Sunday, December 27, 2009

FMH: F*ck My House

One of the good things about Christmas is that you get lots of gifts and new stuff. One of the bad things about Christmas is that you get lots of gifts and new stuff.

I am currently sitting at home, looking at the outright disaster that my home has become. It is going to take me, at a bare minimum, a good day to repair the damage. That's a whole day that I could be spending on other worthwhile and more rewarding activities, like reading fashion magazines and getting that hot-stone massage I so desperately need for my chronic buttock pain.

Last night, when my desire for a hot bath and a Jacqueline Susann novel overtook my urge to clean, I came up with a brilliant idea. So many of my friends enjoy the FML web site--to those not in the know, that would be F*ck My Life. FML features brief blurbs from people like you and I, who have encountered unpleasant situations in their lives. An example would be: "I just met the hottest girl ever at my family reunion, only to find out she is my cousin. FML"

It dawned on me that I could start my own site, called FMH: F*ck My House. It would be the hottest new site for people like me--those who have been told by their ex-husbands that they are "no homemakers!"--to post photos of their own household disasters, while also having the healing experience of seeing that others might just have it worse.

I will kick off FMH with photos of the aftermath of Christmas at my house:
















I'd like to say that I have the ambition to do something about this, but unfortunately, my assortment of Sunday papers is draining what little focus I have today.

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1 comment:

  1. I would totally be a fan of this site. It would be like the antithesis of Apartment Therapy, so instead of seeing sparkling perfect homes, you get see what people's homes really look like.

    Like right now, I've been away from home for a week and I'm about to be away for another week; meanwhile, my gigantic crazy cat has free reign over the place and he's probably really pissed off that I'm not home yet so he's most likey tearing up my furniture, hurling all over said furniture, and performing unspeakable acts to my poor dried out Christmas tree. I'm sure to come home to god-knows-what.

    FMH

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