They Couldn't Have Found a Cuter Shirt?

When we were in college, Becky saw an ad for Clorox that had some mom trying to wash her son's shirts (because he, of course, was WAY into sports), claiming, boys will be boys.  She was deeply offended.  Becky believed that the Clorox company was being sexist and claiming that only boys participated in sports, while the girls stayed indoors and helped Mom with the laundry.  She wrote letters to the Clorox company, and boycotted Clorox forever.  She still gets pretty riled up if you bring up that commercial.  At first, I thought she was being silly, but the more Clorox commercials I saw, the more I started to side with Becky.  Like this one. 


"Oh, would you look at those wild and crazy boys just being boys, while the little women get to stay inside and clean up after them."  (Though, I suppose that if they'd had little girls in a similar mud bath, there would have been outrage for different, more lewd reasons.)

Anyway, the only reason that I was thinking about Becky's hatred of Clorox is there's a laundry commercial on right now that I absolutely loathe.  It's this one for Tide.  You've probably seen it.



I get it.  I mean, there are only so many ways that you can market laundry detergent, and it seems like everything's been done already.  Surely there's a dearth of ideas.  I guess this commercial's got one thing going for it, and that's that it's memorable.  Memorable for being stupid, sure, but memorable nonetheless. 

But I hate it.  And I don't hate it because I think it's sending out some kind of awful message to society, like this girl does, but I hate it because, well. . .

THAT SHIRT IS SO UGLY!

The color!  The length!  The side ruffles!  I'm surprised that the stain didn't come from someone puking all over the shirt after catching a glimpse of those side ruffles in that hideous shade of green.

 I don't find it hard to believe that Tide is powerful enough to remove stains, but I do have trouble believing that both a mother and daughter would want to wear something so heinous.

This and That

1. Per the recommendation of our friend Ann, Matt and I will be staying in an apartment on the Upper East Side of Manhattan for two nights next week.  Oh, and did I mention that it'll be cheaper than if we stayed in a hotel in Jersey?  Vacation Rentals By Owner, http://www.vrbo.com/.  Why am I just now hearing about this?

2.  Mitch is still the cutest dog on the planet.

3.  All clearance items at The Gap are currently 40% off the clearance price.  I have a purple heathered shirt with a boxer (human, not dog) on it that says CONTENDER now.  It was $3, what can I say?  I can say, "I coulda been a contender!" in a Marlon Brando voice.  I think I might have to go back and get the one with the football player on it that says "LOCAL HERO," except that I don't know any movie quotes that go with that.  Guess I could always just tell people that it's Tim Riggins on the shirt, huh?

4.  Finally bought and and put together a TV stand that is an appropriate size for our TV.  While I was on the phone tonight, Matt yelled to me, "Um, Mandy, were you supposed to have two screws left over?"  I told him that, yes, I was supposed to have those left over and that they were extra.  He seemed to think that was okay.  Truth?  There's only supposed to be one extra screw, but I don't think it'll be an issue.  If Matt and I ever divorce, I feel like tonight's events might have something to do with it (like if our TV fell to its death, which won't happen).

5.  Still obsessed with The Lagoon.  Also happy that I've managed to get Matt to refer to that room as The Lagoon.  I used this same strategy fifteen years ago when my mom was pregnant with Chloe.  It's all about persistence and confidence, people.  I'm happy to have a Lagoon and a Chloe instead of a sunroom and a sister named Emily.

6.  I'm paranoid that the oil from the BP disaster is going to reach Tybee Island.  Slate has a neat interactive map that animates possible scenarios for the spread of the oil.  It's both interesting and terrifying.  Also, fuck you, BP.

7. There is a pile of laundry in my bedroom that is as tall as I am.  It's all clean, but I need to fold it and put it away.  Ugh.

8.  Sometimes I wonder if politicians and other people in power understand the concept of video.

9.  I hate Angelo on Top Chef.  Also, True Blood seems to be hitting its stride this season.  The latest episode was quite good.

10.  I think that tomorrow, while I'm not doing laundry and while I'm not washing the car or cleaning all of the fans in the house (as my to-do list begs), I'm going to watch 500 Days of Summer.  And maybe eat a grilled cheese.  Yeah, that sounds good.

Handy Mandy

I'm cheap.  Really cheap.

