eHow to do laundry if you're becky and chucky (i think chucky might be gay if by gay you mean he does laundry and really, i don't think that's like the "correct" definition but whatever.)

i'm going to make a confession: when i do laundry, chuck yells at me. he yells at me like a stereotypical sitcom husband gets yelled at for dying all the whites red. and then he slaps me around a little. no, not really. wouldn't that be just the worst? *cocks head to the side, while shaking head and smiling garishly*

i've never dyed all the whites red. never.

apparently i just don't do it "right." my laundering chi is "off." whatever, chuck. *YOU'RE* OFF! sometimes he says, "you never do laundry!" then i have to explain to him again that one time when i washed his shirts he sighed really loudly and said, "let ME do it!" i think this clearly absolves me from ever doing laundry ever. fool proof reasoning. not guilty, your honor.

you might ask, "becky? why are you talking about laundry?" in your oh so snooty bored voice and to that i say, "i will kill you. laundry is interesting. my fucking washer is broken." and then i would kill you because what the fuck, you? additionally, i always follow through on my threatening threats.

did you even catch that? MY fucking WASHER IS fucking BROKEN! and we're in the process of maybe finally moving into a fucking house in the near fayooch and, and, AND it would be shitty to buy a new washer and get it delivered to this shithole and then have to move it and bang it/smash it/abuse it in the fucking move, soooooo we've been schelping all our fucking laundry over to my mother's and grandmother's houses and doing four loads of laundry on saturday instead of DOING SOMETHING FUN!

first world problems, i know but stiiiiillll: waaah! amiright? and it's only been two weekends. because i'm fucking dramatic. have i told you that? are you so surprised? because fuck it: i may die because of this horrible chain of events.

needless to say, i've been thinking a lot about laundry. here's an interesting, laundry related side note: chuck said to me right before we left to do laundry, "watch out because one of those socks might have some semen in it." then he just walked away like he'd been talking about the weather. one of them might have semen?  you lose track of these things? when we got over to the house my mother said something like, "do you want me to move these if they finish?" panicked, i was madly pawing through the bag, searching for the semen sock because nobody wants their mother to find some sort of crunchy CSI stained sock in their laundry.

if i had a nickel, eh?

while using real people's washers, we realized just how busted ass our washer had become. our washer crapped out, yes but it had been limping along for quite some time. here's a list of all the problems our old not so faithful washer had:

• the hot water didn't work. we had the hot water hose dangling from the wall and just switch it on/off with the faucet on the wall. class. ee.
• the water that did come out was a sad little trickley trickle. i mean, i was shocked at the powerful stream emanating from real washing machines. shocked.
• when the cycle was complete, the clothes were still soaked.
• there's a puddle of water that swishes when you move the agitator after a load.
• it kinda smelled. a little. we've done those cleany things, even!

so now our clothes might actually be clean. we're also saving energy on drying our frickin soaked clothes. they smell really great as well. who knew? i'm going to blame it on the fact that real people use smelly detergent and i use detergent with nothing added to it. um, right. quick! look at MY dog in the washer!

what's the one household machine you would go crazy without?