Lysol

Welcome to the Apocalypse, Take #354,427 (or so) We’re All Gonna Die!

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Got news for everyone.  The mortality rate is still 100%.  You’re gonna die of something.

The current pestilence- the coronavirus- is more or less a really bad flu.  It isn’t gonna kill most people. Millions of people get the flu every year and several thousand die from it.  That’s every year.  Four thousand or thereabouts die of flu every year just in Ohio.  So much for living in fly over country serving to any advantage.

I have my suspicions, and frankly I believe the dreaded coronavirus already made its rounds around here back in January when about 70% of my coworkers- all the outside sales people who were in one meeting, and all the accounting department- all got a really bad flu that held on for about 3 weeks.  One of the accounting ladies ended up in the ICU for a couple of days, but even she recovered. Yeah, that was a bad flu, and believe it, I had the Lysol spraying madness the whole time these people were wandering in and out in their various states of illness.  By the grace of God somehow I didn’t get it, but I stayed the flying hell away from everyone, even more than I normally do. I’m all about social distancing. You don’t have to tell me twice to put at least 6 to 10 feet between me and other people. I prefer it. Especially when I have Lysol to spray.

But since it’s an election year, let’s take a page from the Marxist handbook (desperate Democrats) and never let a good crisis go to waste.  Let’s attempt to destroy the economy, while blaming it on a particularly bad flu season, and try to sell socialism that way.

It will backfire.  The crisis will end, sooner rather than later, and that’s all I really have to say about that. I hope and pray that all the overreacting will serve as even more fuel to pour on the dumpster fire that is being created by the Democrats and their corrupt enablers.

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Granted I don’t want to see people die.  I particularly loathe respiratory illness because I have chronic sinus issues even when I am well. My biggest fear is strep throat (which could be more lethal to me than any flu because of my history with rheumatic fever.)  So yeah, I wash my hands and use a lot of sanitizer anyway, especially in the winter when I am surrounded by the hacking and coughing multitudes.  I get the flu and pneumonia shots. I don’t like being in crowds or in loud places and avoid them when I can.  I’m not a huggy-feeler either, and I don’t go around fingering people, or kissing on strangers so I have that in my favor.

The bottom line even with precautions taken – and I have a sharp eye for the macabre as it is- is that we are all gonna die of something. 

I’ve already defied the longevity odds for a person with autism.  The average age of death for a person with autism is 37 years. I made it to 51. Yay me!  To be honest though, I remember my doctor telling me once when I was 30 that if I didn’t do a whole lot of things differently I wouldn’t make it to 35. I did change my lifestyle to a certain degree. Now I know why, but still, the fact that even with a boatload of meds that I am still vertical and sucking up valuable oxygen amazes me sometimes.

Part of the abysmal longevity projections for autistics, I am sure, is that we have a horrendously high suicide rate, as well as a plethora of co-morbid conditions such as heart disease, diabetes, various physical and mental illnesses, lack of social support, and the list goes on.

But coming from the perspective of an autistic, I think I can explain why we die very young.  We aren’t made to live in your world.

Of course everyone experiences stress.  But “normal” people don’t experience the stress of trying to live in a world that isn’t made for them.  Autistic people have to adapt to the “normal” world in much the same way as space travelers have to adapt to the unnatural atmosphere of space.

Some of us learn to navigate almost seamlessly- you can’t see the space suit or the oxygen mask- but they’re there.  We script.  We mask. We mirror.  We do what you do and perfect our acting skills…and it takes a ton of energy to hold up the faςade. Over time this takes a toll.  We have hypertension. We have stress headaches. We deal with anxiety 24/7 because we can’t script, mask and mirror forever without stepping away from time to time.

Those of us who can’t learn to navigate are even worse off than those who can. Those of us who are non-verbal and/or who have cognitive or severe physical deficits on top of autism are at the mercy of the medical industry (whose only “care” is the almighty dollar) or even worse, the public educational system whose lack of common sense and dearth of efficacy is only equaled by its lack of care.  So for people like me- you either figure out things and navigate for yourself, and live with an eternal stress meter pegged out on 11, or you’re doomed to a life of marginalized, institutionalized poverty.

No wonder autistic people die young.

And yeah, every single human being out there, whether you’re “normal” or autistic, we’re all gonna die.

Get used to it.

