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Colds, Hoes & Rabbits
Summer colds in the desert suck.
They suck more when they suddenly appear out of nowhere on a Monday morning.
Because don’t we all want to start the week out hot, sniffly, fuzzy headed AND with a stomach demanding time away from a Monday desk?
Still, I put my big girl panties on, popped some ibuprofen and headed out into our really weird morning weather and drove to work.
A dust storm was brewing on the ground – rain clouds threatening above.
I arrived at my office, opted for no music (headache vetoed that) and dug into my inbox.
I was productive and quiet.
It is very unusual for me to be quiet anywhere. And when at work – it is noticed by everyone.
And I’m not one of those ‘sniff sniff … sigh – shuffle around the office looking miserable’ sick people.
I shut the hell up when I don’t feel well. Not a fisher. And would prefer to be left alone.
Anyway, the owners arrived and the “What’s wrong with you?” inquiries began as soon as they noticed I was not being loud and hyper, especially considering it’s Star Wars day!
“Little cold – upset tummy.”
They steer clear after that.
No busy agent has time to catch a germ.
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Had to run to Wal-Mart for something on my break.
I always enter through the garden department, avoiding the part of the parking lot where people drive like they’re in bumper cars and arrows do not exist in their world.
Within the store, whilst just reaching the side of a man I was trying to pass (who was going v-e-r-y slowly) I heard him say: “I need a hoe.”
My eyes widened. I really hoped he meant for the garden. I really hoped he thought he was saying it to someone he came with and believed was behind or beside him.
He turned to see me – awkwardness on his face turning to an embarrassed half grin before quickly averting his eyes. I kept up my pace and passed him as a small smile found my mouth, leaving him to do that push-pause-and-peer aisle thing, looking for his shopping partner.
(YOU know the aisle thing I’m talking about … you’ve done it. We’ve all misplaced someone in a store.)
The humor of the whole thing gave me the burst of energy I needed to grab my two items and head back to work.
Oh! Speaking of humor, and having used the rabbit above – something cracked me up this morning too.
I was outside with my honey – about to leave for work when upon gazing at the desert cottontails all about, he asked: “Where do all the rabbits get their water from?” I contemplated that for a minute, not recalling ever having come across a rabbit in a puddle, or at a hose bib. “I think they get it from the plants.” I concluded. He gave it a beat before responding: “The plants sell them bottled water?”
*sigh*
I am surrounded by comedy.
I’m also totally OCD when it comes to having something unanswered – so you know I googled it. And guess what? I was partially right.
“Moisture from cacti and other plants fills most of their water needs, but they readily drink water if it is available.”
Now we know.
Think I’ll put Gatorade on some of the plants tonight though … you know … for the ones with Summer colds.
Musings from the Laudromat: Meditation, Math & the answer is Yellow Edition
This is truly a beautiful sight …
No, not the man in the hat, although, I’m sure he’s a lovely person.
It’s just such a relief to have had the pick of the washing machine litter.
No sign of glaucoma man – so I am sitting in peace and quiet, enjoying the hum of the machines and gentle whoosh of the air conditioning – while gazing about at the few patrons.
It’s funny how this place has become something I look forward to when I once dreaded the trip.
The sounds are calming – the scent of detergent and softeners are soothing. It’s like a little vacation. Laundry meditation if you will.
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Just stepped outside for a moment and was captured into a fitted sheet conversation with an older man.
“Let me ask you something.”
I turned my gaze from the quiet highway to his weathered face.
“I just bought a queen sized mattress for my 5th wheel – it’s 6 foot 2 inches long and about five feet across …”
At this point, I’m wondering if he’s winding up for a word math problem, and I’m starting to panic, because I never did know how long it would take a train to get from one place to another if Johnny had 10 apples and Martha needed change after sharing a hotel room with three of her friends after tipping the damn bell hop.
You know, THOSE word problems.
So, I hold my gaze and pray I know the answer.
“It’s about this thick (gestures with hands) Do I have to get special fitted sheets?” (Phew!)
“No, not if it’s that thick.”
Continued my very helpful answer with a few store suggestions after he mentioned going to one of the pricier places in town.
“See you inside!” I said – a little chirpier than necessary. I think I was still glowing from getting the answer right.
He’s folding his quilt now, and it’s a chaotic lump of a decent attempt.
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Meditation time is over … just had a small child in a yellow top put his yellow dump truck in my yellow laundry cart and start to make off with it – along with my purse.
“I’m SO sorry!” Said small childs mom.
