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Coining a New Phrase

Doesn’t everyone at some time or other wish they could be the one to coin a new phrase? A phrase so very catchy that soon everyone is saying it? Just me? Whatevs.

Today’s New Phrase, or rather acronym, is EPS – Entitled Penis Syndrome. Surprisingly, Urban Dictionary has no listing for this particular acronym, so Yay!

What prompted me to invent this new term? I’m so glad you asked!

There’s a sign that hangs on the back door of my office that states the two parking spaces directly outside the door are for my company’s survey crew. This sign is 24″ wide x 36″ tall and is bright yellow, white and black. It’s not small, and it’s not the only sign – there’s a slightly smaller sign in red and white that states the same message. The reason those particular two spaces are reserved (the parking lot has 12 spaces and is private, for my company only) is because the Survey Dudes back in and load & unload the trucks directly through the door and into the back room of the building. Because of the high rate of (tweaker) crime in this crappy small town nothing of value is ever left inside the trucks. In fact, two of the Survey Dudes take the trucks home every night so they are never parked behind the building when business is closed.

So. On Monday some young man* drove into the lot and carefully backed his pickup up against the back door, got out, locked the truck and began to walk towards the Big Town Hero next door. I know this because I was out with Sabu and just returning to the office and I saw him.

“Hey!” I said/shouted, “that spot is reserved. You can’t park there.”

“I’ll just be a minute,” he tossed over his shoulder.

“Uh, no,” I said, a bit louder now. “That spot is reserved for the survey crew and you need to move your truck.”

“I’ll just be a minute!” This time with a dismissive hand gesture at me without even turning around.

“So if they come back and don’t have a spot to park to unload the trucks, well, you’ll ‘be back in a minute’ and they can just wait for you?” I asked, getting really angry now. “Way to be an asshole!”

“I said I’ll just be a minute!” He finally turned to face me.

“You can see there’s a sign right there on the door and still you’re gonna park there, huh?” I might have had steam coming from my ears, I was so pissed at this entitled little shit.

“So what?” Another dismissive hand gesture and he was around the corner.

I seriously thought about keying his truck, but that wouldn’t have been in character for me – I much prefer to commit crimes no one can blame me for.

I went inside and asked Kyle if we had any recourse when someone parks in the clearly marked reserved spots.

“Was it my brother?” he asked with a grin.

“I hope not – I called him an asshole…”

Amanda had a better solution, though – she has printed up a little flyer, bright green, that clearly states the parking spot is reserved by City Ordinance and violators will be towed. They get ONE warning. Hah! I was quite happy to put that little missive under the asshole’s windshield wiper.

Let me just say here that there is A LOT of parking in front of Big Town Hero and he could have parked on the street all along the block, or across the street, or any number of other places. He was not disabled, and if he had been, well, there are MANY places he could have parked that would have been closer to his destination. He is just an Entitled Asshole.

BUT this was not the only piece of assholery I saw on that most irritating day of my week. Lest you feel I’m being sexist with my new catch phrase, I’d like to coin another: EBS, which can only stand for Entitled Bitch Syndrome. Why would I need yet another acronym to describe asshole behavior? Because, as I was driving Sabu to the dog park** a young woman in a red car rolled down her window, tossed out a napkin and then rolled the window back up. She actually tossed a napkin out of her car window into the street, in full view of a dozen or more people, and went merrily on her way. Who does that any more? How difficult would it have been for her to keep the napkin in her car until she got somewhere she could properly dispose of it? I would have run her down if I could have gotten over into that lane, but, alas, it was a futile thought.

Gahhhhh! That’s only the start of the assholery I’ve been witness to this week, but it’s all I have time for at the moment.

What say you – did I overreact?

* Funny how “young man” now encompasses any male under 30 in my mind.

** Srsly? When did I agree to be a dog chauffeur? Seems like all I do is work and pick up dog shit and hair all day.

 

 

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Has it really been two years?

Today marks my two year narc-free anniversary! At 11:45 AM on January 20, 2013 I drove away from the narc’s house with the last of the stuff I couldn’t live without. I was an emotional mess but determined to escape that asshole and live the life I’d always wanted for myself.

For those who are new, read last year’s synopsis here to get caught up. Ready? Okay.

