Category: Gross

Roxane Gay rules and this post is TMI

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED…..

So my very favourite Bad Feminist Roxane Gay, who has to deal with so much more intersectionality than I do, has participated in a puff piece in stylist.co.uk talking about her hygiene routine.  I told her I would follow her example.

At this point I can hear Jeff saying something, and then when I ask him to repeat it, he says, ‘Oh, nothing, nothing.’

I probably should shower more frequently than I do, being about three times a week, but as I get older I get dryer, and I feel like I’m turning into a desiccated old piece of sod.  I use Belle de Provence Honeysuckle soap because it smells very good, lasts a long time and is the one piece of luxury in my hygiene routine. Hardly anyone carries it and since it’s 6 bucks a pop I tend to buy in bulk when I find it.  I use Head and Shoulders brand shampoo/conditioner and buy it in the large pump size as it’s cheaper.  I use no other soap products.  I wash my hands every time I handle the cat, before I prep food and after I come in from being out in public as well as after I groom myself or go to the toilet.  I didn’t give a shit about washing my hands before I ran a restaurant.  Now I really, really do care about it, and it’s the simplest, fastest and easiest way to prevent illness, so why the hell not.

I hate all deodorants but I stink if I don’t use them.  When I’m feeling radical I wash, dry thoroughly and apply baby powder to my pits, but that’s good for about 12 hours before Jeff’s eyebrows do something improbable (the fan in the basement blows my effluent in his direction when we’re watching tv, so … yeah.)  Otherwise I use whatever kind of bo juice isn’t loathsome, and I’m like a lightning rod for deodorant being discontinued, so I try to be cool, but right now it’s a pretty loathsome vanilla smelly thing.  Gak.   Still better than the alternative.

I use two different kinds of eyedrops, thanks to the amazingly practical and super unjudgey Lady Miss Banjola, one for day, one for night, and I am not consistent in their use but by gar it’s a good thing to have them, because when you need them you’re like ACK MY EYES MY EYES I CAN’T GET MY EYES oh thank goodness I can see!  Also, thanks to her I found out that dryness amidships can be ameliorated by the twice weekly anointing of der ladygel, and she made brand recommendations, and I can get them reasonably cheap on line.  With that one small recommendation she made my life go from a meepy, withered parody of what Beeker sounds like after he’s been mugged, to me being able to contemplate having a boyfriend.  I don’t actually want a boyfriend, and the men in my life who squire me around do not wish to fill this or candidly any other vacancy wheresoever situated, but at least the prospect shifted from being painfully impossible to being ludicrously improbable, and only the Rumi’s Beloved could parse that shift in meaningful terms, but I view it as an improvement.

I pluck my eyebrows every day.  I watched the best eyebrow guy on the planet do a tutorial on youtube, and I thought “Hey, my OCD and some grooming tips wa-ho!” but I tell you my brow game is fierce, and it helps with the performative feminity, although I have not recently been mistaken for a man (it only happened the once, and I think the person was altered.)

This upping of the eyebrow game was subsequent to Keith picking out to extremely flattering and stylish frames for me.  I was looking really hard for a job and I wanted to be ready to interview at a moment’s notice, and now, provided I have a clean dress, I really am.   I pluck my chin hairs, and my (sigh, fuck my life) chest hairs.  I do not shave my legs or pits and anybody who wants me to can shave his or her legs and pits all they want but this lovely, amazing, FEATURE of adult life called BODILY AUTONOMY does not stop being awesome just because you are creeped out by my hairy legs, and the next time somebody calls me on it I’ll just say that sexism is uglier than hairy legs and any sensible person knows that.  Body hair sure makes men who have basic issues with mansplaining and feminism go away right quick, and smell ya later, ya squirrelfondling preverts.

Also, I got really really bad frostbite on my lower legs when I was in public school, so bad that the skin on my lower legs (the shaving zone) is burst-into-tears sensitive, so yeah, no, fuck your leg shaving.  It HURTS.  I bleed, and then all the little hairs growing back in catch in my bedding, so fuck you and go AWAY if you think I should shave my legs for any reason whatsoever.  As for my armpits.  When more than 50 percent of north American men shave their armpits, I’ll sign up for one of those monthly boxes of shaving gear, but until that day (bwa ha ha, coming soon!) yeah, just no.

