05.21.01 - 10:55 p.m.

Paradoxes of doing laundry:

#1: I hate doing laundry. HATE it, hate it, with exclamation points and all manner of punctuation. Yet I am way too anal-retentive about my laundry methods to let anyone else do it for me.

#2: I like my towels nice and fluffy. So I invariably pick the dryer that doesn�t fucking dry. And I�ll be damned if I�m putting another buck in that thing to let them roll around in cold fucking air for another hour. But I have no place to dry them up here � I live in one room, that�s room singular, people. All I�m asking for is fluffy yellow towels, here.

#3: Every time, every single time, I leave one sock on the floor of the laundry room. So every time I get up to my room to sort the half-soggy clothes, I find the lone sad sock and I have to go 10 floors back down to retrieve its mate. Because I am not the sort of girl who loses socks in the laundry.

Yes. Now. On with the teenager-like ramblings of my day.

I worked at school for twelve hours. Yes, twelve hours of fixing Quark pages, and when I came home to do aforementioned laundry, there was not one message on my machine. You�d think maybe a parent would call or something. Or not. And, to compound my misery, I found a hole in the seam of my "I Dig Scrawny Pale Guys" t-shirt. NOOOOOOOOO! (said in Space Ghost-like cry of anguish) This is unforgiveable. This is my favorite shirt. I have no black thread for mending! How will I ever attract the pale and scrawny guys without it??

But it wasn�t all bad. I just can�t remember what the good parts are at the moment.

Now I�m cutting out pictures of *NSync with which to sabotage people�s workspaces tomorrow morning. Imagine walking into the room and seeing a big old Joey Fatone stuck to your screen. Mwah ha ha.

I really have nothing else to say.