I went NC with the narc about a year ago, changing my phone number and deleting my internet presence completely so he couldn’t stalk me. Oh, I hadn’t been communicating with him for months before that, but the occasional email still came through to irritate me all over again. Life has been so much more peaceful now that all communication has been cut off.

I look back and hardly believe that was my life. It’s inconceivable to me now that I allowed one person to control my every thought, my every movement. It’s almost like a bad dream, life has changed so much.

Sabu, Revy and I are still living in a 30′ travel trailer and I recommend this lifestyle to anyone who doesn’t think they can escape their abusive relationship because of financial issues or pets – I could not afford an apartment that would accept a 50-pound dog on wages from a part-time minimum wage job, but I could easily afford to buy a travel trailer and pay space rent in a nice RV park which enabled me to have my own private space and keep my dog. If I don’t like my neighbors, I simply hire a Dude with a truck and he will drag my home wherever I may want to go. I have the option of buying or renting my own truck and traveling until the land meets the sea whenever the whim may strike. I am not tied down by a rental contract or mortgage. I don’t have to do yard work or keep up with the neighbors and their new toys and gadgets. I am a modern-day gypsy who has chosen to stay in one place for awhile.

I have a great job that I love in an office full of truly Nice People. I don’t feel any stress over money and feel in control of my life in a way that I never would have believed possible. I have full autonomy. I have full say over the menu, thermostat, TV remotes, social events and ALL of the bed and blankets. I go where I want to go, see who I want to see and never even think of the consequences that used to be meted out if I stepped away from his line. Every day is a blessing and joy.

Back in July I posted that I no longer heard his voice in my head and what a relief it was. It took 1.5 years to drive his voice out of my head! If you haven’t been in an abusive relationship you have no idea how deeply the monsters sink their claws into your soul. This was a Big Deal and I quietly celebrated for a couple of weeks before deciding to step out of my comfort zone and put myself out there online as “single and looking.” I know, right? I haven’t talked about that here because if it turns out to be a disaster, well, this blogging thing is supposed to be all about the successes, right?

In some ways it’s gone well, in others it’s been the disappointment I thought it would be. There are a lot of freaks out there looking for NSA kinky sex and if that’s what I was looking for I’d have my pick of any number of Slimy Dudes, but that’s not really my thing. I’ve been told I want too much from a man. I have to shrug and think to myself, “yeah, it’s totally unreasonable to narrow my choices to men who are gainfully employed, own their own car, live in their own space (ie not with Mom,) don’t drink excessively, don’t use drugs, don’t have a huge pile of debt, aren’t already otherwise involved in relationships, don’t have small children at home (sorry if that sounds selfish, but I’m all done being Mommy, thankyouverymuch!) don’t need a Mommy or fixing in some other way and who can write and spell with something close to English grammar conventions.” I won’t be a doormat, slave, maid, cook or gardener with no return on my investment and I state that right up front. Ya ain’t gonna get free labor from me 🙂

I’ll admit it: I’m gonna be picky because I can. I am perfectly happy with my single life. It’s working for me. But I also want to know if I could “do” a relationship the way I hear it can be done. You know, where two people of opposite sex are great friends who get along and like some of the same things and respect each other. It’s just not the same with girlfriends and dammit I want it all!

Anyway. This is not the place to talk about all that stuff. Let’s just say that I’m still single, still enjoying my life and looking forward to another fantastic year.

I’ve been away from blogging for awhile because I haven’t had anything to say. Life with the narc seems so far away when I’m going about my day-to-day business as to seem irrelevant to who I am now. I’m not sure where I want this blog to go now. Suggestions? What do y’all want to hear about?

To all of you in abusive relationships: there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Be brave. Throw off your shackles and walk into the light. It’s hard. It sucks. It’s scary. But it’s worth every hardship to live a life free of abuse.

Thank you all for joining me on this journey 🙂

 

 

 
 

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More White Trash Observations

Y’all remember the white trash family that moved into the church house? No? Click here and read that post first.

Okay? Okay.

Yesterday I was taking Sabu out for her afternoon walk. There was a young man washing a tarp in the front yard. The women who frequent the house were standing around watching and not saying much. One of the older children (I think it’s a boy?) was also present.

I could tell by his body language the man was agitated.

Sabu and I reached the end of the alley where we could see the full tableau when a little hot-rod car came screaming around the corner and sped down the street at probably 50 MPH, like a drag race of one. A man was behind the wheel. The man washing the tarp started screaming obscenities and running down the street after the car, shaking his fists in the air.

