Live Long and Dirty

What does constipation, rheumatism, arthritis, chronic fatique, heart disease and cancer have in common?

Toothpaste.

What does heart-attack, stroke, sleeplessness, depression, and yes, even AIDS have in common?

Toothpaste.

And in what common household item will you find hidden pain relievers, blood-clotting chemicals and other newer exotic poisons?

You guessed it.

This last Christmas I, make that Santa, brought my 4 year old some pretty expensive bubble bath, and every time we use it, I wonder why it says in giant font, "Contains no Sodium Lauryl/Laureth Sulfate". What the hell do I care about sodium lauryl whatever? I just wanted something that would fit nicely into his stocking. So last night was the end of the soothing and calming blend of overpriced "foam" bath, and today the empty package on my desk prompted me to find out why I should care. I'll try to be brief.

SLS is an inexpensive detergent used in almost everything in our homes used to clean things, from shampoo to garage floor cleaner. Garage floor cleaner? I haven't seen the floor of my garage in years. Anyway, this SLS has amazing penetrating power ( 8----> ) and is easily absorbed into your skin and will stay there for a long time. This is bad for many reasons, one being that SLS has a pretty strong estrogen mimicking quality. As you probably know, estrogen is a mostly feminine hormone, and when this mock estrogen gets into your system, all hell breaks loose, for men and women alike. Things like infertility, gender confusion, breast cancer, and menstrual problems can be the result.

There is so much more that I'm just going to send you here to read more for yourself. I'm also sending you here to see this really really bad website which claims that toothpaste can cause AIDS. And lastly, I will direct you to the beautiful image above, where you can see what a lack of toothpaste can do. I'd say constipation is worth the risk.

Going Postal

The day after my December mortgage was due, I realized I had no idea where my paycheck was. I had gotten it about a week prior and I was pretty sure I hadn't deposited it yet. So I went to my boss and told him that I think I accidentally mixed it in with the mail and dropped in the blue mail box on my way home. It was in a window envelope which showed my name and where it was supposed to go, but had no return address. Or postage. Truthfully, I had no idea if that's what really happened. It was probably just lost in my car somewhere. Since I couldn't tell him that, I made up a logical-ish explanation and he was very understandable. The next day I fed my starving checking account with a new check and life went on. But today.....

I learned that I actually factually did mix my check in with the mail.

Today we got a letter at the office from the United States Postal Service with a note and a picture of my long lost paycheck. It said something like, "Sometimes we get mail that we don't know what to do with. In these cases the law says we can open it up and to find out what to do with it. To protect your privacy, we have properly disposed of it by shredding. Here is a picture of your check." (If anyone wants the actual factual wording, I'll be happy to copy it verbatim tomorrow when I get back to the office, but I swear, it's almost exactly as stupid as I've written above.) And there it was. A picture of the paycheck I had abused so badly.
I was pretty pissed when I saw this.
First of all, it was pretty fucking obvious that inside this badly mailed WINDOW envelope was a check. I don't work at the post office, but I'm pretty sure I could identify an envelope containing a check by looking at it. Especially one with a little window on it. A check would signify importance to me if I were the one at the post office who's big important job is solving the mysteries of mail. This would signify importance to any moron, I would think.
Secondly, wouldn't it have made more sense to just send it "postage due" to the person who's address information they did have? I'll bet it cost more money and took more time to take a (rather damn good) photo of it, and waste the paper mailing me this redundant, assinine letter. And why, OH, why, wouldn't they have at the very very least, just returned the actual check?

So. I guess I actually learned something new about the USPS today too.

Death Domain

I've been looking around at my site stats the last few days (ok, I check them every day. several times.) and I've been noticing two things that are bringing me a lot of traffic.
My Phallic Phriday posting somehow got linked on a site called Penis Size Links. Penis size links? It's been surprising to see how many referrals come from them, and funny that most of them are in France.
Another hot one is from my Anti MADD Magazine posting. Why are so many people searching for Anti MADD? I had to know so I did a little searching myself. Today it appears that I've learned some pretty useless medical trivia.

