My Hatred of Laundry

I love to cook, sew, mop, dust, bake, organize, and sweep.

I don't mind vacuuming, doing the dishes, scrubbing, sweeping, or taking out the trash.

I hate doing the laundry.

I'm not kidding. You may think I'm kidding, and if so I am honored that you would consider me so domestic as to be incapable of loathing a household chore, but I'm not. Here is proof positive that laundry is nothing if not my arch enemy:

First of all, this is what our dirty clothes hamper looks like.

With no room left, clothes have crept their way through the rest of our house. Like the bathroom.

They've strewn themselves all over the chair in our bedroom.
And some have found a home next to my dresser.

You may think, "Wow, she's being pretty open about the more-than-slightly embarrassing state of her house." And this is true. But the reason I'm sharing so willingly is because I don't care. Well, I didn't care, until last night.

Last night I was commenting to Dan about how low I'm running on clean clothes to wear and how maybe the laundry should "get done" (how's that for passive voice?). The man is a saint, mind you, and he has done much much much more than his share of laundry since the beginning of our marriage*(see note). But apparently even saints have their limits.

Dan: "I was wondering how long it would take you..."
Me: "What do you mean by that?"
Dan: "Well, I haven't done the laundry because I want to see how long until you would break down and do it."
Me: (with a hint of raised voice) "Oh it's really that bad is it?!"

I used to not care, but now the battle lines have be drawn.

My apathy has turned into pride at the growing mountains of clothing collecting around our apartment. I will hold out until my shoulders are swallowed up by a 4 foot tide of dirty linens. I will ignore the extent to which I miss that "spring rain" scent on my clothes. I will bust out those bottom-of-the-drawer clothes and wear them with pride, for I truly, plainly, undeniably hate laundry.

*Note: In an attempt to win Dan's heart sophomore year of college, I actually did his laundry all year. and patched it. and removed stains. and folded it. Greater love has no one than this, I tell you.

In The Year 2068

Lately I've found myself thinking "I am so old." I'll be a college graduate in mere days, I know every word to the songs that come on in the "90's hour" on the radio, which makes my high school co-workers (see last post) look at me like "how bizarre, how bizarre...". My knees hurt when I kneel for more than a few seconds, oh, and I'm married.

But let's be honest, I'm not old at all. Unless of course you're talking in terms of making the Chinese Olympic Gymnastics team, and in that case I have in fact missed the boat by a good 8 years.

I am sort of looking forward to it though - being old that is. My guess is that there are pros and cons to the last stages of life. Here are a few that I have been pondering:

Pro: Retirement
Never missing a day of Oprah.

Con: 8:00pm bed time
Missing every single Colbert Report.

Pro: Dorm life, 2.0
Think about it: retirement homes (and college dorms) provide: a social calendar full of planned events, room/floor mates, provided food at a central location, a sense of community

Con: That old person smell
I don't think you can ever wash that sucker off.

Pro: Free Time
200,000 piece jigsaw puzzle of Niagara Falls anyone?

I think that when the time comes, I will be one happy, retirement home livin', grandchild cheek pinchin', afghan knittin' elderly person. For now though, I guess I'll just have to *ahem* save the best for last.

And Then She Was Like...

The reason of the week that I'm glad I'm not in high school:

Not having to care when peers arbitrarily don't like me.

I'm just gunna put it out there - I have a minimum wage, part-time job. It's kind of my guilty pleasure, my "do something lame and menial before I spend the rest of my life pouring my whole self into teaching", my last hurrah.

This job also happens to be a bunch of 16 year olds first hurrah. This fact certainly keeps the workplace banter interesting. Some of the spectacular things I've been asked by (high school) co-workers: "What's the difference between like a Jew and a Christian?", "So like Michael Jackson was actually part of the Jackson 5?" or a personal favorite from a 18 year old: "What's leap day?"

But by far the most frequent question I get is "What do you think of So-n-so?". It doesn't take a college degree (3.5 weeks!) to know that that is a mine field of a question. I almost universally answer that "I think she seems nice" and that "I enjoy working with her".

