How Does This Happen?

Hand Sani Recalled Due to Bacterial Contamination.

I guess that "dangerous bacteria" was part of the 0.01% of germs that Purell doesn't kill. I MEAN FUCK. How in the what the what even I can't.

How is this even possible?

Also Known As Swine Flu Appreciation Day.

Today is National Handshake Day. Also known as, the Day Jo Anxiously Hides in the House. (See also, Every Day.)

For God's sake, people, use your Purell liberally on this most egregious of holidays.

Hotels AGAIN.

You are all well acquainted with the Things I Do when staying at a hotel.

Remember how I said that the next time I stay at a hotel, I was going to stay in a Hampton Inn? Because they wash their actual duvets and also have kickass hilarian commercials?

Well I think I've just changed my mind. I think the next time I brave a hotel room it will be a Best Western. Because here are the new rules they are implementing:

• Ultra violet (UV) sterilization wands– Wands from Purelight are used to sterilize "high touch points' in the hotel such as telephones, clocks, light switches, door handles, bathroom fixtures and common areas.  [Ed. Note: A recent study found that the main light switch in hotel rooms is the ickiest, germiest, fecal-matterest location in the entire joint, coming in at 112.7 CPU (colony-forming units of bacteria, per cubic centimeter). The recommended level for "cleanliness" is a mere 5 CPU. Why, that's, that's, well, a lot more CPUs. GROCE.]
• UV inspection black lights – These black lights are used as part of the housekeeper inspection process to detect any biological matter [Ed. Note: Read, human spermatozoa], food particles [Ed. Note: Read, vom], and more [Ed. Note: Read, blood and urea], that the human eye cannot see. 
• Clean remotes or wraps for the remote control device – These unique, seamless remote controls are designed specifically to make it easy to clean and disinfect before each guest stay. 
• Pillow and blanket wraps – Extra pillows, blankets and towels are wrapped in 100 percent recyclable and biodegradable single use wraps to ensure guests know that these products have been cleaned just for them. 
• 
  

It sounds good, nay, it sounds outfuckingstanding, but how do we know they will actually adhere to such strict standards? How do we know that Brunhilde the Maid has run a black light over the bed's headboard and bleached away the spooge and vag-hands? that she has used a sterilization wand after Cloroxing the bathtub so as to eradicate bum-bum-chowder germs? How do we know that is has occurred to Brunhilde to sterilize the coffeemaker and the microwave buttons?

In the same vein as not knowing whether Brunhilde has actually disinfected the toilet seat or has actually cleansed the water glasses that are covered with a paltry paper wrapper stating "For Your Convenience," we will never actually know whether anything has actually been cleaned. But, let's just hope they have some semblance of decency in their hearts to actually go through with these hygiene measures. LET US PRAY TO JESUS, CHILD. Pray that hotel employees become more adept at removing fecal coliform and escherichia coli and salmonella and staphylococcus aureus from our vacation spots.

I like where they heads is at, tho, dog. I like where they heads is at. UV wands and black lights and TV remote-control condoms and fresh blanket wraps FOR ALL.

Fun With Sepsis.

Poor hand-washing likely led to spread of rare infection at Royal Alexandra Hospital

"Poor hand-washing rates in Edmonton and Alberta hospitals contributed to the spread of multi-drug-resistant bacteria that infected several people and likely played a part in the death of a Royal Alexandra Hospital patient. 

"Joffe said Alberta Health Services is investigating why the originally infected traveller wasn’t immediately isolated in emergency and why hand-washing rates among staff at Edmonton hospitals is a dismal 43 per cent, compared to a provincial average of 50 per cent."

Come on, people, let's aim high. Let's shoot for the stellar average of 50%, not an abysmal 43%.

