Monday, January 08, 2007

Man suffocates under pile of clothes

My life is a mobius strip of laundry soap, fabric softener, plastic hangers, (remember boys and girls, no wire hangers!) and dirty clothes hampers. Sometimes I get so confused I end up taking clothes straight out of the dryer and put them back in washing machine. Actually though, that’s pretty damn efficient. I mean, they’re going to go in the washing machine anyway, so why not cut out the middle man?

When I first realized this, I was so excited that I immediately decided to apply this technique to other aspects of my life. I rushed out to the grocery store, bought two weeks worth of food and sped back to my house to throw half of it in a nearby dumpster. The rest I shoved into the toilet. I felt so free!

I followed this up by going to my friendly neighborhood liquor store (motto: You know you’re going to get sloppy drunk anyway, so why not throw that money our way?) and gave them the money I cleared out from my savings account. They were going to get it anyway, and this way I don’t have to worry about hangovers!

Anyway, back to clothes. I have more clothes than any other straight guy I’ve ever met. Which is actually something I probably shouldn’t be bragging about. See, my problem (in this certain situation) is that I hate throwing things away. It’s how I’ve always been. I still have receipts from when I went to Chuck E Cheese on a date seven years ago, (yes a date, and no I’m not Michael Jackson or Woody Allen, I wasn’t there to pick up a new girlfriend).

Being an ex military guy, I’m used to moving around a lot. I’m never in the same place for more than a year, ‘cause I’m like the wind, blowing away and tantalizingly just out of reach. Yet I have to lug around so much stuff with me every time I move that I’ve considered having a fork-lift surgically attached to me, (or me surgically attached to the forklift, whichever is easier) but considering how big I am already I don’t know if I’d ever get to sit in a movie theater seat again. Soon I may have to pull a Tyler Durden and blow my apartment up to divest myself of my worldly goods, but I’m not at that stage quite yet.

But again, back to my clothes. Every time I buy a new shirt or pair of pants, (or plaid shorts. Plaid forever!) I bond with that item of clothing. And I know I’m not the only one. Who out there doesn’t have a favorite shirt? Or lucky underwear? Perhaps a sock that brings feelings of contentment and spiritual oneness with the universe? We all do it. With me all my clothes have names, personal histories and birthdays, (today is the birthday of four pairs of socks, a pair of jeans and an ancient t-shirt. As well as a day of remembrance for a pair of sneakers and a set of shoelaces) and though it’s not always easy to keep track of it all, I do my best.

So, being the loser that I am, I don’t want to lose any of my friendships with my clothes. In the spirit of loyalty I abstain from throwing clothing items away. To this end I own approximately 2 tons of clothes. All very near and dear to me. You can imagine how much money I spend a month on detergent. My days are spent in toil and laundry.

What’s even worse is that the washing machine in my apartment is of the dimensions suitable only to washing loads no greater than a single sock. My friends call me up, they say “hey Josh, I just won the lottery and I want to take you on a free trip to Tahiti where we will drink naught but fruity island drinks with great amounts of alcohol, eat naught but the most delectable of island foods and enjoy naught but the company of nubile, supple island girls with probably no more than two STDs!” And in response all I can say is “Sorry Kevin Federline, I’m doing my laundry right now. I can’t go with you. But have a good time and Po-Po Zow a chick or two for me.”

On the bright side, my hours spent imprisoned in my Dojo of Love have given me the opportunity to write to my heart’s content and make friends with the degenerates of the internet. So I got that going for me.

Listen to me and follow my advice kids. Limit yourself to no more than three full outfits, (hot women should limit themselves to one and a half). One to wear, one to wash and one to change into in case somebody spills a pitcher of Milwaukee Beast beer on your shirt. And for every new item of clothing you purchase, throw one away, (or donate it to the Salvation Army so that they can hold onto it in some warehouse for fifteen years before exporting it to Iraq for some underprivileged street urchin to wear. Because seriously, those kids over there are wearing the most out-of-date clothes I’ve ever seen. Can we get Joan and Melissa Rivers over there to help those poor kids stat!)

And most importantly, always remember to clean the lint trap.


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(Here is a photo of a pile of clothes on my bed. It's not all my clothes just the ones I've washed over the past week. In front you can see me represented by an Alfred E. Newman bobblehead. Notice the scale difference between me and my clothes. There's too many of 'em!)

1 comment:

Connie said...

glad to see that you've written an ode to your never ending supply of washing. its maddness, really it is.