Suzie Crankypants here. I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it any more. Why do I have sand in my vagina, you ask? I wish I could say it was just one thing, but it is many little things. So many frick frackin' little things annoy me and it builds up and builds up and then KABOOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I explode. I have tried to deal with these petty annoyances by taking a pharmacological route, better living through chemistry, but that didn't work out so well, and I'm now blacklisted at every pharmacy in the OC. So I think the better way to fix this is to become Boss of the World. I know I'm not smart enough to right all the large wrongs of the planet, so it is my solemn promise as Boss of the World, to try to fix the little ones. This blog is the first of the "When I Am The Boss of The World" series.
When I Am The Boss of the World. Part One.
First on my list of stuff to fix as BOTW, is bagless vacuum cleaners. This is one of the biggest little offenders on my list. Do you remember the old vacuum cleaners that came with disposable bags? I didn't have an issue with those, but apparently there was a better way. The brainy engineers at Hoover must have all been hungover or coming down off "shrooms" or something, because out of their drafting tables came the plan to revolutionize the world of house cleaning by coming up with the "bagless" vacuum cleaner. "No more running out of bags" they said. "No more expense of having to BUY those bags, " they said. "No more chopping down perfectly good trees to make those expensive paper bags that you always run out of, " they said. And it was so. Everyone worshipped at the altar of "green" and here was a way to save a paper bag and the gas it took to drive to the store to buy them. "What an exciting time to be a housewife," I thought. "This is home maker history," I thought. I still remember the darling shoes I was wearing the day I bought my first bagless vacuum, my Super Duper 6.2 amp, Big Ass Hoover BAGLESS Wind Tunnel with hypoallergenic air filters....it was all to good to be true.
Oh, at first I was happy. I had on my little black dress and my pearls and Jimmy Choo shoes and I was makin' tracks in the carpet, baby. Marvin Gaye is on the Ipod and I'm more than aware that I'm wearing my best Victorias Secret Silks undies. Back and forth. Up and down. Oh, how it sucked. Oh my, how it moved. A little to the left, Sweetheart. Ohhhhh, that's it, suck some more. The honeymoon was short lived though because before I had finished vacuuming the first flea infested room of wall-to-wall, I noticed that the "Wind Tunnel" was made of clear, see through plastic. Now wait a minute, here. I did NOT bargain for that. I don't want to watch dust, and dirt and dog hair whirling around in a dirty ass vortex of scum. When my Hoover had a disposable bag, I didn't get to see the shit that was stuck to my carpets and if you don't see it , it ain't there. So this was NOT a happy for The Sue. Denial is a highly underrated coping mechanism, so I decided that I would turn a blind eye and pretend I couldn't see through to the dirt. There. That was better.
The next time I pulled out my Super Duper 6.2 amp, Big Ass Hoover BAGLESS Wind Tunnel with hypoallergenic air filters, I remembered to not look at the filter, and not look into the wind tunnel and things went much better. It wasn't an occasion to wear Jimmy Choo, but I did still make the effort to wear a dress and pearls. I was listening to Hootie and the Blow Fish through the tv music channel and was wearing my Jockey for Her Thong. Not quite as fancy as last time, but still, keepin' the flag flyin'... I got through the cleaning process without once glancing down at "it" and all was right with my world and it was good.
It was the third run through that things started to go bad. Still wearing a dress, I wore Payless Pumps, and I had ditched the pearls AND the underwear, but I still looked faboo. Anne Murray was singing on the radio. The problem started when I realized that the canister was full. Already, after only two cleanings. "Alors! Mais, non. How could this be?" I asked myself. A HAH!!!! I see what happened. The hard plastic canister doesn't expand like the paper bags do. I used to be able to not change a bag for 6 months, back in the antiquated days of disposable, not eco-friendly paper bags. The bags would be bulging like a pregnant sow at the County Fair by the time I got around to changing them, but NO-o-o-o-o-o-o, now I had to empty this after using it twice. "It ain't fit," I thought. It just didn't seem right.
So I take the vacuum canister and pull it out of the 6.2 amp, Big Ass Hoover BAGLESS Wind Tunnel with hypoallergenic air filters. I opened the lid to empty it into the trash and before I could say "for fuck sakes", the dust and dirt and dog hair was swirling around in a cloud and I was inhaling it. YUCK. COUGH, COUGH, GASP. I remember back in biology class when we learned about germs and microbes how the reason poop smells bad is because honest-ta-gawd, actual POOP PARTICLES are hitting your olfactory receptors on their way to your lungs!!! No frick frackin' way was dust and dirt and dog hair going in to my lungs. I started holding my breath, desperate to get the canister emptied before I passed out. I had to bang it against the side of the trash can. When I couldn't get the clump of dog hair unstuck from the 6.2 amp, Big Ass Hoover BAGLESS Wind Tunnel with hypoallergenic fucking air filters, I had to reach in with my bare fingers, Lord preserve us. Where was my velvet fainting couch when I needed it most. I could feel myself getting weak from lack of oxygen, so I dropped the canister and ran to the patio door to get a mouth full of clean, life sustaining clean air. I'm sure I looked like the fireman in the movies who crawls on the floor below the layer of black smoke, to get one last breath of fresh air before he selflessly returns to Dante's inferno to rescue the crippled baby from a certain death.
By this time, I had dust in my hair and on my profusely perspiring face , dog hair glued to my lipstick, and my darling little dress was now hiked up around my waist in all the excitement. My hands were GROSS, ICK, PUKE and I had run out of fucking patience with this piece of shit Hoover Whatever. Unlike the aforementioned selfless fireman, no way in hell was I returning to that dust bowl. Girlie bits to the wind, commando if you will, I took a running leap at the back fence and headed straight for the neighbor's house, when I took refuge in a Lemondrop Martini, shaken, not stirred, with extra sugar on the rim. I know that I am a role model for children, but I drank to forget. And drank, and drank, and drank.
It wasn't long after that we ripped up all our carpets and had hardwood installed throughout the house. The Super Duper 6.2 amp, Big Ass Hoover BAGLESS Wind Tunnel with hypoallergenic air filters got sold in a garage sale soon after and I vowed "never again" would I fall for the old "bagless is better" bullshit. Today I speak out to all who will listen about the evil inherent it that flawed design.
I said all that to say this: When I am the boss of the world, there will be no more bagless vacuum cleaners. I can't imagine I'm the only person who feels this way about this technological "improvement" to vacuum cleaning. I will issue an executive order to the Hoover engineers. Perhaps they could have figured it out themselves, but I have waited long enough for them to have an epiphany, and say "Eureeka! I have an idea. Let's develop reusable paper bags. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy, you just pull out the entire bag and throw it in the trash! No muss, no fuss...." Yeah, that's the first thing I"m gonna do when I'm the boss of the world.
To be Continued.... next: People who can't talk right will be banished to the Seventh Circle of Hell. People who say "altimers disease" instead of "Alzheimers". Folks who pronounce "fifth" like "fith". I "literally died" when I heard that for the first time. ARGGHH!!! Shoot me now, but do Tune in again, for Sue Cassidy's Blog Series: When I am Boss of the World.
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