Fear and Loathing in DC

I write this from the confines of my basement prison where I retreated hastily upon hearing the tell-tale turn of the key in my front door.
She steps inside and regards me with equal parts disgust and pity. We chit-chat as we are friendly from being in the same neighborhood but then she grabs the vacuum and the cleaning solution.

My cue to vacate the premises.

I don’t know how to negotiate this socially. I feel as though I should be grabbing a mop and destroying the filth and dirt, MY DIRT, with her.

Making  the leap, I retire to the downstairs to stew in class conscious guilt.

I’m covered in it.

I don’t know if this image of the cowering slob paints an accurate portrait of me but it’s pretty fucking close.

Now is the time that I wish for normal coping skills like everyone else who gets their house scrubbed once every two weeks but I can’t let go of the shame.

Nothing is more painful to endure than what I imagine is silent judging and the passive battle of wills that determines just how high the mound of tampon applicators in the bathroom trash can get before I cave and empty it myself sparing her that indignity.

This is made all the worse because in college I took a job cleaning hotel rooms and I used to damn morons like myself to eternal hellfire for shit like that.

How far can I push this before she throws down and pulls a Network screaming “im mad as hell and i’m not going to take it anymore!”

I had to draw it before it was emptied. This one was impressive.


I really don’t know what to say about the tampon trash heap as it stands as a cardboard applicator monument and representation of all my failures on the domestic front, showcasing my inadequacies and inherent lazy nature.

In a savagely hilarious twist of fate I find myself a kept woman requiring the services of a scullery maid and several able-bodied  ladies in waiting to lace my bone crushing corset except I lack the pedigree and sense of entitlement to pull it off.

Do you fret this much while your house is being cleaned?



Filed under guilt, i like my house clean but hate what has to happen to get it that way, I'm hiding, inability to function correctly, put down that mop I'll help, tampon applicator mountain

31 responses to “Fear and Loathing in DC

  1. dufmanno

    I’ll leave myself the first negative comment.
    You pitiful shell of a human being and spoiled entitled fuck! You should be ashamed of yourself and tossed out with the contents of the tampon trash you so willingly leave for others to deal with!

  2. What she said.


    I mean….What you said.

  3. When my house is being cleaned it’s because I’m doing it and it’s always someone else’s fault, so I get to clean from atop a high horse.

    Then I have horse droppings to clean up from my high horse.

    Fortunately my high horse poops caramel and, also, I think I’ve gone off track here.

    • dufmanno

      Your high horse that poops caramel comes from the same dimension as the gaggle of mice living here. Except their excrement is chocolate sprinkles!

  4. I start freaking out like that WAAAAAAY before I can get to the point where I’d be able to hire a maid… so good for you for pushing past it… because, hey… that nice lady needs her job!

    • dufmanno

      But see I can’t even say “maid”.
      She just happens to be a gal who lives locally who does this for a living. I think she actually has a nicer house than I do. That might be part of why I feel unworthy of this whole thing. The fact that I actually should be cleaning her house.
      Fuck this. I’m taking my Woolly Mammoth out for a spin to clear my big fat entitled head.

  5. Tom G.

    I’ll let you in on my secret for overcoming this very same situation. You need to get yourself a wife. Seriously, she will not only clean, do laundry, and take care of your children, if you play your cards right, I hear that you may even get sex out of the deal. For your part all you have to do is kill spiders, and pretend you know how to fix shit that breaks.

    OK, seriously now. Cut yourself some slack. Entitled, over educated housewives hire women to clean their house. It’s part of the GREAT CIRCLE OF LIFE (cue that crappy Elton John song from The Lion King) Just like entitled over educated husbands take their cars into the Jiffy Lube to have their oil change, instead of crawling underneath it, and doing it there damn selves the way that their Dad showed them. And let’s not forget entitled, overeducated business managers who ask their financial analysts to put the financial statement into powerpoint graphs while they write blog posts about girls they had crushes on in 8th grade. Um… or so I’ve heard.

    • dufmanno

      You know what the most depressing thing about this is? I’m actually on a ladder rung LOWER than housewife because it implies that I do SOMETHING for or to the house when clearly I just sleep here.
      Maybe I SHOULD get a sister wife.

