![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
DCMB 2010 - Notes and Thanks
Aug. 5th, 2010 02:58 am( Notes and Thanks )
Domestic goddess I am not.
Jan. 22nd, 2009 06:13 amYet I'm still unreasonably proud of myself.
Baaaasically, I'm being a cheap bastard and having my mom help me with laundry tomorrow. She'll be in town, and she called up and said, "Bea, do you want to go with me to the laundromat?" To which my enthusiastic response was "Yes!"
(See, it's not like I can't do my laundry myself. I've been doing my laundry myself since I was twelve. And it's not like I can't exactly afford it--it's ten bucks, a little prohibitive, but I could swing it. But there's something about having Mom there that's...comforting. I think it may be because she always remembers dryer sheets and she folds the dried laundry. When I do it by myself, I never fold anything. I just wad it up in my duffel and go home. But Mom folds stuff, and it's nice.)
So she says laundry day is Thursday. Great! Perfect! Only one problem: I only have clean undergarments through Wednesday. My choices: do laundry by myself on Wednesday, wear dirty underwear Thursday, or wash a pair out in the sink.
The first option slipped by me.
The second I refuse to accept.
So I went for the third. And I spent ten minutes scrubbing and twenty-five under a dinky hand-dryer, but I have a clean, detergent-smelling pair of boyshorts for tomorrow losing their last bit of dampness over the heating vent right now. I took care of the problem!
Clutching them while sneaking back to my room and hoping no one noticed me carrying a pair of underwear through the halls at 6:15am, I felt a rush of the urban savage. I was no wilderness woman, pounding my clothes against a rock and mending them with plant fiber, but I had washed something without the use of a machine! I guess it's kinda like a man buying a pre-spouted tomato plant and giving it a spot on his patio. When it fruits, he must have the same feeling. Sure, he didn't collect that seed, germinate it, or care for the fragile sprout, but he still kept it alive to bear him at least one tomato! He too must feel the echoes of the primitive time, of being the meat-provider: that tiny heirloom tomato is, in his mind, the cooling carcass of the deer he has slung over his shoulders, and thus his role is complete. Same thing with my sink-washed underwear. I am not a slave to you, Maytag! Aha!
Oh god, it's really late. I'm sorry about this post.
Postscript - You dared tease me about my lack of posts, Victoria? Have a massive love letter about washing my underwear. Bwahahaha, and all that jazz.
Baaaasically, I'm being a cheap bastard and having my mom help me with laundry tomorrow. She'll be in town, and she called up and said, "Bea, do you want to go with me to the laundromat?" To which my enthusiastic response was "Yes!"
(See, it's not like I can't do my laundry myself. I've been doing my laundry myself since I was twelve. And it's not like I can't exactly afford it--it's ten bucks, a little prohibitive, but I could swing it. But there's something about having Mom there that's...comforting. I think it may be because she always remembers dryer sheets and she folds the dried laundry. When I do it by myself, I never fold anything. I just wad it up in my duffel and go home. But Mom folds stuff, and it's nice.)
So she says laundry day is Thursday. Great! Perfect! Only one problem: I only have clean undergarments through Wednesday. My choices: do laundry by myself on Wednesday, wear dirty underwear Thursday, or wash a pair out in the sink.
The first option slipped by me.
The second I refuse to accept.
So I went for the third. And I spent ten minutes scrubbing and twenty-five under a dinky hand-dryer, but I have a clean, detergent-smelling pair of boyshorts for tomorrow losing their last bit of dampness over the heating vent right now. I took care of the problem!
Clutching them while sneaking back to my room and hoping no one noticed me carrying a pair of underwear through the halls at 6:15am, I felt a rush of the urban savage. I was no wilderness woman, pounding my clothes against a rock and mending them with plant fiber, but I had washed something without the use of a machine! I guess it's kinda like a man buying a pre-spouted tomato plant and giving it a spot on his patio. When it fruits, he must have the same feeling. Sure, he didn't collect that seed, germinate it, or care for the fragile sprout, but he still kept it alive to bear him at least one tomato! He too must feel the echoes of the primitive time, of being the meat-provider: that tiny heirloom tomato is, in his mind, the cooling carcass of the deer he has slung over his shoulders, and thus his role is complete. Same thing with my sink-washed underwear. I am not a slave to you, Maytag! Aha!
Oh god, it's really late. I'm sorry about this post.
Postscript - You dared tease me about my lack of posts, Victoria? Have a massive love letter about washing my underwear. Bwahahaha, and all that jazz.
Bea vs. The 20Q Generator
Jun. 10th, 2008 04:02 amYou know the 20Q games, right? The kind where the little electronic device asks you twenty questions and then tells you what you were thinking of? Well, I decided to play one I found online. After a few inane games, I decided to try and make the wee little game guess something inappropriate. (Don't look at me like that. I'm a college student. It's what we do. >D)
The result was something like this:
20Q: Question 1: Animal, mineral, vegetable, other, or unknown?
Bea: *clicks other*
20Q: Question 2: Is it larger than a breadbox?
Bea: *clicks no*
...
...
...
20Q: Question 20: Is it warm?
Bea: Heh. *clicks yes*
20Q: I know what you were thinking of!
Bea: Oh? *clicks continue*
20Q: You were thinking of...bratwurst!
Bea: BAHAHAHA. *clicks no*
20Q: Oh. Try again! Question 21: Does it like to be held?
Bea: Kekeke. *clicks yes*
20Q: Question 22: Does a cowboy use it?
Bea: Depends on the context, I suppose. *clicks sometimes*
20Q: I know what you were thinking of!
Bea: I'm sure. *click continue*
20Q: You were thinking of...a hotdog!
Bea: AHAHAHAHAHAHA <3. *clicks no*
20Q: Oh. Try again! Question 23: Does it get bigger and smaller?
Bea: OMIGOD. *clicks yes gleefully*
20Q: I know what you were thinking of!
Bea: Please, enlighten me. *clicks continue*
20Q: You were thinking of...something your mother would not approve of!
Bea: \o/!!! *clicks yes while laughing her ass off*
20Q: Told you I could read your mind! ...Play again?
And it showed me a bucket and a scrubby brush when it guessed the last time. Oh, game. I love you so much. <3333
The result was something like this:
20Q: Question 1: Animal, mineral, vegetable, other, or unknown?
Bea: *clicks other*
20Q: Question 2: Is it larger than a breadbox?
Bea: *clicks no*
...
...
...
20Q: Question 20: Is it warm?
Bea: Heh. *clicks yes*
20Q: I know what you were thinking of!
Bea: Oh? *clicks continue*
20Q: You were thinking of...bratwurst!
Bea: BAHAHAHA. *clicks no*
20Q: Oh. Try again! Question 21: Does it like to be held?
Bea: Kekeke. *clicks yes*
20Q: Question 22: Does a cowboy use it?
Bea: Depends on the context, I suppose. *clicks sometimes*
20Q: I know what you were thinking of!
Bea: I'm sure. *click continue*
20Q: You were thinking of...a hotdog!
Bea: AHAHAHAHAHAHA <3. *clicks no*
20Q: Oh. Try again! Question 23: Does it get bigger and smaller?
Bea: OMIGOD. *clicks yes gleefully*
20Q: I know what you were thinking of!
Bea: Please, enlighten me. *clicks continue*
20Q: You were thinking of...something your mother would not approve of!
Bea: \o/!!! *clicks yes while laughing her ass off*
20Q: Told you I could read your mind! ...Play again?
And it showed me a bucket and a scrubby brush when it guessed the last time. Oh, game. I love you so much. <3333
