The Single Man's Laundry Cycle

I lived on my own for quite a long time in a little unit in Lara which I loved.  It was the perfect sized place for a single guy, easy to maintain and keep clean, great for entertaining (everyone loved a good roof party)  and had great acoustics for the many rock concerts I put on for a highly appreciative audience ie. - my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

I thrived in this place and it became a central meeting place for our little social circle.

I remember once that a friend of mine commented how amazing it was that I "did everything" when it came time for me to mow the lawn.  I think because I cooked, cleaned, entertained, mowed the lawns, put the bins out and all the other things one does when living independently, she was impressed. As I pointed out to her though, if I didn't do those things, who would.

However, as impressive as it may seem, there was one area that I feel let me down (and to be honest, still does)

Laundry.

I'm rubbish at it.  I've tried to stay on top of it, but because of my  come-and-go lifestyle it is an extremely difficult task to do so.  These days, I have quite literally given up on it, and when I finally realise I have nothing to wear, it's much easier to pop in to K-mart and pick up a cheap t-shirt, or pair of pants than have to go through the rigmarole of my laundry cycle.

You see, my laundry cycle is extremely complex and, well, long.  It's not something one can accomplish on a sunny Sunday arvo, but in fact spans weeks, if not months.

I've named it "The Single Man's Laundry Cycle" and it goes like this:

Step 1)  When you can no longer see carpet, nor open your bedroom door owing to the inordinate amount of clothing overflowing from your laundry hamper, then it's time to wash your clothes.

Step 2)  Slough off the top level of your laundry hamper (or alternately gather up everything that is on the floor) and place it in the washing machine. Don't worry about separating darks, lights, fabrics etc. 'cause we're doing all this on a cold wash, so it won't matter what you do.)

Step 3) Turn on washing machine

Step 4) Approximately three (3) days later, return to washing machine and rinse washed clothes that are starting to develop mould on them.

Step 5) Place all socks and jocks into the tumble dryer, you don't need to waste precious clothesline space or pegs on those, and hang out everything else.  Repeat the process from step 2.

Step 6) With two loads of washing on the line and 2 loads of socks and jocks in the dryer, your work is practically done.  Congratulate yourself as you turn on the dryer and take your laundry basket, still approximately two-thirds full back to your bedroom.  Doing another load would be pointless at this point as there is no room, nor time, to dry it properly, but you'll do some more tomorrow when you've brought all the dry laundry in.

Step 7) Every morning, go to the tumble dryer to collect only the socks and jocks that you need for that day. You don't need to bring the rest in.  (In my case, the dryer was actually out in the shed, so I had to go out everyday, rain or shine, to collect the things I needed)

Step 8) Approximately 6 weeks later, your two loads of laundry are still on the line, although your dryer is now practically empty (well done).  Collect your clothes from the line and place any that are covered in bird poop back in your laundry basket.  Most clothing, despite being stiff as a board and sun bleached to the point where it now looks like a hypercolour t-shirt, is still entirely wearable so hang it up.

Obviously this process only really works if you live alone and don't have to share the machines or clothesline space with others.  If you do, the solution is simple.

Once you can no longer see your carpet, nor open your door, gather up everything and take it to a laundromat.  Use multiple machines so you can do it all at once (you can even be a little bit fancy and separate your colours and fabrics like a grown up).  Once this is done, place everything into one of the HUGE dryers that uni students climb into and then post photos of themsleves on facebook in an attempt to look spontaneous and outrageously wacky, and dry everything at once.  (NB - when removing clothes from these dryers, anything with metal buttons on it will BURN DIRECTLY THROUGH YOUR FLESH so please, be careful)

So there it is folks, direct from me to you, the definitive guide for laundry for today's modern man.

Dear Tina Fey,

Dear Tina Fey,

You are an incredibly talented comedic actress, your writing is on par with such luminaries in the comedy world as Jennifer Saunders and the Pythons and your commentary on society is both clever and honest.

I just have one problem.

Can you please STOP pretending to be some dowdy old housewife in the roles that you choose?

I’ve recently become a fan of 30 Rock and time after time there are jokes about Liz Lemon’s unattractiveness, dorky fashion choices, frumpy figure and her age.  She is referred to as everything from a lesbian to a man to the most horrific choice a man could dare to go out with.

