Ode to a Washing Machine

Well, it finally happened.  My washing machine has moved on to greener pastures.  Bought the farm.  Gone to Davy Jones' locker.  After a healthy 17 years of service, she's finally being retired.  We had a good run together.  Three states, six moves, five roommates.

If you figure that I washed an average of four loads of laundry per week, my cost per wash was $0.08 per load for a washer that I paid only $100 for used.  Not too shabby.

Towards the end she really began to decline pretty quickly.  There was a problem with the sensor and in order to make it run properly without shutting off mid-cycle I had to weight down the lid with various objects.  First, it was one 10 pound weight (its not like I ever used it anyway).  Then, I had to use TWO ten pound weights (again, they were getting rusty from not being used by me).  Eventually, twenty pounds didn't cut the mustard and I started to create precarious pyramids on the washer lid with weights on the bottom and various detergent buckets, apple juice bottles and half-empty paint cans on the top.  Soon, this was not enough either.  We then tried to make Laurie do something useful when she is in the house in the afternoons lounging. 

 She didn't care for her new assignment.  It was a successful, yet short-lived, venture. 

After much contemplation and research on consumerreports.org (one of my favorite websites of all time), I finally found "the one".  What, might you ask, did I choose?  I don't really like to venture out of my comfort zone very much, so I got a nearly identical model to my former workhorse, only 17 years younger.  AND, the part I'm most excited about is the fact that there was a little, teeny-tiny, microscopic, insignificant scratch on the lid and therefore I paid $150 less than it was originally listed at.  Seriously, folks, who cares if your washer looks great on the outside.  Within twelve hours of purchasing this washer there were clothes with cattle poop on the inside of it.  Lets keep things in perspective here. 

So now my dearly beloved retired washer is setting on our front porch.  Classy, right?  Wesley and I have just not been at our home at the same time long enough to get it moved.  I think that Grandma Curry is getting a little anxious, though, wondering if it will become a permanent fixture in my decorating scheme.  I'm thinking of setting a pot of flowers on top of the agitator inside the tub and seeing if she flips out.  Not terribly nice of me, I know, but I think its a safe venture.  She went to the doctor a few weeks ago and they said that her pacemaker was in tip-top shape!

Descriptive features

Sometimes it is necessary to take a step back from the situation that you are a part of in order to realize just how ridiculous it sounds.  Sometimes I don't realize how dorky I sound until I re-process a conversation in my head after a period of time has passed.  Need examples?  How about every time my mother and I try to describe people to one another. 

My mother is a hospice nurse, so she primarily deals with an older generation.  In high school I worked at a drug store, so I primarily dealt with an older generation.  We went to a Lutheran women's convention this weekend, so we primarily dealt with.... you get the picture. 

Dealing with an older generation so often has not deterred my mother's ability or methods (or mine) to describe people. 

Mom:  "You know, that woman we met this weekend - tiny, gray hair, sweet as can be..."

Me: "Glasses?"

Mom: "Well, yes."

Me (in my head):  "Well, that takes out everyone but the 92 year old that we ate breakfast with, only because she dyed her hair..." 

Mom: "She is a retired farmer's wife..."

Check two more off the list, only because they were pastors' wives.

I wanted to ask if she walked with a slight stoop and wore hearing aids, but of course that wouldn't really get me anywhere.  By the end of the conversation I still had no idea who my mother was referring to, but I'm pretty sure we've gotten it narrowed down to 97% of the women at the Holiday Inn convention center in Lawrence this past weekend. 

On anther note, I have decided who I would like to emulate when I reach the ripe old age of 92.  I don't even remember her name (tiny, glasses, hearing aids, slight stoop, but dyed her hair, which makes her totally stand out) but that woman was AWESOME.  As we were eating breakfast Sunday morning, a waiter walked by our table several times with various water and juice pitchers.  Once, when he walked by, the little old lady blurted out, "I'm sorry to keep staring, but you're just so HANDSOME!" 

My new goal in life is to reach the ripe old age where it is completely acceptable to have no filter.  26 years down, 66 years to go. 

Fun Facts

Let's be honest.  Its Friday and I can't really make out a train of complete thoughts at this point.  Its been one of those weeks/months/years.  I'll tell you a little bit about my area. 