He made it about 20 feet before his pants came down over his butt because he’s one of those saggy-butt-jeans-wearing assholes who love to strut around holding their pants up with one hand while fiddling with their phone with the other. You know That Guy. Dontcha hate him? Ever want to just smack some sense into his empty head?

Sorry. I digress.

Being a short block, and not wanting to get the woman of the house all riled up, Sabu and I crossed the street to put as much distance between the lunatic who doesn’t understand the function of belts and our sane selves but it was not enough that we couldn’t hear the conversation going on in front of the church house.

“I will kill that mutherfucker if he does that again!”

Laughter. “No you won’t. Don’t be stupid.” General laughter and muttering amongst the group of women. They must have thought it was cute to see him so mad.

“I’ll throw something at his car!”

“Don’t be doing that – that’s destruction of property and you WILL go to jail again for that…”

More laughter.

It went on in this vein for awhile but I got us out of there before I could say something smart-assy and get the woman of the house pissed off at me again.

I mean, really? These people have no class or charm at all. And they live 5 feet away from a church! Some people’s kids, I swear!

 
5 Comments

Posted by on October 28, 2014 in Crazy, Rants, right?, You're kidding

 

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People Suck – Part Whatever

After lunch Sabu and I were on our typical walk, down the alley, around the corner and up the street. We walk this way Monday thru Thursday, rain or shine.

The first house around the corner is owned by the neighboring church and stood empty for well over a year. I believe it’s generally used to house the pastor and his family. It’s a nice house, two story, large with lots of windows.

Some months ago there was a flurry of activity as the house was readied for new tenants. I thought it would be a new pastor and family, but instead a white trash family of dubious origin and a bunch of kids ranging in age from four to OMG surly teen moved in.

Now, before you get all up in arms that I used the term white trash, let me explain. These people ARE white and they ARE trash. How do I know? The crap that has started piling up in the yard, the belligerent, tattooed miscreants smoking and drinking on the front stoop, the language coming out of the mouths of everyone over there, the damaged vehicles (looks like they like to drink AND drive for entertainment) and on and on. These are not quality people and I wonder if regular church goers are sorry they rented to them.

There does not appear to be a male head-of-household, only an assortment of young-ish men half-dressed and smoking on the front step most mornings. No, they aren’t all the same guy. Sigh. It’s ugly.

Anyway. I’m not usually one to judge so harshly, but I’ve had a couple of run-ins with the woman in charge that make no sense and leave me angry and wanting to hit someone.

The first time, I was pulling my car from the alley onto the street. There’s a hedge that partially obscures the sidewalk until you’re right up on it. She was pushing a stroller with her 4-year-old daughter walking alongside. I came up on the sidewalk and she yelled at me for pulling up in front of her.

What? She was 10 feet back, was in no danger of being hit and I was moving at a crawl anyway. I looked into my driver’s side mirror to see if it was clear to back up when she started yelling again, this time calling names. Sabu started to snarl and claw at the window, so I pulled out into the street to her curses and bellowing.

WTF? That’s some high-class parenting right there! I couldn’t believe she was so nasty over nothing.

Today Sabu and I had another run-in with her. We were walking by her yard (strewn with lawn chairs on their sides and assorted broken toys and bits of trash) as she was pulling up in her (barely running) car with a child in the back.

Sabu did what dogs do – she peed on the edge of the grass. OMG! You would think she left a big, wet pile of crap for the reaction we got.

“Do you let that dog do that on everybody’s yard?” She was red-faced and shouting at me, gesturing at the grass.

“She just peed. If she’d pooped I would pick it up…” Stunned by her reaction, I kept walking.

“You didn’t pick it up last time! You never pick it up, blah, blah, blah…..”

I was getting angry now and turned fully around to look her in the face. “I always pick up her poop. Always!”

“You didn’t the other day!” She’s really winding up now and I’m getting mad enough to do something I’ll regret.

“It wasn’t me. It wasn’t this dog…” walking away now, trying to hold my tongue.

“I have five witnesses in the house who saw you! It was YOU!!!”

Fighting to stay calm, I said, “You’re wrong. It wasn’t me and it wasn’t this dog,” before turning and walking away.

She continued to shout at me but I tuned her out.

