Tag Archive: laundry


Hello blogosphere!

Long time, no see!!

As you may have deduced, I have returned from my trip abroad and made it safely back to the lovely USA. My trip was awesome and amazing and every positive adjective you can imagine and I definitely did not want to come home, but now that I am home, I am definitely glad to be back.

The following things were what I was most excited about coming home to:

  1. Chiefy
  2. My Bed

Yeah, that’s it.

Besides being exhausted and wanting nothing to do with stairs or being awake, I have also been a complete basket case.  The reasons, however, I just don’t feel comfortable sharing with the entire world on the internet, so I apologize for that. I really didn’t need to share that part with you guys, but considering the mess I’ve been, I just haven’t been myself since I’ve been back.

I met some really great people and really, really loved every minute of the trip. It was amazing and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I’m beyond glad I had the chance to experience everything I did.

Now that I’m back, I have so much to do and getting back to reality kinda blows.

I have so much work still to do for class and it seems like I have a never-ending supply of laundry. I only packed 50 pounds worth of stuff, but I just am struggling to put everything away. I hope I remember how to be in the real world and execute the functions of my job. That will be an adventure tomorrow morning. As will waking up at a normal time in EST.  My body clock is all out of whack and I never have any idea what time it is.

I just wanted to quickly update that I made it back safely and that I hadn’t abandoned my blog for forever.  I’m back and am trying to get back into the swing of things.

🙂

In preparing for my trip to Philadelphia (alone, because my travel buddy bailed and had to stay home to work all weekend 😦 sad face for me) I had to do laundry.

I read, you know? I read other blogs. And I read books. And it’s all, like, girly stuff. Stuff about relationships and being a mom and cooking and shiz. You know, all stuff that doesn’t apply to me since I’m not in a relationship, I’m not a mom, I have no domestic skills and consider getting a box of triscuits out of the pantry cooking.  But don’t judge. It’s my life. I can read what I want. You’re not the boss of me.

Anyway.  Laundry. Even though I know that laundry is a universal thing, you know, something everyone has to contend with, a lot of what I read about laundry is women (usually older than me) bitching about it.

I’m not mad about it. Go ahead and bitch. More bitching I say.

In fact, if I had to do laundry that didn’t belong to me, I’d probably bitch about it too.

fancy, fancy machines! I love the buttons! They make little noises!

And if I had little mess-makers who are noisy and get dirty, like really dirty, I’d probably hate laundry too.

If I had to fold tiny things that are hard to fold, like tiny pants and onesies and bibs and stuff, like Nikki does or like other moms on the internet, I’d be irritated.

If I had a husband who was clumsy and spilled shit all over his shirt or if I had a significant other (whose laundry I was responsible for doing) who changed outfits four times a day (like I do sometimes), I would be irritated.

If that was the case, I would bitch about laundry. I would be annoyed with how it never ends.  I’d be irritated that things don’t fold easily and look nice when it’s all said and done. I would probably be overwhelmed by how often I move items between the washer and the dryer. I’d probably hate the makers of all of this laundry as I sorted it into different piles.

But, alas, it’s just me.

Just my laundry.

So when it comes time for me to do laundry (read: when I run out of underwear- and trust me, I have a lottttt so it takes a looong time before I muster up the courage to partake in a domestic skill), I don’t really have anyone to blame but myself.

And I really enjoy sorting my clothes into color piles. I can examine how big each of the piles are and be like Damn, how do I have that much clothing?!

And then I enjoy pushing the buttons on the washing machine. And measuring out the soapy stuff and sniffing the fabric softener.

I enjoy dedicating hours to laundry. Because while my clothes are being washed and dried, I can chill out and watch The West Wing or Grey’s Anatomy under the guise that I’m doing laundry, or I’m waiting for my clothes to dry. That I couldn’t possibly leave or run errands or something because God forbid my clothes would wrinkle. And you would be correct in assuming I don’t know how to operate an iron.

The best part, though, is folding. I really, really love folding my laundry. There’s something about seeing a perfectly folded shirt or matching up my socks. I love it.

I guess we can add laundry to the list of reasons why I’d make an excellent wife someday. (lolz) Sure, it may be the only thing right now on that list but that’s fine since I have no marriage proposals on the horizon. Also, I’m not really interested in being a domestic goddess. Carrie Bradshaw did just fine in life and she kept sweaters in her oven.

I slept like a baby last night. (Why is that an expression? Babies are terrible sleepers. Just ask anyone who has an infant.) (I guess what I’m trying to say is that I slept really, really well last night.)

I think it had something to do with the fact that I didn’t sleep alone, like I had the previous two nights.

Something just wasn’t right the nights before. I missed having someone to hang onto, snuggle up to. But alas, he returned last night and I wasn’t alone anymore.

He’s the perfect sleeping companion; he doesn’t snore or breathe too loud. He doesn’t steal all the covers  or hog the entire bed. He doesn’t kick in the dead of night and give me bruises all over. He doesn’t breathe on my neck and create so much body heat that I feel like I’m in a sweat lodge, ready to die and/or hallucinate. He’s also a complete gentleman (read: he doesn’t grope me or try to make me have sex when I don’t feel like it).

Okay. I know you wanna know who this diamond in the rough is. You’re just dyingggg. Well, my lovelies, I’ll tell you.

LP.

isn't he precious??

LP stands for Little Pillow. He’s little. He’s a pillow. Makes sense.

I took pictures of him with his clothes on, even though Leah likes to make him naked and steal him.  (Or put him in her shirt and pretend her eggo is preggo and let me take glamour shots of it.) Drew likes to take LP away from me and hide him. And punch him so he’s not as fluffy. It breaks my cold, black heart.

the scariest cat ever.

SO. I remembered that I had had to wash him because Stella is evil and was mad at me and peed on my bed two nights ago. Again. Sick. (She is evil and one of those cats that would smother you in your sleep and suck the life right out of you.) That little bitch is nottttt allowed in my room and I curse her existence any time I see her .You would think she’d get the hint… (maybe that’s why she does this to me??) Anyway, despite not actually being peed on, LP was close enough that I was like, listen, buddy, there’s no way. You gotta get yourself cleaned up before you can get close to thissssssss. So I washed him and then forgot about him.  He basically just hung out in the dryer for two days. NBD.

But THEN I remembered that he was indeed in the dryer, all clean and not smelling like cat pee (which, by the way, is the most disgusting smell EVER.) so I went and got him. It was a SQUEEEEE! moment. Reeeeuniiiited and it feeeeeels so gooooood!!! He was the fluffiest I had EVER seen him. It was glorious.

I immediately went to show Drew, who was already in bed, giggling like a little girl to video highlights from the world cup (I don’t understand sports?).

Oh my gawd, Drew, look at LP! He’s so fluuuuuuuffy! Ewe’s not fat, ewe’s just fluffy!

???? *unamused face*

LOOK at him!

What the fuck is wrong with you? And why are you not wearing pants?!

I didn’t respond, I just hugged LP closer. (He was naked. LP was. Not Drew. Thought I’d make the clarification.) Plus, Drew should be used to me not wearing pants at this point in our lives.

Drew held out his hand, like he wanted me to hand over LP.

Dude. I know better. You’re gonna punch him and make him less fluffy. Or you’ll rub your sack on him. Not happening.

I promise I won’t. I just want to see how fluffy he is.

I don’t trust you.

Katie, I promise. Let me see him.

Okay. (I’m retarded.)

Drew squeezed him and punched him several times before I could rip LP from his grip. 😦

just for the sake of comparison. LP is on the left, all cute and tiny. And on the right is a regular sized, fancy pillow. All huge. And not as cute.