Dirty Laundry

I’m back to washing my own clothes again. I don’t know why I got the idea that paying someone to do my laundry is going to give me more time to do other things. Sure, some people think it’s more convenient to just go to a laundry shop and bring that bulk of dirty clothes and weigh ’em up and pay for the services. Sounds convenient, I know. But along the lines, I realized I won’t include my underwear in that lot. No sir, I will not let other people see the skid marks and stains that may or may not be present , but you can never tell. There are times I am such a slob I may have worn the same pair of briefs a couple of times. You aware of the Side A and Side B mythos? Ask a college student from Recto and you’ll get an idea.

So yesterday I woke up and just  looked at the pile of tees, denim shorts, jeans and socks on my one laundry basket and asked myself, how did I let this molehill get so big, the clothes are spilling and the basket is bulging. After much thought, and two mugs off coffee, and after checking if the water will be available for the rest of the day (I am renting a matchbox of an apartment on the third floor, no water pumps, you get the idea, and yes it is Quezon City)  I began with the whites.

Always start your washing with the whites.

The entire procedure is a combination of science and tradition, handed down from generation to generation. My mother, bless her soul, nearly fainted the first time she saw me attempting to wash my own clothes back in high school. Not of shock, but out of sheer, ecstatic laughter at what I was doing wrong then. You must understand, my mother was a gentle soul, but when it comes to household chores, no one comes close to being a stickler for details. And so I learned the intimacies, the methods, soaking really dirty clothes overnight, using your hands instead of a brush, arranging some on a flat surface for the sun to do its work on tough stains. Continue reading

Advertisements

Get It Out Of The Way

  • Instant noodles, those “convenient” food packs doesn’t seem to get any better. In fact, I seem to remember those bags bulkier several years ago. 60 grams? More like 45.34 in some cases.
  • People will call me grumpy, but I get really worked up when I help out, lend a hand with any endeavor that requires some artistic input, maybe create some beautiful graphics, or illustration, just so the other person will have a better presentation or whatever it is that was needed to enhance their work. All throughout the process, at off-work hours, I may beat my brains trying to get to that decent work worthy of  payment, but since this was  a labor of love and out of sheer camaraderie, I guess I do it for free. But the indifference. It riles me. They only know your name when they want something from you. After all the deadlines and urgency, nobody remembers your name, not even to thank you for a job well done. So I’m done too. No more freebies.
  • Books and novels used to be a great reason to go out and dig up on book stores and garage sales. Nowadays, materials are rather flimsy and the cover for reprints ought to have more effort. It’s just not fun anymore.
  • No matter how hard you crusade against politicians who seem to disregard all manner of civility and law when it comes to putting up posters and tarpaulins with their heavily photoshopped faces, it wont go away. A friend pointed that out to me. And I guess she is probably right. You see, these politicians? They just don’t care. You can cry and bleed to get those unsightly , obvious premature campaigning and they just won’t budge for you. So go ahead, scream till the veins on your neck burst. I would rather ignore these politicians and just not vote for them. Continue reading

Overheard . . .

dsc00002.jpgA fashionably correct trio of two guys and a girl (sounds like a tv show) were candidly strutting by while I stop to look for my lighter, after being dropped off at the stop from the unusually fast ride from Bicol to Manila. The situation as it happened:

guy1: Pucha! Wala na ako yosi! ( Sonofa . . I’m all out of smokes! )

girl: Here, make kuha from mine. ( Do I have to translate this? Oh well [Here, take mine])

guy2: Hoy ako din! Kanina pa ako naglalaway. ( Me too! I’m dying for a cigarette.)

The two guys (at least they sound like males) tried to beat the other one taking a stick, a cigarette fell on the pavement, resulting in a chorus of oooohs, and pucha (bitch) and tangina (sonofayouknowwhat).

girl: Wag mo na damputin yan. Ngii, kadiri ng kalye baka magkasakit ka pa dyan sa germs! ( DON’T PICK THAT UP! THE STREET’S FILTHY, YOU MIGHT CATCH SOME DISEASE FROM GERMS!)

And I just laughed without lighting my own cigarette, walking so I can laugh a little more. Such is the irony in life.