Germs

My bottle of hand sanitizer reads, "Kills 99.9% of germs without water." What are the other .1% of germs out there that hand my hand sanitizer does not kill? If I use water with my hand sanitizer, then will it kill all 100% of germs? How does the ambiguous They find this out? Do they test hand sanitizer one germ at a time, or do they put thousands of germs on some poor soul, then perform an autopsy to see what germs killed that person?

Hand sanitizer makers should put a list on the bottles describing exactly what germs it kills:

"Acme Hand Sanitizer kills germs that cause the common cold, influenza, e.coli, conjunctavitis, and salmonella. If you come into contact with any germs other than the ones listed, you are screwed and should start planning your funeral or making sure your insurance is current. Please quarantine yourself from the rest of society and burn everything you have come into contact with, so as to not chance selfishly spreading your germs to the rest of mankind and possibly destroying all life forms as we know them. We do not want medical and malpractice insurance to be driven up, just because your sorry ass was too lazy to sneeze into a tissue, then kindly throw it away, or for F sake, decide that you were in too big of a hurry to wash your hands!"

Ms. Pac Man

Today is worth two entries.

Alcohol-induced dreams are the best sometimes.
I made myself a whiskey sour last night, to help me write my paper and to try and fight off a cold. Before bed, I irrigated my sinuses, but that is beside the point.
Anyway, I dreamt that I was at some little arcade/theme park with four rides. One of the rides was Rockem Sockem Robots- The Ride. Don't ask. I was waiting to ride, because it was a two-person ride and my friends went ahead of me. I put a quarter into a Ms. Pac Man game and the game sucked me in! I became Ms. Pac Man. It was kinda' cool. I was eating dots and fruit and ghosts were chasing me. I died once. On my next try, a minnow guided me through the game. I rocked!

You know how you have a group of settings in your dreams? Like, a particular school looks the same, if you're in a city, the city is always the same, if you're in the country, etc. I went on to dream that I was in high school running from a sexual predator. That part of my dream probably stemmed from reading "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?".

When I woke up this morning, I was exhausted.

Pork Rinds In The Vending Machine?

Why on earth would anyone put pork rinds in a vending machine at a place where the majority of employees are women? Pork rinds are a man's food and I do not even see the men who work here rejoicing. I feel that if you are going to replace the Doritos with pork rinds, at least have the decency to replace the diet soda with Natural Light beer. While you're at it, Mr. Vending machine man, could you maybe put some hot wings and ranch or blue cheese dressing in the vending machine and throw in some celery and carrot sticks, too? Thank you.

(Not to mention, paying fifty cents for a tiny bag of pork rinds is a rip off, when one can go to Costco and get a lifetime supply of pork rinds for only $3.99.)

Giant Raisins

Today at the grocery store I saw a special on giant raisins. GIANT RAISINS? They're called prunes, people! Why the hell do we need giant raisins, too? Are giant raisins any better than prunes? Are giant raisins plotting to drive prunes to the brink of extinction? Is there a war going on between plum and grape farmers and the Today Show and the BBC World Service has failed to bring this to the world's attention?

Wait--do giant raisins have pits?
If so, are they giant pits?

Do they come in organic?

Two More Hands

I need at least two more hands so I can type comments on blogs then write in my blog and eat my salad at the same time.

Marissa's blog made me question my morals. What if I had access to celebrity phone numbers? Would I call them out of curiosity? What would I say? I don't really have that kind of time on my hands to go around calling phone numbers now, but when I was a kid, my friend Sarah and I used to call up recording studios in New York and California and we were like, "Is Davy Jones available? Is Mick Jagger in? Could you leave a message for Billy Idol?" I would like Stephen King's e-mail address, though. I would ask him to proof read my papers. He'd be like, "Piss off! I don't have that kind of time!" The only actors, actresses, and singers I would really like to talk to are Brent Spiner (whom I've met), Scott Bakula, Tony Shaloub, Vincent D'Onofrio, Tim Curry, Simon Cowell, Susan Sarrandon, Steve Martin, Christopher Guest, Jamie Lee Curtis, Michael McKean, Jim Carrey, Robin Williams, the late Madeline Khan, Tori Amos (I came so close to meeting her), Ani DiFranco, and Beth Hart. Okay, so a small handful. Goodness, that was like a Christmas wish-list! What if I had access to all of their e-mail addresses and phone numbers? I hate calling people anyway and I would rather talk to them in person, you know, to get a picture and all. Besides, these folks work long hours and I know how I feel at the end of a fifteen hour day or after a show. I'm not always chatty Cathy. I believe in people's right to privacy, regardless if they are famous or not and regardless if their phone numbers are kept private or maliciously displayed on the internet. I would not blame Christina or Eminem one bit for being an arse to someone pretending to be a friend, however, why would you answer a call from a phone number you do not recognize? You cannot tell me these folks do not have caller id!

