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2001-08-11 - 8:02 p.m.
This entry dedicated to Katima. Hi Diaryland! Well, I received my first glowing, rave review from an "anonymous" stranger ("they know who you are") today concerning my e-diary. All I have to say is: You Rock Katima!!! Check her out at: Out of My Head!!! She makes laundry tantalizing and erotic. And if ANYONE can do that, they're on my team. (Katima: Hope ya don't mind I'm posting your site. *wink*wink*) Speaking of laundry, Katima's journal entry motivated me to actually do mine. I know, everyone who knows me is like, gay men ALWAYS do their laundry, faithfully every week, on a schedule, they even separate the whites from the light colors from the dark, from the permanent press from the cheap trailer trash rayon/polyester blends. blah, blah, blah. Get real. I'm lucky I get my act together to do my laundry let alone separate it. I'm either too trashed to notice it needs to be done or too trashed to care. Besides, It's just clothes. Not like we're doing neurosurgery here. Just so long as it gets clean I'm sure no one is going to care if I used lemon fresh bleach or fabric softener (which I'm convinced does nothing but impregnate your clothes with hallucinogenic spy nanoprobes -- conspiracy theory to the Nth degree.) And since I'm talking about conspiracy theories and laundry, it takes me back to college, which was near the Canadian border -- about 20 miles (I hope you can follow my train of thought Katima, this story may end up in Montreal...) I remember being in the dorm laundry room one morning at about 2am and having this deranged soul enter and start to do his laundry... this soul was so WAAAYYY drunk he could barely stand, let alone sort his clothes. He proceded to cram all his laundry into one machine, add half a bottle of detergent then start it up. I sat there reading R. Tannahil's book "Sex in History" as this guy let the machine rev up, frothing suds spewing from the top of the machine, and it rocking back and forth like Tammy Faye Baker at a Mary Kay Tent Revival. The guy then passes out on the floor NEXT to the demonic washing machine. Hello! Drunk Guy! You're drowning in Powdered Era Suds!! Wake Up!! Anyhow, I continued to read and considered calling all my friends with cameras down to see the sight. He finally woke up during the rinse cycle, turns to me and asks if I had fabric softener. "Drunk Guy... you're WAAYY to Victorian for me." He stares at me and says: "What man?" Mind you, I'm reading "Sex in History" and this guy is too ignorant to get it. This was like basic reading for English 101 at the school... anyway, I say "No. I have no fabric softener. It causes cancer anyway. Don't use it." He goes: "No way!!" I go... oh I can't go on anymore.... this story is too banal and stupid even for me to retell. Sorry... I was trying to tie all this laundry, Canada, life stuff together and it's just not working. I'm admitting defeat before it gets too gruesome. I'll leave you with how I put myself through college: I was a go-go dancer at a gay club in Montreal. Katima, this is the closure to this horrendous story you -- and everyone else -- is looking for. I know, but I made loads of money, learned a great deal about (hu)man kind and survived to tell all the sordid tales years later to other drunk trailer trash (I'm their buddha... i've been to other places. And how sad is that?!) Big Buddha Hugs to Ya, ~zen daddy P.S. -- This is for katima: I'm a Davey. ;-) <<< Past Lives | Future Kharmas >>> Where to find me now! - August 06, 2004 the-Insight.com - spirituality/dreams
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