So after some thinking, I think Bob is more like a mixture of Brick (from anchor man) and Bob. Bob is far too intelligent for him to be anything like him, other than silent.
So I get home last night, and there is white shit E V E R YWHERE-from the texture. He has textured walls that I told him to leave, not done half of the walls that I told him to. And the ones he did do, look like shit. The ceiling fan, with the missing part circled in the manual is sitting on my floor. I walk over tot he box and in seriously 30 seconds find the "missing" part.
My oldest daughter tells me adventures of the retarded old guy I so lovingly refer to as Bob. How he is completely incompetent to do anything himself and constantly bothers Jay or my daughter to come help him. He takes a smoke break every 15 minutes or so, which is evident by the 3 empty boxes of cigarettes that I have found in our trash. So if he has emptied 3 that I know of at our house-how the fuck many has he actually smoked? At least I have some Zen pleasure in knowing he will probably be dead soon.
I cook dinner, then realize our microwave is not working. ugh
So after crying on the bed last night, my hubby agrees to talk to them today. I really just cannot deal with them anymore. I finallt realized the stomach problems I have been having this week are my IBS acting up, probably due to stress from this, and the other things. I am trying to let this go. Hubby will take care of it...right?
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