Fucking hospitals, man. In a study, the World Health Organization determined that in one year alone, "Hospital-acquired sepsis and pneumonia claimed 48,000 lives, led to 2.3 million extra patient-days in hospital and cost 8.1 billion dollars." All because people won't fucking wash their damn dirty hands. One doctor decreed that these infections "could be prevented by improving hygiene in clinical settings." YA THINK? Sweet feathery Jesus.

I have a great idea! Instead of a dismal 43%, or the you've-got-to-be-kidding-me average of 50%, let's really get crazy. Let's shoot for, I don't know, washing your hands 100% of the time?? 100% of the time you use the bathroom. 100% of the time you change diapers or wipe tiny butts. 100% of the time you pick your nose. 100% of the time you handle raw meat. 100% of the time your hands actually get grimy. 100% of the time you treat or touch patients at a doctor's office. 100% of the time your hands need washing, period. It's just not that hard. It's NOT THAT HARD.

Why can't people just wash their hands? Fuck 43%. Fuck 50%, for that matter. I hate people. I hate them in the face.

Another One about Various Other Nasty Phobias.

Do you ever know in advance just exactly what Complexes (Complices?) you are going to give your children? Like, are you a neat freak and you just know you are going to breed children who cannot go to sleep if their stuffed animals are out of place? Or maybe you are super stranger-danger-phobic, and you have instilled in your children a deep fear of all people, and they will assume that every person they pass is going to accost and torture and murder them? Perhaps you are afraid of sheep and your children scream every time they hear "Mary Had a Little Lamb." You get my point.

Well, I already know what my kids' neuroses will be. HAH! You think I'm going to say germs! Well that goes without saying. I plan to raise tiny tiny robots who use Clorox Wipes as toilet paper and who take bleach baths and who drink shots of Purell thrice daily. Bygones.

However, my other deepest darkest secret is that I am a choke-phobe. I am terrified that my kids will choke. And I know I'm instilling this fear in them. I must say at least 40 times a day, "Stop talking while you eat you'll choke." "Do not laugh and eat, you'll choke." "Please take super little careful bites, I don't want you to choke." "Tiny bites! I SAID TINY BITES!" "Stop doing weird inhaley things while you eat your sandwich, you'll choke." "We do not sing whilst we eat." "QUIT LAUGHING." "STOP FUCKING AROUND WHILE YOU'RE HAVING LUNCH, YOU'LL CHOKE GODDAMMIT." (That's only on a bad day.)

I just know my children are going to grow up thinking that they'll die of sandwich-asphyxiation or carrot-hack. I am just waiting for the day when I walk in on Maya playing with her dolls, and hearing her admonish them, "Take tiny bites of cake, Runchel,* I don't want you to gruesomely die right before my very eyes. RUNCHEL YOU COULD CHOKE!!111122!@"

*Runchel is the name she invented for her very favorite dollbaby.

Anyway. I don't know how to fix this situation. I don't know how to find a happy medium. As it is with so many other things in my life.

How do you ever let your kid gnaw on a raw carrot? How do you ever give them a whole apple without slicing it tissue-thin? How do you let them eat the shit out of a hotdog without dicing it into microscopic pieces? Godsakes how do you let them eat innocuous things like cereal and not tell them, "Fucking quit fucking laughing with your baby sister right fucking now, you'll both fucking DIE!!"

Above all else, how do you let them eat OMG whole grapes?! When is the day you decide, "OK, now my child is ready to shovel perfectly sized choking hazards down her gullet"?

When I was 19, I choked on a bite of salad. CHOKED-choked, not just sort of got it halfway down the wrong pipe. I was with a friend and I was just about to laugh, and I inhaled, and *thwap* a piece of lettuce completely sealed off my airway. With an audible thunk. I stood up, flailing, unable to even cough. Eventually I managed to push out the last remaining air I had in my lungs and barely dislodge the lettuce, enough to gasp and wheeze and let air whistle & screech through my windpipe. I coughed and coughed for like an hour, trying to fix things. Through the grace of God I am here to tell you this tale.