  6. When I had two kids within 12 months of each other, I hired a woman to help clean and do baby care if I needed to rest. Instead, whenever she came, I left the house. I was too ashamed to have her see me loafing on the job. My pitiful suggestion is to empty the bathroom trash yourself (it really is disgusting in anyone’s house) and let the rest go.

    • dufmanno

      I think I have more shame over this post than I do about the tampon mountain.
      My mother gasps audibly every time she’s forced to use the bathroom in our house.

  7. When I was in high school, my mom and I were so broke that my Grandma would pay us to clean her house. Her second husband was a big game hunter and they had a whole wing of their house full of stuffed and mounted animals.

    So what I’m saying is, she may be throwing out your tampon applicators, but at least you don’t make her vacuum your moose.

  8. If it makes you feel any better… I run and hide once every two weeks when our cleaners arrive. This is only after I do a highly overachieving clean sweep of the house… despite the fact that they were hired because of my inability to clean. Cleaning for the cleaners — lest they think better of me should I ever have to clean for them… right? They also break shit. Which only proves that I should stop trying and keep running.

    • dufmanno

      I tried to blame her for something that I swore was missing. Then I nearly died of shame when I realized I had put it away in a weird place and forgotten about it.
      Sometimes I’m a terminal asshole.

  9. i look at it as stimulating the economy. creating jobs. and trust me when i tell you it won’t be long before you say to yourself, i’d give up disposable tampons and wrap bird seed in a burlap sack to absorb my menses before i’d ever give up my cleaning people.

    just leave the house before they arrive.

  10. I used to have someone come and clean my house. She was old school, requiring only a “schmata” and a bucket. God, did I love her! But then we moved, I stopped having kids, and life got a little easier. I couldn’t justify the expense, no matter how much I wanted. It’s been 5 years without help. Does it suck? Fuck, yes. Do I bitch and complain and walk around with a broom tied to my hip? Sadly, yes. My MIL actually did a sculpture entitled domestic goddess with her trusty companion. It was of a woman with children hanging off of her and she was holding a bottle of cleaning solution. It was clear I was her inspiration. That being said, I am grateful for not going through the emotional turmoil that you describe. Physical work is relatively easy. It’s drama that kills.

  11. Then one time I ever hired someone to clean my house, he was a gay ex stock broker. A white entitled dude that just really liked cleaning. It was awesome. And now I’ll never ever be able to hire anyone else. Just as I will clearly never, ever be able to poop again.

    • dufmanno

      Someday the poop WILL flow freely again, I promise you.
      No one on earth cleans like a gay man. According to David Sedaris he can’t even go into his crazy sister Tiffanys filthy home because “the homosexual in me wants to drop down to the floor and scrub until my fingers bleed”
      God I love him.

  12. *sigh* I am one of those people that clean before the cleaning lady shows up. The other day I caught myself picking up pubic hair from my bathroom floor. In my mind, regular hair is par for the course. Pubic hair? Not so much.

    Yes. I could tell. Couldn’t you?

    p.s. That drawing has modern art written all over it. I can see it hanging in an ironic gallery somewhere. Really.

    • dufmanno

      Yes it’s beautiful in its stark simplicity and bland color palate.
      That and the artist only drew it because the horror of the real thing would be too much for the normal public to bear.

  13. OMG. That painting and that chandelier that you showed me?

    As Charlie Sheen would say, “Um. Winning!”

    • dufmanno

      Oh Charlie Sheen, “unemployed winner” and tiger blooded octagon dweller with fists of fire and words powerful enough to wipe out entire civilizations. I love you and your increasingly unhinged ramblings.
      I mean seriously? I ask myself “can it get any better?” and then he takes it up a notch every single time!

  14. Shani

    Cleaning lady days are always filled with dread and anguish for me. Once, I felt so guilty about my filthy existence that I vacuumed a room while she was cleaning somewhere else in the house. Wrong wrong wrong wrong. When I saw her next, she gave me a disgusted look as if to say, “Not only must I clean your gross house, but you insult me by suggesting that I can’t get the job done?”

    Gosh darn it….

  15. OMG. The overflowing tampon receptacle made me spit water.

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