This wouldn’t be such a problem for me except for the fact that you, Tina Fey, are none of these things.  And what’s worse is that YOU, Tina Fey, are the creator of the character and head writer for the show which means you are directly responsible for propagating the lie. 

I understand that there are laughs to be played from picking on Liz Lemon and highlighting her flaws, but come ON Tina Fey, enough is enough.

Seriously….

I just watched Date Night and yet again we see frumpy housewife although perhaps not highlighted quite so much as with the Liz Lemon character.  And I also recently watched Mean Girls, where your character, Ms Norbury, is once again depicted as this undesirable being.

Tina Fey, you are HOT.  Okay?  There’s no denying it.  You are beautiful in a classical way, you are slender, you are funny and, let’s face it, you know it. 

Don'tcha?

Yeah you do.

If you keep trying to convince people you are this saggy old lump, then I’m sorry, but you’re doing more damage than good. If you are meant to be the epitome of unattractive, then what does that say for the rest of us out there?

And yes, the irony that I am a single MAN in his early 30’s about to enter into a feminist rant is not lost on me, but as a leader for young people, I feel it is necessary to point out a few things.

Women out there who are feeling intimidated by this ridiculous standard of beauty that you are supposed to aspire to, just STOP IT.

Young girls out there who are striving to attain this idealised model of perfection, just STOP IT.

Older women who are resorting to deforming your faces in an attempt to look younger, or more desirable, just STOP IT.

Can someone explain to me why oh why Olivia Newton John did that to her face?!  She was gorgeous and now she just looks silly. Courtney Cox on Cougar Town…your mouth shouldn’t look like that!

STOP IT!!!!!

Sexy is NOT being stick thin with a massive chest and long blonde hair. Sexy is NOT big pouty lips and eyebrows near your hairline. Sexy is NOT orange tinted skin and bleached hair (I’ve never in my life looked at a cheese Twistie™ and thought “I wish my girlfriend looked like this”).

I know that what is considered sexy is subjective, but here's my thoughts:

Sexy is being yourself and accepting yourself, having a sense of humour and being comfortable with it.

Sexy is being mysterious and modest and not wearing minimal clothing to get attention.

Sexy is looking like you’ve lived life, not erasing all signs you might have ever laughed.

Sexy is being healthy, looking healthy and feeling healthy.  Healthy women (and men) have contours that are not the result of protruding bones.

Sexy is you, Tina Fey. Now just accept it, embrace it, and let’s all just get on with it.

Yours sincerely,

Mark McBabe.

tl:dr.......lol

I’ve been thinking for ages that I should create a new blog post, not that anyone reads this, but I live in hope that one day they might and so some actual content will be useful.

But every time I think I’d like to sit and write something, I realise I have nothing to say.  At least nothing outrageously hilarious to say, and I feel that anecdotal blogs need to be real knee-slappers to keep people entertained or my posts will be relegated to the “tl:dr” pile, which some of you will know means “Too long; didn’t read” in internet language.

Being a self-professed (and universally loathed) grammar nazi, and also an actual adult, it has taken me a long time to get used to all these abbreviations that have been plastered all over the internet and in text messages.  

I used to be of the belief, and I know I’m not alone here that “lol” meant “lots of love” and so sent many a message to friends that were probably wildly inappropriate.

The thing that bugs me about “lol”, or the more exaggerated “rofl” (Rolling On Floor Laughing) is that more often than not, it is a COMPLETE AND TOTAL LIE!  

Back in the old days, say 2007 or so, when msn messenger was popular (at least for me) and people used to send me a “lol” or a “rofl”, my response was always the same: Really?  Are you REALLY rolling on the floor laughing?  Are you really laughing out loud.

To that end, I coined my own, much more plausible response when someone sent me something mildly humorous.  It was “cq”. 

Cq, if you haven’t already guessed, stands for chuckling quietly.

“Oh the funniest thing just happened.  I saw a cat get run over”

“cq”

“huh?”

“chuckling quietly”

“don’t you think it’s funny?”