WTF? I’ve had people stop, in their cars, to thank me for picking up my dog’s poop. I am known for picking up after my dog in a neighborhood where no one bothers. Why does this woman have such a chip on her shoulder for me? What did I ever do to her but let her daughter pet my dog?

Gaaaahhhhhh!!! People like that give this town a bad name. What a crappy way to end my lunch break on a Monday afternoon.

 

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This is why I shouldn’t go outside…

I almost never post pictures of myself here. I’m usually behind the camera and there aren’t many photo taking opportunities, but Saturday found Awana and I at an outdoor Fiber Event. I thought the natural light would be great for taking pictures and Awana was willing to take some shots.

I wore my favorite yellow linen tunic – the one that makes me look thinner than I really am. I was very careful with breakfast so as not to slobber all over myself.

We arrived at the venue unsoiled. And then IT happened. We were putting up the pop-up for the first time and I managed to whack myself square in the mouth with the top of the upright while trying to make it “snap easily into place.”

Awana says I cried a little, but I have no memory of that part. I do remember feeling carefully with my tongue and being grateful I hadn’t broken a tooth. Fuck! My lips started swelling on the spot and I hoped that I wouldn’t end up looking like a loser in a boxing match.

20140802_102044Favorite shirt? Check. New prescription shades? Check. Big ol’ fat lip? Also check.

Sigh. The shades are cool, though, right?

20140802_102136Where did all those gray hairs come from? What about the “anti-glare coating” these glasses are supposed to have?

Gaaaahhhhhhh!!!

I did get hit on by a lesbian, so it must not have looked that bad…

 
12 Comments

Posted by on August 4, 2014 in Crazy, Fiber Arts, Friends, right?, You're kidding

 

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Alpaca Shearing is Over for 2014!

The last alpaca, very inappropriately named Rainbow Glow, was sheared last night. She was not a happy camper, as evidenced by the following –

SANYO DIGITAL CAMERAShe led Dave and Mo on a merry dance but Dave finally got his arms around her neck. Here she’s pushing him up against the wall, screaming at the top of her lungs at the indignity of it all.

She wasn’t the loudest, or the fiercest, or the biggest spitter or fighter and she was sheared at last, number 91, in spite of her protests.

Regular blogging will resume next week. Lots of irons in the fire, lots to talk about.

 
 

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Adventures on the Farm

This is Fancy Pants before her spa treatment:

Fancy Pants 1And this is After:

Fancy Pants 2Quite a difference, yes? I am continually amazed at how different the same animal looks once you cut all their hair off – one brown boy from yesterday is totally black under all that hair! Don’t think I got a picture of him, but if Awana did I’ll post it another day.

Here’s my view of the shearing operation when the alpaca is almost finished –

SANYO DIGITAL CAMERAFrom left to right, Dave is trimming toenails, Awana is holding the head while Mo trims the topknot to make him look snazzy. This is a moment when I can stop and take a breath before the dismount operation. I really should find an extra body to take some video.

This shot will give you an idea of how much hair the alpaca grows in just one year:

SANYO DIGITAL CAMERAThis is Lucky, who has one dark spot in an otherwise white coat. The fleece is ~4″ long, not the longest of those we’ve sheared so far, and not the shortest – some of the older females only have 1.5″ of hair, all of their extra calories going to nursing babies instead of growing a long, lush fleece.

So. The shearing continues. 65 done 30+/- left to go, including “Glowie,” who will be last as she is a total nightmare but they won’t say exactly why…

 
 

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Godbag at the Dog Park

The weekend was incredibly busy and overwhelming socially. I’m still recovering.

On the first Saturday of the month there’s a big gathering at the yarn shop and the place was full. I arrived early and stayed after. Somehow the clock at home went from 8:07 to 10:35 in three and a half minutes and I missed breakfast, which may have had something to do with how the rest of the day went.

There’s a guy who showed up at the usual Wednesday evening gathering. I don’t like him. He sets off my Freak-Dar lights and sirens but the other ladies think he’s just fine. He’s a young-ish man with prison tattoos and the look of the newly-released. He has not brought any project to work on and in fact claims not to know how to knit or crochet or to have money to buy supplies. He just wants to sit and visit and enjoy all the creative energy. Yeeeee-aaaaahhhhh. Dude creeps me out. He was there and in fact sat next to me, upping his creep factor exponentially. I don’t like his vibe at what is normally a very friendly gathering of like-minded people. More on him as the story develops.

