Adventures In Laundering

“I can’t just let it go, that’s how things start to fester. Dad has a bad day at work, yells at mom. Mom feels frustrated and annoyed, yells at the kid. Kid is hurt and confused, kicks the dog. Dog bites a stranger, gets put down. Now all that’s left is an angry family with a dead dog, I don’t want a dead dog.”¬†

All these thoughts running through my head as I fold the laundry, I decide to say something.

“You fucking with me, man?”

He looks up, a startled expression on his face. “Excuse me?”

“I just gotta know, are you fucking with me? I turned my back for like 30 seconds, and when I came back, my laundry basket was in the middle of the floor, and the cart with all my clothes in it was moved. So, I just gotta know; you fucking with me?” I continued to fold my laundry, not really looking at him as I spoke.

“You got a table. We’re the only two people here, what’s it matter which table you using?” He’s stopped stuffing his laundry into his backpack to stare at me.

“That’s the point, we’re the only two people here. I just don’t understand why you’d think it’s okay to move my stuff, there’s literally three tables right here. Why’d you need the one my stuff was on?”

Seriously?” He was getting agitated, I could tell. “You trying to fight over a laundry table?”

“Nah, man. I wouldn’t fight anybody over a laundry table.” I looked up from my pile of t-shirts. “But I would fight someone for fucking with me.”

That got his attention, so I kept going, speculating on the reasons he touched my stuff. “Is it because I’m white? You don’t like bald-headed white guys? Is it the pajamas? You hate Captain America?”

Now he’s nervous, thinking maybe I’m some kind of lunatic. Maybe he’s right, who am I to say? “What’s wrong with you?” he asks.

“In general? Or tonight? Apparently, tonight I left the house with my ‘fuck with me’ face on, when I meant to wear my ‘stay far, far away’ face. I really just want to know why you felt like it was okay for you to move my stuff.”

“I didn’t know it was your stuff. There wasn’t anybody around it, and my dryer was right there.” He points behind him. “This table was closest. Sorry.”

He’s lying. We stood next to each other for twenty minutes waiting for our dryers to stop. I’ve made my point, time to let it go. “It’s all good, man. I just thought that was a particularly weird thing to do. The last thing I wanna do is touch someone else’s laundry. It’s cool.”

He picks up the pace, not bothering to fold now, just jamming his clean clothes into his bag. “Yeah, cool. You have a good night.” Then, he’s gone.

I finish folding and bagging; a few minutes later S. arrives. As we get in the car, she says, “Why are those guys in the truck staring?”

I glance over; neither man is the guy from the laundry table, but they’re parked close enough to have overheard the whole exchange.

“I dunno, some people are just weird.”


Little Old Me


The always positive and beautifully eloquent Danica, of the blog Living a Beautiful Life, has nominated me for the One Lovely Blog Award! Yeah, I dunno either…

If you’re not familiar with her blog, you have no idea what you’re missing. Seriously, read this, it’s amazing. Okay, on with the show.

Before we get to show and tell, let me assure everyone that I will not be nominating anybody. You’re all so damn lovely, it wouldn’t be right for me to single anyone out. On to the facts:

  1. I enjoy really negative music. Don’t get me wrong, I listen to and enjoy all kinds of music, but some of the stuff (for example, everything on my iPod that I use at the gym) I like you’d hear and think, “damn, let’s gtf away from this guy…”
  2. I once convinced the DMV that I’d never owned a certain vehicle, and they obligingly wiped all the fines and penalties associated with it from my record. (I doubt someone could get away with this today)
  3. I don’t like most politicians, but I love political smear campaigns.
  4. I can be very confrontational if someone is annoying me or showing their ass in public, which kind of leads into number 5…
  5. I’ve been in A LOT of fights. None in the past 5-6 years though, so that’s good…
  6. I’ve been a huge Doctor Who fan since I was a child, and I feel kind of bad that I’m 4 (or 5) episodes behind on the new season.
  7. I wish comics were uncool again.

That’s seven, now I’ll rant a little.

There were a few news stories that caught my attention so far this week. The first has to do with a “Breaking Bad Walter White” action figure that’s available at Toys “R” Us. Apparently, some lady has a real problem with this doll (get over it; action figure, doll, same thing) because it comes with a knapsack full of “crystal meth”. I can understand the complaint, because up until I saw the news I was unaware that Toys “R” Us now had an adult toy aisle. See, as an adult, I haven’t been in a Toys “R” Us in about 20 years. Maybe if you notice a sign on an end-cap that says “adult toys”, you should avoid taking your kids down that aisle.