I used to use Garnier number 60 hair dye and I still have some tucked away, but it really really bothers Jeff and I’m not a fan of doing it, I am a fan of having it done. Fortunately the colour is almost exactly the same as the two remaining stripes of colour I have in the mounting nest of grey that is my hair so even when I let it grow out it looks reasonably okay.  If I get another interview, which will be hard, as I am officially as of this moment no longer looking for work since hey we’re in a recession, and nobody would want to hire me even if I wanted to trade the best part of me for 24K net a year, which I don’t, and which makes me an elitist asshole. Ok.

I make my own perfume, which is called Cyprus, and has a secret blend of floral oil ingredients, and which smells fantastic on me (to the point where other women have demanded I sell them some, which I did) but everybody from my mOm to my brO thinks it smells like I’m hanging truck stop air freshener from my pits AND about 40% of my friends have chemical sensitivities and find it overpowering even when I’m using it gingerly so it’s only for special occasions.

My last pedicure made me limp for THREE FUCKING MONTHS and I am never paying for one again as Hecate may bear witness; now I cut off the parts of the toenail that stick out and abrade down the rest with a number of different kinds of pedicure gear.  I occasionally soak my feet and use footrub on myself or get somebody else like Katie to help out.  I am very very on top of my toenails because I can go from Happy Feet to ballerina outtakes (thankfully not shown here) in less than a week.  My hair, feet and nails grow at a tremendous rate, which is great because I get rid of heavy metals that way, but I must cut, hack, saw and file away with vigour.

I used to be an assclown about dental hygiene but I brush and floss every single day now (occasional lapses, but not many) since I can’t afford to lose the use of any more teeth when toothpaste and floss is so cheap.  I buy firm or super firm brushes and brush whatever way feels right and I pay for getting my teeth cleaned professionally once a year.  I am seriously considering investing in dental picks.

I have incredibly clean ear canals.  I hate the feeling of anything in there except air, but I no longer scrape them out with anything hard because it removes the hair that grows in the canal and I’m so clumsy I might deafen myself.

I wash my face with soap once a week.  Any more and I dry out like something that went with Scott to the Pole.

Once every three months I apply a clay facial mask.  I like how my skin feels afterward.

Once in a very long while I get a massage or a spa half day, but I can get the same results from rolling around on Wreck Beach and probably get exposed to the same amount of coliform in the process.

 

And there you have it.  Nobody asked for it, but that is my hygiene routine.

I am not worthy

Best commentary by a man on the subject of maxipads that has ever been written in English.  Required reading for all men who consider themselves to be feminists, and for any woman who has ever had a period.  ALSO VERY FUNNY.  I said in my facebook post on the subject:  This is one of the funniest, truest, most ah-ha pieces I’ve ever read. By me, he’s got a man card the size a phone book – far too big to be casually ripped up!

Woke up at 1:30

I have been passing wind continuously for 90 minutes.  My abdomen makes noises – “borborygmus” – so loud my whole bed frame shakes. A couple of minutes later, spectacular, long, windy choruses free themselves from my body. There is no pain, no high exhaust gas temperature, no stench.  Just LOTS OF GAS AND NOISE.

’bout one hundred words yesterday.  I’m feeling sessile.

Also, people keep dying. Somebody I was in an APA with 20 years ago (Morgan) has passed away.  She was close to people I really like and I haz a bit of a sad as a result. She told the most wonderful stories.

On the plus side…. It was lovely to talk to Chipper and Tammy on the phone yesterday.

 

the disappointment

Only half an hour on the cpap last night.  I could not get comfortable, as I was congested.

Today I learned of the purported existence of a Randy Quaid sex tape, with his wife (of course) and Rupert Murdoch purportedly watching.  I know the disgust response must be controlled, but in this case my homunculus just about launched last night’s spaghetti into orbit.

I am waiting to hear back from the interview with patience.

I light a candle for people I love who are going through a super hard time right now.  Work especially is very hard and causing anxiety and sleep loss.  I know those feels and hope a swift resolution of outstanding problems happens to their satisfaction.

Still pluggin’ away on the novel.  Most recent George quote, “Of course I love human culture! Not all of it equally.”

