It keeps me off the streets
For not doing anything, I certainly kept busy today.
I had to wash my comforter. It's needed it for a while, but SOMEbody used it as, well, a major dumping ground yesterday. I was not happy. Nor was I happy after I washed it and pulled it out of the dryer to discover that not only was it still wet, which I expected, but it was still DIRTY. That meant I had to rewash it. This time, when I pulled it out of the washer, I checked...and it was STILL dirty. Screw washing it a third time. We are in a drought, after all, and I hated washing it the second time. Bring on the paper towels and Palmolive. That removed what was left, and after two more runs through the dryer, it seems okay.
Kirby, however, is going to be spending more time in the pokey. I even tried to give him a reprieve. I spent some time packing today--I leave for camp next Saturday--and I store all my other bags in my big suitcase. I had to clean out the suitcase to start packing, and naturally all that stuff went on my bed, creative a veritable Mt. Everest of Crap where I sleep. This was in addition to other stuff I worked on today, and a pair of khaki shorts. Usually when there's a crap pile on my bed, Kirby stays off. Today? He became a sherpa. And now those khaki shorts need a wash. Great.
Also speaking of camp, I got a letter in the mail today. The envelope was from the youth ministry of one of my former schools. What in the world...and then I remembered that Jerry, one of the camp directors, is the youth minister there. Aha! This must be the map of directions we'd talked about. Sure enough, it was, and it looks awesome. The front has the four different places we go to to pick up stuff; the back has the directions and map to camp. Sweet.
I went to send him an email to let him know I'd gotten it. Jerry has my AOL address, and I only check that account maybe once a week. Usually there's just something from my mom, if anything. Today?
--Three forwards from my mom
--Three messages regarding camp (and if the revised counselor list is right, there's just over two dozen counselors coming...there's usually about forty...damn, how many kids *are* we down?)
--One letter from Frank (fishman473), detailing his itinerary
--One email from WB
--And, lastly, one letter from my friend Christie. I hadn't realized she has her very own website which totally explains all the cool things she's done in life, but she and...her boyfriend? not sure...are on a cross-country road trip, detailed online at christie, nate, and mrs. hawsie sanchez. I just checked...they're in town currently. Sadly, I probably won't see her, but that's okay.
Hmm, what else...I practiced a bit today. It's amazing what my fingers and lips remember and what they don't. It's also rough to try to play a lot of stuff when you hardly play at all--the body resists. But I think I'll be fine. That is, if they still let me play this year. I always wonder if they'll ask me to do something else during rehearsals, but as of yet that's a no.
My grandfather called right when I started this. He finally got my voice mail. :) At least I know he's still alive.
Lastly, a story about my mother:
So I'm finally bringing my comforter back upstairs. I am holding other miscellaneous laundry that hadn't yet made it off the dryer as I pass her in the kitchen. She is not sure what I am holding. When she finds out, she starts complaining about my bedroom and how un-adult it is and how I need to "bring it into the 20th century." Right. This coming from the woman with dolls all over her bedroom, whose bedposts are makeshift closets, who has cardboard boxes of books under her highboy (and the boxes are overflowing), who stores old linens not in the linen closet but in her hamper, so that her dirty clothes have to go on top of the hamper, and whose closets are so overflowing with outdated clothes that will never fit her again that she has to use the closet in the middle bedroom to store the clothes she'll sometimes wear.
Yes. Mm-hm. If you are my "adult bedroom role model," then I'm fine keeping it the way it is. Besides, if I'm supposed to be moving out anyway, what's the point of redoing it?
I am SOOO tempted to make an LJ purely of her craziness, but I worry she would find out about it.
Another example, from when we were cleaning the house the other day: Instead of following the directions on the bottle and squirting it under the rim, she took the toilet bowl cleaner and flounced it about the toilet. She spread cleaner like some people spread birdseed. None of it got under the rim; only about three-quarters of the bowl got covered. But the top part, where the toilet seat rests, did get doused. I actually asked her what the hell she was doing. No wonder she got toilet bowl cleaner on my floor not that long ago.
