Early morning laundry

Waiting for my laundry

Waiting for my laundry

Waiting for my laundry

Luck be a lady plays in the background

Behold, the fifty pound UniMat

Local laundry wellcomes you

Franklin reminds me to do laundry

My laundromat has it all

Jukebox, Galaga, Ms Pacman, Post Office, dead guy on corner...

Absurdistan

So I was casually glancing about Wikipedia (procrastinating on the headache that is laundry) when I read that, as of December 21, 2006, Saparmurat Niyazov* has died. Reportedly of a cardiac arrest, though some theorists believe he was poisoned.

What is that going to mean for Turkmenistan? Apparently, they amended the constitution so that those of mixed ethnic backgrounds could be president (read: Saparmurat's son, Murat).

Also according to the constitution, next in line to the presidency was Öwezgeldi Ataýew, but he was coincidentally thrown in jail on the exact same day that Saparmurat died, on charges that he was harrassing and humiliating his daughter-in-law, driving her to attempt suicide.

Presidential elections are this Sunday. I can't WAIT to see what happens. But it gets better.

Acting president is Gurbanguly Mälikgulyýewiç Berdimuhammedow, who was a dentist, before he entered Turkmenistan politics. He is said to be responsible for the mandate that closed ALL of the hospitals outside of the capital city (based on flawed logic that if you are sick, you want to be near the best resources). Uncoincidentally, Turkmenistan is reported to have the worst healthcare among the former Soviet nations.

According to rumors, the acting president is also the former president's illegitimate son (not to be confused with his legitimate son, also a presidential contender, Murat).

*You may recall Saparmurat Niyazov from his greatest hits like: "President For Life;" "Ban Ballet and Opera in the Name of Useless;" "Close All Rural Libraries and Hospitals Since the Common Man Knows Neither Books Nor Medicine;" "Dogs and Video Games Are Forbidden Because They Stink/Stink of Violence."

And for you, Saparmurat, The Man Who Would Be King.mp3.

observed v. actual (1-0)

today i do not work for it is veteran's day. not technically. but practically enough to close all the public schools.*

the holiday is actually november 11, unless the 11th is a weekend, in which case we "celebrate" on the nearest workday. great lesson for the kids: take your free days whenever possible.

now it is three o'clock, which is the time i would be done working had there been school today. i have done nothing in place of work. unless watching kindergarten cop counts, which i feel like it does. and reading up on election stuff. which is so exciting, i can hardly stand it! i still dream of moving to the south of france, but it no longer seems so urgent.

what is urgent is that i go do laundry. first i must find a laundromat. blah.**

*unless you got a fall break, in which case, you do not get to celebrate today.

**usual laundromat 1/2 block away is out of business.

waiting for laundry to finish. watching Reality Bites.

1) Story behind your blogs's name:

When I lived in Brentwood and my roommates and I used to fight over the phone bills, Ben discovered we could itemize our bills by assigning calling codes. I came home and he and Greg had already picked out a code for me.

I envisioned something even and palindromey--484 or 2112. Something big. They told me the code they picked reminded them of me.

What number? What number? I asked.

They answered: Seven.

Seven? That's an odd number, I said.

We know, they answered. But it's Lucky. Lucky Seven. Good things always happen to you. You're really lucky. So your number is seven.

Lucky seven. I liked that.

2) Favorite place to be:

On a sailboat, in the sun.

3) Least favorite place to be:

In an aviary.

4) Type a line you remember from any book:

he used the word gamut.

5) A random lyric:

though in reality you were hardly there, in my heart you were everything.

Now you answer some questions and post them as comments. Idle distractions, ahh, how long you make the day...

snow day today! no work, no school. i want to go sledding. sometime between writing a paper and laundry obligations...

All I have to do is drive a quarter of a mile to the laundromat to drop off my clothes and damn it. Air Bud is on television and I can't break away from it. What's wrong with me? It must be the medication. It has to be.

I went to the orthopedic doctor yesterday. He told me that I had a broken shoulder and fractured ribs and would feel better in a month. I'll write you a prescription for a different painkiller, Ultracet, he said. This one won't make you loopy... and it doesn't, although it's not nearly as effective as Vicodin. My entire body itches like crazy. Rumor has it that it's The Opiates. Ugh.

In a related need for painkillers, Erin got hit by a car last week. She was walking through the parking lot at her work when an illegally-parking car backed over her, knocking her to the ground and slapping her face with its bumper. The car finally stopped, although she is not sure if it's because she was screaming "stop your car! stop your car!" or if it's just because the car finished parking. When the couple got out of the car, imagine their disbelief. They offered to buy her a sandwich, as they were on their way into Subway. Erin, dazed and disoriented, said no thank you and walked to the bus stop. The couple let her walk away. Luckily Erin had enough sense to copy down their license plate. It's been a week and she's in a lot of pain. Which bring my story full circle to the Vicodin... she slept over last night so I could bring her to work in the morning. I gave her a pill to help her sleep. It is probably illegal but she was under my supervision. At the mall last night, she also bought one of those foam pillows developed for NASA. She probably would have had a much better night's sleep had we not stayed up giggling until 2:45am.

Now it's mid-Saturday morning. I've already brought Erin to work, drove Mu Son to the bus station (where he caught a bus to the mountains to snowboard alone today), and I am currently fighting every urge to go back to sleep. The good news is that with a broken shoulder, I now have an excuse to drop off my laundry and not feel guilty. I will be sure to wear my sling so that they know that I'm not just dropping off my laundry because I am lazy. Okay, okay. Two parts injury, one part lethargy. I love having my laundry done.

Oh: This morning Mu Son told me a girl at my school died of meningitis last week. That's terrifying. School officials are trying to ease public concern by promising that she had limited exposure to others. How awful.

I found a catchy song to memorize!

I am somebody!

---

Who is this on the radio... I must know. I can't wait until the end of the song. I am going to call the radio station... I know the voice. It sounds like someone I know well... Oh! It's Galaxie 500. Same voice as Luna. That's why I know the voice and not the song. Note: Buy more Galaxie 500 CDs. "This is our music" is the name of the CD, according to Milkman Dan.

There was little to no traffic this morning. I am surprised by how many people have President's Day off. I sure don't. I worked less than 40 hours last week. I asked my boss if she was going to fire me. She said yes, pack my bags. I said "good, I'm going snowboarding then." She said she wasn't serious. Dammit.

This weekend, I did my own laundry. Eh. It's so much easier dropping it off. They fold it for you and it always smells so nice. Average weight of one month of laundry: 22 pounds. For 75cents a pound, it's worth it. Except that by the time I finished cleaning on Saturday, it was too late to drop off my month's laundry for same day service and I needed it for the next morning. So I did it myself. It wasn't as bad as I remember. It's still nicer having it done for you.

Yesterday I went snowboarding. I finally understand what it means to be rhythmic. I remain sans rhythm and continue to cruise down the mountain pretty darn erratically, but I Understand what rhythm can do for me.
This week: Memorize tune to catchy song.


Saturday: Keep song in head as beat promotes rhythm while riding down mountain.

I know that I am foreign to the world of the Wild West, but why does everyone at the company insist on calling me ma'am? Thank you, ma'am; Yes, ma'am; Excuse me, ma'am. It makes me feel so old. Sigh. Is it a cowboy thing? Or am I just old?