Tonight was laundry night.
I'll be honest, I don't like doing it on Thursdays. I usually do it on Tuesdays, but the week got away from me. Thursdays are rushed because I have an 8pm deadline. (For those who don't know ... and we'll have to have a discussion on why not another time ... Supernatural comes on at 8pm on Thursdays and no, I don't care that we're in a hiatus and it's in re-runs, I'm still going to watch it!!) However, tonight I also did laundry.
I was lucky and, therefore, able to clear my desk ... by taking my arm and sweeping everything into my drawer and locking it up ... shut down the office ... so much faster when you're the only one there and all but one main light are already off ... and head out the door. Traffic was light and Baby was feeling her oats, moving in and around the vehicles going less than the speed limit ... if it says 65, WHY are you only going 50??? ... and taking the faster exit like a pro ... she REALLY does like those highways, little red sweetheart! ... and getting me to the laundromat before I usually am even out of the office. Yay!
The laundromat was empty ... another awesome plus ... and I was able to lug in my four bags of clothes ... is it wrong that I have one bag of white, one bag of red, and two bags of black clothing? ... dumped in, detergent added, quarters inserted and washers started without a hitch.
Yes ... I do have to use the laundromat still. Yes ... I did have the money to purchase one the first of the year after mine died a slow and agonizing death ... the spinner thing in the middle that agitates the clothes, which I find hysterical, I mean, seriously -AGITATES the clothes? Like the clothes are gonna smack it back for it's agitation? Who THINKS of this stuff?? - anyway, the agitator died, or was killed by a shirt that simply couldn't take the agitation any longer ... *snickers* ... where was I? ... oh yeah ... dead washer, money to purchase a new one. Got it.
Yeah ... I did have the money but ... well, the Supernatural convention ticket was just too enticing and so I succumbed and I'm SOOOO not sorry ... but that is another blog that is still being written. So! Anyhow, yes, I am using the laundromat. And this is actually NOT a bad thing. Actually ... the laundromat part of doing my laundry is the good part.
When you use the laundromat, you are guaranteed 23 minutes of peace to sit and just be quiet, to read, to be alone with your thoughts. Machines are humming, people are talking quietly, it's warm in the winter, cool in the summer, it's actually kinda nice. My little neighborhood laundromat is run by a kind older man who is very nice but not intrusive. The regular people are friendly. It's not a bad thing. In 23 minutes I can have 4 ... regularly ... or 6 ... when I've stretched it as far as possible or feel the time is necessary to do sheets ... loads completely washed at one time. Nope, the laundromat is my friend.
It's getting home that makes me crabby.
'Cause ... once I get home there's the hanging ... I hang alot, actually mostly all, of my clothes up to dry - shirts and pants ... because the dryer not only does the shrinkage thing, there's also the fading of the colors due to the heat and it's really not good when you have all this black and still don't match, and then there's the electricity usage which, if I can save a penny by hanging clothes, I'm gonna ... so, I'm hanging the clothes. This takes time and needs to be done as soon as possible when I get home in order to avoid wrinkles ... which leads to ironing ... which leads to shuddering and shaking at the horror of the thought ... you get the picture.
Then, for those clothes that don't get hung up, there's the drying and the remembering to finish one load and put in the other load and then remembering to remove THAT load. Then there's the folding and the putting away and then the putting away of the hanging things once they've dried which isn't until the next day.
So, yeah ... laundry ... not my favorite thing. Which has led to my making an executive decision.
See, I have this friend who refuses to let me become a nudist ... I'm not certain of all of her reasons, however my manager and co-worker have thanked her repeatedly for talking me out of becoming a nudist ... and since she is also the same one who sagely advises me to remember to lay down plastic before committing hari kari mayhem upon some of the moronic people in my life ... it's easier to clean up the mess afterwards ... I'm going to have to bow to her wisdom. However, since I'm not allowed to become a nudist, and since the laundry fairies have been on strike in this household for so long that I can't even get them to come to the negotiatng table any longer, I've decided that it's time to put these mice, who seem to want to live in my house, to work.
Yep.
You heard me ... the mice.
