>>> The Rollercoaster of Drama
By staff writer Simonne Cullen
March 7, 2004
Guys only wash their sheets on two occasions: if they go home for the weekend or if some sort of really foul liquid gets spilled on it—like vomit. What do you even tell your mom upon the presentation of the sheets? “Here's my love and a sandwich son.” “Thanks mom, here's my laundry, my sheets smell like condom.”
Why do guys come to college with really nice down feather comforters? Don't their parents explain to them that it requires dry cleaning only? Obviously not. So this blanket sits there all year consuming dead skin cells, food stains, make-up stains, and the detectable stench of eau de armpit sweat. And when you ask him why he doesn't just take it to the cleaners, he looks at you like one would look at Michael Jackson and Anna Nicole Smith having sex: horrified with a slight hint of confusion, as if what they saw wasn't actually real.
After all, why would you take it to the cleaners to have it professionally dry cleaned and waste twenty bucks when he could get two cases of brand name beer instead. It's a matter of priorities. If you're drunk enough you won't know that you're sleeping in your own germ infested wasteland anyway.
But then again these are the same guys who claim that girls are a lot like laundry on campus. You pick them up, smell them, if they don't have any obvious stains and smell clean you can use them again, and when you're done toss them back where you found them.
Making your bed every day is a really good idea. You can always tell if it's facing the wrong way when you crawl into bed at night, start sniffing, and detect a foul odor. More sniffing persists and you're wondering what the hell died in your bed to create this nasal hazardous waste. Was this how your hook-up smelled like last night? Gross!! The other end of your blanket doesn't smell that way because this is region of the bedspread that's soaked in the stench of your feet. Like I said, make your bed—blanket position is essential.
Nothing's better than having a roommate who asks if you want anything to be washed when she does her laundry. But it's definitely an even better investment to find a roommate who gets her laundry sent out every week. Stashing your clothes in with hers becomes an artistic skill. You can only mix in just enough shirts for her to think that yours somehow accidentally fell in her basket.
Freshman girls who think it's funny and endearing that cute guys don't know how to do their laundry and “help” them do their laundry for the first time drive me crazy. Nothing like picking up a guy while sorting his whites, denims, and darks. I hope she picks up a pair of tighty whities and finds skid marks. Seriously, does she think that if she becomes his fashion bitch they're going to make out during the rinse cycle?
Speaking of making out during rinse cycles, aren't laundry rooms a perfect find, when there seems to be no where to make out on a random party night? It's warm, enclosed and for the affordable price of fifty cents you can make random appliances giggle. But there's always that one poor soul who does their laundry in the wee hours of Sunday morning to avoid the late afternoon rush. And this poor soul is usually your RA who has no life so you stand there confronted and caught literally with your pants down, and all you can think of saying is, “She was checking the label. Wouldn't want it to be washed in warm and have it shrink. Oh, and the washing machine just sucked the clothes right off of her. Might want to check that out too. That's got to be some kind safety hazard.”
There was a condom dispenser in my dorm's laundry room my freshman year. It was situated above the dryers, next to the heaters, and directly above a 80 watt bulb. I don't know about you, but I think the Trojan man probably died of dehydration.