Research Paper Blues

I wish I could get my spirit guide to write my research paper for me, or at least take notes and I will write the paper! Is that cheating? Why would he help me, since I have so pre-occupied with my life that I have been ignoring him? I suppose spirit guides are used to getting the cold shoulder, though.

I have a hard time understanding how anyone can avoid believing in the afterlife and that there are spirits among us. Maybe I have been blessed to have had both good and bad experiences in my life so far that have reinforced my beliefs. It is not just about ghosts and spirit guides. I have talked to God all of my life and have always gotten answers back from Him, in whatever way, shape, or form.

Many argue that we are all just here by some freak accident of evolution. Others argue that one cannot believe in ghosts or psychic ability and believe in God at the same time. Apparently, these folks were sleeping in Sunday school, because the Bible is full of angels and even God Himself appearing to people. The Bible is also full of stories about average, scum of the earth shepherds having dreams and visions that come true.

There is too much in and of this world that we mere human beings will never understand or have the ability to grasp, so we might as well make the most of what we are given, be humane to each other, and enjoy life.

Only God and our souls know the truth.

Now, on to a great question that my friend Rich brought up last night:
Did Elvis have a big dick?
This is a very legitimate question. Rich brought up a great point that if Elvis had a small dick, then word surely would have gotten around. After all, Elvis did sleep with a lot of women and surely broke many women's hearts, but no scorned woman ever tried to spread the rumor that Elvis' dick was small. Maybe Elvis paid them not to talk about his small dick and these women are still getting checks from his estate.
I have been to Graceland and seen his clothes, but I really did not pay much attention to the crotch area. Next time I go to Graceland, I will have to get an answer for Rich's question. I will not come back from Graceland until I have proof of the King's penis size. Maybe he was not called the King, because he was the king of rock and roll, but his penis was so big that it could have conquered its own country and made itself king.

Now I am all hot thinking about Elvis' cock size.

You are thinking about it, too, aren't you.

Everybody say, "Thank you, Rich!"

Speaking of cocks, I should have done my argumentative research paper on whether uncircumcised dicks are better than circumcised dicks. The university, as well as my boyfriend, might frown upon that, though.

Jason Is A Pussy

Jason is a pussy. Jason who? I have know idea, but when I was pumping gas earlier this evening, "Jason is a pussy" was scratched into the gas pump. So, if your name is Jason and you do not have a last name, you are a pussy. This does not mean, however, that if you are a pussy, then your name is Jason. This does not mean that if you have a pussy, your name is Jason. It does not mean that your pussy's name is Jason. My pussy's name is Merlin and he is not a Jason. (I once called my pussy Jason by accident and he bit me.) Therefore, not all pussys are Jasons, but clearly, all Jason's are pussys. Yet, if your are a Jason, this doe not mean you have a pussy, but you may want to change your name from Jason to Pussy.

Now, run away!

A Friendly Reminder

How come whenever someone sends you a friendly reminder, the tone of the reminder is never friendly?

I had another scary run-in with a librarian yesterday.
I went to the library to use the computer to pull some sources for my research paper. I gave the gal at the desk my card and she assigned me to a computer. No big deal, right? Wrong. I was assigned to #27, which one would think would be located next to 25 and 26, right? Wrong again. So, I went back to the desk to look at the little map of the computer lab. I was looking at the map and located my computer, when all of a sudden, a different librarian pops up out of nowhere from behind the desk. She said in a tone that sounded like she thought I was doing something illegal, "Can I help you with something?" Well, she scared me, and I could hardly talk, but I was able to get out in a wispy-sounding voice, "No, thank you. I found it." Then, I almost backed into a bookcase, before running into the room where #27 was located.
CREEPY!

Short and Sweet

Happy Cutesy Greeting Card, Stuffed Animal With Hearts, Another Excuse to Eat Chocolate, and Go Out To Dinner at an Expensive Restaurant Day!

