9.12.06

Category: dribblings

wow, i’ve really been slacking in my postings, huh? well, gimmie a break. i’m married now. i’m doing a lot of what newlywed womens do at the beginning of their marriage:

i’m learning how to live with a dude while trying not to  
A. lose my mind or
B. commit murder.

i know he wasn’t raised in Russia by wolves and/or potatoes because i’ve actually met his family, multiple times, and he doesn’t have a heavy Russian accent. but his “laundry proceedure” is absolutely uncipherable. aside from the fact that he folds up his DIRTY socks to look JUST LIKE the clean ones, (“are these socks dirty?”
“um, where were they?”
“rolled up together by the bed.”
“on the floor?”
“yes.”
“then yes, they’re dirty.”
“HOW DO YOU KNOW? THEY LOOK LIKE THE CLEAN ONES ON THE DRESSER!”
“but they were on the floor.”) there’s the thing where he hangs his dirty t-shirts on hangers. what? but why?
“didn’t you wear this shirt yesterday?”
“which one is it?”
“the spam one.”
“oh yeah!”
“well, what’s it doing on a hanger? are you going to wear it again?”
“no, it’s dirty.”
“…on a hanger?”
“but it’s hanging in the bathroom.”
“and that equals dirty?”
“sometimes.”

and that’s when my brain explodes.

there are currently three pair of shorts, two pair of boxers, and some briefs slung on a rod in the bathroom/laundryroom. i have NO IDEA what is dirty and/or what is still wearable BECAUSE THEY ARE ALL FOLDED UP, but i know, KNOW, that they aren’t all clean because he hasn’t washed any clothes. and what is killing me is that it’s not like i hide the goddamn laundry basket. it’s right there. on the floor. next to his rolled up socks which may or may not be dirty.

and don’t hear that i’m bitching that he doesn’t do laundry, i’m not. trust me, i’m not an idiot. he was raised in the south. the southern mamas don’t let their baby boys do laundry. oh no. only communist hags expect men to help with things like laundry and dish washing.
and i don’t actually mind doing laundry (STOP! COLLABORATE AND LISTEN! I DO NOT IRON ANYTHING. I DON’T EVEN OWN AN IRON. AND DO NOT BUY ME ONE.) but what i do mind is having to THINK about laundry “is this clean? did he wear this? i know he has underwear…but where IS IT?”

aside from separating lights from darks…i don’t want to have to solve laundry puzzles, and the Dirty Laundry Egg Hunt is shenanigans that i don’t play.

IT PUTS THE LAUNDRY IN THE BASKET!

and yes, i realize that i’ve lived by myself for a while and i need to chillax while i learn to adjust living with this CAVEMAN FROM THE MOON.

Tags:

No Comments