Work Grumbles

I don't think I've ever really had a compulsion to do something (like an OCD compulsion).  Until the last week.  I don't know what it is but I smell like the house I work in.  Luckily the house doesn't smell like fecal matter or anything.  Instead, it smells like sweaty teenage boys that aren't fond of cleaning.  My clothes smell like a strange mix of cleaning solutions and grease (I think there's an average of four hamburger patties cooked a day in the house).  I feel compelled to change the second I walk in to my apartment and then restrain myself from washing my clothes that instant.

I relish the moments when only one of the guys is home or awake.  So, so easy.

I've been averaging 3.5 Monopoly games a shift in the last week.  Excluding the grave shifts when the guys are all asleep.

T knows the dance to that weird Korean song... "Gangnam Style" or whatever.  I have it stuck in my head on an almost equal amount as Justin Bieber's "Boyfriend" and "As Long As You Love Me."

Breaking Amish is the best TV show on at 11pm.  I'm always shocked at how old these kids are.  In real life they're 26 but I feel like they're 16 or 17.  They're just as socially awkward as I was at that age... or as G can tend to be.

A is no longer engaged which puts my mind at ease.  Because really, I was jealous.  Even one of my clients could get someone to agree to marry them!

Some days my work shifts are really quick and easy and enjoyable.  And other days A will refuse his meds and listen to Lionel Richie's "Hello" on repeat at full blast for an hour and T will tell his mom that he's out of milk so she needs to come drop some off for him and blames the staff for not giving him everything he needs (total bull sh**) and G will turn the kitchen into a disaster and refuse to clean while watching something creepy or gross on TV really loud.  And then inevitably T will break either a coffee pot or drop a scalding hot bowl of rice all over the kitchen floor.  And in those moments I want to lock myself in the staff bathroom and have a good cry.

A once gave T this white windbreaker that he got from Special Olympics.  T wears it "for the ladies" because it makes him look cool.

G shaved the sides of his head to create a mohawk.  It doesn't look like a mohawk and I can't look at it for too long because I'll start laughing.  It looks more like a skinny mullet.

Hope's bike has been giving my thighs a killer work out.  Sometimes I look forward to riding it so much that I decide to walk instead.

A cleaned the kitchen pretty thoroughly a week or two ago.  When he was done he started going up the stairs and told me that he did it for me.  As in, "you should be grateful because I did it so you don't have to."  Part of me was super grateful.  The other part of me wanted to stab myself in the eye with a screwdriver because it's HIS HOUSE and when I clean it's so he doesn't have to.

T goes to a different school  now and instead of having an angry lady bus driver he has a man in his late 50s who looks like he really lived it up during the 1970s.  He also looks like he enjoys a good joint on his lunch break.  After T gets on the bus I start my trek home and pass by an elementary school crossing guard.  I feel like a better person when I tell her good morning.  Maybe I'll bring her a candy cane for Christmas.  Maybe.