My honey and I have made amends. I told him how I understand how he feels and I basically told him everything I wrote in the last post, minus the "screw him" part. I also said that I would try my hardest to get my homework done early in the week so that Sundays can be "our day." I also told him the trip to New York was already paid for and wrote him a nice, romantic note inside a blank Valentine's Day card. I told him I would try not to get so wrapped up in myself that I push our relationship aside again. So, un-screw him!

Habla del Diablo

Well, as I was writing that last post and those last lines of the last entry, my boyfriend called me. Unbeknownst to me, we are having relationship problems and he pretty much confirmed for me that all men are pigs. I believe there are three sides to every story: His side, my side, and the what is really going on. His side is, to put it bluntly, he is not getting enough sex. He feels like I am not enjoying sex with him and it bums him out. He says I make him feel like I repulse him. You know what? Screw him! My attitude is that we have been together almost five years and I spent approximately three of those years trying to live my life around him, so I could spend more time with him, and I refuse to do it anymore. I have worked crappy jobs because of him and even quit school so I could see him more, yet nothing changed in our relationship. I thought that he was going to be the man I would spend the rest of my life with, but I realized a couple years ago, that he is not the marrying type, and I adjusted my attitude towards the relationship accordingly and backed off. I figured if I was only going to be able to see him once a week, that I would just enjoy the time we get to spend together and make the most of it.
I must be jaded, though, because I feel if we are only going to see each other once a week, and I am too tired to make love that one night we get to spend together, that is not my problem. Moreover, the pressure I feel to make love to him, even though I am not in the mood, makes me even less in the mood.
I will admit, I have little libido anyway and the medication I take for anxiety does not help matters either. One would think with my attitude towards sex, that I had been raped or molested as a child. In a way I suppose I was.
When you have breasts by the age of eight, boys who are a little bit older than you like to grab them all the time, and try to hold you down and touch you, even though you are too weak to fight back. Because of this, I am not a touchy-feely person and it is hard to be intimate with my boyfriend. There are times when I feel like I am eight again. He does not understand, though, no matter how hard I try to explain to him. I asked him that he please be patient. After all, there have been so many time when I wanted to break up with him, because he pushed me by the way-side. In the beginning of our relationship, we went from making love all of the time to him hardly touching me for nearly eight months! I spent all of that time wondering what was wrong with me. Whenever I remind him of that, he says this is different. Again, screw him! I am not going to be the one to make all of the sacrifices anymore.
One other thing, I have no problem going to New York by myself. It will probably do me some good to take a trip by myself. If so, I am going all out. Besides, people do not scare me, just librarians, masons, and shriners. There may be a $250.00 empty seat next to me at the Schubert theatre, put at least I will have a nice place to put my coat and cocktail!

This Is The Day Before That

My favorite line from Ray Perone is, "You know how you feel the day before you get sick? Well, this is the day before that."

I feel like I am coming down with the flu. The last time I got the flu, I remember feeling terrible for a week and then it just hit me and I could not get out of bed for days. I know everybody says they don't have time to get sick, but I hate to say it, I don't have time to get sick. I never call in sick to work, so I have plenty of time to take, but I, like everyone else, am way too busy to be laid up for days. I think it is just the stress of 'burning the candle at both ends' that is starting to catch up with me. I try so hard to stay healthy. I eat healthy, though my mom will tell me I don't eat enough, I am pretty active between making an arse out of myself and doing pilates, and I take a good multi-vitamin. I also make it a point to get eight hours of sleep whenever I can. I am hoping that the congestion I feel in my neck and the tenderness in my glands are just my silly wisdom teeth giving me trouble.

My sinuses are awesome. My dad turned me on to this stuff called Sinucleanse. All it is, is a plastic tea pot looking thing and some saline solution. You use the pot to pour in one nostril and let it flow out of the other, then repeat on the other side. Once you get the hang of it and keep the solution from running down your throat, the effects are amazing! Millions of people in India cannot be wrong, eh? Now, I just need a candle and some cheese cloth to clean out my ears.

I have spent the majority of the evening doing homework and I have to say, my cat Merlin is wonderful. He has his own chair and he sits next to me at the computer. When I am finished writing, he proof-reads my papers. His criticisms are hard to take sometimes and I wish he would stop marking my work with red pen, but he is 'old-school' that way. Plus, I hate turning in papers with kitty litter on them, but what can I do? The cat is a genius, or so he tells me.

