Nothing But Complaints

I cancelled my netflix membership.  It’s a total waste of money in this house.  (Yes, I’m about to vent.)  Movies are delivered (two at a time) and I watch both within three days of arrival, set them on top of the TV in my sister’s room, and they sit for weeks until she gets around to watching them.

I told her if she has no intention of watching them, that I’d prefer to cancel it and just pick up a movie at a Redbox whenever it appeals to me.  She said she was just really busy and that is why she hasn’t gotten to them sooner–you live with me, no point in lying about how busy you are–and once things settled down, she’d watch them more regularly. 

Almost two weeks before I went out of town I watched two movies and left them in the usual spot.  She had a full week off from work before she left for New York, and three days off after we returned.  This morning it occurred to me that I haven’t received any movies since I got back.

Yep,  still on top of her TV.  I put them in the mail and canceled the membership.  Fifty bucks says it’s a month before she notices. 

Since I am already complaining about the procrastinator I live with, I may as well bitch about the closet.  She never throws clothes away, not even those she will never get into again.  I’m not trying to be mean, but someone who outweighs me by a couple of stone (in British terms, which somehow sounds less like I am revealing someone else’s weight on line) is never going to get into those size ten jeans again.

And if she does ever see that size again, is she really going to want to wear clothes from 1990?  No, she’ll buy new clothes.  Anyway, to get to how this affects me, since you are surely wondering . . . A while ago, she expressed an interest in thinning out her closet, but said it was so crammed with stuff that she didn’t know where to start–she had nowhere to put the clothes she wasn’t sure about.

I emptied out the closet in the extra room by shoving its contents into my own closet; this meant I’d have to reach behind an ice chest or a cat carrier to get to my clothes, but it was for a good cause, and how long could it take her to re-organize her own closet now that she had an additional spot to place things while she sorted? 

Three years.  She filled the extra closet, didn’t get rid of anything, and yesterday an ice chest almost gave me a black eye while I was looking for my Red Rock Pub t-shirt.   Yes, I said something about it.  She is really busy and that is why she hasn’t done it  (how busy can you be if you have time to watch an episode of “Iron Chef” for the third time?).

Who else can I complain about.  OH!  My mother has a stash of magazines she told me she threw away hidden in her yarn drawer. She is visiting her sister for a few days so I went over to vacuum, mop, and clean off her kitchen counters (she sees her kitchen as an office with a stove–most people would stop doing that once they cooked an electric bill by accident).  I was putting things away so I could vacuum and found five-year-old decorating magazines buried in fun fur. 

Until one of those magazines does an article on how to decorate your home with several hundred issues of Country Home, Mary Engelbreit’s Home Companion, and Sunset, they are being wasted.  Maybe instead of painting the house, she can decoupage it with articles on how to get organized, and collecting McCoy pottery. 

Moving on . . . my father has a bottle of generic scotch hidden in the lawnmower collection bag.  That bugs me on so many levels, not the least of which is that he buys it in the small bottle.  The smaller bottle is easier to hide, but ounce per ounce it costs a lot more than if he bought it in the larger bottle.   I’m sorry–alcoholism may be a disease, but wasting money is a choice.

I hate when I post crap like this on a Friday, but I needed to vent and until I actually hit the publish button, I will not be able to feel I truly have vented.