I've given this thought. They're here. It's been 11 years and they won't go away. Every spring and every fall they make their presence known, looking for handouts, setting up their little rooms underneath the entertainment center or in the walls of my cabinets or behind my bookcase by the door, planning their families, refusing to pay rent. I've tried the "humane removal" of capturing and releasing them in a nearby field. (Okay ... not me, but a friend who came and took the captured creature in the trap I caught it in by the use of bribery with peanut butter.) They literally came running back. Would have made it if it wasn't for the street curb. Seriously!! So, I'm thinking it's time for them to get off their furry little butts and help out around here!! The mice in Disney's Cinderella did. They even sang about it. Heck! I'll make them little clothes. I'll sing back to them. I'll even feed them food that doesn't have those special little blue pellets in it if they'll simply take the clothes and hang them up, put them in the dryer, fold them, and then put them all away.
Is that asking too much? I don't think so. It's not even an every day chore. Laundry day is just once a week. I'll even do the washing part. Just get them out of the car, dried via hanging or dryer, and then into the dresser drawers and closet. That's all they have to do.
*sigh*
Unfortunately, that's not going to happen, is it? Yeah. I know. I'm stuck with life as it is and I'll have to continue this chore all on my own. The mice won't help.
They've already unionized.
They won't even eat the special blue pellets I put out unless I lace them with Hershey's syrup.
Such is life.
Now ... if you'll excuse me ... I have to go do the dishes. Stupid ants can lift 20 bajillion more pounds than their own body weight and they can't even help by doing the dishes in exchange for tramping through my kitchen and mooching my food!!
Showing posts with label laundry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label laundry. Show all posts
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Friday, May 23, 2008
Stupid People Make Me Crazy
Okay ... I realize it's been almost a month since I've written anything.
Well ... that's not exactly true. I've written a few things that just haven't made it to the posting stage. I'm working on it ... I'm working on it.
Still ... I feel the need to get this written and get it out there because that's what I do when I'm really and truly angry.
It has been one of those wonderful, pre-holiday weekend Fridays where it's quiet enough in the office that I was actually allowed to get all of my work done early. Early enough that I was able to get a few extra tid-bitty things completed that just always make me nutty to come into on Monday. Then, I left the office early. That, in itself, was a definite cause to celebrate but on the way home, I stopped at my favorite fruit stand and was, once again, gifted by the owner (we've been doing this now for a good 7 or 8 years ) with a small, sweet, seedless watermelon. Yum!!!
After I paid for my other things, I went by the laundromat (yep, the washer still hasn't been replaced but I've still got my Supernatural Convention tickets ... woot!!!) to wash up a few loads and the front washers that are next to the chairs are open. Yay!! I throw in the clothes and then take a seat and read for 25 minutes, relaxing while they get clean. Loading them back in the car to take home to dry, I decide that I want to pick up some last minute things at the grocery store.
I run across the street ... okay, that's not entirely correct ... I drove Baby across the street and we found a parking spot right up close to the door. Yay, again! I go in and quickly get the few things I wanted and walk right up to the register and check out without waiting. Yay, yet again!!
So ... why ... you ask am I now cranky???
Here's what happened next:
I took may bags out to my car in my basket. I could have carried them, but ... well, I didn't. So, I pull the basket up next to Baby and open her up to put the bags in the back seat. While I'm doing this, I'm humming and enjoying the afternoon/evening breeze and I watch a car pull in right in front of mine. No biggie. I see a lady in the front seat look at me with kinda a strange look, but I just went on with my business of unloading and then throwing my purse into the front seat.
The lady gets out of the car, giving me yet another interesting look and heads into the store.
And I realize that she has left the car running.
I glance in the front window as I walk by to put my car in the lot's cart catcher and notice that no one seems to be in the vehicle. Not in the front or the back.
But the car is running.
And I realize that there is a baby carrier in the middle of the back seat ... facing backwards.
I walk on towards the cart catcher with my mind racing ... surely no one is that stupid as to intentionally leave a child that would be small enough to be in a carrier backwards alone in a car in a parking lot? Right??? Right???
Wrong.
As I walked back, I intentionally looked in the back window. I didn't care. I prayed that there would be someone's face pop up at me asking me to mind my own business.
They didn't.
Instead, I see a little pink foot wiggle inside a car seat. From the size of that foot I would guess the infant to be perhaps 4 to6 months.
I couldn't believe it!! I looked to the store and back to the car. The doors were obviously locked and the car was running, therefore it was "cool".
Doesn't matter!! That is an infant! A gift. Something precious and small and should be cared for and looked after, not left alone in a car that is locked and running.
I went to Baby and got in and simply sat there ... and watched.
