The Dirt on Clean.

For Christmas, my cousin got me a book. It's called The Dirt on Clean: An Unsanitized History, by Katherine Ashenburg.

It could not be more perfect for me. It is at once horrifying, fascinating, vomit-inducing, engrossing, and fucking pure awesome.

There are quotes spattered throughout the book. For example, Marcus Aurelius said at one point during his life from 121 to 180 AD, "What is bathing when you think of it? Oil, sweat, filth, greasy water, everything revolting."

MY THOUGHTS EXACTLY. Baths are the grossest thing ever, unless you shower thoroughly first and wash all your naughty bits. And bathing with someone else? Unacceptable.

Also, when delving into the medieval period, the book states, "We don't know how and how often people washed, ... but plausible estimates are 'not thoroughly' and 'seldom.' "

Imagine your whole body looking like this.

Another revolting quote, this time from Ulrich, a monk of Cluny circa 1075, states "As to our baths, there is not much we can say, for  we only bathe twice a year before Christmas and before Easter."

So glad you at least get clean for Jesus.

The book also talks about how, for most of our recordable history, when people "bathed" at all, it involved rubbing oil on your body and scraping it off with something called a strigil.

When "soap" was invented, it was made from animal fat and ashes. Mmm. Bath & Body Works should come up with a new foaming hand wash called "Antibacterial Donkey Lard."

I am still in the process of reading this gem of a book, and I shall promptly report back with further horrifying details. There is an entire chapter entitled, "But Didn't They Smell?"

That they did, Sonny Jim. That they did.

Also, here's a baby lamb.

T&A Time.

Sorry, I meant Q&A Time.

I'm so out of ideas for this blog that it's not even funny. And then it's funny and then not funny again.

So let's do a little question-and-answer session.

Is there anything I haven't covered that you want to ask me? Or something you want more dirty deets about?

ASK ME ANYTHING!!

Help me find something to write about, my beloveds. Or even if you are a perfect stranger. Just ask!

PLEEEEEEEEEASE.

This Post Is Entirely Unrelated to OCD.*

Just cute pictures of my kids.

We did Santa pictures twice. The first time the kids were all decked out, but Naomi was a whiny little cuss and her dress was all a mess and such. So the second time, we took them in matching jammies (since Santa always wears jammies) and the picture turned out much better. So here they are!

* I lied, this is OCD-related. I always break into a cold sweat when I see Santa's hands touch my kids (or worse yet, as in that first picture, where my kids actually touch Santa's hands).** Also I worry about them catching lice or bedbugs or the flu from all the other kids Santa has held. But you can't skip Santa pictures. You just can't. I just had to double my anti-anxiety medication, is all.

** And don't even get me started on the time I took my one-and-a-half month old baby to see Santa. Her face actually touched his beard. His BEARD. But I can't complain because it is the most precious picture ever to exist in this world. Ever. Like, I could win a Major Award with this shit.

Merry Christmas, beloved friends. I hope you have a wonderful holiday and that the New Year treats you well. And I hope that none of you catches Salmonella from the homemade eggnog.

Fun Phobic Fact...Furday?

Catuum

please dear god why did i watch the health inspectors on the food network why

chicken

raw chicken contaminating everything

why

Fun Friendly Phobic Fact Friday.

So I was watching Dr. Oz on TV (MEHMET!!) and he was talking about all the hidden dangers of dining out, and the "secrets servers don't want you to know."

I am all incognito-like

Of course I felt it was my duty to share these findings with you, my friends and lovers.

• One Helpful Hint was to never, ever order fish on Sunday or Monday. It's usually old and groce.

• Also, if you order your steak well-done, you are likely getting rotten meat (or, "meat that's not as fresh as it should be," according to the man who tried to back-track). You will 100% of the time get a cut that sucks, because cooking it up well-done masks the flavor and it will be tough anyway, so they do not give you the best cuts. Go for medium or medium-rare instead.

