It's Not Even Funny Anymore. Just Sad.

Dear Lord, how I wish I was making this up.

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The Amazing Race is on, which means that I'm physically incapable of doing anything short of pacing my living room and yelling at the television. This is a tough time for me, because tonight there are many things that need doing: kitchen cleaning, dinner cooking, parents calling, and most importantly laundry switching.

Because the clothes have already gone through the washer and are just sitting in their own washing machine juices. Because I timed it badly and the cycle didn't end until after the show had started. And you can't just leave the clothes sitting there, so many bad things can happen in that room, from rust, to theft, to funky smells. Thus, I am antsy, but I don't want to leave.

So I compromise.

I grab my iPod from the table where it's been since its double-duty as my car stereo and get it prepped. I put on some sandals to complete my hippie outfit (I was determined to wash everything today, so I changed into my extra pair of pajamas and an old ripped workout shirt before the washing began.). I'm in that doped-out-drug-user looking phase that I sometimes (often) get: ratty clothes, disheveled hair, lack of shaving, pale/skinny look. Add to that my extreme bouncy nervousness that is inherent with my Amazing Race watching, and I'm practically method acting as a speed freak.

At the first sign of commercial, I head out to the laundry room, mindful of my many past pitfalls, determined to have none of that. When I get there, the guy from over in Building 4, with whom I am passingly acquainted, is sorting his laundry. We nod to each other. I pop open my washers to transfer the clothes, when I realize that I'm totally wearing my iPod, but I haven't hit play yet. Play.

BAM!

You see, in order for my iPod to substitute as my car radio, one has to turn the volume up really loud for the tape transfer to pick it up properly. Usually I am good about fixing the volume before I go inside. Today, not so much.

I have this full body spasming seizure in response to the loud noise, managing to somehow slam my big toe on the left foot into a washer and crack my right knee on the underside of the countertop at the same time, all while frantically hitting the volume down button. Guy to the side sort of cocks a glance my way, but is very restrained on the whole, considering the level of freak out I just performed.

Highly, highly embarrassed, I try to grab the clothes as quickly as possible and head over to the dryer and get the hell out of here. Both top dryers are full. I lean down to go for the bottom one and completely, utterly, all consumingly and with all the force in the world, slam the upper portion of my forehead into the change slot.

It makes the most impressive clunk sound.

It seriously disorients me so much that I sort of slump forward and drop the entire armful of soaking wet clothes on ground and fall over. It hurt soooo much. I would need a pie chart and several trained monkeys to accurately describe my pain at this particular moment.

Fellow from Building 4 has finished his clothes, but is very concerned and checks to make sure I'm not about to die on his watch, as he comes over and literally picks me up off the ground. After assuring himself that I still retain the power of speech and am not any more retarded than when I walked in, he heads off. I manage to get all the clothes into the dryers and everything started, though the throbbing pain.

As I'm heading out of the room of death and embarrassment, I get to the doorway and go to hit the lights when I feel this really weird breeze, in an area where one should not feel a breeze while in public. Apparently either during the fall, or for the duration of my entire time outdoors, the fly on my pajamas has been completely open, and ridiculously noticeable, based on how these particular pants are set up.

So not only did I spaz out, completely embarrass and injury myself in front one of the few people I know in the complex, I probably also flashed him to all hell and back.

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We've now officially moved from "My life is a sitcom," to "My life is a bad, repetitive, and clichéd sitcom."

Kill me now.