After 5 or so hours of socializing Sabu and I headed for the dog park where we found three young springer spaniels romping about. They weren’t interested in Sabu, but they reliably fetched her ball over and over again which amused me greatly.

After awhile a very large pit bull showed up with his people. The dog (an intact male – don’t get me started on why that’s wrong!) was rather shy and didn’t want to play with the pups, who left soon afterwards. The couple did not look like locals. They wore brand new camo pants tucked into boots (not military boots, but Dog Park Boots) with rather dressy-looking jackets, obviously expensive. It was a discordant combination, but whatever. There’s an RV camping park within the State Park that also houses the dog park and we get all kinds.

The husband, Raymond (we’ll call him Ray from now on because it’s easier to type) spoke at some length about their conversion to a vegan diet three years ago (everything good for him started three years ago when he had an epiphany, but this did not become apparent for awhile) and how their dog is also vegan because they don’t want to consume the chemicals, hormones and antibiotics found in meat. Fine. I am on board for knowing what’s in your food and making informed decisions about what to consume. I even agree that factory farmed meat is not a good choice if you want to live a healthy life.

Then the conversation went a bit sideways. Now, normally I would not engage with a wacko, but I had not eaten, it was 3:00 on a beautiful sunny afternoon and I didn’t have anywhere to be until Sabu pooped, so I decided to start poking at the guy. Just for fun, you understand.

He asked me if I knew about chemtrails. Uh. Nope. Hoo-boy! I got an earful about that and then started asking questions.

“How far down do you figure the conspiracy goes?” I asked. “I mean, does the guy who puts the chemicals into the fuel know what he’s doing? Do you think he cares that he’s poisoning himself and all his descendants? How would the government keep those guys in line? Is money enough or do they use threats?” And so on in this vein until he changed the subject. Seems he was quite comfortable with the idea that Big Government was poisoning the world in their quest to reduce the population and bring about the New World Order prophesied in the bible, but the thought of one single Dude knowingly pouring poison into the atmosphere made him squirm. Interesting.

Predictably the conversation turned to god and his relationship with this particular dude. I heaved in internal sigh when Ray said, “I don’t mean to offend you, but I don’t know your religious background…”

Not wanting to give him any hints as to what my beliefs might be, I simply said, “none,” with a shrug.

His eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning and he launched into his spiel about the errors of his youth with respect to what he was taught about the bible. Turns out the church authorities of his younger days had it all wrong with their portrayal of god as a vengeful ruler who damned all people to hellfire for the slightest of “sins.” HIS god is a just, merciful god, and isn’t that a wonderful thing? Oh, he was positively beaming at that point, waiting for me to do…something…I never know with these people.

So, being my mother’s daughter, I said, “My problem is not with god, or with anyone who believes in a god, just and merciful or not. I take issue with organized religion and its crimes against women and children. I can’t stand behind any religious organization that would take away my right to choose and demand that me and my children submit to a man as head of my family, regardless of his ability to handle that role. I don’t believe in an organization that kills millions of people because they don’t have the same belief or who enslaves another people just because the color of their skin is darker. I realize that Rich White Dudes rule the world, but I don’t have to like it and I don’t have to subscribe to their propaganda, either.”

He was taken aback but jumped right onto my hottest button: abortion. I don’t remember his exact words, but he made it clear that he believes life begins at conception and to end that life is a horrible thing that only the most wicked of women even consider.

My reply was scathing. “No woman takes the decision to have an abortion lightly – that you think we do is because you are a man and will never face that decision. What about instances of rape?”

You’re gonna love this!

“Women VERY rarely get pregnant as a result of rape,” he said, “it’s too traumatic an event and pregnancy just doesn’t happen…”

“I don’t find that true, based on my personal experience,” I said.

Blink. Blink. Blink. For a moment he was lost for words.

His wife had been pretty much silent, nodding her head occasionally, obviously used to Ray’s public proselytizing and not in any hurry to leave, but at my remark her head came up and she looked me in the eyes. I couldn’t tell what her expression meant, but I like to think she was urging me to poke him again to see what he would say to this break in his routine.

He spluttered and repeated that it was “rare.”

“I think you need to reconsider the word ‘rape’ and take into account the ‘non-violent’ occurrences that happen every day, some of which DO end up causing pregnancy.” Hunger pangs were beginning to sour my mood, as was the smug face of this man without a clue.