• Buffets. The bane of my existence. The food is often overcooked and left out way too long, causing food-borne illness. Plus, all those sneezes and all the people touching the serving utensils...ugh. Never eat from trays that are mostly empty, as these have been sitting out way too long.

• Serving trays are filthy. They are basically never washed, or, if you're lucky, they're wiped down once a day. Think of all the hands!! One chef recommends that you clean them with sani-wipes and that you get your fast food "to go" even if you are staying in the restaurant, so that you can eat off your own clean containers, like styrofoam or cardboard to-go boxes. Sorry environment.

• One server says passionately, "I never order a drink with lemon. They're never washed, everyone touches them, not just the waiter who's putting it in your drink." I've known this for ages. No one washes the outside peel, so they slice all the nastiness right into the flesh of the lemon, and who knows how many countless hands have touched that lemon? Then your server, who touches menus and people's dirty plates and silverware, plunks a lemon right into your drink. Double groce. There will be NO LEMON IN MY WATER THANK YOU SO VERY DEEPLY.

• Another server says, "If your plates and silverware look clean enough to re-use, we put them right back on the shelves." Fucking...I can't even. What can you say about this atrocity?

• One more quote: "I've seen servers come back from bathroom breaks and not wash their hands, and then they're touching your menu, your drinks, and your food, and it's gross." GROCE

• The longstanding question: Should you send food back to the kitchen if you're not happy with it? Yes, if it is not cooked properly, but God be with you, child, you best BE POLITE. If you are not, please expect bodily secretions in your re-cooked meal.

• Water pitchers. They touch the rim of your glass and every other glass. Glass after glass after glass. HERPES MUCH? One estimate puts "touch down" at 144 glasses (of saliva) per evening. Considering how many people have the herp or a cold or flu, you're bound to catch something.

• Ask for the to-go container to be brought to you instead of letting the server take it back where God knows what will happen with it. They will often touch the food with their bare hands. "Ask for it, pack it yourself, don't let it out of your sight."

Take heed, children, and protect yourself from just SOME of the nastiness you will find at restaurants.

I Knew There Was a Reason I Loved You, Paul Rudd.

...Besides your very fine looks and your stunning comedic talent.

Fun Friendly Phobic Fact Friday.

Today we saw a movie. That in itself was a big accomplishment, OCD-wise, because without fail, every time I go to a movie there is someone hacking and sniveling and snorting and sneezing and coughing, and I spend the entire movie in a state of intense distress. Or someone's wearing overbearing perfume or has terrific B.O. Something always goes wrong at a movie.

Today, none of that happened. But today's movie was unusual in that it was RPX, or, ooh la la, a Regal Premium Experience, which p. much means it's just 3D.

We make this shit look good.

This means 3D glasses. Godforsaken disgusting filthy nasty horrifying glasses. Places upon your very FACE. Resting atop your very nose, in the vicinity of your very EYEBALLS.

They caused me to have a mild panic attack and break a sweat. Even handling the plastic package they came in, I was like, "This shit's not clean. There's no way this shit is clean."

But it's not just me. It's not just an OCD thing. Apparently, those things are well-known to be rife with bacteria.

In tests, among the 3D glasses looked at, a cubic shitload of them carried "bacteria that can cause conjunctivitis, skin infections, food poisoning, or even sepsis or pneumonia."

Further, "the publication's research lab found that none of the glasses it tested were sterilized. One of the pairs it evaluated was contaminated with Staphylococcus aureus, the most common cause of staph infections."

In addition, "according to an Inside Edition press release, their undercover investigators have found potentially harmful bacteria on some of the 3D glasses handed out at movie theaters—even the glasses that appear brand new, wrapped in plastic."

I'm sorry, but you can SEE the germs on those motherfucking cloudy-ass glasses.

Dr. Kelly Reynolds, a microbiologist at the University of Arizona, tells the I-Squad, " 'she was surprised by some of the potentially dangerous organisms, such as fecal matter, found crawling on the 3D glasses, including bacteria commonly found in feces.

