I don't miss scrounging for quarters. I don't miss having to lug my laundry out of my house. I don't miss having to wait for the dryer. There is not one thing I miss about not having my own washer and dryer. Not one. A fact of which I was reminded this past Saturday when I lugged my bedspread to the laundromat to wash it.
I had to wash it because it was getting dirty, and I'm a little bit, um.... particular...about my bed. As in, it always has to be made, the sheets have to be just so, no one can make it but me, and I don't do dirty bedclothes.
Which is sort of a problem because, my dogs? They are so very warm in the winter. And also? So much cheaper than natural gas. So they snuggle with me and make an "Emily sandwich" and despite regular baths and generally keeping the dogs as clean as dogs can be, I am forced to regularly wash my bedspread (that does not fit into my washer.)
The boy pointed out the obvious dilemma here. Hate going to the laundromat, but keep allowing the dogs in the bed? To me, the solution seems obvious. When I find my permanent residence (and apparently this will be when I'm 50), I have to purchase a washing machine in which anything in my house, regardless of size, can be washed.
Apparently there is no end to the number of accomodations I will make to live with my dogs. I can't figure out how to get the boy and I to live together in harmony, but I'll bend over backwards to make my dogs comfortable. I think that says something bad about me. Meh. I'll think about it later.
Speaking of the boy, after having lived together and now living apart, I will say that though I complained (and complained) of his non-willingness to help me out around the house, now that he's not around I definitely notice the things that he DID used to do which I apparently never noticed nor gave him credit for. (This is for J and her relentless pursuit of making me see things in a fair and balanced manner.)
One of those things was replacing the toilet paper in the bathroom.
I never really appreciated the importance of this task, having never been stuck in my own bathroom with no toilet paper. Since it's now happened dozens of times in the six short months I've lived on my own, I can say that this is one thing I wish I could train myself to do. Either CHECK to see if I have any before sitting on the toilet, (how hard is that? WHY can't I get that through my thick head?!) or getting a new roll from the hall closet immediately after tossing the last used roll. Sigh.
Another one of those things the boy used to take care of was eating all the ice cream before I had a chance to do more than taste it.
Needless to say, the absence of that is severely affecting my chances of winning familial respect since I seem to be unable to resist the pull of my friends Ben & Jerry when I'm at the grocery store.
I have been seeing Jillian regularly, though. And I'm just going to say that her workout doesn't get any easier. At least the soreness has subsided. The first two days were the worst. Since then I've been feeling that tired-but-satisfied, sort of "watery" feeling in my muscles. You know, when they've been worked, but they're too tired to complain any longer. And even though I routinely refer to her as a bitch, I would recommend her workout to anyone. This week will be my first attempt to see her every day. (Last week was roughly every other day with the weekend taken off for good behavior. Obviously, Emily is lazy and this competition is not the motivator she was hoping it would be.)
I think that my weight complaints are beginning to fall on deaf ears, though. This means that I either need to do something about it, or stop expecting sympathy and "you're fine just the way you are" comments. Exhibit A used for drawing that conclusion is a text message exchange with the boy this morning.
Boy: "Good Morning"
Boy: "How's your day going?"
Me: "Slowly. Oh yes, and I'm a cow."
Tomorrow I'll post about my baking adventures over the weekend. I had mixed results. I can't post yet because Chris is a direct beneficiary of these adventures, and I know she reads this blog. Can't have her seeing her (husband's) baked goods before they're delivered...