the mud, the rain, the wet- treating me like I did THIS to her...Which I never would. So, now I am soggy, dusty, dirty, grumpy and muddy.
My whole life is filthy, except my condo hallway. It's a hyper-barrack chamber. After the flood, my hallway was ripped apart and naked. Now, it is a plastic lined, newly re-insulated hazmat tunnel. An eerie bubble leading me towards ET; I walk through it 4 times daily. Each time expecting to enter zero gravity or meet John Travolta (the boy in the bubble for those too young), it's a strange feeling. Oh no, how rude of me, I think, looking behind me to see the trail of filth I've left on the plastic floor- World's oldest dirt-meet brand spanking new condo hallway. Everything here is new and hepa filters and static electricity. Jilly thinks the plastic drop sheet is a giant toy for her delight, it squeaks like her toys, tastes like her toys and the tape must smell like bacon- cuz all she wants to do is eat it...though I can see in her eyes, she knows she's being a bad girl.
Finally, I enter my own sweet home, where I am free to shed the dirt and grime and grumps. After taking special precautions to wrap all this fancy dirt into itself, I jump in the shower and sing showtunes, while making up fake conversations with handsome men I have never met- Ryan Gosling-and practising my giggle. Okay, so that sounded girly, but who wouldn't be in a cupcake scented shower?
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