" 'It looks like 3D glasses are a hot spot for germs. The major way viruses are spread is through your eyes. So certainly when you’re putting these glasses near your eyes you want to make sure nothing is on them.' "

Just...just...groce. GROCE.

However, Life of Pi was fucking EXCELLENT and BEAUTIFUL and AMAZE and maybe it was worth catching Staphylococcus aureus in my nose and eyeballs in order to see it. Because, awesome.

But it's time to go Sani-Hands my entire face now.

Source
Source

I Got Nothin'.

The Bidet Is the Drinking Fountain of Bum-Bums.

Doesn't the concept of bidets gross you the fuck out?

I mean, think about water fountains. Kids slobbering all over the spout and then letting water pour from their mouth all over the spigot from which you will later drink from.

Bidets are the same nonsense. Water shoots up your bidness, then falls down, getting all over tarnation, and the next time you use it, water shoots up from the same spout that bum-bum juice has just leaked down upon.

Water fountains are one of the grossest things I know. But imagine someone hanging their ass over one to clean it, and then drinking from it reusing it on your own ass. I can't. I can't even.

Oh, and this guy? I really, really, REALLY can't.

PSA: Never use a bidet unless you don't mind someone else's bum-bum germs all up in your crack.

Halloweeeeeeeek!

So Halloween is fast approaching. And if you know me at all, you know this is one of my least favorite holidays. Well, that's not true; I actually like it a great deal. I like the autumn, I like the chill, I like the smell in the air, I like seeing kids all dressed up.

What I do not like, no, what I do not like, is my child reaching in a bucket of candy where 82937423740923704 other grubby mitts have been.

You may have gathered this from last year's blog that was written in a total state of hysteria.

You see, with all those grimy boogery hands, every piece of candy must be crawling with e.coli and influenza. And there's no way to take it home and sterilize every piece of candy, so if my kid wants one, my best bet is to unwrap it for her, fling it down like the plague on the table straight out of the wrapper, then wash my own hands four times. Because. Groce.

And still, beyond figuring out how to actually get the candy from the wrapper into the mouths of babes, there's all the reaching, and the grabbing, and now we have an 18-month-old who will be reaching and grabbing too. And this particular 18-month-old STILL puts everything in her mouth. She's acting a 6-month-old fool over here. So she will grab a germified Fun-Size Snickers(TM) and promptly shove the whole bewrappered thing into her gaping maw, I have no doubt.

I like it eatin bewrappered Snickers

Oh well. I keep trying to tell myself, (1) this is necessary. Halloween in nonnegotiable. I have to let my kids do it; and (2) how can these germs be worse than the ones she's picked up from school? And boy oh boy has Maya already caught some doozies. She even caught and then gave me such a bad cold that I got a raging ear infection, and what adult gets an ear infection? I mean FFS.

Anyway. I do not look forward to wandering through the crowded costumed masses, in the pouring rain, only to have my delicate young offspring snatch handfuls of Tootsie Rolls, Three Musketeers, and bum-bum germs.

The good news is, this year I narrowly avoided having to trick-or-treat at my husband's workplace, so I had no run-ins with Princess Jasmine or any meltdowns or parking disasters or near-puking and all that took place last year.

An update surely to come once Halloween has come and gone. Light a candle for me, child.

PS: I link to my old shit because that was back when I was funny. Goddammit.

Party Time. Excellent.

No really, the party was fairly excellent. See, part of me knows that I was stressing out for nothing, and part of me says "FUCK YOU AND YOUR SO-CALLED 'REASON,' I AM IN AGONY HERE AND I CAN'T STAND ANOTHER SECOND OF THIS IMMENSE STRESS."

So I was worried about everything from picking up the helium tank (oh, and recall, there was apparently a is a "nationwide shortage of helium," I couldn't make this shit up if I tried, what the fuck, world) so we had to drive all over the USA trying to find some. But we did.

Then I was worried about remember the motherfucking pizza cutter. Because how do you cut a pizza without a pizza cutter. I mean godsakes man. So I lost sleep thinking, "What if I forget the pizza cutter? WHAT THEN?!! THE PARTY WILL BE A DISASTER!!"

