Creampuff Cleans, Rewards Self with Disgusting Beverage

I haven't used a vacuum cleaner since 1996, when I borrowed the Winters College vacuum from the 3rd floor don to hoover my residence room before going home for the summer. I don't know who screamed more, the Hoover or me. I remember returning it to the don, who seemed perplexed.

Me: Here!

The Don: Umm . . . Ruth? (Ruth is not my name. The don had not bothered to learn my name, even though she was the DON and was SUPPOSED to know everyone's name AND even though we'd met several times in the hallway when I would emerge, furious, from my residence room in the wee hours to holler "Shut up, dons!" in the direction of her hard-partying room)

Me: YES?

The Don: Why is it . . . smoking?

Pause.

Me: It was like that when I got it.

Since then I've either lived in carpet-less homes or with roommates who didn't mind doing the vacuuming. I hate vacuuming. It's loud, the machine is heavy, the cord gets in your way.  Half the time the machine is so stopped up that you're not actually cleaning but are instead simply rubbing the carpet with a Bissell - it chaps my ass. I prefer cleaning toilets to vacuuming. But today, people - today I, Roro, new resident of Vancouver, Canada and horribly behind blogger, girded up my loins and plugged the vacuum in.

I'm telling you, I was like Donna Reed. But fatter and with more swearing.

The furnished apartment Katr and I are renting for now is very cute and in a trendy area but . . . wee. So wee that we have a double bed instead of a queen. Not a hardship for the svelte couple but for the creampuffs? Cozy. And yes, it's a little sexy to be right on top of each other - for about 12 seconds, which is when Katr was on the receiving end of my first accidental elbow to the schnozz, which she followed up by inadvertently clawing a section of skin off my leg with her marsupial-like toe claws. HOT.

The apartment is also largely carpeted. I was planning to ignore the carpet until civilization began to sprout up. And then I planned to beg Katr to vacuum. But today, when Katr made noises about the nasty state of the bathroom and Chgi offered me the option of a day light on Fringe stuff and heavy on whatever I wanted to do, my path was clear. I would clean the apartment. And as part of that cleaning, I would  . . . gah . . . vacuum.

In preparation for this task, I stopped at the local Shoppers Drug Mart, where I purchased this:

I suppose that the Fringe tour has caused me to miss all sorts of developments in the cola wars, but I was shocked that no one had seen fit to alert me to Diet Pepsi Jazz Strawberries n' Cream. As soon as I saw the label, I knew I was in for a craptastic beverage experience. And I COULDN'T WAIT.

I saved the vacuuming until last; even the toilet was meticulously scrubbed for several minutes as I avoided the inevitable. But eventually there was nothing else to do but crank the Eurythmics and haul out the Bissell.

I plugged it in. And then I spent about 20 minutes trying to remember how to get the upright vacuum to lean back instead of standing straight up (hint: there's a pedal). Then I spent a further 20 minutes trying to find the "ON" switch (hint: it's next to the leany backy pedal).

The machine roared to life and I proceeded to vigorously . . . rub the carpet with it. This thing picked up carpet detritus like I pick up chicks (i.e. not since 2003). The headlight on the front of it mocked me as it pointed out the same crumb again and again until I gave up and just picked the fucking thing up by hand. I knew that the dust bag was probably stuffed full, but I just got over my summer allergies and didn't want to experience them all over again by emptying the bag.

We all make choices, people. And today, my choice ended up being that I Swiffered the carpet. And it looks FABULOUS.

Vacuuming finished, I sat down to blog and enjoy my Diet Pepsi Jazz Strawberries n' Cream. As expected, it's totally gross and yet . . . oddly compelling. Will I buy it again?  WILL I VACUUM AGAIN? History will decide.