A Means to an End

By the time most of you read this, I will have given my notice at my rather cushy office job, and embarked a new career as a professional carpet steam cleaner. That’s right — I’m taking my Bissell on the road.

I know this seems sudden, it’s just that I steam-cleaned the stairs this weekend, and — I know this seems impossible — it was an even greater transformative experience than last week’s downstairs carpet. I came, I saw, I steamed. And I shall steam again. It actually crossed my mind that my mother-in-law mentioned she was in need of a carpet cleaning and damn, if I wasn’t going away next weekend, I would totally take Saturday to clean her carpets if it meant I’d have more surfaces to steam. And that’s where the dream ended.

I’m pretty pissed off, by the way, that Fox decided to make the World Series games at 8 p.m. EVERY SINGLE NIGHT, because I’m exhausted and grumpy and also, maybe have to work tomorrow at a job that doesn’t involve steaming carpets at like, an EARLY HOUR. And this 1 a.m. shit isn’t cutting it, but seriously, what if? WHAT IF? WHAT IF I AM SLEEPING DURING THE WHAT IF? Also, because it’s Sunday, and could totally have been a 4 p.m. EST game. Totally, if not for football, but whatever, I hate football, really I do. I’m really sorry, but I do — I know it’s weird, what with the Patriots dismantling every. single. team., and while I’d like to care, I can’t. I’m so sorry. Give me basketball season, please.

(Edited to add: oh hell yes, I stayed awake for the what if. OH HELL YES. And who didn’t get choked up when Varitek did? ARE YOU MADE OF STEEL?)

Anyway, I blame Joe Buck. And also, Jeanne Zelasko, because her hair is just that … oversprayed and hazardous, and really, how many curling irons were injured? And now that I have a posse of Jeannes who do NOT pronounce it Jeannie, I hate her even more, because she’s wrong. I also may have cried a little when Dice-K batted in two runs last night, because he was just … well, he’s a PITCHER, and it was his first World Series run and it was the National League and … well, honestly, I got all choked up.

Enough sports! How was your weekend? Ours was punctuated by baseball and steam cleaning, and not much else exciting to report, except that also — OH YES, ALSO — we bought Halloween candy, and I’ve been stealing Take 5s for about three hours, and have you ever had a Take 5? It’s about as close to confectionery nirvana as it gets — delicate, crispy pretzels lend just the right of salty tenderness, enhanced by peanuts and peanut butter drenched in gooey caramel and finally — OH, FINALLY — the whole thing is enrobed (yes, I totally said ENROBED) in creamy milk chocolate.

It seems completely incongruous that Take 5 — or any Reese’s product, for that matter — is produced by Hershey’s, given that Hershey’s chocolate is widely considered to be the foulest of chocolate, although it’s become such a chocolate monopoly empire that who the hell knows anymore, what comes out of that creepy chocolate factory. I grew up in driving distance from the factory, and though I can’t say that the park is all that enjoyable for adults, if you ever have the opportunity to go to Chocolate World, I highly recommend it, because where else are you going to get the experience of what it’s like to be a roasted cacao bean? And dude, the whole town smells like chocolate and the streetlights are Hershey’s Kisses! This would be more exciting if I actually liked Hershey’s Kisses, but since they are made from that godawful bitter swill, I … no.

And in even more incongruous news, I was reading last week’s issue of People magazine and was disturbed, not only by the fact that I am supposed to see George Clooney’s girlfriend as some kind of accomplished role model (she’s a Las Vegas cocktail waitress who is shown in a photo wearing hotpants. What, exactly, am I aspiring to here?), but Prince William, yet again, is being presented as the hotter royal. This confuses me for many reasons, not the least of which is, has no one seen Prince Harry? Does no one see his deliciousness? Yes, yes, there was that very very unfortunate incident with the Nazi costume, but anyone who’s seen The Queen (and if you haven’t, you should) knows that my God, that family is so horrifically removed from reality that it’s not surprising that he thought it would be jolly good fun to be a Nazi! Because Nazis were mythical creatures, right?

(Seriously, that movie was fascinating in that sense. I mean wow, it’s logical, but still, um, WOW.)

I think that’s enough disparate commentary for tonight. Happy Monday! I’ll be the one with the giant sacks of dark matter under her eyes.

*Joy Division. And while I realize it’s not true, whenever I think of Nazis, I immediately think of Ian Curtis because of all those accusations of old. And hey, while we’re on the subject, have I ever told you that I’ve harbored a huge, and I mean, HUGE, crush on Bernard Sumner for like twenty years? And that one view of this video of him in teeny tiny bike shorts and be-bopping around was enough to cure me of that crush for at least another decade, I don’t care if it’s my favorite song, I really don’t. And oh Jesus, there’s a Blue Monday version, too, and a bad one at that (the high vocals! NOOO!). Heaven help us.

And if you’re still here, and have any idea what I’m talking about, go get a cookie, or better yet, a Take 5.

26 comments October 28th, 2007