What else? Oh yeah, Valentines day to me is a silly excuse for the retail and candy industry to bounce back from slow sales in January. I do not need to use a cutesy, red, heart holiday as an excuse to do something special for or with my dude. I did buy him a card, blank inside of course, and a candle (it was 50% off), but that is all, since "Spamalot" tickets are a gift from me to both of us. (Actually, if he could not go, I was going to use the extra seat as a place to put my coat.) I am kidding! I am cold, but I am not that cold. I would try to sell the extra ticket or find a date when I got to New York. What he does not know, is that I plan on paying for the entire trip.

Damn It, Janet!

Please refer to the comments from the last post, before reading this one, if you're new to my blog and the title will make sense.

Speaking of dreams, the other day my mom and I were talking about Auschwitz. Between this conversation and watching too much PBS, I had a dream that I was at Auschwitz. Actually, it was more of a nightmare. I wasn't a concentration camp prisoner, but I was floating there, watching what was taking place. I heard the voices and saw the faces of the people as they were unloaded from the boxcars and some were taken to a building to be gassed. Then, I remember an SS officer telling some of the people to run. As the people would run, they would get shot in the back of the head.

Last night, I watched "Frontline:Inside the House of Saud" on PBS. Of course, I dreamt I was in Saudi Arabia.

I have had some vivid dreams of being in the Middle East and hunting down terrorists and speaking with Arab diplomats, which would probably never really happen, being that I am female. It would never happen in Saudi Arabia, anyway. I have had dreams of being kidnapped by terrorists, too.

However, I love the Middle East and I want to go back there within the next five years or so. I love the people, the culture, and the food. It is hard to get a good schwarma (which is like a cross between a gyro and a wrap only tens times better) around here. I miss the hookah lounges, too! I am getting a scanner next week, because I want to start putting my scrapbooks from my trips, online. I will let you all know when I get my photos out there.

I would like to invent the 28-hour day, because between school, work, and the band, oh yeah, and my boyfriend, it is hard to find time to do everything I want to do. I still have my website to work on. I have made some sketches of what I want to do (because yahoo's templates stink), but I am learning as I go and by talking with other folks who have designed websites.

I better get back to work.
Thank you for reading.

Confirmation of My Clairvoyance

About two weeks ago I had a dream that my drummer, Francis, quit the band. After I woke up from that dream, I was bummed out the entire day. That night, I had a gig, and I said, "Guess what, guys. I had this crazy dream that Francis quit the band!" Anyway, two weeks went by without word of anyone quitting, so I thought, "Hey, it was just a silly dream." I felt relieved. Then, my bass player, Rich, called me yesterday and said he had bad news. He asked me if I wanted him to tell me then or later. I told him to just tell me, so he did. He told me Francis is quitting the band and has not slept in two weeks because he didn't know how to break the news to us. Does anyone hear the "Twilight Zone Theme?"

I Hate Hormones!

Note to self--Do not procrastinate when it comes to writing papers and doing homework!

I locked myself in my house all weekend, except for when I had to play, and worked on a presentation for class today and an MLA documented Annotated Argumentative essay. For those of you who don't know what that is, don't worry about it, but for those of you who have done these papers before, you know what a pain in the arse they can be. I hate arguing. It stresses me out. It is a waste of energy, then again, so is complaining about it. Plus, I am not going to save the world in ten pages, so what is the point? Oh yeah, to pass the class, I forgot. There are worse things, though. my hormones tend to make me lose perspective. My classmates already think I am a 'loose cannon.' They are probably right. It will be great fun when I start going into my atomic bomb and Holocaust discussion. I hope I don't start bawling--hormones, you know. I have to teach Shirley Jackson's short story, "The Lottery". It is great reading. A lot of folks had to read it in high school.

It's Nothing, Really

A few years ago, my friend Erin and I came up with a word to describe a group of people who are creeps. We came up with the word "creeples."

I have been feeling nauseous all week long. It could have been the two White Castles I had Saturday night, but geeze, you'd think it would be out of my system by now. I have been eating healthy the majority of the week to make up for the White Castles, but that only seems to make me feel worse, so for lunch today I went to Sonic and got a grilled chicken sandwich and some fries. Why I thought the carb overload would make me feel better, I will never know.

I started that entry yesterday. I feel much better today after an enema and some Maalox. I would not make a very exciting celebrity. You know how shows like Extra and Entertainment Tonight are always gloating about what celebrities spend their money on, like Jennifer lopez was seen in Littleville, Idaho spending part of her zillion dollar earnings on sequined, garden gnomes. It's like, who cares? It's none of my business what celebrities spend their money on. I can only imagine a news report like, today singer Jeni Harris spent $1.59 on a two-pack of Fleet enemas. She is a thrifty shopper, though--she saved a whole twenty cents! She is "on-the-move" again!