While I watched over this little one, my mind thought of all the things that could happen ... aspiration on a bit of spit up, a car loosing control in the parking lot and ramming into this metal box holding this baby, the car overheating, something going wrong and the exhaust running into the car instead of out. By the end of five minutes, my imagination had the car blowing up from overheating and I was trying to figure out if the toilet brush I had purchased could be used as a slim jim to open that car.
Five minutes. I got out my notepad and pen and wrote a note.
Ten minutes. I got out of my car and put the not on the windshield.
Thirteen minutes and the woman returned.
She stopped and looked at me when she saw my Baby and I were still sitting there.
I looked back. I didn't care.
She opened the door and started to get in when she noticed the note. She looked at me again, and I watched as she got out of her car and reached for it. She glanced at it and then looked back at me and I met her eye one last time with a sad look on my face, shook my head, and put Baby in reverse and left.
My note?
"Shame on you. You've been given a gift to watch over and protect. You have failed in this moment. It may sound strong, but I don't care. I understand that it's not easy to get a small one in and out of a car. I understand that you think that just a couple of minutes will be fine. But it's not. Please, please, please ... don't ever do it again. The next person to notice you left the little one unprotected might not watch over it ... they might decide to take it."
Children are gifts. Their well being should never be taken for granted.
Well ... that's not exactly true. I've written a few things that just haven't made it to the posting stage. I'm working on it ... I'm working on it.
Still ... I feel the need to get this written and get it out there because that's what I do when I'm really and truly angry.
It has been one of those wonderful, pre-holiday weekend Fridays where it's quiet enough in the office that I was actually allowed to get all of my work done early. Early enough that I was able to get a few extra tid-bitty things completed that just always make me nutty to come into on Monday. Then, I left the office early. That, in itself, was a definite cause to celebrate but on the way home, I stopped at my favorite fruit stand and was, once again, gifted by the owner (we've been doing this now for a good 7 or 8 years ) with a small, sweet, seedless watermelon. Yum!!!
After I paid for my other things, I went by the laundromat (yep, the washer still hasn't been replaced but I've still got my Supernatural Convention tickets ... woot!!!) to wash up a few loads and the front washers that are next to the chairs are open. Yay!! I throw in the clothes and then take a seat and read for 25 minutes, relaxing while they get clean. Loading them back in the car to take home to dry, I decide that I want to pick up some last minute things at the grocery store.
I run across the street ... okay, that's not entirely correct ... I drove Baby across the street and we found a parking spot right up close to the door. Yay, again! I go in and quickly get the few things I wanted and walk right up to the register and check out without waiting. Yay, yet again!!
So ... why ... you ask am I now cranky???
Here's what happened next:
I took may bags out to my car in my basket. I could have carried them, but ... well, I didn't. So, I pull the basket up next to Baby and open her up to put the bags in the back seat. While I'm doing this, I'm humming and enjoying the afternoon/evening breeze and I watch a car pull in right in front of mine. No biggie. I see a lady in the front seat look at me with kinda a strange look, but I just went on with my business of unloading and then throwing my purse into the front seat.
The lady gets out of the car, giving me yet another interesting look and heads into the store.
And I realize that she has left the car running.
I glance in the front window as I walk by to put my car in the lot's cart catcher and notice that no one seems to be in the vehicle. Not in the front or the back.
But the car is running.
And I realize that there is a baby carrier in the middle of the back seat ... facing backwards.
I walk on towards the cart catcher with my mind racing ... surely no one is that stupid as to intentionally leave a child that would be small enough to be in a carrier backwards alone in a car in a parking lot? Right??? Right???
Wrong.
As I walked back, I intentionally looked in the back window. I didn't care. I prayed that there would be someone's face pop up at me asking me to mind my own business.
They didn't.
Instead, I see a little pink foot wiggle inside a car seat. From the size of that foot I would guess the infant to be perhaps 4 to6 months.
I couldn't believe it!! I looked to the store and back to the car. The doors were obviously locked and the car was running, therefore it was "cool".
Doesn't matter!! That is an infant! A gift. Something precious and small and should be cared for and looked after, not left alone in a car that is locked and running.
I went to Baby and got in and simply sat there ... and watched.