“That’s ok – he’s having fun.”
Good thing he can’t talk – because I don’t have any more answers today. He might have needed to know how long it would take his dump truck to reach another cart if he added a juice box into the mix.
Musings from the Laundromat: Mens razors vs womens razors
I have always held the belief that the razor industry has been screwing us gals.
We shave more skin footage than men (is ‘skin footage’ a thing? It is now) we also have curvier ‘bits’ than men (ie: ankle bone) … and don’t play the ‘but the face is more sensitive’ card with me either – we all know we women shave areas FAR more sensitive than a face. And yeah, as we age, on occasion, we shave OUR faces too.
I remember a time women would get 2 blades versus men’s 3. Then the razor companies stepped up their game and when men got 4, count ’em FOUR blades, we eventually got 3 – and so on.
The problem with the ‘ladies’ razors is – THEY DON’T BLOODY WORK! Well, they DO bloody us.
And when we’re nicked, and that first spray of water hits our tiny wound, shower water suddenly transforms into lemon water. This, I am certain, is a scientific fact.
So you try the ‘safety blades’. You know the ones – they have those little vertical wires across the already ridiculously ineffective horizontal blades.
Look how happy this woman is shaving ….
She even drew a happy face into her shaving cream, you know why she was able to? Because the blades are so dull there was no danger. And GAWD! Don’t get me started on shaving cream! Too late.
I don’t WANT perfumed, expensive gels or foams on my leg. Especially when a blade and skin is involved. Who in their right mind wants fragrance involved in a skin nick?
Plain old $1 Barbasol works for me – never mind paying triple for gel that is going to leave my shaved parts itchy.
‘Designed for the way a woman shaves’. What does that mean?
Men apparently shave WITH the grain of their facial hair growth, but not on the neck.
Well, I’m here to tell you that there are parts we shave with the grain, and parts we don’t. So I really don’t know wha the big difference is.
I do know one difference. The price of the flipping razors.
We’re screwed there too.
I just stopped buying women’s razors all together and got better results and less financial hemorrhaging to boot.
Won’t be long before they start selling tiny little squares of toilet paper geared toward women to put on their curvy cut bits. And the crazy thing is – there are women who would buy them!
And they’d be twice as expensive as toilet paper!
Stop the maddness! And give us ladies a razor that works – for the same price as a man’s one!
Musing from the Laundromat: Hunger Games & Empty Coffee Pots edition
This place is getting more and more like the Hunger Games. I went to bed early last night – determined to be here exactly at 8 a.m. To grab my washing machines.
Then did the ‘Are you going to be using this one?’ routine again.
I stuck it out though. A man whose items were almost done told me so, and I stayed close by him. Maybe a little too close. The man was a sturdy Hawaiian and I was on him like a toddler on a leg.
But I got three machines in a row.
Rewind.
Coffee.
I decided I didn’t want to balance two baskets, a purse AND a to-go cup today, besides, there’s coffee here.
First thing I spied with my little eye (other than way too many people already in various stages of laundry considering the place just opened) was the empty coffee pot.
I needn’t have worried.
Me: Good morning!
My laundry lady: Mornin’.
Me: How are you?
My laundry lady: I’m ok. Do you want coffee? I didn’t make any because no one drank any of it yesterday.
Me: Oh yes please! I didn’t bring mine.
She so gets me.
After successfully adopting the Hawaiian mans washing machines, I ventured back to the counter for the freshly made coffee.
Me: How is it that people are almost done with their laundry if you don’t open until 8?
My laundry lady: I get here early, and if they’re my regulars, I let them in. You can come early.
Awww! I’m one of ‘her regulars’. And I have Disney Fast Pass clearance.
We then chatted about how I would feel weird encroaching on her before they were officially open.
I would too. We talked about that. I’m such a rule follower it’s ridiculous.
I don’t speed. I don’t ‘touch’ if it says ‘Do Not Touch’. I’ll wait until the clock strikes the exact opening time of an establishment.
I am though. I’m a square.
There’s this little old man sitting in front of me – reminds me of Elmer Fudd. Not in a rude way. He just does … and he looks so quiet and sweet.
Then he stood up, and the back of his shirt says “Buck Off!” with a picture of an antlered deer.
Well.
Goodness.
The square in me widened her eyes … the other part of me giggled.
I wonder where he got it. Did he spot it at a sporting store and just have to have it? Was it a gift from his wife? A friend? A grandchild?