Paul and I keep booking appointments for blood donation and having to bail… hopefully we’ll get this sorted out.  Keith already donated this month.

This news may be of interest to certain among my readers.  Health of kidneys.

I am going to see if I have the energy to make Belgian waffles for breakfast.

anecdotal trigger

Ah, me.  The decluttering group I belong to on facebook posted the 40 bags in 40 days challenge.  That made me think.

Time was, I lived in Amedeo Garden Court (5 different apartments over almost ten years) in Toronto.  When I was living in the northwesternmost building, my downstairs neighbour, who was our childcare provider at the time, reported a most amazing story.

It started with a dispute between the landlord and her across the hall neighbour. Other tenants reported that this woman, a slender, sad looking person in her 40s, had an apartment that was full of garbage (when the door was open, you could see a human wide path through a debris field of pizza boxes and trash).  It smelled, it was attracting pests.  The landlord lowered the boom and told the woman to clean or move.

She hired two little Portuguese guys (in those days in Toronto every cleaner was Portuguese – I bet that racial balance has shifted dramatically) to clean. I’m sure their hearts sank when they saw the scale of it.

Well, in one day they hauled out forty large trash bags, forty empty 40oz liquor bottles, and disturbed a veritable army of mice and cockroaches.  You couldn’t get close to the garbage bin; it was surrounded by the most noisome collection of trashbags shy of a garbage strike. The woman came home from work (and we’re talking about a hot day and no air conditioning) and berated them for ‘not finishing’!

My downstairs neighbour’s husband spoke Portuguese, and he said he heard combinations of curse words he’d never heard before, as he eavesdropped from across the hall.  They demanded their money, told her in English that they’d see her in hell before they came back and did a stitch more of work for her… and then the troubles began.

We took five mice out of the apartment over the next week (I caught two with my bare hands, we trapped one, and Bounce got two), and I’ve never, ever seen that many cockroaches outside of films from the tropics. It was months before we got the influx of roaches down to a dull roar.  Hoarding isn’t about moral panic, it’s a health hazard. Also, alcoholism.  My neighbour was amazed this woman would arise from her trashpile everyday and go to work.  I bet her clothing stank, even when it had been laundered.  You can be really really sick and hold down a job.

I may have forty bags  to declutter and take out (actually, I doubt it), but I think apart from spiders and silverfish it’s all good, and it won’t smell.  After all these years, I don’t keep food in my room….

Did you ever get the feeling…

Batman and Dilbert are spying on ya?

That central Africa would like to drop out of the headlines for a while?

That Kim is Dead?

That I have the wrong hobbies?

That every time you think racism can’t stoop lower….

That you simply cannot have enough hats?

That the answer to this question is frustratingly obvious?

That even when the science is reported correctly, the language used to describe it is so 20th century centric that you want to smash the journalist into roadpaste?

Tonight I’m heading over to Mike’s place for music and mayhem of some description, hope it’s low key.

The worm’s eye view

Deleted this craigslist ad to prevent entombment by lawyers

 

It was an ad for a difficult job paying 12.50 an hour, for a company importing Christmas ornaments from PRC.

 

Long ago, when I was still equivalent to married and John was living with us, he told a story about a Chinese dissident who after many travails escaped from China and came to live in Golden Mountain (Canada).  He went to a dollar store and found the Christmas ornaments he’d been forced to make back in jail in China.  Even if your Christmas chachkas are not made by dissident forced labour, there’s still a good chance that somebody not making a lot of money made them.  And now, to complete the circle of capitalism, the above noted ad.  They want a UNIVERSITY DEGREE, ability to translate back and forth between English and Cantonese/Mandarin, and the ability to work miserable hours for 12.50 of each of those delightful hours.  And the hell of it is, this being Vancouver, they will probably get her.  And you wonder why I have trouble finding a job.

disgust!!! ew!!!

Today the lung specialist/sleep specialist ran a fibreoptic scope up me schnozz to determine my diagnosis re apnea.  (TLDR got a scrip for a CPAP machine).  Yes, he zapped me with lidocaine first, and a truly disgusting taste is now mine free gratis.