Today, however, I received my own results on the "What do you think of Allison" workplace poll. The results: They didn't like me. When my co-worker told me that, I was astonished at the extent of apathy which I felt. 6 or so young women (according to this self-proclaimed drama authority) weren't my biggest fans. Why didn't I care? Well, I knew I had done nothing to wrong them, I had never personally taken a disliking to a single one of them, and I certainly didn't answer in kind when asked what I thought of any of them. So, I realized, if someone wants to dislike me for having a super hot husband or too many freckles (this is what I had narrowed the possible reasons down to) I give them all the right to, in-as-much as they are aware that I don't care.

"Don't you want to know why they didn't like you?" She asked.
No, I thought. "I guess, I dunno" I said.
"When you first started here, they thought you worked too hard."

That was all the validation and flattery I could handle in that moment! Not only had I not cared initially that I hadn't won the praise of a handful of girls who don't know what leap day is, but the reason they hadn't liked me was for an attribute I am glad to have!

And so, on this day - exactly 24 days before I receive my college degree - I officially declare myself victorious over the high school social paradigm! I, like, feel, like, totally untouchable!

Date Night

I wanted to share about the romantic evening that Dan and I had together last night. So that you can accurately picture it, you should know that Dan was sporting jeans and a sweatshirt, while I had donned the logo-embroidered tee-shirt from my part time job, slightly sticky with fruit juice. It was really classy. Also, we didn't have a baby-sitter, so Pearl played chaperone. We had a reservation for 5:30 at Ultra Foods Mart. That's right folks, grocery store dates are the most romantic type. The FDA frowns upon dogs in grocery stores, so Pearl guarded the car while Dan and I tackled the 26 item shopping list (our cupboards looked like Old Mother Hubbard's).

We flirted through the freezer section, canoodled in the canned goods aisle, and played footsie in produce. As the florescent glow reflected off the linoleum floor and into his eyes, I realized we were more in love now than the day we got married.

At high class grocery joints like this one, they give you the opportunity to bag your own groceries, which was truly a highlight of the evening. First came the paper or plastic debate, then the "oh! Hunny, don't put the bread on the bottom!" not to mention the "don't forget to put an extra plastic bag around the glass things". We were just smitten by the time we got handed the longest receipt I think I have ever seen.


After reuniting with our very excited puppy, we took a starlight drive across the parking lot to this new restaurant in town called MacDo Nald's. Dan treated me to a two course meal of fried potato strips and breaded chicken tenders with a creamy honey mustard dressing. He had a Big Mac. As a beautiful conclusion to our night together, we returned home and put away the groceries, realizing that the length of time it takes to eat a hamburger is exactly how long it takes for ice cream to melt.

Recipe for a Sweet Dessert Party

Over Winter break, Dan and I came to the realization that the state in which we live is quickly changing. Namely, we will probably never live within a mile of 80% of our friends again in our lives. As we realized that, we knew we wanted to take full advantage of it - so Dan officially gave me permission to let my inner hostess' hair down. Desperate times called for making cute center pieces, baking an array of yummies, and having a bunch of people over. I was down right giddy with the thought of it. Jumping to the end of the story, on Friday, we had about 20 people over for a dessert party filled with chocolate fountains, yummy punch and baked goods, and a cupcake decorating competition (that's right - with door prizes).

We had such a wonderful time that we've already decided to replicate the party after we've lived in Minnesota for a while - except, part of me feels like throwing the same party for two different groups of friends is like wearing the same outfit two days in a row, knowing you won't run into any of the same people. But hey: I've done it.

That being said, I wanted to document just what it was that went down at the dessert party to make it such a good time. You know, just in case I need to go back and look at my notes before I throw it again next year.

Recipe for a Sweet Dessert Party

1. design adorable invitations
2. mix groups of friends that you know from different places and activities
3. melt chocolate chips and set up a chocolate fountain for dipping
4. thaw previously prepared and purchased sweets (creme puffs, peanut butter balls etc.) and arrange them on platters
5. light approximately a dozen candles around the house
6. simmer some music in the background
7. bake 2 dozen cupcakes - chocolate and vanilla - for decorating

8. blend 4 to 5 different colors of frosting for use in cupcake decorating
9. arrange bowls of candies around the room
10. pick the best decorated cupcake via voting by guests. This year's 1st place winner:

Jon's "King of the Jungle" cupcake!

11. squeeze 22 people into a 500 square foot space
12. chill with some of the best friends a person could have!