It's not just me!

As I began to write this tale, it occurred to me that a large portion of my stories begin, "I was at the laundromat..." and this one is no different. Either all the interesting things in life happen at the laundromat, or else I spend so much time at the 'mat that I've lost perspective on what's interesting and what's just conversational smegma.

Perhaps I should preface this tale by divulging that my neighborhood suffered a power outage this afternoon. I should really be makin' better use of my time right now, cursin' the heavens in a raw, overemotional voice, since my VHS taping of General Hospital was fucked right in its convoluted ass. Yes, I said "VHS taping" - I have not yet entered the new millenium and purchased a digital video recorder yet. If you don't like it, you can bite my vericose veins.

Soap opera emergency aside, there was also the practical matter that the laundry had to be done. The laundromat that I generally use was without power, so I had to drive down the road a bit and use Pro-Clean. It had been a while since I'd been to this 'mat, I realized, and as I walked through the door I saw that they had a new vending machine, one full of Homies!


Homies, in case anyone' s memory needed refreshing.

Well, I've nearly depleted the Homies machine at my usual laundromat, and this one was nearly full. Just imagine my delight! I loaded up the washing machines, then made my way right back to the Homies, that I might add to my collection. New one! New one! Not new, but cool, and I only have one. New one! It was a Homies bonanza. In the midst of my Homies reverie, I heard someone approach me.

I glanced over to see a full-grown, adult man approach me. Of course, I froze a little, as my recent encounter with laundromat evangelists has made me wary of conversations with strangers. But when he opened his mouth to speak, it wasn't to tell me about God, and it wasn't to ask if he could fold my panties. He wanted to talk business.

"I've got my Homies here," he informed me, "so let me know if you wanna trade."

I looked where he was pointing, and sure enough, he had about 20 Homies arranged on top of a triple-load washing machine. That would be one of those moments where I wish with all my heart that I hadn't been so completely ignorant as to've left my camera at home. My eyes got all misty as I realized that, no, I am not the only adult who obsesses over these stupid plastic toys that come from laundromat vending machines. He had some Homies that were new to me, but I hadn't gotten any from the machine I wanted to trade with him. I might just have to go through the duplicates in my office and go lookin' for Mr. Homies trader next week, though.

Then I came home and found the Official Homies Website. No one can help me now. Before long, there will not be a square inch of my home or office that is not covered in these marvelously cheesy little pachucos.

Hello, my name is Katy and I'm addicted to Homies. Trade you two Mr. Frosties for a Lady Joker.