Then I was worried about remembering Maya's beautiful rainbow bracelet, because the theme, after all, was rainbow. My world would end if I forgot her rainbow bracelet.

Meanwhile, my dear loving understanding husband was like, "Fuck it, knock this shit off you fucking lunatic, we'll bring pizza, find a way to cook it, and fucking everything will be fine."

Fine and dandy, but that's not how my brain works. I was worried about the party favors. I was worried about the cake. I was worried about the got-damn DVD to bring to the movie room. Jesus Q. Public, it's not that hard to understand that I have anxiety issues. Thanks for your support, Code Red.

But all told, it went well. We picked up the ingredients (pizza, water, juice boxes, chips, salad, and champagne because you can't have a small child's birthday without booze), and we made it to the venue in plenty of time.

We set up like white demons, running frantically about, heliuming-up balloons and winding crepe paper and decorating tables with rainbow tablecloths and setting out veggie platters and bowls full of ice and champagne and cups and plates and napkins, and blowing up mini rainbow beach balls, and getting a giant bowl of party favors ready (rainbow stickers, rainbow bracelets, rainbow lollipops, rainbow crayons). Thank God I had help (my mom and aunt were there, along with the girl who lives in the apartment complex, who was am absolute GEM), but we all got it time literally seconds before guests arrived.

Everything looked very rainbow and very spectacular. Well, very rainbow anyway, and perhaps a little cheap & shoddy. But rainbow nonetheless.

The girls were decked out in rainbow tutus and rainbow striped shirts. Maya had a rainbow headband in her hair, and somewhere along the way we lost Naomi's rainbow ladybug bracelet. Bygones.

We started by greeting and mingling and snacking, then we baked the pizzas and served up. After lots of eating and champagning, we moved on to presents. Maya got a shitload of awesome stuff, for which I can't thank my guests enough. Very, very sweet.

Then finally it was time for cake. RAINBOW CAKE!! We all had a good time eating very tiny pieces of cake, since the cake was a little on the small side, but oh well.

People dwindled after that, but it was a party later in the evening, so they all had to head home.

All told, I should not have worried, but this does not mean I won't fucking PANIC next year for Maya's 6th birthday. Or in March for Naomi's 2nd birthday, for that matter. You can't reason with an anxious, OCD mind.

I was blessed and delighted to see so much family and so many friends (chesea, I'm looking at you) for making the long-assbutt drive to Kirkland just to join us for these festivities. I love you long time.

I'll also have you know that while I brought hand sani and displayed it prominently near the foodstuffs, I was remarkable calm about touching various things--moving chairs around, using the champagne glasses that the banquet room provided, opening cabinets and even the garbage door, letting people blow up balloons and letting my kid take those home, letting my kid open presents (doesn't mean I didn't disinfect a few upon arriving home), opening doors, just generally moving about the room and touching things. I only washed my hands a few times too. Before handling food, and then just randomly throughout. You'd be proud. I was very calm about germs and such. But thank God I didn't have to shake a single hand the entire time. I would have headed straight to the sink for some sudsy germ-x action.

Oh and there was even a sudden hailstorm, so we all went out and played in that for awhile. It was awesome.

OHHH!!!!222211@ And NO ONE SEEMED TO HAVE A COLD! Score! Not my kids, not any guests! Thank the sweet baby Jesus thank you.

----

Here are a few more pictures for your time.

MOVIE ROOM!!

Happy birthday, my beauty.

Blogher.com

I occasionally re-post my bumbum blogs to Blogher.com, hoping to gain more traffic.

However.

I am shocked and appalled and personally afronted that there is no category for stories what fall into "science."

For example.

I usually post my stories with links to "Health, wellness, and humor."

Sometimes "Health, food, and humor."

Or even "Cooking for health, wellness, and humor."

(I am sure you can see a common thread here.)

I wish there were a category for "egregious assaults to health and wellness" or "people are fucking gross," but you do what you can.)

