So I was wrong about the Italian guy being pretty good in most other areas of hygiene. He sucks. In general, he's a very annoying person to have around.
Since I'm having a cranky day - blame it on PMS, or just say that I'm a bitch, I don't really care - I'll share a couple of the most annoying bits about him with you.
I know I've mentioned this one in the last note, but he speaks NO English. Nor does he seem to WANT to learn to speak English. I really don't get this, because I can't fathom the idea of moving to a country without making some attempt to learn the language, at least enough of it to communicate with people. Hell, when I take even a week's vacation I try to learn enough for basic communications. Even if college courses are expensive, you can buy a book, or talk with a friend who speaks the language. (And you can guarantee he knows SOMEONE who speaks English.) But it seems that he just cheerfully packed his stuff and moved here, with no preparations whatsoever. I've told him about the Italian society in St. Albans, where he can go to talk to people in Italian and through them, get an idea of where to go to learn at least the basics, but he doesn't seem at all interested. Personally I think he likes not speaking the language, because it allows him to ignore you when you ask him to do something. Like...
Flush the toilet, put the seat down, and WASH YOUR FLIPPIN' HANDS. There is no excuse, EVER, for not flushing and not washing your hands afterwards. Or...
Keep the house tidy and basically clean. It's not rocket science. When you use things, make sure you wash them afterwards. I don't care if it's dishes or the cooker or an ashtray or the bathtub.
Ugh, the bathtub. I can't even speak about the bathtub.
Well, maybe I can.
He doesn't clean it. No surprise there, since half the time he doesn't even clean his dishes. It would be bad enough if it were just normal bath stuff (although "normal" is a relative term - what kind of man takes two bubble baths a day, really?). But it's not. It's other stuff besides bath foam that I find in there.
Male stuff. Excited male stuff.
In case you're a little slow, or just find it too weird and disturbing to contemplate, I'll put it bluntly: he whacks off in the bathtub and then leaves it for me to find. And although I've asked him half a dozen times to clean out the bathtub, and pointed at the tub and the cleaning products and even the residues that he leaves behind, he just shrugs his shoulders at me like he hasn't the faintest clue what I'm talking about.
So every time I take a bath I have to put on rubber gloves beforehand and scrub the bath out twice, once with bath cleaner and once with Dettol. And I still don't feel clean.
Unfortunately, the shower doesn't work, and the one we ordered from B & Q hasn't come in yet, otherwise I'd forgo my baths - even though they're one of the few things that helps with my muscle cramps - and take showers. At least that way I'd know there wasn't anything lurking in the water.
Those aren't his only horrible habits, they're just the worst ones. He never gets up to his first alarm, but lets it go off four times every morning, with music louder than I usually play mine in the daytime, and he won't turn it down. He never turns lights off. He begs for food and drink, because he's too lazy to go out and buy his own, and if you say no he keeps asking and pleading until you give him what he wants. He seems to be angry most of the time, either because his sister won't give him any more money (although she's already paying his rent and his phone bill) or because she won't answer his phone, and he walks around shouting curses at her. On the occasions that he actually does wash his dishes, he leaves them out for us to put away, and sometimes you have to ask him four or five times before he'll deal with them. Which means I usually end up doing it for him, just so Mom doesn't get pissed and take it out on me. (Which is something she's been doing a lot lately - there's a lot of anger going round this house.)
It's like having a spoilt, selfish child living here, and frankly I'm sick to death of it. I am so so tired of taking care of grown men who are too lazy to do anything for themselves and too selfish to care that a girl who's a) younger; b) no relation to them; c) disabled and d) working longer hours than they are ends up having to do it all for them. First the Marshall woman, then Paul, then Martin and now Narcissus (that's not his real name, but it works) - all from different walks of life, but all of them spoilt selfish brats who strut around with this sense of entitlement, like they're owed a great deal from life and they're damn well going to get everything they can from everyone, no matter who it hurts.
He'll get his notice soon, but not until we can get together the deposit money to give back to him.
I hate lodgers. I'm not too keen on men right now either.
That said, Brian - he's the guy from South Africa - seems to be working out pretty well. True, I haven't seen him much, but he's friendly and helpful, and keeps things in good order. I wish we could find another lodger like him.
This shouldn't be my business. If I could, I'd take off to my own place, where I lived blissfully alone, or at most with one roommate. But even if I could get the finances together, I couldn't leave Mom in the lurch like that. Every time I've mentioned moving out, she's made it very clear that to do so would put her in an impossible position, and I don't have the heart to do that.
So I stay here, feeling more and more trapped, in a house that contains several very angry people, and just try to keep my head down and get things done.