Yesterday I choked on a minuscule piece of ground beef. A crumb, really. Like, choked quite badly. Thought, "What if I sit here and die right in front of my two children because I can't get any air in or out?" Finally managed to get my lungs to cooperate and un-seize so I could cough.

So I know that choking can happen at any age, with any food. It's a lifelong hazard. But I am just terrified it will happen to my kids.

How do you get over something like this? Or, how do you just accept the fact that you are creating mini-paranoiacs?

I'll Just Leave This Here.

*dies a thousand deaths*

Monday Musings: Praising Jesus Edition.

Do they chlorinate baptismal pools in which people are immersed body and soul? Because, I mean, Holy bum-bum germs! (If you will pardon the pun.)

Do they ever clean out the inside of decorative baptismal fonts from which they scoop and pour water? All those priestly hand bacteria and cradle-cap crap and Protestant sneezes.

Is it OK to be pissed off in church when the person behind you is sniffling and sneezing and coughing their brains out? Does it make the baby Jesus cry when you think angrily, "Couldn't they have praised the Lord from HOME today?" Does He command you, "But I say, do not rise up against an evildoer! If someone sneezes upon your right cheek, turn and offer the other cheek also"?

Do you ever think about how many germs are passed betwixt people when sharing the Peace of the Lord following the sermon?

Influenza be with you. 

"--And also with you."

And on the eighth day God created hand sani. 

Thanks be to God.

In Which I Hyperventilate.

So I thought it well and good to inform you that in addition to being a germaphobe, and of course an emetophobe, I'm also a hypochondriac. In the nicest, most awesome possible sense of the word, of course.

When my big toe hurts, I tell my husband, "I think I have toe cancer." I am only 24% kidding. When I feel a twinge in my side, I'm almost positive it's appendicitis. When I walk into a room and can't remember what I am in there for? I am damn-near certain it's early-onset dementia.

When I grow a new freckle? Fucking melanoma, man. (Of course, this isn't unreasonable, as I am pasty white, have blue eyes, was born of Norwegian & Swedish heritage, entirely lack the ability to tan, have had tens of major sunburns in my life, and have in fact had skin cancer before. Behold, the battle wounds from having a basal cell carcinoma removed from my neck.

I told everyone it was from a particularly nasty bar fight. STAB WOUND 2007

Anyway, point is, my emotions tend to be...slightly overexaggerated. Although, the main problem is that all my fears are Based In Reality. When my big toe hurts and I'm sure it's cancer? Well, someone gets toe cancer; why not me?

When I feel a twinge in my side and I'm sure it's appendicitis? My brother's best friend's sister's mother's cousin died from a ruptured appendix, so what if I decide my side-ache is the result of a bad burrito con carne and then it exploded (the appendix, not the burrito), causing my very demise? WHAT WOULD MY CHILDREN DO WITHOUT A MOTHER? .....Oh, I'm just ovulating? Bygones.

When I forget what I am doing and I know in my heart it's Early Alzheimer's, or Alzheimer's Yet To Come? .................Fuck it, I'm not going to blame it on hypochondria: I DO KNOW I'm going to get Alzheimer's. I do. I will. Watch me. You just wait. Seriously. I'm not even kidding. I sound like I'm kidding. I'm not. It's not that I want it; it's just that it's going to happen. Mark my words. Quote me. Wait for it. Srsly.

Anyway, hypochondria: Yes, to some degree. Fears based in reality: Absolutely. And does all this make life even harder? Hoo boy.

***

My hypochondria extends to my kids, naturally. When Naomi has a sniffle? She will die in her sleep of mucous asphyxiation. When Maya says her back hurts? It's leukemia for sure. When there's a glint in their eyes in photographs? RETINO - MOTHER - FUCKING - BLASTOMA. Shit.

I mean goddamn, wouldn't you be worried? :( And yes, I took her to the eye doctor. Clean bill of health. 

Chalk another one up to hypochondria by proxy.