While I watched over this little one, my mind thought of all the things that could happen ... aspiration on a bit of spit up, a car loosing control in the parking lot and ramming into this metal box holding this baby, the car overheating, something going wrong and the exhaust running into the car instead of out. By the end of five minutes, my imagination had the car blowing up from overheating and I was trying to figure out if the toilet brush I had purchased could be used as a slim jim to open that car.
Five minutes. I got out my notepad and pen and wrote a note.
Ten minutes. I got out of my car and put the not on the windshield.
Thirteen minutes and the woman returned.
She stopped and looked at me when she saw my Baby and I were still sitting there.
I looked back. I didn't care.
She opened the door and started to get in when she noticed the note. She looked at me again, and I watched as she got out of her car and reached for it. She glanced at it and then looked back at me and I met her eye one last time with a sad look on my face, shook my head, and put Baby in reverse and left.
My note?
"Shame on you. You've been given a gift to watch over and protect. You have failed in this moment. It may sound strong, but I don't care. I understand that it's not easy to get a small one in and out of a car. I understand that you think that just a couple of minutes will be fine. But it's not. Please, please, please ... don't ever do it again. The next person to notice you left the little one unprotected might not watch over it ... they might decide to take it."
Children are gifts. Their well being should never be taken for granted.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Holey Moley! It's A Supernatural Thursday!
This morning I got up a bit extra early. (I have no clue as to why) I've been doing laundry and I'm thinking about holes and decided to write about them.
Yep. Holes.
What kind of holes, you might ask? (and even if you don't)
Well ... I can tell you that I'm not thinking of the holes in the ozone right now, I've only had my one cup of tea yet this morning and right now it's easier to contemplate the holes in my Rice Krispies and what about them makes that inviting little "Snap" "Crackle" and "Pop".
I would give thought to those black holes in space, however I'm still trying to figure out how cyberspace opened a hole and swallowed the last three pages of my DaLDoM blog I have been suffering through for the last month when all I did was click the "Save" button on Microsoft Word. (If anyone has a number for Bill Gates ... I'd like to give him a "word")
No ... I'm not thinking deep philosophical thoughts ...
I'm not wondering about the fact that kids of all ages find a donut hole much more fun to eat than a regular donut.
I'm really not thinking about golfers and their intense passion to find that elusive "hole in one". (Although I was thinking of a particular friend this morning who truly does love the game of golf and hope she's doing alright ... "Hi Friend!" *waves*)
I'm actually not even giving a moment to thinking about that mysterious hole in the bottom of my lip that only opens when I am eating red sauce pasta and wearing a white shirt.
It's a bit more basic than that ... I'm folding laundry and I'm thinking about the holes I have found in clothing. You see, I just plucked from the basket this pink t-shirt with a daisy on the front. It's a nightshirt that was originally a regular shirt of my oldest girlie and passed to the twinks when they were smaller to be used as a nightshirt. It's been a favorite ... there was a struggle to have the oldest relinquish it even though it had grown entirely too small to wear (yes I know ... shirts don't grow, children do ... *sigh* ... work with me here ... it's early) and then when it was passed to the twinks, there occurred regular arguments between The Bickersons on whose turn it was to wear it. At one point the disagreements grew so large, we had to keep a chart of who wore it and when.
Needless to say ... it is one of those loved items. It is also an item that could be worn on Sunday, it is so holey. :-) Seriously.
When my girlie came out, dressed for bedtime, wearing this faded (yet still incredibly bright pink) shirt last weekend, I had to do a double-take and contemplate how best to retire said shirt. I had already fought the battle of the beloved Pinnochio shirt that was barely being held together at the top by the rim, one sleeve hanging down - anchored only by the stiches of thread under the arm. The hem had been ripped and a hole had emerged around the belly button area that a knee could easily fit through from underneath. In comparison, with three worn tears across the left side of the chest and three fingersized holes at the base near the non-existent hem, the pink daisy shirt seems to be all in one solid piece. I realized that retirement is still several wearings & washings & dryings & foldings away for this article of nightshirt bliss.
I'm not sure what it is about these holey t-shirts that makes them so comfortable and sought after to be worn. Yet, if I look in my own closet ... there is a purple and black flannel shirt that has been stitched back together so many times that I'm not exactly sure where the original thread stops and the new thread begins. With a hole in the side, and one at the cuff ... it is not a shirt that sees the public light of day. Yet on a cold, rainy Saturday, combined with a pair of grey sweats (or red and blue plaid flannels, whichever is handiest) it is my favorite thing to wear.