And I'm resourceful.  Really resourceful. 

So when shit breaks (or when I break shit), I am loathe to call a repairman.  Instead, I insist that I can fix it myself. 

In the last few weeks, I've fixed:  Matt's dresser drawer, the kitchen sink (my bad), the dishwasher (still not really sure what I did), and. . .

Rewind to Sunday.  Matt and I went to the beach, got into a five-minute fight, got sunburnt, read magazines, headed home, bought a pineapple at the Piggly Wiggly, got home, took showers, and started a load of laundry.

Easy enough.

Except that when the washer had completed its cycle, I went to switch the load and the washer was still full of water.  Like full full.  Like "Oh shit, we're going to have to go buy a new washer" kind of full.

Crap.

So I asked Cris (Lost enthusiast and former roommate, mother of Reilly, pictured above) what she suggested, and we decided that it would be a good idea to just run it again.  Kind of a "turn the computer off and then turn it back on" solution. But it didn't work.  The washer was still full of water. 

And since I really didn't want to spend the rest of my evening emptying the washer with plastic cups, I turned to The Google, googled "washer won't drain," and discovered that there was a good chance that the draining hose thing was clogged.  Made sense, especially considering how much fur and how many coins and tubes of Burt's Bees have ended up in the washer.

So I pulled out the washer and unplugged it (figured that might be a good idea), and slowly removed the hose.  After I stared at it (much in the same way that Mitch stares at me when I ask him if he wants to order a pizza--slowly moving his head from side to side) for a few moments, Cris had another good suggestion: blow into it. 

Yeah!  Great idea!

So I blew.

And I blew, and I blew, and I blew.  (I blew more than the horrible episode of The Hills that I'm watching right now--Jesus Christ, Spencer, could you be a little more crazy?!)

And bubbles kept coming up from the bottom of the washer.  Just like farting in the bathtub.

I blew some more, at this point because I was impressing myself with my incredible lung capacity.

Then came the moment of truth.  We put the washer on the rinse or spin cycle (I can't remember), and held our breath.  Well, I didn't hold my breath.  I was kind of out of breath from all the blowing.

And. . .

VICTORY! 

And then, every 10-15 minutes for the next three days, I'd turn to Matt and be all, "Hey, remember that time I fixed the washer by blowing into it?"

Washing Machine, 0.  Mandy, 1.

F you, clothes!

I'm pretty tidy. I'm not the cleanest person on the planet, but I'm nowhere close to the dirtiest. I'd say that I'm in the 78th percentile of tidiness. If I didn't have a big furry dog who insisted on building new dogs with the fur he sheds, I'd be in the 85th percentile of tidiness.

I actually like cleaning, for the most part. I'll wipe baseboards, my ceiling fans are usually pretty clean, I dust, we sweep almost daily, etc. There are a couple of household chores, though, that I absolutely loathe. One is mopping the floors. The other is putting away the clothes.

I don't even mind doing the laundry, but for some reason I can never seem to muster up the drive to put clothes away. They just sit there on the loveseat in our bedroom (formerly the couch of bad dreams, the one I put in our room thinking to myself, "Oh, wouldn't it be nice to have a sitting area in my bedroom. . .I'll just relax and read." Yeah, right.) mocking me. They laugh at me. I hear them heckling and cackling like the characters on Lost hear voices in the jungle.

They've been like this for, oh, three weeks or so. When people have come over I've closed the door to our bedroom to avoid having them see my embarrassing clothes-splosion.

This guy isn't a fan of the task, either. Here he's saying, "Hey, mama. Can't we go to the park or the bank instead of putting clothes away? I'm bored."

Another reason that the clothes never get put away is that there always seems to be more laundry to do. If I let it go just two days, then there is at least another load. And, shucks, I shouldn't put the clothes away if I'm just going to be adding to them.

"Boring!"

Last night I told Matt that if I didn't put the clothes away, I wasn't allowed the eat cookies. So today, even though I have an echo in my ear and have other things to do (like perfect my outdoor eating area, the Carport Bistro), I DID IT! I PUT THE CLOTHES AWAY!

It's pathetic how proud I am of myself at this moment. I should lay down and read. Yeah, right. Lay down and eat cookies, maybe.

Tomorrow I will mop that dirty, dirty kitchen floor.