"Hi, I'm a 19 year old male who doesn't know how to do his own laundry."
That is the way I would have greeted you, had we met before last Thursday. Fortunately, the lesson plans for that particular evening included the basics of Introduction to Laundry. For some reason I had avoided the whole area for my entire life. I guess I must've thought it would be boring, tiresome, and annoying to do. How far off was that, eh? Doing your own laundry is this crazy-awesome, wicked-bad, non-stop thrill-ride of an adventure that you can experience whenever your garments need a solid cleaning. I'm not joking though, for real, I really do enjoy doing my laundry. Maybe it's the new front-loading machine that makes it such a joy, with it's idiot and college-aged boy-proof push-button controls that make starting any job a breeze, or maybe it's simply the intense surge of self-satisfaction that rushes through your body as you gaze on the sparklingly clean clothes, both hanging to dry and folded. Why am I shamelessly promoting this weekly or bi-weekly chore, you ask? I am not sure. I intended to tell you of my recent laundering experiences, but as I have been carrying on, it has turned into one long infomercial, and a poor one at that. And for that, I unabashedly apologize. Sorry.
Attempt #2 - I learned how to do my laundry last week. Really great. It is fun. I'm sure it will lose it's lustre soon enough, however.
There, that wasn't so bad, now was it?
Today I auditioned for a play. It looks like I may soon be reprising my role as 'Langston Gallagher', in a play written for an upcoming youth conference in Edmonton. I am looking forward to that. Definitely. In fact, it is for the same youth conference that I will be, now keep this part on the down-low, co-MCing. Neato.
My ultimate role model, as far as MC's go, would have to be Ryan Seacrest. That guy is unbelievable. He is one of the greatest, nay, the greatest television and radio show host of all time. Basically I am going to attempt to emulate his every move. I have even gone out and purchased me some of those wacky shirts he wears. You all know the ones I'm talking about, the diagonal stripes, the mixed up patterns, the strange sayings, odd colors, and general mismatchy type things. I got some of them. Lots of pastels, he likes those pastels, and I'm sure they add to his metrosexual charm. That's it! Metrosexual charm! That's what I need. I need to hone my ability to come across as some type of masculine sissy-boy. I think that's how it goes, right? Just do some weightlifting, beer-drinking and football watching, while getting a manicure, pedicure and wearing fashionably girly clothes. Lovely.
The 'manly-yet-effeminate',
Daytona Splendor.
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