- bathing only in heated pools of fiji brand water
- wearing only things that have been hand-sewn and beaded for me by tiny elves living deep in a mushroom forest
- dating fabulous men who appreciate me and treat me with respect
- having my bones replaced with adamantium
- training my cats to fetch my pills
anyways, the truth is this. i actually HAVE been off being glamorous. i always sort of thought my life would be amazing and i would get to dress up in great outfits and bigtallshoes and have fancy hair and makeup and ridiculous eyelashes and then i'd go out to parties and bars and restaurants and for a long time this was all just a sort of disorganized fantasy i almost didn't even know i was having... and then i realized one day i was doing it. i'm living the life i always played out with my barbies, except with slightly more booze (slightly meaning hand over the vodka or i will likely end up in prison for your brutal front-page murder) and significantly less sex. it was fucking melrose place in my barbie beach house.
the point of all this is that I AM FABULOUS. and yet.
so remember when i got smooshed in my car? smooshed like grape! so it's now two plus years later and i finally got my bills paid. the check arrived and after i had rubbed it all over my naked body parts i cashed it... then i was going to rub all those bills all over my naked body parts but i remembered money is kind of dirty and also i am kind of neurotic and then i thought about that for while because i sort of got preoccupied with the idea of all the itsybitsy germies and all the hands that have touched each dollar and did you know that more often than not a man doesn't wash his hands and so every time you touch a doorknob or a dollar you are pretty much covered in second-hand wang? anyways, i paid off some debt.
then i bought a dyson.
that's right. glamorous sparkly impeccably-dressed me spent my "free money" on a vacuum cleaner. AND IT IS GLORIOUS. when i first held it and ran it across my carpeted floor i was breathless with its magnificent power. if it were a human, i would have sexed it on the spot. it wasn't until i looked at all the cat fur stuck in its container that i realized i was living in squalor. but really, once i was done shaving the cats i felt better. they didn't mind too much. i only lost one eye.
so the dyson is amazing and i love it and i would gladly have its unusually heavy but aesthetically-pleasing yellow babies. it is because of this fact that i can relate the following: like most canister vacuums, the dyson is not terribly easy to empty in a seamlessly clean manner. there's always dust flare up, which irritates both my eyes and my ungodly OCD. so i just carry the canister right down to the dumpster and let the dust flare up into the great big gray sky of los angeles, where it clearly belongs.
it was just such a moment, this past sunday, after having vacuumed all the many metric tonnes of discarded cat and sequins and glitter from my floors (and couches, because hot damn if that dyson doesn't have a sweet-ass hand attachment) that i found myself in a predicament. in a moment of sheer... well, sheer me... i dropped the canister right to the bottom of that foul and most-wretched stinkbox.
and because i love that GODDAMNED dyson so fucking much you better believe i hoisted myself into that dumpster, my legs flailing like party streamers in the air, just to get it back out.
i risked my life for a vacuum cleaner. the force is strong with this one... if by force you mean "neuroses" or "issues" or "just plain crazy." which of course, if you know me at all, you probably do.