Loads of Fun

So I live in an apartment complex that isn’t in the worst part of town.  It’s not even the next to worst.  It’s not ghetto adjacent even.  For some reason, however, while the rent goes up, so does the crime.  Or maybe I am just noticing it more. 

I was trying to do my laundry the other day.  Although it was 10am on a Tuesday and there are five machines (well, currently four since one was broken),  I had to make three attempts to get an empty machine.  I often have as many as 4-8 loads come Laundry Day (who knew my daughter and I could generate so much laundry???) and not a lot of full days off, so, like all residents with a mission to finish their laundry quickly, I usually prefer to use as many of the machines as possible.  Keep in mind it’s also $2/wash and $1.75/dry, so Laundry Day is pursuant to when I have the money to actually do the laundry as well. 

My neighbor (a brassy, but seemingly cool woman in her mid-40s or so) was in the laundry room on my first attempt to get a load in the wash.  She had just finished filling the four working washers, so I returned to my apartment to wait the 30 minutes until she was through.  At 30 minutes I tried again.  The washers had just been re-started.  Damn!  Someone had snuck in while I was watching an episode of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel.  Back to the couch. 

Another 30 minutes went by.  I tried again.  This time there were three washers free.  Success!  I loaded them up and returned to hang out with Mrs. Maisel. 

When my wash was ready to transfer to the dryer, I returned to the laundry room.  Another older woman was in there, transferring her clothes to the dryers.  She was talking to a younger man about the hike in rent (mine has been raised $150 in two years).  He was pulling clothes out of one of the dryers.  Upon indicating that I could use the one he’d freed,  I started to load my soggy garments into it.  The man offhandedly mentioned something about how he was supposed to have clothes in two separate dryers, but returned to his upstairs apartment.

Which is when all hell broke loose.  As I was loading my clothes, the brassy neighbor came screaming down the stairs.  Well, not screaming because she had laryngitis, but whispering furiously. 

“WHAT THE FUCK?”  She looked in two of the dryers (one of which I was currently filling).  My neighbor slammed the other dryer door shut.  “Someone took my fucking laundry!!!”  She opened it again in disbelief.  Still no laundry.  “Seriously, where are my fucking clothes?”

So let me explain something here.  In spite of liking to use all the machines at once, I am a super courteous resident when it comes to laundry room usage.  If someone comes to the laundry room at the same time, I will relinquish use of one (some) of the machines.  I set a timer so that I can be sure to clear my machines in a timely manner.  I clean out my lint screens.  I hold the laundry room door open for other residents.  And I absolutely cannot, for the life of me, understand why someone would be motivated to steal another person’s laundry. 

Yes, I have heard stories of a woman who will throw people’s laundry in the trash if they leave it in the washer for too long.  I’ve even walked into the laundry room when it smelled like shit (literally) because someone disposed of their dog’s feces in the same trashcan.  I have even found vomit-covered clothing strewn about outside of the laundry room (not sure what happened there).  Apparently, though, this laundry theft is a semi-common occurrence.  The older woman confirmed it with her own story of having recently found a note in the laundry room that was written by another resident pleading for the return of her newly cleaned clothes. 

This, my friends, is fucking bullshit.  I mean, seriously?  This is where we’re headed?  Is it really necessary to go out of one’s way to enter the laundry room (with a key no less) and steal from one’s neighbors?  To clarify, no one here is wealthy.  We ain’t washing couture in the laundry room.  My own laundry is only a veritable cornucopia of Walmart T-Shirts and Thrift Store Cardigans.  Some of my underwear is so filled with holes, I don’t know that I should even wear them as period panties.    What on earth would someone want with another person’s laundry?  I get freaked out just finding someone else’s sock mixed in with mine.  I don’t care if it’s been washed.  It’s not my fucking sock. 

So I went to the office to complain.  I told them I would happily write up a formal complaint.  Of course they did nothing.  They can’t (won’t) do anything, “management” said.  We’re supposed to stay with our laundry, I was told. So I responded (jokingly?), “Then don’t be surprised if you hear of a lavender-haired women in Laundry Room #5 beating up one of the other residents.” 

And so I went to sit in the fucking laundry room to babysit my clothes, writing this blog entry and throwing shade at anyone walking past.  It wasn’t even my laundry that was stolen, but now it’s my mission to make sure that it won’t be.  No one is to be trusted. 

What a waste of time.  Sigh. 

Until next time, my lovelies….

Please Just Go to the Lobby (or to Hell)

WARNING:  RANT CONTAINING QUESTIONABLE LANGUAGE AND EXTREME ACTS OF DOUCHEBAGGERY AHEAD.