***

Today, I am 84% certain that Maya has something dreadfully wrong with her. Because she has been complaining for weeks that her eyes hurt terribly. So in my mind, that's head cancer. CANCER OF THE HEAD.

...Probably she just needs glasses. Or maybe, she has seasonal allergies?

In any case, things suck for a germaphobe/ emetophobe/ verminophobe/ disposophobe/ aichmophobe/ acrophobe/ chemophobe/ hemophobe/ gelotophobe/ insectophobe/ glossophobe/ harpaxophobe/ bacillophobe/ mysophobe/ rupophobe/ decidophobe/ automysophobe/ mycophobe/ hodophobe/ melissophobe/ consecotaleophobe*/ spermatophobe/ decidophobe/ thalassophobe/ proctophobe/ radiophobe/ nosophobe/ xyrophobe/ dystychiphobe/ agliophobe/ dromophobe/ chaetophobe/ helminthophobe/ phobophobe hypochondriac like me.

* Just kidding, I don't have a fear of chopsticks. For the most part.

...Life so hard for Baby JoJos.

Peace, Love, and Bum-Bum Germs.

Why is it that my hands feel exponentially more filthy after shopping at Trader Joe's than after I grocery shop at any other place?

After blowing a cool hundred U.S. American dollars at TJ's, I got in my car and could not use enough hand sani. And then I raced home, not to dive into the new channa masala I bought, but to vigorously wash my hands thrice.

OK just kidding--I raced home to dive into the channa masala.

And the spicy spinach pizza. And the fresh strawberries and blackberries. And the veggie chips. And the lime chili cashews. And the watermelon FruityFlakes. And the sushi rolls. And the Purple Moon Shiraz.

But ALSO to wash my hands. Because seriously, my hands felt hot and squirmy with the bum-bum germs of 10 million hippies.

Fair-trade dark chocolate on a hot tin slide.

Good thing I also bought delicious lemon hand-soap at Trader Joe's. I went through about 1/4 of it.

Before diving into my channa masala. Braaaaaap.

How to Bastardize Ratatouille. Bum-Bum Germs Stylee.

How to Cook Rattatoooeypie.

First, find an online ratatouille recipe that looks good. I found this here one. 2,000,000 reviews can't be wrong. Or 521. Bygones.

Shit, I messed up already. FIRST, be sure to watch Walt Disney's Ratatouille. So as 2 get in the mood. Find a chef's cap and a small disgusting rodent to place therein. THEN, find a good ratatouille recipe online. Like I says, I found this one.

Step one: Print it out. Step two: Tape it near your cooking area. Step three: Make sure not to follow any of it.

Then, coat a lovely glass pan with a fine fine garlic olive oil. Next, you wash all the vegetables. I said wash all the vegetables. WITH DISH SOAP.

Lather up that eggplant. Lather up those zucchinis. Yes, lather up that onion, even though you are going to take its skin off. You do not want to slice bum-bum germs straight into the sweet, firm white succulent sexy young flesh of an onion.

If you want to make sure you are on good terms with me, you will even wash the garlic. Then you peel that shit, mince that shit, and toss it in a pan of garlic olive oil. Then add in your clean, clean, fresh clean white onion. Sauté for a goodly bit. Then toss in some salt, pepper, parsley flakes, and oregano to taste. Sauté a bit more until that nonsense is translucent and delightfully rank.

Then, take your freshly scrubbed eggplant and peel. Cut, de-seed, scrape that shit out, do whatever you want to prepare your eggplant. Chop it into cubes, slices, trapezoids, I don't give a fuck. Toss with a bit more garlic olive oil.

Take your green pepper, yellow squash, and zucchini. If they have not been scrubbed to almost their very demise, throw everything away and start the fuck over: you obviously cannot follow directions. Begin again by WASHING THAT SHIT WITH SOAP. When you have reached this point again, with clean NON-  E.-coli vegetables this time, slice the green pepper, yellow squash, and zucchini into...slices. Mandolin stylee. All up in here.

