Great Depression is the new black

So today I conquered many things. I put together a storage cabinet with a lock and faulty instructions while my supposed partner in crime sat and watched, claiming that he is "useless" (which I frankly don't doubt to be true) at putting things together. After many hours and about 4-5 tears, I made Mail Merge my bitch and printed not only labels but fancy personalized letters on Progressive Future letter head. And I found out, to my surprise, that the proposal for my big, ginormous final masters project was required to be 7 pages, not the 2-3 that I thought it would be. I finished that proposal before I finished this bottle of fabulous Pinot Noir (I've become a real wino these days).

None of this, however, compares to the utter triumph I experienced last Friday. I took the day off from work, you see, to recover from the minor nervous breakdown I was experiencing on account of everyone's needs that I have to meet in addition to a final Human Resources and Volunteer Management paper due the night before. I thought this was a good opportunity to take care of some things around the house, such as the vaccum cleaner (sidebar...I have trouble spelling vaccum. I am going to experiment with some spellings here and see which one suits me.)

So my vacum (see how I spelled it differently that time?) had been exhibiting some very strange behavior. In fact, it seemed to be doing the opposite of what I wanted it to be doing. Usually, you want a vaccuum (oh shit, is that the correct spelling?) to suck; however, mine seemed to be actually dispelling dust onto the carpet rather than sucking it up.

Some background on my vaccum (or is that correct? neither one is showing up with the squiggly red "you spelled this wrong, asshole" line). I purchased it at the local Wal-Mart for $28, which I felt was a steal for a vacuum, and a pink one at that. It wasn't even one of those gay "We're pink because we support breast cancer" products. This vaccuum is just pink because it wants to be pink.

So anyway, my $28 pink Wal-Mart vacum was malfunctioning. I took off all the filters and washed them to no avail. I was really feeling like I was going to have to make a repeat visit to the Wal-Mart to replace my pink vaccumm. I mean, I'd only paid $28 for it. I wasn't going to take it in to have it repaired, and even if I wanted to, like there are any vaccum repairmen anymore. (Or repair women for that matter.) And it wasn't like I was about to take the time to...wait a minute! I can repair this vacum myself!

I wish I would have photograhically documented the stuff that came out of my vaccumm when I took it apart. It was pretty intense. There was a lot of confetti (circa New Years Eve, courtesy of Wes Morgan.) Dog hair was abundant. I had to stick a broom handle down the hose to get a big clog out of there. Disgusting.

But it got me thinking about consumerism. I mean, I took like 15 whole minutes to do that. I could have been doing many other thing with that time -- baking brownies, walking my dog, looking at my vagina in a mirror. But I spent 15 valuable minutes of my vacation cleaning out my vacum cleaner. Instead of throwing it away and buying a new one, I took the time to google the users manual for this vacum (thank god for the internets!) and taking this vacum apart. I feel superior to most people in that I don't think they would bother to do that.

So good for me, I fixed my own vacuum. Women's lib, all that. But what about the poor vacum cleaner repair man? Now that I'm all empowered to fix my own pink vacuum that I only paid $28 for, what happens to him? He fucks right off, I guess. Because $28 is a small price to pay to feel powerful and accomplished enough to have fixed my own vacuum.

I didn't throw out my vacuum, and I'm so happy. Because $28 feels like a million bucks to me now that I have invested in this bonding experience with my vacuum. We're tight.

BTW, I like the looks of two u's together, as in vacuum. So I've decided to spell vacuum that way. Yay.

Mini pizzas make me simultaneously happy and depressed

Today I asked my friend to drive me to the bookstore because I'm having the panic about the 25 source bibliography I have to have turned in on Thursday for my final Masters paper. I figured that Barnes and Noble surely had the answers to all my problems. Sidebar -- I walked out of the B&N with one book pertinent to my paper topic and one called "The Cultural History of the Penis." How's a girl supposed to pass that up?

Anyway, after we left I said, "Oh, oh! Can we go to the 7-11? I need a frozen pizza for dinner."

She looked at me in this way that actually indicated pity. My friend who, let's be clear, I've bailed out of some tragic situations is pitying me because I buy my frozen pizzas at 7-11. She says, "Uh...do you want to go to an actual grocery store for frozen pizza?"

Now, before I go any further, allow me to say that I pretty much love my life. I couldn't ask for a much better set up than what I have now. But there are a set of things that, no matter how great my life is, always make me feel like I am bordering on Stuart-Smalley-I'm-going-to-die-homeless-and-penniless-and-nobody-will-ever-love-me status. One is grocery shopping alone. The other is eating frozen pizza.

So we get to the King Sooper and I get unreasonably excited about a fabulous product called Digorno for One. It's just like what it sounds like -- a Digorno pepperoni pizza for one person. But just when I thought it couldn't get any better...4 for $10. I went ahead and got 4 because, you know, they're nice to have around the house.

It reminded me of an idea that's been rolling around in my head ever since I discovered my wages are being garnished by the State of Colorado (that's an unrelated story, though). I really think it's about time that we started an advocacy organization for single people. Think about it...how much food have you wasted because all food comes in portions for a family of 4? Or at a minimum 2. And...where the hell is my "Hey, thanks for not popping out a kid and contributing to global warming and overpopulation and global food shortages, not to mention just generally fucking the kid up and adding to this world's dysfunction" tax credit? Am I right?

What we need are fair tax policies. Protection for single workers so that they're personal lives and time are valued just as much as married people with kids. FMLA to apply to sick pets. I feel like we could get the cat lady demographic with that plank of the platform alone.

So are you with me on the issue? If so, the best way to get involved is to make a donation of $25 today...

Coming soon to a blog near you, posts on the political acuity of 18 year old stoners and the cultural implications of vacum repair.