One of my pet peeves is people who talk during movies at movie theaters.  I used to be extremely intolerant, but after having my daughter (and therefore mostly only going to kids' movies where I was surrounded by very talkative children) this has lessened somewhat.  I have gotten to the point where I don't mind when someone leans over to their movie-going partner and makes the occasional comment.  What I still don't understand, however, is when teenagers and adults have full-on conversations at a very loud volume.  To me, this is selfish, unaware and (the worst of all these offenses) downright rude.  I mean, seriously, if you need to talk that much, wait for the DVD or On-Demand release (or steal the movie off the internet)--whatever will allow you to not be at the same movie theater I am.

Lest this make me sound like a curmudgeon yelling at those mangy kids to get off her lawn, let me explain something:  I love movies.  Going to a movie is a rare treat, a means of escape, a generally fulfilling experience.  I just want to enjoy it.  Such was the case on the night which inspired this blog entry.

My friend and I recently went to see Pitch Perfect 2.  She had had a rough day and needed to unwind.  Although I had already seen the film, I was eager to go see it with her.  And, hey, it was discount ticket night (and she was buying), so BONUS.

My friend chose the seats, two in the center about 3 or 4 rows back from the walkthrough aisle.  There was a couple in the row behind ours, lounging with their feet on the seats in front of them (don't get me started on that one).  When we approached, even though my friend took care not to sit directly in front of them, the guy looked annoyed.  After we were there for about five minutes, he sighed very loudly and then very obviously changed his seat.  My movie partner and I laughed, made an offhand comment to ourselves about it ("Gee, I'm sorry we've impeded you from putting your dirty ol' feet up.") and shrugged it off.  This was all before watching the previews.

I should have known this was not the end of it.  I swear I have some sort of Spidey sense when it comes to other movie goers.  I have been to enough rowdy movies to know when someone will cause problems.  Sadly, I was not wrong.  About halfway through the movie, the couple started to talk.  At first it was in hushed tones, maybe a sentence or two.  I quietly shushed them once.  Not a grouchy, annoyed "Shut up!", but a gentle release of air, like a sigh.  "Sssssshhhhhhh."  This seemed to work.  For a while.  As the movie continued, their conversations became more and more frequent, lengthy and loud.  The guy in particular had a booming voice.  Finally, with maybe 15 minutes left of the movie, their talking reached its pinnacle.

Now let's be honest here, Pitch Perfect 2 is not a movie to which great attention needs to be paid.  Nothing of great consequence will be missed if one's focus is shifted for a second.  Because the entire movie is about how the Barden Bellas are going to compete at the World Championships, however, when they actually perform at the competition, dammit, I want to hear them sing!  I can't imagine I was alone in this, and yet no one was saying anything, just sitting there suffering in silence.

So I turned around to see what was so important and special about these two people and their conversation that they had to interrupt the movie-going experience of everyone around them.  I made eye contact with the guy and put my forefinger to my mouth in the universal symbol of quiet.

Mr. Chatty did not like that.  He immediately began posturing in the Cro-Magnon, chest-beating manner of douchebags everywhere.  "Shut the fuck up, bitch!" he yelled.  Wow, over-react much, dude?

I looked to his girlfriend to see if she was going to tolerate this behavior.  Apparently, though, this was a gal who likes her men douche-y.  To my delight, she too joined in the fun, flipping me off with both hands.  "Yeah, bitch, shut the fuck up."

"Exactly!"  I said.  "Please be quiet."

At this point, the "big man" was practically jumping across his girlfriend like he was going to fight me.  Thoughts of all the misogynistic encounters I've ever witnessed flashed through my brain.  Could I tell this girl to "keep her bitch on a leash"?

"Just turn around, bitch," he said.  Then he started swiping his hand across his head in a gesture of brushing his hair to the side.  "Just turn around and comb over your hair, you fucking dyke."

OK, that one got me mad.  Even if I were gay (I'm not), is being called a homosexual some kind of insult?  The word "dyke" is insulting, yes, but the idea of being gay?  What was I missing here?  I mean, clearly all women were just dying to be with this peach of a guy so if they weren't or if they opposed him, they must be gay (or pretending to be so he wouldn't be in their dating pool).

And what made him think I was gay in the first place?  Because I have a pixie cut with side-swept bangs, that makes me a lesbian?  Yes, because of course all lesbians look alike and that is the haircut of choice.  Well, shit, someone better tell Emma Watson, Jennifer Lawrence, Michelle Williams, Ginnifer Goodwin, Anne Hathaway, Winona Ryder (et cetera, et cetera) that they should have re-thought their "gay" hairstyles.

Or was it because I attended a chick flick with another female friend?  Does that make me gay?  I guess no straight girls would ever dare attend a movie without a man present.  Better let the row of gals in front of us know they are breaking the "rules".

