20 September 2010

Socks And Dish Gnomes

So I came to the conclusion long ago, and reaffirmed last night, that missing socks and the likes = laundry Gnomes, right?

Well, dishes have Gnomes too, dammit!
let's get some story action going --

I was all set to go to bed last night at an extremely awesome and human time. 10 p.m. Right?


Husband informed me that I had to wash socks. Just socks. Nothing else... socks.


socks... well, ABU socks, but still socks.

He couldn't just look through the laundry baskets and find another pair that were already clean - they HAD to be the ones that he wears every Monday that have the crusted and rotted elastic and that huge toe hole.

I assume the hole is important for proper toe-breathing. What else could it POSSIBLY be?

So I run all around the house, upstairs and down, looking for all of his work crap so I can actually do a full load -- meaning I'm digging in toy boxes, under couches, inside random cabinets and drawers; with the main goal of finding socks. Please remember to note that this is a toddlers home.

yes, this is mine... I know. Don't say anything...

Flash to like 20 + minutes later...

I finally have everything wrangled together in one general pile, right? I start the laundry and settle in to surfing YouTube and playing my Facebook app obsession.

Flash to 10 or so minutes later... Yes, I "flash". I'm a Super Hero with awesome-super hero-Jedi-Ninja powers. Be warned.

I decide that I'm bored, and I want to do something productive with the hour and six minutes it takes to wash the clothes - the dishes.

YAY! I'm not procrastinating! (see previous blog about procrastination here)

Well I figure out there are several ways that I can use my time wisely. I can make the tea which I almost forgot was steeping in the kettle on the stove. I usually forget up to three times before there's finally a gallon of sweet tea in the fridge for Husband and Munchface -- an oversight that I blame on the knowledge that I'm allergic and making it breaks me out. Hives = un-cool un-fun-ness. The end.

I can pick up toys, fix up my coffee so all I have to do is press a button and I get caffeinated amazing-ness in the morning, and yes, the dishes.

the cleaning process - you shoulda seen it before o_o;

I also did something nice and set up a "thank you" picture for the person who gave the board to Munchface...


I do all of the above, and re-settle onto my little spot on the couch to continue my internet debauchery - my little way of doing the whole "relax" and "piddle around" thing...

Ninja-Jedi-super hero-awesome -flash to the highly annoying "beep" sequence of the wash cycle ending...

I'm extremely excited -- it's time for bed and the dishes are done, the toys are put away, the coffee is ready to brew, the tea is made, the internet is surfed, and now the laundry is done - go me.

I even made up a list for Husband ^_^

I get up to meander in to the laundry room, dreading the weight of three sets of ABUs, 7 shirts, and numerous pairs of sock, and what do I see?


This is after I picked them up, but you get the idea (yes, that's my heat that I pack - are you scared?)


DUDE! Did I not JUST do a LOAD of DISHES?!

Dish Gnome, you sneaky, sneaky little rat bastard!

And it's not like it's a load of dishes, either.

It's a fucking cup; It's a fucking salad fork; It's two fucking dishes.

fuck you, dishes.

Do not fail to note that it's Husband's TEA glass -- complete with sticky tea goop in the bottom that I can't scrub out by hand because my hand doesn't fit into teeny tiny crevices, and neither does my sponge.

And they're sitting there all defiantly in the window sill where he put them...

Now, everyone is always complaining about their Laundry Gnomes. Not this guy; This guy is complaining about Dish Gnomes.

Dish Gnomes are not responsible for missing silverware - no, not that. They're responsible for fucking up your clean kitchen and your life with randomly-placed dirty dishes that escaped the last load of the day.

I was so proud of myself and all that I had accomplished... Braving the case lot sale crowd at the Commissary for groceries; Cleaning my house; Cleaning my bird's cage like I was preparing it for his transformation into the first Zombie cockatiel; Cooking a dinner that pleased everyone, including small person a.k.a Munchface; drawing awesome chalk art at 9:30 p.m to amuse Munchface while she trampled invisible bugs and alerted the neighborhood of their impending doom of the presence of the moon at the top of her lungs and honestly didn't really pay all that much attention to my chalk art so I really didn't have to do it but I did at the same time because that's just what the fuck I HAD TO DO...

when he goes Zombie, he's going in style, son...

the rabbit is NOT mine; it's Husband's...

that weird duck thing isn't mine, either.

.. and these two tiny dishes are just fucking raining despair and defeat on my sunshine-and-fucking-rainbow-cereal-shitting-unicorns day.

I felt like the biggest domestic failure ever.

Jedi-Ninja-super hero FLASHHHHHHHhhhh!!! ...

So now I'm sitting outside chain-smoking and sipping the first soda I've had in months; debating on whether or not this is an epic enough emergency to call my Mom's work and have them page her so I can wait ten minutes just to be able to cry about my meaningless woes to someone who gives a shit about me..

Because if Husband loved me, even a smidge, he would've put the dishes in the fucking kitchen where the Dish Gnomes couldn't ruin my night.

Touché, Dish Gnome. You're the clear victor in this battle.

You've won my sanity and an all-expense paid cruise vacation to suck my hypothetical balls.

Douche-y as you are, I applaud thee.

random picture of something I made for work, because I feel like putting it here. fucking deal, son.

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