*I traveled to Manhattan for a few days for training-type stuff.  My cohort, Amanda, and I were commenting on how terrible the traffic was and that this was the biggest apple that we ever wanted to visit in our lives.  (For those uninformed masses, Manhattan, Kansas, is known as the "little apple" as opposed to that other place back east.)  We later met with the director of the state 4-H program who went on and on endlessly about the benefits of living in a small town such as Manhattan.  Turns out, she lived in Washington, D.C. for a number of years.  I guess it all depends on perspective.  I prefer mine. 

*We had quite a downpour earlier this week and as I was driving home I noticed a van parked ON the sidewalk, under an awning.  When I say on the sidewalk I don't mean that they simply jumped the curb.  They drove up the handicap ramp, proceeded forward for 10 yards and parked immediately in front of the store that they needed to enter.  No one really batted an eye at this.  I'm sure they had good reason not to want to get wet.  Surely..... right?

*I was on our little hometown radio station yesterday morning to promote our county fair.  I had to travel a few miles out into the country to get to the trailer house where they broadcast from.  I'll give you directions so you can go visit too.  Its about three miles south of town, west side of the road, top of the hill.  You'll see the first trailer house with the antennas sticking out of it, but that's not the correct one.  If you drive to the backside of this house you'll see that there's another, newer trailer and that's the "new" station.  Tricky, I know.  Try to keep up. 

*We're having Crap Night at our house tomorrow night for Wesley's belated birthday party and you're all invited.  What, you ask yourselves, is Crap Night?  Crap Night is a tradition that I grew up with in my family and am introducing in GW Co.  Families come together and eat snacks and finger food, kids play in one area and leave the adults relatively alone, and kids can say the word crap all they want to and not get in trouble because it's Crap Night.  Everybody wins. 

*Since this entire post is just a bunch of random thoughts I'm throwing this fun fact in as well.  We have one stoplight in our entire county, and between the hours of 10pm and 6am it only serves as a red blinky light.  I love our little rural life. 


Post Script:  Just because we call it Crap Night, this does not mean we eat crappy food.  The food is quite delicious, it just isn't necessarily the most healthy.  Dieters beware.

Dear Verizon

Dear Verizon,

I have mixed feelings about my new phone and its capabilities.  I do not remember filling out any sort of questionnaire indicating my preferences towards a phone with rather crude vocabulary.  Please don't get me wrong I enjoy utilizing the "Task Manager" application.  However, when I speak into my phone "write email about mileage" and it pops up on the screen "write email about my b!tch" I get a bit concerned that perhaps this phone knows me and my often tourette-filled vocabulary a little too well. 

Please turn off any sort of recording or data collecting programs on my phone immediately.  Thank you in advance for your cooperation. 

Sincerely,

Well, you already know who since you are stalking me. 

I'm a P-I-M-P

Normally I try not to post reallllly dirty or vulgar things on here because I know that some of my audience might not approve (hi Grandma!) but I just couldn't resist today. 

I got a new "smart phone" cellular phone a few weeks ago, and let me tell you, this thing is light years ahead of me.  I'm guessing that I utilize about 2% of its actual capabilities.  One of the fun things that I have found on it is a feature called "Task Manager".  I often have strokes of genius while driving which makes for very precarious conditions while I try to dig out of my purse a pen and paper and then write across my dashboard while keeping between the lines.  No more, my friends.  No more. 

Task Manager lets me press a little button, talk into the speaker and watch my little words flash across the screen in tidy little bullets for my To-Do lists.  Yes, I am easily entertained.  Another bonus - when I hold the phone up to my mouth it makes me feel like when I was six and my sister and I played with walkie-talkies all the time.  Don't worry, I don't do the "ktchsss" static noise at the end though. 

But I digress.  I was trying to make out a list of outdoor chores to accomplish when I got home that afternoon.  I pushed the microphone button. 

"Hook up hose." 

My little phone typed away.  It is now that I should mention there is no spell check feature and apparently does not make inferences on which homophone to use.  The phone typed out...

"Hook up hoes." 

I shall now start going by the name "Madame Curry".