get your hands off my undies

due to the hideous temperatures outside, i have decided to devote this saturday to getting my shit together and hosting an amy winehouse tribute farewell sing-a-long medley in my apt (minus the singing part because while i want to bust out my amy impression, rip, my neighbors still live like 3 inches away from me and i dont want them to hate me yet. but im starting to hate the idea of them...
onto laundry. my wardrobe has become very simple. its scrubs and socks. and of course underwear. that only happened once when i didnt wear underwear under my scrubs, but thats a whole other story. one for the book perhaps. since the hospital washes my prison uniform, i mean, scrubs, im left really with a pile of whimsical socks, which, along with the bouffant cap, are the only ways to show individuality as an anesthesiologist. but i digress. again.
ok, so fuck you nyc. i know i have to share laundry space. but god dammit, i put in the $1.50 to do my f-ing laundry, that is my personal time that i bought. mine. i come down 5 seconds late, and i see all my underwear in a pile in the middle of the laundry room. and its still burning hot. like you couldnt wait one god damn second til i came down? what are we, in college? i even tried to hunt the person down, they couldnt have been far. and then i came up with my brilliantest idea. i am going to spit in their laundry. i know exactly which is theres, in my dryer, that i paid for. you thought it was clean, you couldnt wait, well fuck you, clean it again because i spit in it.
and then knowing my evil, i ran upstairs to vent about it. and pray that in the next 30 min while their load is still going, i am distracted enough to hold myself back from doing it.
oooh, or should i pee in it instead????