Crazy Cat, Part Deux

Zoe tried to tear my arm off last night.

I went over to my friend's apartment and did my usual routine- give the cat a treat, then while she is distracted, put food in her bowl and give her fresh water. Well, apparently I did not give her enough treats, because when I started down the hallway to the fish tank, there she was in the hallway, waiting for me. As I walked past her, she screeched and batted at my boot. Instead of just nonchalantly walking by her this time, like I usually do, I thought I would play along with her. So, I hid in the bathroom and tried to start a game of hide-and-seek. She was not amused. She just stared at me. I pretended to be afraid of her and said, "Oh no, the kitty is going to get me! No, not the Zoe cat!" She just looked at me like, "What the hell is wrong with you?" I gave up on my stupid game and walked past her, let her hiss and hit my foot, and fed the fish. Then, as I squatted down to water the plant, she went after my plant-watering arm. I made the mistake of showing a little fear as I jerked my arm away from her to keep her from drawing blood. After that incident, I thought I'd try and play with her. Well, that pissed her off even more. Every time I tried to pick up a toy, she would try to latch on to my arm. So, I said, "Zoe, I am just going to sit here for awhile until you calm down." I sat down on the couch and had a staring match with Zoe. I guess I won, or she gave up, because she stopped staring at me and laid down. Finally, after playing Sigmund Freud and apologizing to her for her parents leaving her alone for so long, I got up and left and she did not go after me. I am sure I will have some drama with her tonight; I have to clean out her litter box.

I had a funny dream last night. I was in a parade in Ohio with Paula Abdul. We were leading some St. Patrick's day parade. I remember this marching band girl named Finnie saying to me, "I'm half Irish, you know." I said, "We're in Ohio, ninety percent of the state is half Irish. So what?" Maybe I thought I was Simon Cowell or something, but apparently, I had something to do with American Idol. I was a celebrity and Paula and I knew each other well. By the way, this was another wine-induced dream. If only I could dream about Simon again...(sigh).

Crazy Cat

I am taking care of my friend's cat, Zoe this week while my friend is in Las Vegas, and I have to say, this cat needs a psychologist. My friend always has me take care of Zoe, because everyone else is afraid of this cat. I always offer, because I feel sorry for this cat and I look forward to the challenges involved with taking care of Zoe.

Why is everyone so afraid of Zoe? It is because she knows where the jugular vein is and she is always going after it. So, when going over to my friend's apartment, everyone makes sure to wear a turtleneck sweater in order not to die from a puncture to the jugular vein. She likes to play "sweet and innocent kitty", then when someone goes to pet her, she lashes out and draws blood. I think she is the way she is, because she has some deep emotional issues. She is also the runt of the litter, so that may have something to do with her being "wacko." It is for this reason that I feel sorry for her. I try to get through to her every time I cat-sit, but without success.

There was one incident a few years ago, when I came over to feed her first as usual. Then, I fed the fish. When I turned to leave, she was standing in front of the door to get out of the apartment, looking up at me like, "And where do you think you're going?" Every time I took a step forward, she would jump and hiss at me. This cat tried to hold me hostage. Finally, I got her to the other side of the apartment, away from the door. As I ran past her to the door, she managed to jump up and bite my hand and draw blood.
I have gone over to the apartment to check on her twice this week and without incident, well without any major incident. Last night, I distracted her with some treats, then put food in her bowl. Then, I filled her water dish. While she was eating, I fed the fish and watered the plant, so far, so good. I cleaned her litter box and was surprised she didn't follow me up the stairs and was not standing right behind me when I turned around to check. As I started down the steps, however, there she was waiting for me at the bottom, staring up at me with that wild look in her eyes. I am not afraid of this cat, but I hate to piss her off. Anyway, I walked down the stairs, right past her. Just as I passed her, she hissed and batted at my foot. I had to walk by her again to switch on some lights, and she hissed and screamed and batted at my foot again. I looked at her and said, "Do you want me to stay for awhile, Zoe?" That look in her eye told me "no", so I left. It is like her attitude is, "Take care of me and get out!"
I understand that she is mad, because by me coming over I am allowing her owners to leave for a week and she gets lonely. What is really funny is my friend used to be terrified of cats. My friend was terrified of my cat, Merlin, who is the most laid-back cat in the world, and now she has been blessed with one of the most psychotic cats I have ever met!