reason #23987 why moving is worse than riping fingernails off one by one with rusty pliers.

I have three words for you that should strike fear into your heart:

Coin. Operated. Laundry.

Who ever created the idea of having to have a billion and a half quarters just to wash your chonies and shirts and jeans because it's really freaking hot and humid where you (now) live so you have to change your clothes a lot because yes, you are the sweaty kid, should be tarred and feathered.

My stuff is still commuting towards me, which means I don't have my washer and dryer yet, and thus, had to conquer the coin operated laundry.  This adventure began by first having to go in search of where the nearest laundry room was. LOCATED! success. Then the dread hits....quarters. Need quarters. Need cash to get quarters. It's Sunday, so no just going into the bank.

Piling into the hot car, I locate an ATM and pull out some moola, having to pay of course because I haven't transferred all of my funds from my local bank and I didn't want to spend the time looking for one that wouldn't charge me. Flip a U, find a place to get a soda to make small bills. Success! Flip another U and head to the coin operated car wash to, you got it, use their change machine! and vacuum up the cat food and kitty litter that was left in my car from the trip East.

Finally loaded down with quarters I lugged my laundry down stairs and towards the laundry room. Here is where I feel I should mention that the temperature is over 100 and the humidity today? 58%. That laundry room was a hot sweaty beast.

All of that just for some clean underwear. 

I'd say I need a beer, but I'd have to drive out of county to get one and it's just too bloody hot.

Take that Coin Operated Laundry, I defeated yo ass!