Angering the laundry gods

View from the laundromat, where it rained like a bitch all day on Sunday. Rained. At the end of January in Michigan. I should have taken it as a sign that shit would be weird.

It's been a while since I've injured myself and shown you the carnage, hasn't it?

Just yesterday afternoon, I found something more dangerous than a Milkbone, deadlier than a box spring, more treacherous than a door frame: the common and unassuming plastic laundry basket.

Didn't I tell you laundry would be the death of me?

I meant that basket no harm; all I wanted was to stuff it full of my data-stained clothing. Okay, maybe I was a little rough with it. But that's neither here nor there. All I know is, I thrust my hand in with great enthusiasm and a pair of lightly used undergarments, and the beastly basket chomped into the nail on my right ring finger.

See?



Pretty impressive, huh? Did I whimper, did I whine, did my clothes come off the line? Hell no! Well, really, they were never technically "on the line" but you see what I'm gettin' at. I persevered - I played hurt. I didn't even call in sick today.

Now I'm tagging myself - very carefully, because my finger is so seriously injured - with a meme I saw at Susie's Biscuit Emporium.


Five guilty pleasures

1. General Hospital.
Hands down, my biggest, guiltiest pleasure. I used to watch it in high school (yes, I'm old enough that Luke and Laura's heyday was when I was in high school), and then dropped it for years. A couple of years ago, I decided to start watching it so I would have more to talk about with my mom; really, it was an effort to steer her from politics, because - wow! She gets agitated. So, here I am, just watching so I can talk soap talk with Mom. That's all it was.

Until we went on vacation and I had to choose between taping General Hospital or Jeopardy! during Ken Jennings' run. And I chose GH. Then I knew it was more than just a mother-bonding exercise...it was an addiction.

So forgive me if I know a little too much about the Quartermaine family tree, or if I have an opinion about which Carly is the Carlyest Carly that ever was Carly. Avert your eyes and let me have my daily hour of slack-jawed disbelief suspension.

2. Musicals.
I love musicals. Not just rock musicals, either. If you looked in my collection, you might see Man of La Mancha, or Sweet Charity. You know, the musicals that are old like me. With very little prompting, I can still sing along to much of Fiddler on the Roof, or Sound of Music.

Given my choice between being a rock star or a Broadway star, I'd have to go with my childhood passion and say Broadway star.

No, wait, scratch that. I just remembered how much ass rock stars get. But I still like musicals.

3. Pizza.
Cheese is on my list of migraine triggers, but damn - could you live forever without pizza? If you could, then let's trade tastebuds. I love pizza. And it doesn't have to be "good" pizza either; in fact, I prefer not to eat pizza from the places that load the pizzas up so heavily with cheese and toppings that it takes a crane to move the fucker. I have no problem stuffin' my face with the hot n' ready pizzas Little Caesar's has just waiting for me.

Damn, now I want some pizza.

4. Hip hop/all age-inappropriate music.
It's true. I am a white, middle-aged woman who listens to hip hop and other "young people" music very loudly in my car. To be fair, I do not attempt to adopt hip hop slang or fashion, unless I find an easy opportunity to make someone cringe, then I will totally say things like "That briefcase is fly, baby!" Do the kids say "fly" anymore?

I'm pretty sure at this stage of my life I'm supposed to be settling into a diet of blues lite and soft classic rock. I should be driving to PTA meetings and listening to Air Supply, not some unholy one-two punch of Rob Zombie and LL Cool J. This can all be traced back to the day I removed that maturity chip someone implanted as I slept.

5. This blog.
Yes, I'll be a copycat on Susie with this one. But I would definitely call this a huge guilty pleasure. It's quite true I've completely ignored playing or writing music since I started this blog, but it's such a great creative outlet in so many ways. I can write, or take pictures, or take and tweak pictures, or make Play-Doh tallywhackers, and I get feedback! Instant feedback! I could easily have a Master's degree if I'd taken all my blogging time and applied it instead to grad studies.

But then again, I wouldn't have set up shop in the most awesome neighborhood in Blogsylvania if I'd done that. I'd just be some dickwad with an MBA.

So maybe I don't feel guilty at all.


ps: Did I mention my finger really really hurts?