I’m too curious for my own good. I want to know the story behind everything. Good thing is, I’m not superficially nosey, just genuinely curious.
Or is that just a polite way of saying ‘nosey’?
This morning, Butters was sniffing around Nic’s ‘go bag’ (he came in late from a trip to Phoenix for a Speech & Debate competition.) She’s always sniffing something new. Goes bonkers if a new ‘thing’ enters the house, and only relaxes if I touch it in front of her.
This gets a little awkward if it’s an electrician or handy man – I have to ask them if I can touch their pant leg.
Anyway, this morning she was completely submerged in Nic’s bag and I said “Hey nosey pants!” And then imagined what ‘Nosey Pants’ might look like.
Tangent. Sorry.
But yeah, that’s been my morning so far.
And today is my Mums birthday. Shout out to her. HAPPY BIRTHDAY MUMMY! I’ll be crossing the river and encroaching on her after a few chores. With a little gift bag in hand.
Wishing everyone a wonderful Sunday – and NEXT Sunday, I shall not be alone in the laundromat … If I can type and laugh at the same time, I’ll share that with you.
For now …
Musings from the Laundromat: Forgotten Coffee & Allergic Dogs edition
45 & 47. Those are the washing machines I bravely claimed after asking “Is someone using this one do you know?” of a table of strangers. MY OCD be damned – there would have to be a machine interrupting the numerical flow.
This morning was the second in a row of me waking and being so relieved to realize I could not only hit my snooze button, but go back to sleep again.
And I did find sleep once more, giving me long enough to have a disturbing dream. I woke an hour and a half later, remembering that I certainly did NOT want to miss out on a good seat and good machines.
I leaped into action! Started a pot of coffee, let Butters out – (who, had decided since the first bleat of my alarm, that there were many, many things close to my bed that resembled drums when thumped with her tail), gathered all household laundry, brushed my teeth, ran a brush through my hair and tossed on some clothes.
I then proceeded to forget my coffee inside three times.
I had been up for 10 minutes, bleary eyed and in that ‘late to school!’ mode.
The neighbors dog decided my laundry baskets, plonked down outside of my gate, were intruders. Barking madly as I went back in the third time to grab my coffee.
Everything finally in the car – and off I went. Still half asleep.
There were only two cars in front of the laundromat, relief washed over me again. (No pun intended.)
This place is much like a Tardis though – the outside does not lend an accurate picture of the inside.
Inside I was met by more people than expected. And my favorite machines almost all taken.
Thus the dilemma of having to use 45 & 47.
#46 had a lavender basket atop of it, like a quarter on a pinball machine. The strangers at the table weren’t sure if the two either side of that one were ‘taken’ – and while I’d usually back away and find another machine out of respect, this week I was staking my claim.
Rewind.
As tired as I am, as I waddled unevenly with two baskets of laundry and balancing my pouting coffee on one finger, (it was still a little upset I forgot it three times) I noticed a sign on the door.
“Absolutely no dogs allowed inside without medical identification!”
Now, obviously I knew what they meant, but I was hit with an image of some random pup walking in sporting a shiny tag stating its medical condition.
Laundry person: “You! You there … dog! You can’t come in!”
Dog: “It’s ok, I have allergies.”
I was still amused by this as I leaned against the counter waiting for my turn with the laundry lady.
Her: “Fresh pot of coffee just made!”
Me: “Thank gawd!”
Her: “I think that old man is mad at me. He keeps looking over because I have blankets in the industrial dryers.”
Me: “Well, he keeps cutting his eyes at you, you come get me.
Her: (laughs) “Ok.”
I adore her. She’s always so nice. I remember when she had to find a new place to live and was exhausted from moving – but still had a smile on her face. I love that she has been part of my Sunday mornings for over 4 years.
I put what I can in her tip jar, which I’m pretty sure is meant for the customers who take advantage of the full service laundry that they offer. But I like to show my appreciation anyway.
Isn’t it odd, that she is a part of my routine … my life, and so many others I’m sure. I want her to know it. To feel special and to know I’m grateful.
And as I glance up, I can see her folding someone elses laundry, while scanning the room to be sure everything is running as smoothly as the seams she irons – and I’m feeling a litte silly for being ruffled over having to use two machines that did not sit side by side.
As my boyfriend said this morning on my Facebook (accompanied by one of his old school photos lol) – I’m the luckiest girl ever.
And I am.
Everything that should truly matter, matters to me. I’m grateful for everything I have and everything I don’t.
And really glad Butters doesn’t have allergies.
Debauchery Soup 