Look! No more Birthday Cake!

So I thought I'd relieve those of you who frequent my blog (ha!) and actually blog something. You know, so you don't have to keep seeing that stupid birthday cake and the fact that apparently, even though I am barely 26 years of age, I act like a 30 year old.

I never liked those stupid quizzes anyway.

Lame.

That and Tiff asked me to blog.

And it just SO happened that I have, like, 17 minutes before a meeting. More meetings. Meetings meetings meetings.

Meetings where I get more things to do, but don't get the time to do them because...any guesses?

MEETINGS!

Yes! Meetings! Lovely meetings where my company attempts to dull my senses my freezing me to death in a conference room. Perhaps they think that by slowing my blood flow I will be like a docile little ladybug that has been partially frozen so that they may ship me to a home improvement store for the suckers that actually think that if you buy a large quantity of ladybugs and set them free in your yard they will stick around and thank you buy eating your aphids.

Like they actually care?

Like once their little bodies return to a normal temperature they don't see all the other neighbor's yards and decide to frolic over there?

And by now I've completely lost site of just exactly how I have anything in common with these little garden predators. Or if I actually had a point.

Whatever. I'm in a docile frame of mind.

It's cold in here.

I would like to point out here that all of the above is mentioned only under the assumption that I MIGHT be employed.

Not saying I am. For sure. Nothing definitive here.

Just speculation about over zealous air conditioning and little red bugs.

WHAT?!

You Are 30 Years Old

Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe. 13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world. 20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences. 30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more! 40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.

What Age Do You Act?

Thursday Blues

You know, normally I actually quite enjoy Thursdays. It's close enough to the weekend so you start feeling the anticipation of not being at work. Cuz really, that's the best part of weekends. That whole no-working part. Which makes more room for the getting in trouble part.

But for some reason today just seems to be slow, and boring, and lacking in the general weekend anticipatory-ing-ness.

And I think I know why.

I have to do laundry tonight.

And it's not just any normal laundry night.

Oh no no no.

I have to do it in, GASP, the COMMUNAL laundry room at my apartment complex.

Sigh.

I know, I know. Feel sorry for me. Feel horribly horribly sorry for me.

In case my lack of further explanation has confused you...

(insert further explanation here)

For those of you who do not know me or of my TOTALLY BIZZARRO lifestyle (Yipee! Strangers are reading my blog!) I will try to briefly explain. Which means I will stress about being brief the whole time I'm writing, but not actually succeed at being brief.

See what I mean?

Like right there. I was saying I was going to be brief, and I added an additional sentence that for all intents and purposes was probably not necessary for the structure of my story. But I added it anyway.

But let me assure you, I was stressing about brevity the whole time.

Ok. So. I work in the Bay Area. My Husband works AND goes to school in the Bay Area. We have an apartment in the Bay Area.

With me so far? Have I patronized you all to boredom yet?

Here's the curve ball: we own a house near Sacramento - 2 hours away from our apartment.

And we hang there on the weekends getting into all kinds of mischief, sometimes (but not lately) chronicled on my Husbands blog.

Yes, we drive there just about every weekend. No, we don't have plans to move there anytime soon. Yes, we're keeping our jobs in the Bay Area. No, we're not renting it out. Yes, we're crazy. No we're not planning on commuting during the week.

We're not THAT KUH-Razy. Good lord - insanity! I've actually been asked that. 2 hours one way? That is LUNACY. We tried the Friday nights and then home on Monday mornings with all the other commuters out there.

Getting up at 5am to make it in to work by 8am, only to sit in traffic, was SOOOOOO not fun. Especially when all you can think about while staring at tail lights is that if you weren't moronic you'd be asleep in bed right now.

HA! That lasted, like, maybe 8 months. And that was once a week! So now we come home Sunday nights when the roads are clear and Love Line is on.

(trying to be brief, trying to be brief)

And this is where all the laundry is done. Because we are fancy and have a laundry room in our house with a nice, clean, and ONLY USED BY US, washer and dryer. Except when the washer emits smoke and threatens to explode. But that's another story which I may or may not get around to telling since I am already on the topic of all things laundry-like.

So now that you are all caught up.

I am spoiled. I went from doing my laundry in community laundry rooms for almost 10 years to becoming a laundering snob overnight.

But come on people! Home laundry rooms are obviously very convenient as you can do loads at all hours and not stress that some perv is stealing your panties.

Um, yea. Not joking.

But there's more to it.

First of all - there's the matter of actually getting a machine. Depending on the size of your apartment complex's laundry room, you may be competing with 20 other people for 2 washers and 2 dryers. Fortunately I no longer live in a small complex.

But the larger the complex, and consequently the larger the laundry room, does not necessarily guarantee a machine when you need it. There's more equipment to break down, get coins stuck in, garbage to find inside.

And my favorite...the people who dump a cup of the granular soap in and then decide NOT to do a wash. For those of you who are thrifty out there you might think YEA! Free detergent!

For those of us who prefer not to risk skin allergies with unknown laundry detergents we think NEXT!

Because itchy hives, yea, pretty much suck.

And the quarters. The damn quarters. I remember I used to scavenge like mad for quarters. At the store I would make change so as to optimize my quarter return from the cashier. And I would never ever EVER actually SPEND a quarter. I'd sooner break a dollar and get 3 quarters back than save the dollar and give up a quarter.

Parking my car in metered spots would give me heartburn if the meter only took quarters.

Heaven forbid I actually make a special trip to the bank and get quarters. That would require actually TALKING to a Bank Teller.

And then I discovered that most Laundromats have quarter machines! The joy and jubilation I felt when I realized that I could go, during NON-banking hours, to a place that would provide me with copious amounts of quarters! It was a dream come true!

Sad. So very very sad.

Um, right about here is where I would start on the turning point of my story so that I might actually stand a chance of finishing this post.

Now if I could just remember what I was getting at.

Errrrr.

Heh heh. Hang on, let me go reread what I just wrote...

Ok, I think I can wrap this up now.

So, it pains me to have to do laundry at our apartment now. I'll have to forage through the apartment looking for quarters, traipse back and forth through the apartment complex every 40 minutes to rotate laundry, and hope that I don't forget and then get locked out because I ran past laundry room hours.

And then not have any clothes to wear in the morning because they are all stuck in the washing machine in the locked (until 9am) laundry room.

Gripe.

Oh.

And why am I not doing laundry this weekend at the house like the normally spoiled, laundry-snob that I am?

BECAUSE I AM GOING TO DISNEYLAND.

You totally feel sorry for me now don't you?

Poor poor Mary.

She gets to go to the happiest place on earth, and has to do her laundry in a ghetto laundry room in order to do so.

Oh the tragedy!

The inhuMANity!

But don't you feel sorry for me. No.

I am a trooper! I will come out of this victoriously and unscathed!

Because I am STRONG!

And have wine.

Plentitudes of wine.