wanted*: someone to reenact key scenes from grey gardens with

Every day, for at least 10 minutes a day, it occurs to me that I need to stop staring at my cuticles and sweep the hardwood floors in my living room. Then I think, I should probably put down the remote and clean up my bedroom closet. It also crosses my mind that, rather than planning a Glamour Shots photo shoot for my dog, I should fold the laundry that’s been sitting in a hamper for two days.

And, you guys, I always REALLY think I’m going to do some of these things. I pinky swear and cross my heart and hope to die promise myself that I’m going to get my act together and make chores my bitch.

Here’s what usually happens instead:
– I end up spending a good hour and a half tweeting about what color my hair is or how awful tropical-flavored skittles are.
– The internet sucks me in to a mean game of “read the first two paragraphs of everything published today” (I’m still not clear on the rules of this game, but I’m pretty sure I’m losing.)
– My DVR has some Bravo programming saved on it that I NEED to watch.
– There’s something shiny on the floor, and I want to play with it for a while.

Ladies and gentlemen: I am a domestic disgrace.

And I spend a lot of time beating myself up about this fact. I tell myself that normal people are cleaning their houses daily and not complaining about it. I ridicule myself for having no real job and, consequently, plenty of time to get lots of housework done. I practically beg myself to straighten up and fly like Martha Stewart.

And sometimes it works. And I am shamed into dusting or vacuuming.

But today, I’m too tired to dole out and/or endure the beating I deserve, so I’m considering another tactic.

Today, I’m going to try going all Grey Gardens on my failure.

If you don’t know what Grey Gardens is, then you don’t have time for this post. You have to go read this Wikipedia page and get Netflix to send you the movie same-day delivery. Not the HBO movie. The real movie, circa 1975. Go. Do it. Now.

If you do know what Grey Gardens is, then you know that the documentary followed two classy broads who sat in a ramshackle home–complete with a raccoon–for over two decades, ate what was probably cat food and wore their skirts upside down (or as capes).

And they were fabulous.

Now, I’m not saying I’m ready to dine on Fancy Feast (although, I might look good in a skirt-cape.)

And I don’t think I’m sparkly enough to shine through two decades of mess like these ladies. In fact, I don’t even know what kind of dedication it might require to take a house from this:

Grey Gardens in 1936

To this:

Grey Gardens in 1971

I’m just saying that today, I’m not going to beat myself up over all of the things I think exemplary domestic-types do. Today, I’m going to do like the Beale ladies, who, as far as I can tell, didn’t subject themselves to any mundane chores at all.

Instead, I’m going to read poetry or sing or wear a head scarf. But in order for this scenario to play out, I’ll need a partner in crime.

Hence the title of this post.

I am currently seeking a character to be the Edie to my Edie.

Here are some of the required job duties:

Please list your qualifications in the “leave a comment” section*. Act fast, and this could be you:

*Fear biters need not apply.