If you happen to drop any stray vegetables on the floor, or God forbid the nasty nasty sink, DO NOT USE THAT PIECE REPEAT DO NOT USE THAT PIECE. This one went straight in the garbage:

DO NOT LET FILTHY VEG HAPPEN TO YOU.

Speaking of mushrooms....Now. Now comes the mushrooms. If you're like me, you'll go buy mushrooms, and then throw them promptly away, because mushrooms do not belong in food dishes. Ever. Except when you're feeling saucy. And today, I was feeling saucy. So you can either take your mushroom and do like Tenacious D and shove two of them up your ass, or throw them down the incinerator, or never buy them to begin with....or you can be bold and decide, "Mushrooms? Well why the fuck not. Even though they're groce."

But now comes the dilemma. Do you wash them, or not?

Now, if you google this issue, you'll get wildly varying opinions. Some swear you should never, ever, EVER wash fresh mushrooms, as it removes their delicious (???) flavor. Some say you should take a small firm brush and merely dust off the dirt, even if served raw.

Others say to perhaps take a cursory swipe of the shrooms with a damp cloth, and discard any gnarly stems. Other people? Other people in their right mind? Como yo? remind you that mushrooms are grown right in the motherfucking manure, yo. WASH THAT FUCKING SHIT WITH WATER. WASH IT. WASH IT.

So after you have washed your mushrooms to within an inch of their filthy lives, and possibly even swirled them about in soapy water, slice them. Do it.

Then glance at your recipe again, realize you've forgotten to sauté your eggplant first, scream "SCREW IT!" take a swig of any nearby wine, and go ahead and layer all your veggies. Extremely haphazardly. We're talking, ugly style. Throw that crap all about. No rhyme, no reason.

Stick a few chunks of eggplant here, three slices of green pepper there, and a handful of mushroom all in betwixt. Make sure it is as ugly as poss.

Then, drizzle about 400 calories of olive oil on top, add enough salt and pepper to raise your blood pressure to 160/100, and top with fairly thickly-sliced tomato. Which you surely have washed with dish soap. For to wash off all the hand germs, semen, fecal matter, dust, duck shit, salmonella, and sneeze.

Another "GOTCHA" to one of my favorite people, the Not So Special Mother Janice. :)

Once you have added those divine slices of tomato, add even more S&P. Because you only live once.

Then, top with your onion/garlic sauté mixture. ADD MORE S&P GODDAMMIT. I'm telling you.

Them top with great vast handfuls of shredded parmesan cheese.

(Make sure you have Clorox wipes directly visible in the background at all times.)

Finally, give another cursory glance at your recipe; realize you have done things completely fucking wrong, possibly due to the large amounts of Shiraz you've drunk; say a prayer to the Patron Saint of Pixar movies; and throw that motherfucker in the oven at 350 for 45 minutes. Result:

Tasty, toasty, melty, ugly, random, delicious, cheesy vegetable goodness.

For that Extra Wow Factor, add birthday candles.

Just kidding, don't.

I hope you enjoy your Ratatouille a la Bum-Bum Germs. Mine was spectacular.

Love,
Jo

Can You Hang With the In Crowd?

We're in with the in crowd,

We're too hip to go outside.

We're in with the in crowd,

Indoors where the cool cats hide.

We love stayin' in all day

Our biggest kick is puttin' stuff away.

In the drawers, in the fridge, in the closet,

You don't know 'in' till you've made a deposit.

Hey we're the in crowd,

That crazy in crowd.

Yeah, we're the in crowd...

In with the in crowd.

Housebound. Locked In. Terrified of the World. Ashamed.

When I say I am a stay-at-home mom, I mean I am a STAY-AT-HOME mom. We almost never go anywhere. Not to the grocery store (I pass off that duty to my husband); not to the park; not the children's museum; not to play-dates; and never, ever to indoor play-places (McDonalds, the mall, etc.).