He started in about how the “body rejects a pregnancy when it comes with violence….” and I told him that was bullshit and I based that opinion on my own personal experience.

Obviously uncomfortable with my insistence, he changed tacks and I was immediately reminded of the narc and his circular arguments. This was turning into an entertaining experiment.

“If a woman has the right to end a life, shouldn’t a man have that same right?” he asked. “Can a man just sign away his obligations to a child he doesn’t want? Do you see that happening?”

“A man can wear a condom and make it very hard for a woman to get pregnant if he doesn’t want children, and he can indeed sign away his parental rights here in Oregon. My first husband did.”

“Just like that? A man can’t deny his obligations, his responsibilities with the stroke of a pen! That’s absurd!”

“Yeah, he can. The father of my son did. He did not pay one penny of child support, nor has he once seen or even asked about his son in the past 22 years. Just. Like. That.”

We went round and round for awhile in this vein. He doesn’t believe in sex education and I pointed out that abstinence only education Does Not Work, nor does slut shaming, victim blaming or denying the problem exists. Sexualizing young girls, teaching them they only have worth as sex objects from the time they’re small children and giving men power over them everywhere they turn has created a rape culture that leads to all of the things he’s so outraged about.

He denied my interpretations. I pointed out that he’s not a woman and has no idea what I, personally, have had to endure in my life. He has no concept of the things I’ve had to do to keep a job, keep a roof over my head, to keep my son fed, to exist in a world controlled by Rich White Dudes. He has no idea how hard it can be for a young woman to say no when a man who has power over her (real or perceived) demands sex and that we need to educate and encourage all women to be strong and independent, punish men who beat and rape and shirk their responsibilities, and then we might approach the nirvana he seems to live every day.

He made some asinine comment about good men and blah, blah, blah, but I was mad by that point and said, “there are a lot of bad men out there. I’ve met many of them. You have no idea.”

He could see the conversation was over and so he said again, “I hope I haven’t offended you…”

This is, of course, my cue as a submissive woman to thank him for enlightening me and apologize for being rude and disagreeing. Instead I said, “you haven’t offended me. We can agree to disagree. I haven’t lived your life. Just remember that you haven’t lived mine, either.”

There was much more to the conversation, but I won’t bore you with details.

While we were talking, Sabu was trying everything she could think of to get Tank the pitbull to play with her. He was very gentle and shy for the longest time, not wanting to get physical, but Sabu insisted she wanted to wrestle and he finally obliged. What followed was an epic wrestling match and Tank falling in love with Sabu so hard he was drooling all over himself. At last! Here was a female he could relate to! She wasn’t having any of his mounting efforts, but he was undeterred – she’d come around sooner or later, right? It was a mirror of the human conversation.

In the end, we left the park, me feeling a bit slimed, Sabu literally covered in slime. It was a good day.

For the record, I have never become pregnant as a result of violent rape, nor had an abortion, but I will fight to my last breath to defend any woman’s right to choose, regardless of circumstances and I will continue to school ignorant assholes whenever I meet them. I just can’t keep silent any longer, even knowing that I can’t really change anything with my truth telling.

 

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Observations and Conversations

I had way too much fun over the weekend to bother with laundry and what with this and that and going to the dog park, but Wednesday night it was too late to even consider. It had to get done last night or I’d be going to work commando today.

So I set out into the rain, two baskets in the back seat. Had to stop at Crap-Mart to get some laundry soap and as I was wheeling the cart to the register I looked over my potential purchases and wondered what conclusions people would draw about my life. You know, how you do in a crowded mega store.

Electric razor. Laundry soap and Oxy-Clean. Ginormous box of scoopable cat litter. What? It was on sale. Six cans of cat food. Friskies because the Little Prince will only eat Friskies, the fish flavors, shreds, not pate. A mat that promises to keep the litter in the vicinity of the box.

Conclusion? Crazy cat lady with mounds of dirty laundry and hairy legs. Great. Thank god I’d skipped the cookie sale!

After lugging my purchases to the car and lugging the laundry into Spin City (the only game in town) I got started. The laundry had already been sorted and I popped the two burlap bags into a top loader before anyone could object (rug hooking!!) and was loading up three front loaders, minding my own business, lost in a daydream and eager to get back to my book, when a woman tapped me on the shoulder, nearly causing me to scream.