“I think it’s HILARIOUS, you know how much I love a good dead cat story, but

I don’t like to lie about my reactions, so I’m cq”

            “oh….so….you’re just…..I have to go now”

And they would promptly run off and regale their other online friends with their hilarious tale of squished cat bits all over the road, to which everyone undoubtedly replied “OMFG ROFL WWYH TTYL!!!” thus validating the storyteller.

I had hoped that cq would catch on with the same fervour as lol and that I would become the celebrated and heavily financially compensated hero of the internet. Sadly, it did not catch on at all and to this day I am still grateful to my internet pal, Leonie Mitaxa, who at least it tried to use it in textual intercourse.

The other thing that bugs me about lol or the more exuberant rofl, is the insincerity of it.

I’ve discovered recently that you can say anything you like to somebody, but as long as you put those three (or four if you’re really trying to drive the point home) little letters on the end, then you can pretty much get away with anything!

Case in point, if I send one of my rather large and more intimidating friends the following text: “You’re such a big fairy and your mother is a tramp,” then I can reasonably expect to be physically hurt, or at the very least, verbally admonished and stricken from the Christmas card list before the end of an illegal download has gone by.

However, if I slightly rephrase the statement to: “You’re such a big fairy, lol, and your mother is a tramp. Hehe,” then I rather imagine even the largest of my no-necked friends would at the very least find themselves cq and will undoubtedly reply with “Rofl. You’re such a card”.

So am I alone in this?  Is anyone else as perplexed and as outraged as I am about the blatant lack of actual words in common usage on the internet?

Soon I will post a new blog with how many of these abbreviations I have misunderstood and then humiliated myself by either using them incorrectly with hilarious consequences, or by telling others what they mean only to discover I have been spreading horrendous LIES

TTFN.

A Letter to my Body

Dear My Body,

I know I've put you through a lot over the years; stretched you beyond your limit, starved you, burned you, overworked you, exhausted you and have now left you scarred, in what can only be described as an apparent attempt to give you that "lived in" look. In return you've chosen to be susceptible to many diseases, given me poor skin and even poorer eyesight, robbed me of the ability to tan and have now, it seems, decided that my hair is no longer necessary.

But let's face it, we're both getting older and we need to start working together if we're going to last.

You may have noticed in the last week that I have attempted a peace offering by feeding you more regularly with wholesome and nutritious food, have taken you out twice a day for some fresh air and exercise, and have given you ample opportunity for rest and recovery during these school holidays.

But in order for these things to be of full benefit to you, I'm going to need you to co-operate.

I realise trust has to be built over time and that one week is perhaps not enough for you to see my good intentions, but all I ask is that you give a little in return. You might find it benefits you just as much as it helps me.

I have forgiven you for your more recent discrepancies, such as, in what can only be described as a nasty attempt at a military coup, forcibly removing my vocal range without explanation. I've also seen reason and will grant you amnesty for denying me the ability to breathe normally when I place you in a horizontal position. And as for that stomach tear/hernia that incapacitated me last year, not to mention the swine flu.....all forgotten.

So, to that effect, when I stand up today, I would ask that you do not try to force me back down by the neck and cause me to hunch over. And if the first few steps I take whilst trying to walk anywhere could be much more fluid and less shuffl-ey, I'd be much obliged.

My long term goals for our strengthened relationship would be to be able to take you out for longer runs that don't result in active mutiny on your part via the means of calf knots or decreased lung capacity after a measly 2 kilometres.

Think of those happy times when we would be able to enjoy the sun and fresh air for those 10km runs with an almost laughable casuality. Oh happy days gone by!

So, I promise to no longer subject you to ridiculous attempts at twisting and manipulating you beyond the normal human range of motion for the average man if you will promise to stop over-reacting and panicking whenever I take you for more mundane forms of exercise.

I look forward to reaping the benefits of this mutually beneficial relationship.

Yours sincerely,

Mark

P.s - I don't want to push my luck, but about the hair; Can you at least try to maintain a grip? I know how much it loves the adrenaline rush that comes with a 1.78m free-fall, but you need to sit it down and explain that it will DIE upon impact, so it's best to just stay put.

One Fully Healed Mangina

So here it is, 6 years later, all healed up.  Notice the outlying white scars next to the main one. That's where the stitches popped.