alecto - your little bluejay (pollytrance) wrote,
alecto - your little bluejay

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Shut Up, Fucker

Something occurred between Missy and the washing machine.

I learned of this when he came knocking on my door. He doesn't usually knock on my door. Usually we're all furtive and either run into each other in the common areas or leave notes for each other around the house.

"Did you get the mail?"

"We're out of toilet paper!"

Things of that nature. So, I knew it had to be something serious when he came knocking.

I opened the door.


"Hey," he said. "You know the washer?"


"Well, you shouldn't use it. Something's wrong with it."

"What's wrong with it?"

"It won't drain."

Oh, good. Another thing that won't drain. The first appliance to pull this shit was the dishwasher, but that was probably because the pitbulls that used to live here used it as a dog romper room or something. The bastards.

"What did you do to it?" I asked. I knew he was the last to use the laundry room because the clothes I'd been fluffing the wrinkles out of in the dryer were crammed in a box, re-wrinkling into oblivion. See-- if his stuff is in the dryer and I need to use it, I fold the shit and put it outside of his door. When mine is in there? Oh, let's stuff it into the smallest box imaginable! Origami clothing cube! Whatever, that's not the point. Once I actually tried dosing him with his own medicine by taking his still-warm clothes out of the dryer and stuffing them in a tiny box. I didn't even have any laundry to do at the time, I was just pissed off about the origami cube from before.

Can you guess what happened? He didn't care. He THANKED ME for putting his clothes in a box. "It makes them easier to carry them up the stairs that way."

So now I understand-- him cramming my shit into origami laundry cube is his way of being nice and making my laundry convenient. That's really, actually, very nice of him. He could throw them all over the floor.

...On the floor they would be less wrinkled.

Anyway, yes, very nice. Also I am a major bitch from Hell, apparently, because his origami laundry "favours" infuriate me, rather than the intended making my life easier.

"I didn't do anything to it," he said. "It's probably just like that. You know... from before."

That's true. The machine was bought third or fourth hand (washer and dryer cost $75 for both, I was told) and has been used to take care of some really wretched laundry.

All that said, now that the machine is kaput, I find myself hauling clothes across town to the mom's house in order to do my laundry. It's a shame I can't also use her dishwasher.

I have enough clothing to keep a small village clothed and warm for at least a month before any of them ran out, so one can imagine that I am perpetually doing laundry. I am, and good thing I LOVE IT. Seriously-- one of my favourite things.

So I'm at my mom's house, doing my laundry, all is well. Except for the part where I'm at my mother's house with nothing to do while I am waiting for the laundry to be done except watch her watch cooking shows/old black and white movies with violin and horn scores that give you a headache for three whole days, with the volume loud enough to make the heads of small animals explode into a pulpy mist.

So I sit at her house looking like I am on massive amounts of opium or something waiting for the laundry to be done.

On one of these days, she noticed I was bored and growing irritated of the cooking shows so she proposed we watch Wall-E. I don't know what it is with me and Pixar, all of those movies make me want to kill myself. I blame Andrew Stanton, I think he does it on purpose. So she's going "OH WASN'T THAT MOVIE SO CUTE"

And I'm twitching and can barely breathe and muttering about codeine and bourbon.

It serves me right, I guess, I made her watch Silence Of The Lambs. Which she was really into until she saw Catherine in the hole (Catherine In The Hole? Best band name EVER!) at which point she started screaming about how she hated it and it made her stomach hurt and if I really loved her I would turn it off.

I told her not unless she could find the VCR cable so we could watch Journey To The Centre Of The Earth (the one with Pat Boone god damn you all!)

So then, for scaring her, she exposed me to the Wall-E thing. Seriously, never watch that movie, it will make you want to die. The only redeeming thing was that it had that guy from Cheers in it. The postman with the moustache who I was in love with.

After that was over, I was in an irritable mood and she started talking about things that were irritating. Then she turned on Anthony Bourdain's show and I had to check the impulse to slap her. Instead I just started screaming at her to turn it off, to which she responded: "But I can't! I love him!"

I told her she should turn it off because it made me uncomfortable, and she laughed at me and called me a lunatic. Why the hell would No Reservations make anyone uncomfortable?

BECAUSE! Anthony Bourdain is a pervert. After reading what he wrote about how he loves raw oysters because they remind him of mermaid vaginas and he felt all initiated after discovering them? I mean, can we get serious? So now whenever I see his face all I can imagine is him like, neck-deep in Ariel. Wouldn't YOU feel uncomfortable if you had to watch someone who gave you that mental image with your mother sitting right there?

Her response to this explanation was to laugh really hard, then pause, then say, "He is a pervert! By the way, Kate, you have to call it a 'va-jay-jay'."

Ok, mom, get right on that.

Since she wouldn't turn it off, I used my old stand-by, which is to call her senile and chant the word 'dementia' at her until I get my way.

She also gets really pissed off if I tell her that Rosie O'Donnell is her girlfriend.

"Why would you say that, Kate? I hate her. She's a pain in the ass. You know Jodie Foster is gay?"

My mother hates Rosie because of The View. I still don't entirely understand that whole thing.

I don't remember what I said, exactly, but it was probably along the lines of "You only like Anthony Bourdain because of your dementia, wouldn't Rosie get jealous?"

Whatever it was, it got me the best reaction from my mom, ever, bar none.

"Shut up, fucker."

I started laughing so hard that my dad came out of his room to see what was going on.

Aw, mawma. Never change.

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