A Non-Laundry List

So, I was in the shower thinking about the term "Laundry List." Earlier today, my sister commented to me that her blog reads like a laundry list of daily events. Also, I distincly remember James throwing that term around alot when he worked in advertising: "Joe Coworker writes his commercials like a laundry list, when you really have to spice things up."

What does it all mean?
Am I the only one not making lists about laundry or while doing laundry? What am I missing out on here?

This is my interpretation of a Laundry List:

1.) Do Laundry.

...OK, Done. (With the list, never with the laundry.)

Now, maybe it means a list of laundry supplies, but that goes on my shopping list, so why isn't the terminology interchanged? Example: "Joe Coworker writes his commercials like a shopping list." It would work, but who knows what it would take to catch on.

I detest, despise, abhor the laundry. It is by far my very least favorite thing to do on the Planet Earth. Wisdom teeth being carved out from deep within my jaw bone have nothing on the tedious, mind-numbing, never-ending task that is the laundry. I hate it so much that I refuse to make lists about it or appreciate the terminology of this sort of list making, despite the passion that lists themselves evoke deep within.

My response to this whole ordeal is a non-laundry list, or rather five things I would prefer doing besides the laundry.

1.) Posting on Blogger. It seems to be an addiction, of late.
2.) Grocery shopping. This is actually one of my very favorite things to do. I peruse the products with nearly as much appreciation as I consider art at the museum.
3.) I already mentioned the wisdom teeth thing, but I hate laundry so much that it bears repeating.
4.) Watching The Office. Michael and Dwight are so stupid that I cannot help but feel about a million times better about myself (even if they are fictional characters), and an improvement in self-esteem is always better than laundry.
5.) Dringing coffee. Ok, doing that is actually better than doing alot of things, but what if I said it was week-old coffee left in a unwashed carafe on the fly-laden counter of a smoky truck stop? Would you then understand my hatred for the washing arts? I hope my point is clear.