I had to wash my comforter. It's needed it for a while, but SOMEbody used it as, well, a major dumping ground yesterday. I was not happy. Nor was I happy after I washed it and pulled it out of the dryer to discover that not only was it still wet, which I expected, but it was still DIRTY. That meant I had to rewash it. This time, when I pulled it out of the washer, I checked...and it was STILL dirty. Screw washing it a third time. We are in a drought, after all, and I hated washing it the second time. Bring on the paper towels and Palmolive. That removed what was left, and after two more runs through the dryer, it seems okay.
Kirby, however, is going to be spending more time in the pokey. I even tried to give him a reprieve. I spent some time packing today--I leave for camp next Saturday--and I store all my other bags in my big suitcase. I had to clean out the suitcase to start packing, and naturally all that stuff went on my bed, creative a veritable Mt. Everest of Crap where I sleep. This was in addition to other stuff I worked on today, and a pair of khaki shorts. Usually when there's a crap pile on my bed, Kirby stays off. Today? He became a sherpa. And now those khaki shorts need a wash. Great.
Also speaking of camp, I got a letter in the mail today. The envelope was from the youth ministry of one of my former schools. What in the world...and then I remembered that Jerry, one of the camp directors, is the youth minister there. Aha! This must be the map of directions we'd talked about. Sure enough, it was, and it looks awesome. The front has the four different places we go to to pick up stuff; the back has the directions and map to camp. Sweet.
I went to send him an email to let him know I'd gotten it. Jerry has my AOL address, and I only check that account maybe once a week. Usually there's just something from my mom, if anything. Today?
--Three forwards from my mom
--Three messages regarding camp (and if the revised counselor list is right, there's just over two dozen counselors coming...there's usually about forty...damn, how many kids *are* we down?)
--One letter from Frank (fishman473), detailing his itinerary
--One email from WB
--And, lastly, one letter from my friend Christie. I hadn't realized she has her very own website which totally explains all the cool things she's done in life, but she and...her boyfriend? not sure...are on a cross-country road trip, detailed online at christie, nate, and mrs. hawsie sanchez. I just checked...they're in town currently. Sadly, I probably won't see her, but that's okay.
Hmm, what else...I practiced a bit today. It's amazing what my fingers and lips remember and what they don't. It's also rough to try to play a lot of stuff when you hardly play at all--the body resists. But I think I'll be fine. That is, if they still let me play this year. I always wonder if they'll ask me to do something else during rehearsals, but as of yet that's a no.
My grandfather called right when I started this. He finally got my voice mail. :) At least I know he's still alive.
Lastly, a story about my mother:
So I'm finally bringing my comforter back upstairs. I am holding other miscellaneous laundry that hadn't yet made it off the dryer as I pass her in the kitchen. She is not sure what I am holding. When she finds out, she starts complaining about my bedroom and how un-adult it is and how I need to "bring it into the 20th century." Right. This coming from the woman with dolls all over her bedroom, whose bedposts are makeshift closets, who has cardboard boxes of books under her highboy (and the boxes are overflowing), who stores old linens not in the linen closet but in her hamper, so that her dirty clothes have to go on top of the hamper, and whose closets are so overflowing with outdated clothes that will never fit her again that she has to use the closet in the middle bedroom to store the clothes she'll sometimes wear.
Yes. Mm-hm. If you are my "adult bedroom role model," then I'm fine keeping it the way it is. Besides, if I'm supposed to be moving out anyway, what's the point of redoing it?
I am SOOO tempted to make an LJ purely of her craziness, but I worry she would find out about it.
Another example, from when we were cleaning the house the other day: Instead of following the directions on the bottle and squirting it under the rim, she took the toilet bowl cleaner and flounced it about the toilet. She spread cleaner like some people spread birdseed. None of it got under the rim; only about three-quarters of the bowl got covered. But the top part, where the toilet seat rests, did get doused. I actually asked her what the hell she was doing. No wonder she got toilet bowl cleaner on my floor not that long ago.