Posts Tagged Dyson

Where I ramble on and lose your interest.

(If your eyes glaze halfway through, at least read the last bit, okay?  Pinky swear you will.)

So, I wanted to make a clarification after yesterday’s post.

No one emailed me or commented anything to move me to do so, btw.  I just tumble things around in my head a lot, and sometimes lots of things occur to me about what I’ve said that did not originally ocurr to me.  Okay, sometimes?  ALL the time.

Call me slow on the uptake, or something.  Just don’t call me, “Fluffly McNutterButter.”  Don’t ask.  Just don’t call me that.

I wanted to make sure that people understand that I really do love being a mother.  I am not committing myself to making my family suffer so that I can do this writing/blogging thing. 

[The only thing I would willingly make my family suffer for is a free Dyson.  I'd strap their asses to a medievel torture rack for one.  Or railroad ties.  Or dangle them from a balcony in front ot the media.  You know, anything incredibly dangerous and irresponsibly insane.  DYSON PEOPLE, are you paying ANY attention to me yet?!]

In no way am I saying, “I’m willing to deny Braden the time with me that he needs, because I just feel like hangin’ out over here being selfish and stuff with my keyboard and typish thingies and my digital camera whatsidoogie.”  And somehow, I feel the need to blow a valley-girlesque bubblegum bubble and pop it with my cherry red press-on nails afer the way I just typed the previous quote.  But I have neither bubble gum nor press-on nails, so I’m gonna have to miss out on that for now.

If I did think, for one minute, that writing for this website, or any other, was doing detriment to Braden as a person, or harming our family, I would drop off The Mighty Interwebs.  In a heartbeat.  But honestly, I just don’t think that’s the case.  Not here, anyway.  So that’s not what’s happening.

What I am going to be doing is enlisting John to help me carve out some specific time to work on things of the “me” variety.  I’ve been trying really hard to juggle everything on my own, and what has ended up happening is a lot of not sleeping very much and letting myself get run down.  Generally, I’ve been staying up very late to work on things around here, and frankly, that just makes me a crappy mother, because it shortens my fuse considerably.  I need to be gettin’ my ass in bed at an hour that would make any grandma proud.

All apologies to any Rock’nRoll Grandmas who might have been offended by that last statement.

Also, a couple of you made reference to the “job” I referred to in yesterday’s post.  I wanted to point out that I wasn’t talking about a “real” job so much as I was talking about this website.  It’s my “not really paid” job (unless you count the ad revenue, and really, that ain’t sendin’ Braden to college, ya dig?)… but it’s a job, because I put myself on a schedule and I expect a certain level of performance from myself.  Does that make sense?  Not that I make it unpleasant by doing that, because it’s still my website and I can do/write/say/post/etc anything I want.  That’s liberating.  But expecting a certain standard of things (stop laughing at me for saying I have standards) from myself here also makes this something to me that is important, and not just a plaything.

And that means something to me, inside.  Ya dig?  It’s like what a “real” job does for your psyche.

That being said?  I do have a couple of fun new gigs starting up, thank you so much for asking! :-P  Neither is a paying gig, either.  Either I’m a glutton for punishment, an Attention Whore, or I really do enjoy this whole “writing thing.”  You decide.

So…

I’m officially one of four contributing authors on a new ”Moms” column, “From the Mouths of Babes,” at Quirkee.com.  Please check the website, and the column, out.  There are great writers and cartoonists there, and quality content you are bound to enjoy!  I’ll be publishing a piece there every fourth Thursday (starting THIS Thursday!).  On other Thursdays, you’ll find great stuff on our column by the lovely and talented ”Babes,” Piper, Kadi, and dKaye, as well as many other articles and interesting content across the board on the website.

I’m also on the cusp of being a contributing author for Deep South Moms, a blog that is part of the Silicon Valley Moms Group.  The site abounds with amazing women writers, as do the other blogs in the group.  Lovelies you’ll find contributing at DSM include the ladies of Queen of Shake-Shake, BlondeMomBlog, Milkbreath & Margaritas, Mommy Needs Coffee and many more.  There is definitely a “tall glass of southern sass” being served up there daily.  So mosey on over yonder, ya’ll, take a load off and have a look’see. ;-)

 

So, there ya have it.  Much more than you wanted to read about me and my thoughts, dreams, and plans on a random Tuesday.

What’s up in your life this lovely Tuesday, eh?

 

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Dissed By Dyson Contest

Sadly, there was no congratulatory e-mail in my inbox today telling me that I was the lucky winner of the contest for a Dyson DC25.

Even though it is obvious that my love  and need for one clearly dictate that I should have one.

To those of you who have suggested I just go and buy one already, that is really nice. But there’s this little matter of FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS for me to eclipse before I can do that.

Suffice it to say that the money is needed elsewhere much more greatly than it is needed to fund The Suck I Dream To Own.  (No, not that home liposuction kit, the Dyson.  Stay on track.)

If anyone feels like sending me one, I’ll happily give you my address. Even if it means you might come here and kill us all in our sleep.

I mean, it’s a chance at getting the Dyson, right?

I do have some good news, though.

Looks like our POS Vacuum was merely having a bout of User Error Disorder.

I fished dug excavated this crap out of it the other day:
06.23.08 gunk
 

Looks like I’m the POS.

 

*let it be noted, however, that our vacuum is still a POS.  And someone should still bewstow a Dyson DC25 upon me.

 

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I don’t care if it makes me seem desperate and pathetic. I am.