I don't know the reason, and at this point in the morning, I don't believe I really care. It was just something that struck my mind and gave me a thought to think for a moment.
Besides, here's the real conundrum ... why is it I just folded and put away 3 t-shirts with the size of holes that another arm or head could be inserted in my girlies jammie drawer and yet I threw away 1 sock because it had a hole about the size of my pinkie in it?
Oh ... and why would this have anything to do with Supernatural, besides the fact that I wrote this on a Thursday morning?
Well ... I am a true obsessive and I can turn just about anything around to reflect my favorite show and the Winchesterboys. Afterall, as any fan can tell you ...
Yep. Holes.
What kind of holes, you might ask? (and even if you don't)
Well ... I can tell you that I'm not thinking of the holes in the ozone right now, I've only had my one cup of tea yet this morning and right now it's easier to contemplate the holes in my Rice Krispies and what about them makes that inviting little "Snap" "Crackle" and "Pop".
I would give thought to those black holes in space, however I'm still trying to figure out how cyberspace opened a hole and swallowed the last three pages of my DaLDoM blog I have been suffering through for the last month when all I did was click the "Save" button on Microsoft Word. (If anyone has a number for Bill Gates ... I'd like to give him a "word")
No ... I'm not thinking deep philosophical thoughts ...
I'm not wondering about the fact that kids of all ages find a donut hole much more fun to eat than a regular donut.
I'm really not thinking about golfers and their intense passion to find that elusive "hole in one". (Although I was thinking of a particular friend this morning who truly does love the game of golf and hope she's doing alright ... "Hi Friend!" *waves*)
I'm actually not even giving a moment to thinking about that mysterious hole in the bottom of my lip that only opens when I am eating red sauce pasta and wearing a white shirt.
It's a bit more basic than that ... I'm folding laundry and I'm thinking about the holes I have found in clothing. You see, I just plucked from the basket this pink t-shirt with a daisy on the front. It's a nightshirt that was originally a regular shirt of my oldest girlie and passed to the twinks when they were smaller to be used as a nightshirt. It's been a favorite ... there was a struggle to have the oldest relinquish it even though it had grown entirely too small to wear (yes I know ... shirts don't grow, children do ... *sigh* ... work with me here ... it's early) and then when it was passed to the twinks, there occurred regular arguments between The Bickersons on whose turn it was to wear it. At one point the disagreements grew so large, we had to keep a chart of who wore it and when.
Needless to say ... it is one of those loved items. It is also an item that could be worn on Sunday, it is so holey. :-) Seriously.
When my girlie came out, dressed for bedtime, wearing this faded (yet still incredibly bright pink) shirt last weekend, I had to do a double-take and contemplate how best to retire said shirt. I had already fought the battle of the beloved Pinnochio shirt that was barely being held together at the top by the rim, one sleeve hanging down - anchored only by the stiches of thread under the arm. The hem had been ripped and a hole had emerged around the belly button area that a knee could easily fit through from underneath. In comparison, with three worn tears across the left side of the chest and three fingersized holes at the base near the non-existent hem, the pink daisy shirt seems to be all in one solid piece. I realized that retirement is still several wearings & washings & dryings & foldings away for this article of nightshirt bliss.
I'm not sure what it is about these holey t-shirts that makes them so comfortable and sought after to be worn. Yet, if I look in my own closet ... there is a purple and black flannel shirt that has been stitched back together so many times that I'm not exactly sure where the original thread stops and the new thread begins. With a hole in the side, and one at the cuff ... it is not a shirt that sees the public light of day. Yet on a cold, rainy Saturday, combined with a pair of grey sweats (or red and blue plaid flannels, whichever is handiest) it is my favorite thing to wear.
I don't know the reason, and at this point in the morning, I don't believe I really care. It was just something that struck my mind and gave me a thought to think for a moment.
Besides, here's the real conundrum ... why is it I just folded and put away 3 t-shirts with the size of holes that another arm or head could be inserted in my girlies jammie drawer and yet I threw away 1 sock because it had a hole about the size of my pinkie in it?
Oh ... and why would this have anything to do with Supernatural, besides the fact that I wrote this on a Thursday morning?
Well ... I am a true obsessive and I can turn just about anything around to reflect my favorite show and the Winchesterboys. Afterall, as any fan can tell you ...
"Driver picks the music ... shotgun shuts his pieHOLE"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