But when I want to re-post something like my article on how "Science Is Fun and Useful," and my only options to categorize such articles are things like, "Crafts, gardening, scrapbooking, love & sex, weddings, astrology, television, and beauty," I get a little pissed off. Where it the "It's Science, Bitches" category?? Where is it?! Why can't women bloggers blog about science? Why?

I should boycott. But that would be dumb. So I thought I'd just bitch and moan instead. Like women do.

My Anxiety Manifests in So Many Unpleasant Ways.

So OMG tomorrow is the day of the party of the birthday of the five-year-old child of myself!! She actually turned 5 today, and yes there have been tears galore because mommy is not ready to face that five years have gone by since she squoze out that tiny tiny bundle, but bygones.

Can you believe this wee smiling beast?

NOW my main worry is the party.

I know several of you have weighed in on the parking situation: You are all adults and you can figure out where the motherfuck to park, even if you have to drive to Juanita to do it. I can trust you with that. (PS: There is apparently "underground parking," for those coming, which I did not know about and still don't know how to find, but if you look hard enough and wish upon the morning star you may find some.)

So. OK. I get it. Parking is up to you. I have to let go and let God.

But tomorrow I have to:

• Pick up the cake and hope it's up to par (I ordered it sight-unseen, over the phone--shit better be rainbowy enough for my kid who wants an ultra-rainbow birthday.

Nothing will look this awesome, I'm sure.

• Put Naomi down for and ultra, ultra early nap, which I know in my heart of hearts is not going to happen, so by the time we leave the house at 1:30 or earlier, Naomi will likely have had no nap. The party goes until 7 pm so we are fucked in half if she doesn't nap.
• Set out on the long drive to Kirkland and stop at Safeway on the way, picking up said rainbow cake (if not earlier), plus tons of fresh pizzas and veggie platters and chips and pop and water and champagne and beer (no one can accuse us of not throwing a child's birthday party like it should be thrown, with booze).

• Bring the Helium tank (did you know there is apparently a "helium shortage crisis" in Western WA and we had to go all over tarnation to find a do-it-yourself blow-up tank??) and fill 93207492037509327523 balloons and mylar balloons once we're there and tape some to the entrance of the party room and have then scatterered all about. I've learned from past parties that nothing is a bigger bit that regular old helium balloons, floating on strings from the ceiling. Kids play with this shit for hours.

• Bring the Box Full O' Shit which includes plates, cups, balloons, balloon string, napkins, confetti, decorations, candles, table cloth covers (rainbow, natch), centerpieces, gift bag goodies like rainbow suckers, rainbow sticker books, and rainbow crayons 
• Other accoutrement like a motherfucking pizza cutter (what will we do if I forget this?) and bowls to hold shit like suckers and stickers, and bowls to hold chips
• Bring a DVD like "Tangled" or "ET" so that kids can watch in the adjacent movie room at the leisure (somehow I know this will be overlooked)
• I had originally planned to do pinatas untill I realized the mere thought was keeping me up at night: Must buy candy!! Must buy string! Must buy a pinata whacker! Must find some goddamn way in tarnation to hang these motherfuckers inside a community room!! Instead, I returned them (minus shipping fees) but feel much calmer. Win?

• Must find a way to organize a game or two--I don't have the stuff for Pin the Tail on the Whatnot, so I think I'll take a good friend's advice and just do simple, simple Duck-Duck-Goose.

And I guess if people don't like it? Or they happen to notice that some of our plastic champagne flutes are totally cracked and broken? Or they think I didn't do enough to prepare? They can suck it, Trebek.

But I still can't help feeling totally overwhelmed. Wish me luck tomorrow at noon-7 PST.

STILL AM TOTES FREAKING OUT THIS IS NOT NORMAL I SHOULD BE ABLE TO DEAL WITH A 5TH BIRTHDAY PARTY  BUT I'M LOSING IT OVER HERE FUCK YOU ANXIETY RIGHT IN THE FACE

Pray for me.

Either way, enjoy another photo of my sweet perfect angel five years ago:

Happy fifth birthday, my love.