Besides being a Mothers Against Drunk Drivers hater, anti MADD can refer to an antibody for something called a Mitogen-Activated Death Domain protein. I don't exactly know what the hell that means because all the medical terminology I could find meant nothing to my brilliant yet unaccustomed brain, but I was intrigued by the DD part and looked further into that. A Death Domain is something in every cell of our bodies that regulates apoptosis, which is the natural process of programmed cell death. Apoptosis is important in several ways, one being that if at the right time during our fetal development, the cells between our fingers didn't die off, we'd look a little something like this picture here. I think about 1 in 50 people are born with Syndactyly, which is webbed feet. Stupid women who smoke up to 10 cigarettes a day during pregnancy are 27% more likely to have a baby with abnormal fingers and toes.

Ashton Kutcher has webbed feet.

And I don't mind at all.

National Day of Mourning

I just went down to the post office to get the mail, where I learned the post office is closed today to observe the national day of mourning for our former president, Gerald Ford. The banks are closed too.

Even the nice little old lady trying to bust in the doors at the post office thought this was ridiculous. "Wasn't his memorial yesterday for Christ's sake?"

I'm more in mourning for the closed bank and the fact that I won't be getting my Netflix today, although I heard from someone, I think my boss maybe, that Ford wrote a book to be released posthumously which makes me like him and feel a little sad.

Mounds of Shells

Another day, another month, another year, all at once. So what do I choose to do with this special day? Go to Ikea. I'm nowhere near a shopaholic and I generally hate malls and buying crap made in China, but in order to keep my resolution for a neater, more organized life this year, I needed some more stuff. Ikea is about an hour away from where I live, so going there is a big deal and a few times a year, we go and make a day out of it.
Today, on the way home, I noticed something on Shellmound Street that I'd never noticed before. Right on the corner was this big Teletubby green hill with a fountain squirting out of the side of it. It was the ugliest, most retarded thing I've seen since that Suri Cruise turd sculpture thing.
Now, I am a true lover of art and I can appreciate most kinds of expression, but sometimes I see a ginormous piece of crap in a public setting and I fucking hate it. I wasn't really sure this thing was art or not, so incredulously, I turned to my driver, aka the Colonel, and asked, "What the hell is that hill thing supposed to represent?", to which he said, "The shell mound". He started telling me what I thought was one of his best bullshit answers yet. (Remember, we are on Shellmound Street with the sign hanging right in front of us). He proceeds to tell me about how the native Americans who used to live here long ago had made huge piles of shells, discarded from shellfish meals provided by the nearby sea. He said these mounds were all over this area, but they were bulldozed and built over. This fountain thing probably was meant as a respectful memorial of the people who lived here first.
When I got home, I looked it up.

He was right.

Lyckligt nytt år!!
(Happy New Year, in Swedish)
(Even though I noticed that almost everything in Ikea was designed in Sweden but made in China)
(Which pisses me off)

Phobophobia

Arachibutyrophobia is a surprisingly common fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth.

I have a hard time believing this is true, but there's actually a company selling a "24 Hour Home Study CD Program" to cure it.

"Arachibutyrophobia can cause panic attacks and keep people apart from loved ones and business associates (this is a bad thing?)
Symptoms typically include shortness of breath, rapid breathing, irregular heartbeat, sweating, nausea, and overall feelings of dread, although everyone experiences arachibutyrophobia in their own way and may have different symptoms." Sounds like the symptoms of any and all kinds of phobias.

Here's a list of my own personal phobias, as learned on The Phobia List today:

Ergophobia- fear of work. My biggest phobia.
Gamophobia- fear of marriage (isn't it funny that it looks like the word "game" is used here?)
Homilophobia- fear of sermons. Especially political ones.
Macrophobia - fear of long waits
Politicophobia - fear of politicians (I think we should all develop and maintain this one)
Mythophobia - fear of false statements, and Tauro-shitophobia - fear of bullshit, like the ricockulous list of phobias billed on the link above.

I'm also afraid of people who suffer from Optophobia - the fear of opening ones eyes.

And my favorite phobia, Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia, which is a fear of long words.
I love it.

