Purple Rain on My Parade

Well, I've been AWOL from the blog for a bit, but I have good reason: Heidegger and Derrida have been making me their collective bitch. I'm pretty sure if this were actually the case, Derrida would be much gentler.

But enough about dead philosophers fucking me.

Last night, I hung out with some music folk for Kipp's 21st birthday. I was told by one of Claire's friends that I have great bone structure, which is an odd compliment but I enjoyed it all the same.

But enough about my genetics. Let's get on to how my dryer turned my work clothes purple.

I got home last night and washed my work clothes and some aprons - they smile upon cleanliness at the Bux. After they were sufficiently clean, I, of course, planned to dry them. I opened the dryer and noticed the inside was slightly stained, so I wet my hand to see if any of it would come off on my hand. It didn't, so I figured it was safe, because it had already been slightly pink from the red dye before without any pink clothing repercussions.

Boy was I wrong.

I woke up this morning to find my work clothes spotted with deep purple! Thank God I had some black work clothes that remained unscathed, and, oddly enough, so did my aprons.

That's right, kids - Starbucks aprons refuse to be anything but green. My white shirt I can bleach if need be, but what to do about those khaki pants? They were so soft and comfortable...and khaki.

How did this happen, you ask? Oh, I'm happy to fill you in on yet another reason why I'm counting down the days until I can put this life behind me.

Well, after a long couple of days (although I did manage to pick up a difficult Latin jazz combo after only seeing it twice - bonus!), it's getting to crunch time with the drag show. Now, some of our girls are wearing black shirts. However, not all of them bought black shirts. Some, in fact, bought white shirts.

Yes, I am aware of the whole opposite thing, and of the whole black/white concept. However, anyone who argues that black is the absence of color has not seen my dryer or the clothes that emerged from it. There's definitely some purple involved.

Ergo, the white shirts had to be dyed black, and I'm sure you can figure out the rest.

I washed them again in highly concentrated cleaner, which left the spots a nice shade of magenta. That's better than purple, I suppose. It's at least not as dark. I then headed to Wal-Mart to get some dance clothes for tomorrow (being as though I can't really do laundry unless I'm washing purple or black stuff) and some color-safe bleach and some regular bleach. I'm ready to bleach the hell out of these clothes if I have to.

I can't go to work dressed as the Angel of Death two days in a row - they'll think I'm brooding or something.