Thanks for visiting. I'm a recent transplant to the Boston Massachusetts area, living with my boyfriend while he completes his MBA. I'm originally from Utah, I like Apple, FileMaker, writing about my feelings, and eating edamame.
On Sunday morning, SML and I woke up early to dismantle our Everest-sized clothes basket and head to the laundromat. SML hates going to the laundromat even more than I do and kept saying, “I hate this place” under his breath. We started whispering that phrase soon after I met Stacy, a co-worker of mine who breathed that sentence whenever she passed my office.
I’ve written about the laundromat before; about the awfulness of washing your private things in front of obese and half-retarded men. It’s not at all comforting to see a wrinkly old man’s bare ass behind the dumpster, either, as he’s changing his clothes for the day and then opening a 24-pack of Bud Light to share with his friend. I’ve come to equate this kind of behavior with the laundromat, and have since decided it’s no longer necessary to wear underwear on laundry day.
But even that isn’t fair; to blame it on the laundromat. Who do I blame for the man who pokes around the dumpster behind my apartment building, or the so-called veterans littering State Street? There’s an actual spot on Main Street, just between the Coffee Garden and a demolition crew where I cannot even breathe; because if I did the smell of urine and feces, emanating from an entire community of homeless people, would surely burn into my lungs and persist to carry it’s residue every time I exhale.
I must sound like a complete asshole, but in all sincerity I feel like I this is a growing problem. And I feel like I’m the only person that’s noticed the rise in homeless people in Salt Lake City, because I literally cannot go anywhere without being panhandled by someone smelling like ass. God, I hate this place.
Kill Me, Now 
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