 

 

Creative Use of Just About Everything, and Adventures in Eclectic Home Décor

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If Steve-o thought I had problems with the whole “warm and fuzzy” mommy bit, just wait until I try my hand at home décor- in his house.  That is just plain scary, given that my idea of decorating has much more to do with function than the aesthetic.  I still have the big Ohio State tapestry on the wall in my room that Jerry put there, for some inexplicable reason.  I’m not even that much of an Ohio State fan.  I like some hangings on the wall to break up the monotony, but I don’t really give décor much thought.  Unless, of course, it’s funny.

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For example, this is funny.  It will be even funnier when I get the outhouse next to it done.

For the most part, however, I can live without a whole lot of kitsch.

I already told Steve-o he will have his very own G T F O sign- since he doesn’t really get into cute little “Welcome” signs.

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Figure it out.. it’s not difficult.

Of course he will probably come up with his own unique flair:

bad lamp

I can imagine all the other funky things that being a man, he won’t mind, such as shall we say “dated” furniture, archaic bathroom fixtures and strangely colored kitchen appliances:

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70s kitchen

In all seriousness, Steve-o’s house has two full bathrooms.  Both of them have new plumbing and faucets, but the tubs, sinks and toilets are straight out of 1975.  One bathroom set is this horrible yellow (like the above kitchen) and the other one is a sort of medium brown.  On the plus side, the brown will probably hide a lot of stains.  Especially in the toilet bowl.

I envy him the 70’s non-low-flow toilets though.  Those things are industrial strength, heavy duty beauties that will flush down horse piles, and various and sundry objects up to as large as Jimmy Hoffa.  The way he shits, that’s going to be necessary.  I don’t know how many times he has had to run for the plunger not just in my house but in my parents’ house (Dad replaced the toilets in the early 2000s and they are awful) as well.

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I’m still getting him a couple of plungers as housewarming gifts.  In fact, three- one for each toilet, and one for the sinks.

I’ll have to put together my list of crap you need when you move but don’t think about, and then work on collecting said items for him.

1. Drain cleaner.

2. Clorox.

3. Paper towels.

4. Cleaning rags and towels (cloth.)

5. Lysol and various spray air fresheners.

6. Mop and mop bucket- also Murphy’s Oil Soap and magic erasers.

7. Plungers.

8. Coffee- coffee pot, coffee filters, coffee cups.

9. Paper plates, Dixie cups, plastic silverware and napkins.

10. Toilet mints (the blue things you put in the toilets to keep the water blue and to keep dogs from drinking out of the bowl)

I’m sure I’ll come up with more. I have time.

A Head Start on Contagion Season, (No I Am Not OCD- Yet) and Other Projects

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I just bought a germ mask, and I will wear it when I am surrounded by sickies.  I have no problem with that.

I really don’t want to be some kind of paranoid germophobe.  I try not to be, unless I am surrounded by people sneezing, hacking and hawking up lung pieces.  Then I get nervous.  I do try to take reasonable care of myself.  I wash and sanitize my hands often.  I refrain from eating or drinking after others.   But when someone comes into my proximity with any kind of respiratory funk (especially the rude mo-fos who don’t cover their sneeze, or who cough and snot into their hands and then finger my stuff) I get a bit more assertive regarding contagion control.

I love disinfectant.  Especially when the loogie hawkers are out there.

When someone starts coughing, hacking, and hawking up contagion all over the place, and especially when they just spread it around everywhere without mind to hygiene, like little kids do, I spray the perimeter of my workspace with Lysol and wipe down pretty much everything I touch with the Lysol wipes.  I hate being like that, but dammit, I don’t need that shit.  I don’t expect people to stay home with head colds and minor respiratory funk, but I do expect them to observe the basic hygiene rules.  Cover your cough or sneeze.  Wash and sanitize your hands, and keep your mitts off of my stuff, especially when you’ve just hawked a loogie into a Kleenex, fingered all over that, and then neglected to wash or sanitize your hands.  I do not need to experience your booger slime.  And the further away you stay from the immunologically weak (like me) the better for us all.

Keep your snot to yourself.  Or I will Lysol your ass.

When I get a basic head cold it almost always turns into a sinus infection, bronchitis or pneumonia (or all of the above,) and a good case of the strep throat could actually kill me, should it morph into rheumatic fever (again.)  I hate being sick with a passion.  It makes sense for me to be a wee bit paranoid, and a wee bit generous with the Lysol.  I do the same for others.  Should I have the respiratory funk myself, I have no problem taking steps to sanitize and refrain from spreading contagion to others.  I don’t want to intentionally (or neglectfully) spread disease to others.