This is a pessimistic note. So shoot me, I'm not having the greatest of weeks.
Since I'm having a cranky day - blame it on PMS, or just say that I'm a bitch, I don't really care - I'll share a couple of the most annoying bits about him with you.
I know I've mentioned this one in the last note, but he speaks NO English. Nor does he seem to WANT to learn to speak English. I really don't get this, because I can't fathom the idea of moving to a country without making some attempt to learn the language, at least enough of it to communicate with people. Hell, when I take even a week's vacation I try to learn enough for basic communications. Even if college courses are expensive, you can buy a book, or talk with a friend who speaks the language. (And you can guarantee he knows SOMEONE who speaks English.) But it seems that he just cheerfully packed his stuff and moved here, with no preparations whatsoever. I've told him about the Italian society in St. Albans, where he can go to talk to people in Italian and through them, get an idea of where to go to learn at least the basics, but he doesn't seem at all interested. Personally I think he likes not speaking the language, because it allows him to ignore you when you ask him to do something. Like...
Flush the toilet, put the seat down, and WASH YOUR FLIPPIN' HANDS. There is no excuse, EVER, for not flushing and not washing your hands afterwards. Or...
Keep the house tidy and basically clean. It's not rocket science. When you use things, make sure you wash them afterwards. I don't care if it's dishes or the cooker or an ashtray or the bathtub.
Ugh, the bathtub. I can't even speak about the bathtub.
Well, maybe I can.
He doesn't clean it. No surprise there, since half the time he doesn't even clean his dishes. It would be bad enough if it were just normal bath stuff (although "normal" is a relative term - what kind of man takes two bubble baths a day, really?). But it's not. It's other stuff besides bath foam that I find in there.
Male stuff. Excited male stuff.
In case you're a little slow, or just find it too weird and disturbing to contemplate, I'll put it bluntly: he whacks off in the bathtub and then leaves it for me to find. And although I've asked him half a dozen times to clean out the bathtub, and pointed at the tub and the cleaning products and even the residues that he leaves behind, he just shrugs his shoulders at me like he hasn't the faintest clue what I'm talking about.
So every time I take a bath I have to put on rubber gloves beforehand and scrub the bath out twice, once with bath cleaner and once with Dettol. And I still don't feel clean.
Unfortunately, the shower doesn't work, and the one we ordered from B & Q hasn't come in yet, otherwise I'd forgo my baths - even though they're one of the few things that helps with my muscle cramps - and take showers. At least that way I'd know there wasn't anything lurking in the water.
Those aren't his only horrible habits, they're just the worst ones. He never gets up to his first alarm, but lets it go off four times every morning, with music louder than I usually play mine in the daytime, and he won't turn it down. He never turns lights off. He begs for food and drink, because he's too lazy to go out and buy his own, and if you say no he keeps asking and pleading until you give him what he wants. He seems to be angry most of the time, either because his sister won't give him any more money (although she's already paying his rent and his phone bill) or because she won't answer his phone, and he walks around shouting curses at her. On the occasions that he actually does wash his dishes, he leaves them out for us to put away, and sometimes you have to ask him four or five times before he'll deal with them. Which means I usually end up doing it for him, just so Mom doesn't get pissed and take it out on me. (Which is something she's been doing a lot lately - there's a lot of anger going round this house.)
It's like having a spoilt, selfish child living here, and frankly I'm sick to death of it. I am so so tired of taking care of grown men who are too lazy to do anything for themselves and too selfish to care that a girl who's a) younger; b) no relation to them; c) disabled and d) working longer hours than they are ends up having to do it all for them. First the Marshall woman, then Paul, then Martin and now Narcissus (that's not his real name, but it works) - all from different walks of life, but all of them spoilt selfish brats who strut around with this sense of entitlement, like they're owed a great deal from life and they're damn well going to get everything they can from everyone, no matter who it hurts.
He'll get his notice soon, but not until we can get together the deposit money to give back to him.
I hate lodgers. I'm not too keen on men right now either.
That said, Brian - he's the guy from South Africa - seems to be working out pretty well. True, I haven't seen him much, but he's friendly and helpful, and keeps things in good order. I wish we could find another lodger like him.
This shouldn't be my business. If I could, I'd take off to my own place, where I lived blissfully alone, or at most with one roommate. But even if I could get the finances together, I couldn't leave Mom in the lurch like that. Every time I've mentioned moving out, she's made it very clear that to do so would put her in an impossible position, and I don't have the heart to do that.
So I stay here, feeling more and more trapped, in a house that contains several very angry people, and just try to keep my head down and get things done.
This is a pessimistic note. So shoot me, I'm not having the greatest of weeks.
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