Is it just me, or does everyone generally avoid eye contact at the laun-dro-mat? I tend to shove the dirty stuff into the machines, eager to get them going so no one can make judgements about my clothes or the dirt on them. I’m probably just paranoid, but it feels too intimate for people to be looking at my clothes, all limp and dirty like that. Anyway.

“I don’t know if you’ve used these machines before,” the woman said, “but don’t put the soap in until you’ve started the machine or it will just run out and not stay in with the clothes.” Followed by a long-winded explanation about how I should add the soap and some other nonsense that was totally necessary. Granted, I was wearing rain clothes, but I’m pretty sure she could see I was female, and not young, so how could she think I didn’t know how to do my own laundry? I thanked her for the heads-up and shook my head as she walked away.

La la la la la. The clothes go round and round. The soap bubbles up. The water isn’t too dirty, but then again, I hadn’t loaded the machines up to capacity, either.

Another woman approaches.

“What made you choose these machines?” she asked. At my confused look, she went on. “I always thought those were dryers and I’ve always used the top loaders. I just never paid attention before!” This was not a young woman, but a middle aged woman like myself – she HAD to have done this before.

She went on to explain that she had a washer and dryer at home but was having problems with the washer drain and had to come to Spin City to wash.

I told her that I chose the larger machines because I was washing fabric and felting sweaters – the clothes were an added bonus to save time. There! That made me sound all Artsy and Sophisticated instead of a loser who doesn’t have a washer and dryer at home.

“Oh! You’re crafty? You’re washing fabric?”

“Yep. I sew & quilt, knit and spin and lots of other stuff and regular washers just don’t do the job when you’re washing yardage.”

She lost interest at that point and wandered off about the time the Cleaner Boy arrived. He is tall, with a really bad haircut. He has the braying voice of a redneck who thinks if he only talks loud enough he’ll sound smart. That’s a cruel thing to say, but I lived in his town and let me tell you, the natives are a little…let’s just say…inbred…and leave it at that.

He asked a million questions of everyone, trying to engage us, but really, we’re here to get a job done and go home, not have a conversation. Finally everyone was gone but me and the homeless drunk guy who acted like he was moving in for the night.

Cleaner Boy just wouldn’t leave me alone. I asked for a rag to wipe out the top loader I used (burlap sheds horribly the first time it gets washed) and evidently that means we’re now BFFs. He started asking questions and it came out that I have a dog. He leaned in conspiratorially. “If your dog is in the car, after these people leave you can bring her inside – it’s okay while I’m here…”

Yeaaaaahhh. Thank god I left her at home! Dude was getting way too cozy.

Finally, everything was dry and I was packed up to get out of there.

“Do you know the time?” I asked my new BFF.

“8:30”

“Oh, crap! I gotta go!”

Cleaner Boy carried one of my baskets out to the car, said, “have a great night, Ma’am,” and loped off in the rain.

Anyone else notice that laun-dro-mats are like casinos? No clocks. The mesmerizing sound of the machines. You plug quarters in the slots until you have no more, snap out of a haze and realize how much time you’ve lost. The only thing missing is free drinks…

 
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Posted by on March 28, 2014 in right?, You're kidding

 

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My Boy

I believe it was Sunny Days in DC who asked (months ago, but I eventually get around to everything 🙂 ) for a picture of my son drinking tea. I mentioned it to him several times but it never happened.

The day Awana and I drove up to pick up Revy I mentioned it again.

“Oh, yeah! I have a cup right here!” he declared. This is the result –

DSCN0077My son, the comedian. Sigh. Apple, tree, not far, obviously. I am happy to say he has a better haircut now. He (silly boy!) let his almost-exploding pregnant friend cut his hair and he thinks she might have had a little man-aggression to get out of her system and he was the unwitting victim, her own husband being close shaven, and perhaps not dumb enough to let his hormone-crazed wife near him with anything sharp.

Somewhere in my archives I have a picture that Awana took of me taking this picture of Harley that I will post later today. It was a hilarious photo shoot.

Happy Friday, everyone!

UPDATE: Found the pic:

IMG_2582His apartment was surprisingly clean and empty (he’s a Minimalist – no idea how that happened) with the recycling on the counter ready to go out the door and the smell of cleaner in the air.

 
6 Comments

Posted by on November 1, 2013 in Family, Memes

 

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