We stay at home.

Home is safe; home is clean. At home, we are not breathing other people's germs, and we are not touching anything that has been touched with unwashed hands. Our house may be a little cluttered, we may have a little too much stuff, but it's clean. The rest of the world? Filthy and disease-ridden and scary and overwhelming and panic-inducing. I've learned that wherever we go, someone is always sick. Always.

Even when I try to venture out, beyond my comfort zone, someone somewhere sneezes on us, and my breathing constricts, and my stress hormones surge, and my panic rises. I think to myself, "We are doomed. We can't win. We can't win."

Someone, wherever we go, is always sick. And I can't have that.

So my children suffer. We almost never even go into our own backyard, for heaven's sake. So inside, we remain. Safe. Bored. Antsy. No new things. No learning. No experiences. No stimulation. 

I am terrified that one day my daughters will sing this song. Because of me.

Because of you

I'll never stray too far from the sidewalk

Because of you

I learned to play on the safe side

So I don't get hurt

Because of you

I find it hard to trust

Not only me, but everyone around me

Because of you

I tried my hardest just to forget everything

Because of you

I don't know how to let anyone else in

Because of you

I'm ashamed of my life because it's empty

Because of you

I am afraid

I'm sorry, my loves.

The ABCs of OCD.

is for Alcohol wipes containing at least 65% ethyl alcohol. To be used at least every time you touch anything. Ever. 

is for Bleach. Straight up, please. On the rocks if I'm feeling saucy. Too, B is for Bacitracin. And obvi Bum-bum germs. Bygones?

is for Clorox Wipes. I mean Come On.

is for Dial antibacterial soap. The original germ-buster. D is also for Doctors' offices, the absolute bane of my wretched existence.

is for Escherichia coli. Can be avoided by changing your cooking utensils 3/4 of the way through.

is for Fecal matter. You're welcome.

 is for Germ-X.

is for Hand-sani, Hoarding tendencies, Hotels, and Hot tin slides, baby.

is for Intrusive thoughts ("unwelcome, involuntary thoughts, images, or unpleasant ideas that may become obsessions, are upsetting or distressing or paralyzing, and can be difficult to manage or eliminate."). Specifically, Intrusive Thoughts of the folded-up treadmill falling down onto the tender skull of my secondborn. Or maybe "I" should be for It's more likely than you think.

is for JoJo, Purveyor of the Sanitary Way.

 is for Kill it with fire.

is for Lice. DNW. Listeria, Lysol Wipes, Lysistrata. Because Lysistrata popped into my head just now. Thank you, Advanced Placement English 1996.

is for Mommy Juice. See also; wine. Def: What mommies must resort to by at least 5 pm on your average weekday. M is also for the McPlaguePlace; Matchsticking a dog; and Medication, buttloads of.

is for None more black.

 is for Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. And if you don't know that, you haven't been around my blog long, child, have you.

is for Purell. Like DUH. Perhaps Patron Saints. Possibly Pit of despair. Also Poop. On a hot tin slide.

 is for Quips, Witty. What I like to hide my pain behind.

 is for Rape showers. What I take when I come home from my Acid Test Friends' house.

is for Sani-Hands. Or Salmonella poisoning? S is for Shitpaws. Also known 'round these parts as feline feet. Which step all over and dig amongst their litterboxes turds. And then walk all over your pillow and food-prep surfaces. S is also for Sneeze. Because, I mean:

is for Things I do; Tin slides, hot; and Terrence Howard.

is for Urine: What not to brush your teeth with.

is for vomiting. Please do not do so in my presence. V is also for Vanna White's bum-bum germs. Because that's how I roll.

is for WASH YOUR DAMN HANDS. And of course Wine; see also, mommy juice.

XYZ XYH PDQ is for Xamine Your Hygiene; Please Do it Quickly.

is for Yersinia pestis. You know, BUBONIC PLAGUE.

Z is for Zebra. Because, I mean, Zebra.