I have had the opportunity to add some interesting tunes to my playlist- I got a Jethro Tull CD for a quarter at a garage sale, and added “Bungle in the Jungle, ” “Too Old to Rock and Roll, Too Young to Die,” and “Sweet Dream” to my MP3 collection.  I also added Kansas’ “Hold On” and REO Speedwagon’s “Back On the Road Again.”  I never really got into Jethro Tull back in the day but I’m really enjoying it now.

If I keep this up I’ll either have to get a new MP3 player or upgrade to a bigger memory card.

Jerry should never, ever let me dress him.

I don’t know what it is straight men have against bright colors and bold patterns.  I know Steve-o is not very good at the whole “matching” concept- as a child he would come up with the most outrageous ensembles, and I couldn’t in good conscience let him go out in public wearing let’s say- a green t-shirt with orange sweat pants and one purple and one black sock- with sandals.  It was probably good for his self-esteem (yeah, wasn’t everything…mustn’t do anything to damage the offspring’s self-esteem) that I would convince him to change clothes, or at least wear two socks of the same color, or at the very least, take the socks off if sandals were the footwear du jour.  I can’t stand to see people wear socks with sandals.  What’s the point?  Sandals are meant to let your feet air out.  If you have funky looking feet wear socks- and shoes.   The good thing was, if Steve-o did manage to leave the house looking like flypaper for freaks, the peer response generally would prevent the same fashion faux pas from happening again.

If you dress like them, they will come.  Hawking loogies and bearing snotty secretions.

Now that Steve-o is an adult straight male, his ensembles generally consist of: loose-fitting man-jeans, white socks, skater shoes, assorted white, black, grey and blue t-shirts, often with catty sayings.  In winter one might add a black Monster hoodie to the mix.  There are no matching skills necessary with his wardrobe.  He wears uniforms to work, which solves the “what to wear to work today” question.  That is probably a blessing, considering some of his own personal attire.

Safe boating?  Probably not.

Jerry’s wardrobe is remarkably similar to Steve-o’s- except that Jerry likes the button-up oxford type shirts in addition to t-shirts.  He likes the same boring colors though- white, blue, black, gray and occasionally brown.  No patterns, and unlike Steve-o, no catty sayings.  Jerry does like a front shirt pocket for smokes though.  I find shirt pockets to be vestigial and at best, decorative, as far as my own purposes.  It’s awkward for an ample-chested woman to use shirt pockets.  Grabbing to get something in your pocket makes onlookers think you’re grabbing your bazongas, which is just about as socially taboo as a woman having a nice long scratch on her nether region.  Besides, if I really want to keep tabs on something, I’ll shove it in my bra.

It’s probably for the best that men don’t generally go for the complicated or outlandish when it comes to attire.  Imagine this:

A world of guys dressing like this would be interesting, but rather scary as hell.

Not the Queen of the Popularity Parade, and My Guts are Not Here for You to Love

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Sometimes it’s necessary to inform others that I do not suffer fools lightly.  Nothing personal.

There is a certain notoriety in holding a minority, hard-line viewpoint, but my guts are not here for anyone to love.  I’m sure if I just blithely and vapidly followed the mainstream in my social and political views I’d have a lot more friends, but in my mind, a lot less personal integrity.  As far as friends go, I’ll take quality over quantity any time.   If my views serve to “cull the herd,” so be it.  I don’t need, nor do I desire, much social interaction, so when I do interact with people I want those interactions to count.  If I’ve challenged your thought processes, contradicted your world view, shocked or appalled you, offended you, or perhaps even broadened your vocabulary, so be it.  My inciteful mission moves forward ahead (thank you, Obama, for ruining what used to be a perfectly acceptable word by using it as the slogan for your crappy, and hopefully unsuccessful re-election campaign.)  “Forward” indeed – over which cliff?  The Grand friggin’ Canyon?

For what it’s worth, you can probably find Obama on the golf course.

Granted, I’m no poster child for the goody-goody crowd.  I have my flaws, but I have to live honestly the best way I know how.  I’m not going to pretend to be something I’m not.  I’m not out to impress anyone, sway anyone to my point of view, or any of that noise.  For the most part this blog is for me, a place for good or ill, to speak my mind, organize my thoughts (easier said than done, that) and just plain sound off.