My thanks for this great image to someone at Worth1000 dot com who calls himself Albaci.

Karenga's Krazy Kwanzaa

I got an email today from Someone that listed The 7 Principles of Kwanzaa, and I realized that I all I know about the African celebration is that it happens in December and it's something like Christmas. I know a lot more now.

Today is the first of a 7 day, non-religious, African cultural celebration, started in 1966 by a paranoid schizophrenic Marxist, 14th son of a chicken farmer who gave himself the title Maulana, which means "master teacher", and who later got arrested for beating and torturing two women. He also started an organization called the United Slaves.

The 7 Principles are; Unity, Self determination, Collective work and responsibility (wtf?), Cooperative economics (again, wtf?), Purpose, Creativity, and Faith.
There are also 7 symbols, including 7 candles. What's with all the 7's?
The symbols are; food to represent a good harvest (remember, it's summer in Africa right now), a mat to represent the foundation from which history is built, a menorah-like candle holder which holds 1 black candle to represent the people, 3 red candles to represent the suffering, and 3 green candles to represent hope for the future, corn to represent children, (corn to represent children?), a grail (grael?) called the Unity Cup, and of course, gifts.

On December 31st, there is a big feast called Karamu where they serve Caribou. Just kidding. It just rhymes so I thought... nevermind. Anyway, that's as much as I need to know about Kwanzaa. Any questions?

I also learned that our former president and last member of the Warren Commission, Gerald Ford, died today on this first day of Kwanzaa. Hmm. Copy cat. But I think it might actually be cooler than the Funk Father croaking on Christmas.
Next?

Mommy Dearest (?)

Today I learned that....

Even though I'm almost 40, my mother still thinks she can tell me what to do.

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!

I won't complain too much because I'm also learning about using the new(ish) laptop she gave me. The two things I've learned about it so far are:

I can lay in bed and blog, and wireless connections can be touchy mother fuckers.

I still have a lot to learn, but right now I have stockings to stuff, eggnog to drown in, and some Sudoku ass to kick.

Hi mom. Yes, I know you're reading this.

Beheading and Other Survival Skills

Today was my bi-annual catalog photo shoot day, and in my free time between setting up shots, I read the Chronicle. I learned something from columnist Leah Garchik (I love that name), and hopefully you'll learn something from columnist Diva Donna.

In case you ever find yourself behind enemy lines, you can prepare for the unlikely event by attending a class in Las Vegas held by the Counter Terrorism Training School. Starting next Wednesday through Friday, you can learn how to survive a beheading attempt or other forms of execution, as well as how to escape from captivity. You can also learn how to free yourself from being tied by rope, duct tape, wire or handcuffs.

Who beheads anymore? That's so French. Sooooo 18th century.
I think I'm going to sign up just so I can see how to survive an attempt. I mean, really, can you actually survive a beheading attempt? This I have to see. I'd also like to learn how to escape from captivity. Mon Dieu, do I need to learn how to escape. Plus, all this fun is happening in the Motherland and I miss it so.

I also learned not to:

-Image search the word "execution"
-Image search the word "torture"
-Make eye contact with the creep next to me in stop and go, 2 mph commuter traffic
-Drink spiced rum with sparkling pomogranate juice before both breakfast and 10:30 am

Je répète, mon Dieu!

Dialed Over

I just got back from the spa capitol of the world where I did a little bathing in mud and a little swimming in rain. It was fantastic. After a little "Indian gaming" as the natives like to call it, we had a lovely drive home during which the Colonel, for some random (and appreciated) reason, told me a childhood story about when he got to ride along on a liquid wax delivery trip in his friends grandfathers tanker truck. Don't ask because I don't know. What I do know is that on said trip, the sometimes-gasoline-truck-driving-grandpa told him what to do if the big tank gets punctured and fuel, as in expensive gasoline, starts to leak out.

Rub a bar of soap over it.

It will stop the leak. I can't find any official answer as to why this works, but according to my story teller, it's a little something like oil and water not mixing.
I hear bubble gum works well too.

Happy Birthday Colonel Angus!