The Laundry Mat Chronicles: Volume One

Prior to moving out, I'd never been to a laundry mat. In fact, the only image I've ever had is this scene (it's 1:27 in):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z2UeOh5ngSw

So, imagine my surprise when there is no hot guy. Instead, I get this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ny8VqcEe7dw

Needless to say, I shove my unmentionables down to the very bottom of my laundry basket.

However, I met a very interesting person today. Relax, it was a sixty-one year old lady named Sarah. Sarah has two daughters and three grandchildren. She has been a widow for thirty-four years and never remarried. I knew Sarah prior to today. Well, I didn't know-know her. She and her sister frequented Old Navy during my three and a half years there (Her sister was my substitute Spanish teacher one day. Her Spanish? "Hola Y'all!" I am not even kidding). In the sixty minutes I was there, I learned that she had dated quite a few S.O.B's- her words. However, this morning she received a phone call from a gentleman who works at the produce stand she visits for her tomatoes, cantelope, and cucumbers. In a matter of seconds, the sixty-one year old lady transformed into a sixteen year old girl. Her eyes lit up and she smiled. I'm pretty positive she was blushing too. She was optimistic about this man. She asked if I liked her hair (she recently dyed it) and what I thought she should wear. "Well, I'll tell ya one thing...I'm not gonna wear heels for a man. That'll be the only time he'll see me in them. He better get used to my flip flops and run-arounds."

She finished her laundry before I did and wished me the best of luck with my schooling and with my (non-existent) love life. She had hope, at sixty-one, in finding the man she wanted to live with for the rest of her life. Why, at twenty-one, should I feel any different?

Things I believe in...

I believe in a good cup of coffee every morning.
I believe in spending money on sheets-not shoes.
I believe in classic rock on a sunny spring day.
I believe in volunteering your time over donating your money.
I believe in watching Disney movies after the age of five.
I believe in getting an education.
I believe in quilts.
I believe in sending snail mail.
I believe in providing great customer service.
I believe in broken hearts and lasting love.
I believe in wearing only face lotion, mascara, and chapstick.
I believe in rocking flip flops during a snow storm.
I believe in best friends and family.
I believe in getting massages once a month.
I believe in returning someone's phone call.
I believe in celebrating birthdays.
I believe in feeling sexy in your own skin.
I believe in pink tool boxes.
I believe in comfortable jeans, sweettea shirts, and bare feet.
I believe in learning how to cook.
I believe in waking up early- even on weekends.
I believe in wearing sunblock and trying my best to avoid skin cancer.
I believe in shamelessly flirting with your mechanic to get a free oil change.
I believe in all forms of art.
I believe in God and he believes in me.

Moving

It's that time. A time my mama and stepdad have prayed about for more than two years. I should be used to this whole moving thing. Since my parents divorced, I've moved five times with my mama and three times with my dad. Eight, count 'em, EIGHT, times within eight years. And, if you want to count my stint at ASU, that would be nine moves within eight years. Needless to say, I should own a moving business.

Anyhoo, I'll be moving into my first place by the end of next week. My bedroom looks like a Fisher Scientific warehouse with all of the Methylene Chloride boxes. And, chill, I'm using them for moving purposes...not to start a meth lab. I should probably make that clear to my new neighbors.

It's still not real yet. It didn't feel real when I called about and visited the apartment. It didn't feel real when we signed the lease and paid the deposit and first month's. It didn't feel real when I scheduled Time Warner Cable and Duke Power. Honestly, it won't feel real until I spend my first night there. Scratch that. It won't feel real until I walk through my parent's house to make sure I haven't missed anything; until I give my house key back and give my dogs kisses goodbye. It won't feel real until I'm completely broke with nothing to eat, no gas in my car, and tons of laundry to do with no detergent. THAT'S when it'll feel real.

Now, before you get the wrong idea, I'm only moving ten minutes down the road from my mama. And, I'll live less than a quarter of a mile from my best friend and her family (which I have adopted as my second family). So, I will not be miles away from my family(ies). I'm just being completely dramatic and over the top. Which is not like me. This is what moving does to me. It makes me an emotional wreck and, aparently, a drama queen. Where's my crown?

There are only a couple of things that we'll need to "complete" the apartment- a broom, mop, shower curtain rings, etc. My dad has to sand, stain, and set the glass in our coffee table. That should be ready in about two weeks. He's also making our end tables (one of the many, many perks of having a father who is extremely skilled with wood). Genna still has to get our TV stand but, everything else is a go.

I'm excited and terrified all at once. And, like most things in my life, I've put off packing for about a week or so. I'd rather not face this huge life change until I have to.