Remember yesterday when I mentioned that I had been joking around on Plurk this past Saturday night about what I was going to give John for Father’s Day?

One incredibly sneaky lady suggested I buy “him” a Dyson.  Quite a lovely idea, and ohhh, how I LONG to own a Dyson.  The thing is… uh.  They cost Money.  Yes, with a capital “M.”  And what I mean is, they cost A LOT of money.  More than we can afford.

I’ve heard terrible stories of a couple who tried to offer their baby up as payment for a nice vehicle that they obviously really, really wanted.  And people, I was horrified.  I mean, I was completely taken aback at how careless, heartless and sick some parents really are.  A car!?  You would give up your own flesh and blood for a structure of metal that you can ride around in?  SERIOUSLY?!  Appalling.

But if it had been a Dyson?  A DC25, maybe?  I would totally understand.

Our old POS Vacuum died about a month ago, and the carpet is now made of a blanket of my fallen hair, discarded cereal pieces, lint, random threads (where the hell do those come from???) and some unidentifiable things that I probably could identify if I really wanted to, but that I’d rather be in denial about.  It’s called “coping.”  It’s also called “gross.” 

The old POS now does no more than push dirt around the floor.  This is really handy if you’re trying to improve the whole Feng Shui of your dwelling by moving particular pieces of rubbish around the room so that they are arranged in a more harmonious and pleasing manner.  You know, so they help channel the energy through the room instead of just sticking to your damn soles when you walk through, barefoot, making you hop like an idiot to see what the hell is on your foot, then lose balance and face plant on the floor. 

Yeah.  I’m not interested in being the “vehicle” by which the accumulated carpet dreck in my house travels from room to room.  What am I?  Some kind of Tourist Trolley for Vacationing Cracker Crumbs?  I should buy a microphone and start announcing the spots of interest in our house. 

“Over here, you can see the mural Braden drew on the kitchen wall!  Lotus sure did make fun of John online for that one!  But don’t miss this!  Here’s where karma bit Lotus on the ass for making fun of John!  If we turn around and look back, we can even catch a glimpse of the stove Lotus punished.  Now, let’s head upstairs to see the former spot for the container of Evil Ones, now hidden and unused for almost two weeks….” 

Maybe someone can come stand outside the door and sell cheesy maps of the Carroll Hot Spots to the incoming Dirtatious and Pollenese Sight-Seers.

Okay, okay, the POS does more than just push dirt around.  I will have to admit that it actually does suck up a crumb or two periodically.  Then, when you lift it (just don’t lift it, for God’s sake, don’t) it spits out every piece of dirt/stink/hair/crumb/trash that has ever been on any floor you’ve ever walked on.  Never mind the fact that this is an impossibility.  It DOES.  And then all the crap that spews out of the POS flies all over the floor, even into the next room and onto THAT floor.  Pieces of long-forgotten crap hit your legs on the way out of the room, bruising you and even digging small gouges into the surface of the skin.  Crumb shaped gouges.  Soooo sexy, really.

So, you can see that I could really use a new vacuum.  And anyone who owns one will tell you, a Dyson vacuum cleaner can perform miracles.  Seriously, I heard that this one guy’s sister’s best friend’s hairdresser’s mom knew this chick who met a guy at the bus station whose dentist’s father’s next door neighbor’s daughter was brought back to life by a Dyson.  Really.  That is some heavy shit, man.

Can you tell how badly I want a Dyson?

I did enter a giveaway contest for one.  The button for it is on my left sidebar.  See that pretty Dyson?  It is literally THE EXACT MODEL I have thought of selling my soul to the devil for been wanting so badly.  It must be God playing a really mean joke on me my fate, and it’s destiny that I’ll be broken hearted come June 25 win!

I need to win this contest so badly that when I think about it, it makes me feel funny.  And not in a good way, like when you used to climb the ropes in gym class.  In a ’super panicky yet somewhat dreamlike and euphorically uplifting, while realizing that I may vomit at any moment’ kind of way. 

If you enter it too, now, and win?  I will kill you with my bare hands if you don’t give it to me out of the extreme generosity that flows from within you and the kindness of your soft, vulnerable, beating heart – as well as a deep, evolutionarily adaptive fear for your life.

 

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I Feel Dirty (and so do my floors)…

Dear Dyson Vacuum Cleaners:

You make me weap tears of desire.  When I gaze upon you, something inside me quickens. 

I yearn to wrap my fingers around your DC25’s upright handle.  Just thinking about your Quick-Draw Telescope Reach™ Wand makes me feel all tingly.  You are so lightweight that I know I could carry you upstairs to the bedroom with ease.

I gasped audibly when I read about how your Root Cyclone Technology enables you to perform endlessly without losing a bit of suction power as time goes on.  This thrills me to no end.

And the thought of your On Board Accessory Tools?  Kinky.  Wherever we might be, we could try anything.

Also, a motorized bush brush bar with fingertip control? *prrrrrr*

Your washable HEPA filter and hygienic storage container tell me that even though I could get you dirty so easily, I could slip your parts into the bath and make you brand new again. 

I know they say you empty quickly.  Normally, that’s a bad thing, but with you?  It just means we can be together over and over again with minimal down-time.  I like that.  A lot. *wink,wink*

I fantasize about guiding you gently… helping you move this way and that with ease, because of your amazing “Ball™ technology.”

Oh, Dyson!  I want to love you forever and ever as you suck my carpets and floors clean! 

So… why do you have to be so MFing expensive?

All My Love,
Lotus


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71 Comments