The Stupid Hour

Now begins the stupid hour, when seemlingly mindless tasks become grueling and complicated task impossible (unless they are fun).

If I lived in a place that siestaed or that served that meal called tea, I'd be much better off.

It's a good thing the stupid hour only lasts about 75 minutes. It's usually followed by 2 hours of super concentrated energy.

Weekend Happiness

Yes. There was the laundry incident, and the strange moment when mom phoned me out of the blue to tell me that the Crocodile Hunter had been killed. Who knew that he had made such an impression on her? Still, many a good thing happened this weekend. I saw a Fringe fest dance show that was suprisingly cute and fun. I met a former co-worker at the green line for a little lunch. Later we went to the flea market where a current co-worker was selling off an amazing collection of crap, including an Earth Wind and Fire LP with fabulous fold out cover art including not one, but two different flying goats. I cranked out a couple of knit hats and to top it of, I watched Transamerica.

Dirty Laundry and the End of the Iceburg

I was so determined to dig out from under the mounds of laundry that have accumulated in my room over the past ___ weeks that I did the unthinkable. I went to the laundromat to use the big machines. And the price I paid could not be counted in quarters.

Even though I went out of my way to go to the nearest "nice" establishment, a certain amount of disturbing parent/child drama is to be expected at any laundromat. Where people from many backgrounds meet, it is possible to misread a situation. Some parents are loud, some are strict, some are indulgent, some spank, some curse. That's just a matter of style, so I have to keep my judgments at bay. But some parental behavior is just plan wrong, no matter where you are from or where you stand on corporal punishment for children. Sorry, all you parents out there, but sometimes we non-parents have to speak up.

I saw a mother grab her elementary school aged kid by the back of the neck and jerk the child with such force that had that child been a chicken, her neck would have been wrung. After that came the threat of the beating of a life time, since (of course) the child didn't know what a real beating was yet. All because the child had caused the mother to pour too much soap into the machine.

So when the kids had gone to the other side of the shop, I told the mother what I thought. And of course, she said it was none of my business. So I thought that was the end of it. But later, she comes back at me, ranting about all the stuff I didn't know, about when her kid ran into the street, and how I didn't know what it took to make her listen. Appearently, I just saw the "end of the iceburg." I said, fine, I didn't see everything that had happened to her before, but I know what I saw here.

She then tore into me because my short were short (hey, it was laundry day. I didn't have a lot of options) and exposing her children to my legs and perhaps bad wedgy. "Nasty!" she cried.

It was so tempting to respond with something about her gold and brown striped 77 SuperStar Christie wig/weave and her just above the butt crack tattoo, but I did not because they were as irrelevant as my nasty shorts. I know what I saw and I stood by that statement. I cooled off. She backed down and walked out of the store.

Then, this dude with a foreign accent came up to me and told me that the woman was crazy. He shared a few bits of gossip about her. Then said, since she was kind of skinny, "Spaghetti can't wear shorts." I laughed, even though I didn't find the comment very comforting.

I guess the big lesson here is just do the laundry once a week so I can avoid being confronted with the question of just what is my business when it comes to the violent actions of strangers.