Things that annoy me: Volume 1

You know, if the world worked the way I wanted it to I wouldn’t have anything to write about in this post. Of course, after reading it you might still think I don’t, but just hold your water and reserve judgement.

I know everyone could pump out a list of things that annoy them. But, as you should already know by now, I’m an only child. So it’s a given the world revolves around moi. Which means my list of annoyances is far more important than yours.

I’m glad we got that settled.

NOT UNLOADING THE WASHER

Frustration comes in many forms. One of them is a washer loaded with wet clothes that aren’t mine. I suppose there's an argument to be made for leaving them in there all day. After all, the delicate cotton and mixed blend fabrics have just been through a traumatic event, what with that extended spin cycle and all. They're probably still in shock.

I also understand the reluctance and hesitation in moving wet, overflowing, slightly moldy smelling clothes. It takes an almost Herculean effort to place them in a dryer that's an impossible Fourteen. Inches. Away.

I’ve always said the great thing about laundry is I can do it while I'm doing something else. It's just I don’t want the something else to be moving your clothes to the dryer.

And no, I have no idea where that favorite shirt of yours went—why do you ask?

THE DOG NOT LISTENING

We have two incredibly smart, cute dogs at home. Because one of them is an energetic German Shepherd, we wanted to make sure he was well trained. We didn't want a dog that big and powerful out of control and not listening to us.

That’s the kid's job.

So when we got him from Westside German Shepherd Rescue, every weekend for what seemed like forever, we loaded him and his little friend in the back of the SUV and carted him out to the same trainer in Corona where we’d trained our first GSD.

I’m happy to say after all those weeks of training, fighting the hordes of traffic on the 91 East and spending lots of money to "work with the experts," he has been thoroughly, selectively trained. That is to say he listens when he wants to and doesn’t when he doesn’t.

This is a picture of him after I said "Heel."

Still, when he’s backlit in the front window, and someone is outside thinking about making a move, it’s the visual that says, “Maybe the next house.” So we’re willing to cut him some slack.

THINGS ON THE FLOOR

There's tripping the light fantastic. Then there's just tripping.

It's not bad enough I have to navigate area rugs everywhere that are lying in wait for me. They look innocent enough, but their rug pad is just a ruse—they slip and slide around like Crocs on a freshly watered lawn.

If rugs were the only thing, then at least I'd know the enemy. But, like magic, other things appear to create my own personal obstacle course at all hours of the day and night.

Backpacks. Shoes. Dogs. Shoes. Boxes. Shoes.

On the bright side, it is cutting down on my 2AM refrigerator runs.

Since this is only Volume 1, you know there'll be more installments to look forward to. You might even be inspired to make your own list of things that annoy you.

I'm guessing my list is the first thing on your list.

Maids' day off

The living room is a little out of control. So is the bedroom, the hallway and the garage.

It's not for lack of good intentions, and it's no one's fault. It's just that there's life in progress. In fact, there are four of them in progress. And sometimes, in the ebb and flow of volleyball games, client meetings, board meetings, jazz concerts, getting some writing done and walking the dog, cleaning up a bit as you go gets bounced to the bottom of the To Do list.

Of course, like everyone, we do have a threshold. We measure it with those sticks they use in the south every time a river overflows its banks. When it gets to three feet, we stop every thing and clear the battlefield.

Like some people, we have a housekeeper that helps us stay on top of it. Well, she tries. Honestly, she's not very good. On days she's here, we come home to dirty dishes in the sink, unfolded laundry on the couch and cleaning rags on the washer as opposed to in it. Instead of cleaning for the maid, we have to clean after the maid.

Suffice it to say she's not here for the long haul.

I recognize it's a first-world problem, and that families all over the world are struggling with far more serious and pressing issues than a clean house. I see stories about it all the time on the TV.

That is, I would. If I could see the TV.

Now I know why it's called Tide

Here's one of my dirty little secrets. Okay, not so dirty. I love doing laundry.

I can't really explain it, other than this: to me, laundry is like a good story. It has a beginning, middle and end.

As an advertising copywriter, I'm not used to things having an end. I'm used to them going on forever and ever, revision upon revision, with everyone including focus groups, the client's wife and the cleaning lady on three opening their big, stupid, gaping pieholes and chiming in with their unqualified opinions about how their ad - the one that I've just slaved over and honed to gleaming perfection until 3 in the morning - should be rewritten and why what it's saying isn't the way it should be said.

Okay, I may have digressed.

Anyway, when the spin cycle is finished, the genuine feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment is just getting started.

Washing machines are like cars to me. I know how to run them, but I don't know how to fix them. So when my 12 year-old Whirlpool Heavy Capacity 8-cycle 2-speed top-loading washer decided to spring a leak and turn our small laundry room into an indoor pool, needless to say I found myself momentarily baffled.

Keeping my wits about me, I leapt into action. I called my son in and had him clean it up. Once he was done I told him to wash the towel. He didn't appreciate the irony.

Fortunately we have an extended warranty on our creaky old washer. I just called it in and the guy came out. After checking the washer thoroughly, he made his diagnosis and said I had a leak in my drainage hose.

I get that a lot.

Sadly he didn't have the part on the truck. But he was able to do a temporary repair using what I like to call "the miracle of duct tape." When the part comes in I'll call again and have him install it.

Until then I'll be at the laundromat, my fist full of quarters, writing my story.

Then folding it.