The second is a little bit touchier, so I’ll attempt to be delicate. A couple who lost their child in a hazing incident at college have taken offense at a new Ben & Jerry’s flavor called Hazed & Confused. It’s a hazelnut ice cream, if that puts anything into perspective. Again, I get it; it’s a tragedy, and I’m not going to go into a rant about sheep, or frat life, or parenting. I’ll just say this (again): ALMOST NOTHING IS ABOUT YOU! I hate to sound like an insensitive prick (that’s not true at all, I’m very good at it, but I try to avoid it for decorum’s sake), but do you stay in bed if the weather-person says it’s a “little hazy” outside? There’s a world of difference between hazelnuts (they’re small, they’re delicious, they’re f*cking food), and hazing (it’s moronic, it’s a little culty, and if someone willingly wants to endanger themselves to earn the “respect” of a group of idiots that’s their problem). I’m sorry for their loss, but please –PLEASE– just stop…If you want to educate people about the dangers of hazing, there’s probably better places to start than with f*cking ice cream. Stop using your son’s untimely demise in an attempt to shame a company into doing what you want. It’s tacky. [QUICK NOTE: I won't be the slightest bit surprised if they change the name of the ice cream.]

Finally, there’s this. An online petition has convinced the Glastonbury Music Festival to restrict the sale of Native American style headdresses. Glastonbury, in England…Native Americans…I’ve never said this before, but I just can’t even…The petition was signed by a whopping 65 people. 65! In FUCKING ENGLAND! Here’s a fun fact, Native Americans are native to; meh, forget it, this ain’t my hill to die on. Good job guys! Maybe now you could convince your country to give back all the stolen (yeah, it’s stolen) shit in your world-famous museums! Or is that too much like actual work? You’d probably need a few more people to sign the petition you couldn’t even bother to print out. I quit.

Again, thank you Danica for the lovely award. It means a lot coming from someone as talented as you. Sorry I screwed up my acceptance speech. :P

Oh, The Horror!

“Look at him. It’s like he’s hypnotized.” I wound the scarf around my head, watching my toddler staring at the television. The expression on his face indicated he was deep in thought. On the screen, an old hunchback gripped a thick rope, preparing to ring a church bell.

My husband was more concerned with the ongoing storm, wondering if the car would be able to maneuver through the building snow. “Zip him up, we have to go. They just plowed, and it’s snowing so hard the roads won’t stay clear for long.”

The little boy’s eyes never left the television. They didn’t own one, so coming to grandma’s was a treat. As the hunchback rang the bell, a dark liquid began to fall from above, followed soon by the body of a young woman. Most kids would be disturbed, but he still wouldn’t stop watching.

“Okay, honey, it’s time.” I turned him away from the television, zipped his jacket, and put his mittens on. “Run outside,” I whispered, “make a snowball to hit daddy with!”

As his dad opened the front door, little Mike ran around him, through the door, and off the porch. He didn’t stop running until he disappeared into a four-foot-tall snowbank. When we got him out and shook the snow off of him, the first thing he asked his dad was, “Is that lady dead?”

True Story!



Nope, Never…

This would be the perfect time for me to re-spin one of my older posts, but I’d rather write something new.

There’s a lot of places, online and in the real world, where I’m considered “privileged”. This has more to do with the fact that I’m a white male than any actual “advantages” I may have received in life. I get a little tired of people who’ve never had to struggle a day in their lives telling me I need to “check my privilege.” Mine was broken when it came out of the box.

It’s so much easier (and more profitable) to break things down along lines of race, gender, etc. No one, especially the preachy ones who are just FULL of actual privilege, wants to admit that the biggest inequality problem that exists in this country today (USA y’all) is income inequality. Imagine what would happen if all the poor people realized we have more in common with each other than we do with some sheltered, entitled loudmouths who make a living telling everyone what they should be angry about.

I’m not saying there aren’t other problems; sure, sometimes it still sucks to be a woman; lots of people have horrible ideas about people of different ethnic persuasions, or different sexual preferences; I understand that. The fact remains, the only form of inequality that is (and has been) steadily getting worse is income inequality. If you claim anything else, you’re either lying, or you’re exploiting people.


I Know It’s Wednesday…

Daily prompt? Meh. I was able to get some good writing done this morning, so I’m happy. In a way, I’m disappointed that I can’t both post it here and submit it for publishing. (I’m sure there are probably places that don’t mind that, but I haven’t ¬†found ‘em!) I haven’t been tempted to type up a good rant; everything’s good here, and it’s easy to ignore the idiots. Anyway, I’m turning my brain off for a little while and playing a game.