I learned many years ago that I’m not wired to please too many people.  I have a hard time pleasing myself (no, not that type of pleasing, pervert) in that I’m an incorrigible perfectionist, as well as I’ve got quite a flaming type-A personality.  I have absolutely no patience.  I’m into the instant gratification thing, believe that.  I buy things online (often) because I loathe actual shopping in stores, and then get impatient when I order something from the west coast and it takes me a week or more to get it.

This is what I used to get so pissed at Steve-o for doing.  Wash the damned pants already.  Or buy some new ones.  Go to the thrift store if you must.

I have even less tolerance than patience.  I try, I really do, but today my tolerance is whisper-thin. I’m being bombarded by bad country music blared from two points (and different stations, no less) in the room.  Dueling freaking banjos, oh holy shit- if only it were just banjos and not that horrible caterwauling that country artists call “singing.”  I do have good music on the MP3 player in the headphones to try to cancel it out, but I can still hear the oat opera and it’s damned annoying.  Then to add insult to injury, I’m trying to concentrate on getting my paperwork done, but it’s rather difficult to concentrate when I’m sitting next to our very own office freaking Typhoid Mary, who has been hacking up pieces of lung and snorting about all morning, like I need contagion on top of noise pollution. And she’s one of the bad country music blarers, to boot.

I’m just not a big fan of communicable disease.  Especially the respiratory ones. Been there, done that, way too freaking much.

Maybe I’m just being petty and mean and I really shouldn’t be like that, but dammit, we don’t need any diseases running through here.  Then people call off, and by that time, even though I usually end up being sicker than Jerry Sandusky at a Boy Scout Jamboree, (only not in quite the same way) since I’ve lingered on and done everyone else’s shit while they try to recover, I can’t call off.  If you’re going to hack and cough, take some damned shit to control your snorting and snots, and don’t get pissed when I Lysol the hell out of your area, and my own, to try to keep the germs from infiltrating my space.

Did I mention- I’m very user UN-friendly?

I know I can be the High Queen Bitch of all I survey, and today is sort of one of those days.  I’m trying so hard to be nice that it’s actually pissing me off, and that’s never a good sign.  It’s even more funny when I hit the random scramble on the MP3 player and I get:

“Sympathy for the Devil”- the Rolling Stones

“Gold Dust Woman”- Fleetwood Mac

“Skating Away on the Thin Ice of a New Day”- Jethro Tull

Ian Anderson is way cool though.  You gotta admire a guy who can stand on one leg and play the flute- in a rock setting no less.

Even a random sampling on an electronic device seems to reflect my angst today.  I shouldn’t be pissy about anything, and I shouldn’t let trivial things overwhelm.  But I do.  Yes, I did take my meds today, but today is one of those days when I wish it was OK to mistake Bailey’s for coffee creamer.

You’re Supposed to Do What with WHAT?

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Just when I start waxing nostalgic on the “good old days” I happen across this lovely ad from the early-to-mid 20th century.  Now I understand where Jerry’s Dad gets the kerosene-as-hemorrhoid-cure idea from.  I guess you can’t have hemorrhoids if your asshole is burned shut.  I guess a man can’t smell a dirty pussy if you load it up with disinfectant.  Sounds somewhat logical, eh?

I shudder to think of the effect of douching with Lysol cleaner.  If I discovered my snatch is reeking like a tuna boat in high summer, obviously, I would be either a). wondering if I should be showering once or twice a day rather than once a month, and barring infrequent bathing as the cause of the malodorous affliction, I’d b.) start wondering if dear old Tom had been doing some tomcatting on the side and brought home a not so nice social disease.  Maybe that hair pie smells rancid because of the clap?  Does Tom have some ‘splainin’ to do?  Did his mother not warn him of the hazards of dipping his wick in some strange without wrapping it?

I have no problem cleaning the floor with Lysol cleaner, or even adding it to a load of laundry that’s really skanky, (you can still buy liquid Lysol cleaner today) but methinks Lysol is a bit too harsh for feminine hygiene purposes even if you dilute it a bit.

It makes me so glad that I live in a somewhat more enlightened time.  Now if we only had some polite way of telling the guys that the order of things is: shower, then BJ.  If you’re really hot, you might get one in the shower.