So I said the first thing that came to mind, "Oh please.  I have sucked bigger dicks than you."...and turned around to watch what little was left of the movie.

I'd like to say this emasculating comment about both his personality and potential size of his penis shut him up.  It did--momentarily at least.  Unfortunately, as I was taking deep breaths to calm down from Hulk mode, he started talking again, if only to prove his "superiority".

What happened next was beautiful.  Everyone around him started shushing him.  Not gently either.   The trio of older people in front of him.  The couple behind him.  The family next to him.   Finally, his slag girlfriend said (and try to read this in as snotty a voice as possible), "Uh, let's go."

HALLELUJAH!

My friend and I applauded as they made their walk of shame and douchebaggery down the stairs.

"Don't procreate," I muttered.

Later when I recounted this story to some friends of mine, I expressed delight that others finally began to speak up.  One person I told said, "Well, of course they did.  You made it possible for them to do so."

So there's the moral of the story, Lovelies...If you are personally affronted, PLEASE don't just suffer in silence.  Be brave and speak the hell up.  There may be many others too afraid to use their voices until someone else does.  Sure, I was absolutely terrified that he would be waiting to pummel me in the parking lot, but safety in numbers.  Most importantly, DOWN WITH THE DOUCHEBAGS OF THE WORLD!!!

Hey, I think I found my mission in life.  And I'll be fulfilling it one movie theater at a time.  Ha.

Until next time, Lovelies....

40 Days Till 40 (Day 31)

THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS

In A Streetcar Named Desire by Tennessee Williams, the female character, Blanche Dubois, says, “I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.”  Although, and let’s be honest here, Blanche could be classified as a “hot mess”, I think she’s got the right idea.

I was driving home this morning after dropping my daughter off at school.  Where she attends school is surrounded by newer homes and various hiking and biking trails.  Because it had snowed last night, the trails were covered with ice and snow.  As I was driving, I noticed a little girl trying to help an elderly woman who had slipped on the ice.  The girl couldn’t have been more than my daughter’s age, maybe around 9 or 10.  The women kept trying to stand, but the girl wasn’t strong enough to hold her. 

It would have been very easy to just ignore the woman and child and to drive past.  I, however, know first hand what it is to fall face first (both in snow and metaphorically) and to have someone help me back up.  I pulled over to the side of the road to help her. 

The little girl turned out to be the woman’s granddaughter.  She doesn’t normally stay with her grandmother, so this was certainly not something with which she would have to deal on a regular basis.  Her face was scrunched up with worry and she was near tears, but I could see she was fighting to keep it together.  When they realized I was there to help, her grandmother consoled the girl and sent her on to school. 

I helped the woman back to her house.  She didn’t live far, thank goodness, as she had banged up her leg pretty bad (and quite frankly, my own shoes, a ratty pair of Converse low tops, were a bit slippy.  I didn’t want to fall and pull her down again with me!).  When I left her at her house, she grasped my hand and said, “Well, that was your good deed for the day!”  I smiled and said, “No worries”—not telling her how many times a stranger had been kind to me in the past or that I hoped someone would do the same for me if I ever needed it.  Nor did I tell her how hard I have to work to be kind sometimes. 

That’s a funny concept, isn’t it, working to be kind?  It is true for me, though.  Oh, I am friendly enough and have no problem smiling at a stranger or being courteous to a waiter or retail worker.  I hold doors open for people and I thank those who have assisted me.  I compliment people when I like their shoes, clothes, accessories, hair, makeup or even their children.  I try not to cut people off in traffic or in store lines or to share my bad mood with the general public.   Yup, I am kind to strangers. 

It’s with the people I know that I sometimes feel I have to work that much harder.

Rather than intentionally hurting someone’s feelings, I typically choose to be diplomatic, yet direct.  Sometimes, though, it just isn’t in me, maybe because my kindness (or patience!) has been abused too much before.  Or I am tired of fighting the same battle over and over again.   I have a pretty bad temper, with the capability to blow up when warranted.  It generally takes a while for me to get to that point, but it’s always there. Waiting.  

Obviously, certain people (or types of people) may trigger my temper easier than others.  Passive aggressive, ignorant or verbally abusive a-holes, for example.  My daughter sometimes.  My ex-husband for sure.  The only power anyone ever has over us is the power we give to him or her, though, right?  That’s where working to be kind comes in.  NO, punching people in the head may not be the best form of communication…even if it feels necessary to get a point across.  

Awwww, look, I’m growing.  Yay me. 

Now if we could just get everyone to do the same, to show warmth and compassion to everyone—even the ones who could benefit from a good neck wringing.  What harm is there in a smile, a kind word or a helping hand?  Hmmmmm.  What an interesting world that might be. 

Until tomorrow, Lovelies….