OH YUCK.  See Allegra’s nares up close and OH MY GOD there is a FOREST of hairy trees in her nose.  Honestly, stomach flopped a bit. Then the sort of grayish pink of my nasal cavities (right side was too small to admit the scope, so OH GREAT I GET TO SEE THE FOREST ON THE OTHER SIDE OF MT SEPTUM).  Then on to the moist and furrowed canyon of my gullet including my weenie lil tonsils, my damned big uvula and my grossly normal vocal chords, which is not otherwise a soubriquet one applies to my pipes.

And I have mild apnea, a CPAP should take care of it, and he refused to give me a copy of the film, the rat. Cause I SO would have posted it, yo.

oh my learning curve

Right now the shop smells like a combination latrine and abattoir (oh, THAT’S attRACtive) because I, like the fool I am, scheduled the grease trap cleaning during hours of operation.  Katie took off to render care for her bff and I am here in a stench that usually precedes the advent of a horde of orcs, or perhaps several large trolls. Or I could say that it smells like what happens when Jeff leaps to his feet and says “Mr Toilet you’ve been very bad.”…. but that would just be wrong, because on the worst day he ever had he never smelled anything like this.

Ha ha, I asked Jeff to forward the instructions so mOm and pOp can watch us on the security cams.  Isn’t that hilarious?  At least we don’t have smellovision yet, because pOp would be bolting for the nearest door, eyes out on stalks, if he came anywhere near this unusual odour.  peeeeeyou.

NEVER BOOK A GREASE TRAP CLEANING DURING OFFICE HOURS.  HOLY F***STICKS.  I’m as far as I can get from it, but I must needs be here until the bitter end because I must needs pay the man.  All this to prevent the City of Burnaby from fining my ass for putting more than a certain ppm of fat down the drain.

One thing and another

Keith and Paul were in the shop today, which was delightful and brief.  I owe Keith money for the beer he picked up last night.  I suppose it being a long weekend and me going to a party tonight (first one in AGESSSS) I should purchase more.  Ziva died – vacuum leaks, more of them, rad problems, sensor and indication problems.  No can get fixed until Tuesday and candidly I am doubting even then.  Sue is going to give me the name of her auto broker.  Ziva has broken my heart and my wallet long enough, I could have bought two decent cars for what I’ve spent on repairs.  Wayne picked up the 50 biscotti I baked for the Hyack Swim Meet volunteers.  I included promo!  This is an improvement.  Also, we are in the flyer for the event, in two places, so instead of spending a hundred bucks on promo I made cookies.  I like dat.  Katie is going on a date tonight and if I say so much as ONE MORE WORD on the subject she’s gonna jam that broomstick up my nose.  Still haven’t mailed pOp’s biscotti, but Katie is leaving early today so I am going to ask her if I can escape to the Post Office to get it mailed off before she goes.  All the fridges are behaving well.  Katie spilled salt two days running and was yelling v. bad swearz, you know, pin a nun to a wall shit. Split pea with ham soup today.  I need to print more business cards. Started watching The Hour with Ben Whishaw (rowr!), Dominic West (McNulty from the Wire) and the exquisite Romola Garai as Bel Rowley.  It’s a Beeb miniseries set in 1956 Britain and everything about it is wonderful.  Abi Morgan wrote the script, which is uniformly excellent and doesn’t make the assumption that viewers are fecking idiots.  We’re up to episode 8 in Band of Brothers.  Also started watching Aaron McGruder’s Boondocks, which is SO TRANSGRESSIVE.  Jeff and I were killing ourselves laughing.  It is a trip to watch black people commenting about white people (and each other) without having to make concessions to hurting anybody’s feelings.  The grandfather is hilarious.  McGruder is a righteous rude boy and anybody who can call Condoleeza Rice a mass murderer to her face is my kinda guy (John is giving me the spectral thumbs up, I can feel it). My news feed informs me that Rob Ford (Mayor of TO) smokes crack.  Now many times in my life I have wanted to accuse any number of political figures of smoking crack, but jeezly hell my darlings, I wasn’t expecting there to be VIDEO.  The roast beef sandwiches have two new fans.  One of them is a climate change denialist and the other is a very entertaining semi-retired gent who put me onto the idea of starting up a cooperative retirement/nursing home.  I think it’s a fan-fucking-tastic idea.