Bed Sheets

Over the past week, I have been traveling. I enjoy parts of traveling, but I am not partial to hotels. Mostly because I like sleeping on clean sheets, and I don't trust hotels to thoroughly clean their sheets. Yeah, I know they have big washers and dryers that use scalding hot water to remove everything, but when I see hotel sheets, I imagine all of the germs still on them. And that does not count dust mites. Damn OCD.

What was more embarrassing is that hubbie and I had sex in the hotel one night – really drenched the sheets, if you know what I mean. The next day, I went back to the room for something in the early afternoon – just wanted to pop in and get something out of the suitcase and brush my hair.

The maid was in the room, replacing the sheets. And I was so embarrassed. There I was, entering the room, and she was changing sex-soaked sheets. She had to have known, and there I was, busted.

As I was walking down to the elevator, I remembered another experience with bed sheets. I was working at a camp one summer, and the last morning of camp, the camp residents were to carry their bed sheets to the office before "check out." So here I was, on the first shift, accepting sheets and placing them in these large tubs. One of my girlfriends was next shift, and she comes to relieve me.

We start chatting, and someone comes to give us her sheets. She instructs the person to place the sheets in the tub, and I ask her why. Her answer was that the sheets could be "dirty," meaning sex-dirty. I had never even thought of that, and there were probably 15 to 20 sheets I personally handled.

I took a shower after being relieved. Sex was not part of the scheduled programs, but I had never envisioned that any of these people would have had sex in the week or two weeks they were at camp. Sheltered me.

I have got to go. I sort of want to go home and do a load of laundry now. Can't do it, but I feel compelled nonetheless.

Internet Stalkers

I want to talk about stalkers today. You see, I have my very own Internet stalker.

First, a few notes about stalkers. Most stalkers are men. Women, in general, don't stalk men. I mean, for the men out there, the odds of getting stalked by a deranged woman is extremely small, but you know, if you do, watch the heck out. Women stalkers are extremely dangerous. Think boiling the family pet when they get pissed off.

Anyway, I have my very own Internet stalker. He got my email address a long time ago, and every once in a while, he writes. And I ignore him.

His note: "Just checking in."

My response:

His note: "Thinking of you."

My response:

His note: "Are you pregnant."

My response:

I am not sure he knows he is a stalker. He just writes me and I don't respond. Oh, yeah, and years ago I said something like, "Please don't write."

His response was something like, "Do you really love your pet bunny?"

I don't often give out my email; yeah, some of you have it. But I do rarely give it out. Not that I am afraid you will cut me up in little bits. But you never know.

Women live in fear that men just don't get.

When I walk into an elevator and only one other person is in the elevator and a man, I get anxious. And if I get creepy vibes, I get off the elevator. Why would you ever be enclosed in a space with a man who gives you the creeps? Yeah, most of my girlfriends think I am strange (they politely label it as cautious). Yeah, I have a thing against germs as well. On and off. And sometimes spiders. Rationally, I know spiders can't hurt me, but then I see their eight legs and imagine their 240 eyes just staring at me, pondering how to catch me in their web, bite me, immobilize me, and then suck all of my blood out of me.

If I think this of a spider that I can crush with a sneaker, guess how and Internet stalker makes me feel?

Filters

I did not post yesterday. I read something that disturbed me, well, made me think, and then the day took over. So I did not post.

Television
When I was growing up, we had three television stations. Well, there were really four, if you count PBS, and then a fifth after a while, but you get the picture. We had few stations, few programs, few choices. We did not need to filter what was on television – we were able to take in all of the choices and make decisions. Now, there are hundreds of video outlets, cable, satellite, whatever. Most people can't take in that much information and filter choices. Not all of the time.

News
Again, growing up, there was one primary newspaper delivered. Perhaps two in some cities. There were three nightly news programs. Again, not many choices, but it is not hard to take in that information and know what is going on. Now, we have the three news stations, CNN, other cable outlets, the Internet with access to most local papers, and literally thousand of other sources. Some even get their news from talk show hosts, morning television shows. We are getting information about lots of gruesome things. Things that were happening a long time ago. But when you here more about them, you assume these things are more "regular." Again, it is hard to filter the news.

YouTube
Part of the reason I did not write yesterday was a comment about YouTube. It said something about YouTube getting worse, getting to where everything is "same old same old." I would have posted something that was "same old same old" and I just did not want to do that.

YouTube, in which Google paid billions of dollars, has many faults. Its biggest fault, and a fault of blogging sites as well, is that there is not good filtering. There are good videos on YouTube, but most of the videos are, well, not so good. Blog entries are probably the same. Out of a week's worth of posts, I probably have one good post. Well, less than one per week right now. More than one per week on good weeks.

I held the "Battle of the Blogs" to find other good blogging sites, and I really did not find a bunch of sites. At first, I thought it may have been because blogs are getting worse, on average. And then I began thinking, "Is it me?" Perhaps I am the one who is off of my game.

I still think those who can filter better will do well in this new world (with Web 2.0 and all). Me, I don't know. I think I have given myself permission not to post when I think all I can write is a crap post. That might not mean much to some, but for those of us with compulsions about doing something every day, this is a big deal. I just don't want someone to filter some of my crap posts. I will do that myself.

Laundry Mats and "Getting Along"

When I was just out-of-school, I did not have a washer or dryer. I imagine many people were in this boat, though not-so-much anymore with instant credit for college graduates. But in the late 1980s or early 1990s, I frequented Laundromats. Not for dating, but because I had no washer-dryer and occasionally I wore clean clothes (a joke).

Now, for some of you who have been reading for a while, I have OCD. Think about this for a moment – young, college grad woman who has OCD and is using the Laundromat. Yes, using appliances to wash her undies where other people who have less stringent hygiene habits who are also washing their undies in the same appliances. Completely grosses me out. But without cash or a place to put the washer/dryer combinations, I was using the Laundromat down the street. Well, not just down-the-street, but close-to-home.

Anyway, I was sitting on one of the tables, reading a book one evening, doing my laundry. I can't remember the book I was reading, but knowing me, it was some really big book (that, in my mind, I could have used as a weapon on others, since I was by myself in a Laundromat). A big book that I wanted to read. To this, you would need to think, "How utilitarian of you, dear Leesa."¹

I look up from my book, and an elderly black man is sitting in a chair fairly near me. He had a thin frame, salt-and-pepper hair, more salt than pepper. Nice smile. When I looked up, he caught my eye. I smiled.

He said, "Friday night, and you are reading. I bet you are smart."

I giggled. I did not mean to giggle, but I did. And we started talking.

We started talking about race relations. Not sure how it got there. Okay, maybe there was basketball on the television, and we started talking about basketball. He thought it was odd that I did not like Larry Bird – I did not like him because my Daddy did not like him. I knew squat about basketball, but I Daddy always said that if Larry Bird played as good as the announcers said he played, he would be a great player. My Daddy said Larry Bird's accomplishments were overblown because he was white, and I believed him. Anyway, this started the conversation.

This gentleman was a grandfather. I don't remember the whole conversation, but I will never forget something that he said. He said his grand-daughter and my children may live in a better world, a world where the color of one's skin is something to note, but not to overshadow other aspects of their being. He said that he learned to hate white people from his upbringing, and when he was talking about this, I recalled small things that "colored" my thinking. He said it was too late for me, that I had already been brainwashed, but that my children would have a chance to live in a more colorblind world.²

You know, at the time, I did not believe the grandfather, but over time, I have come to realize his wisdom. Not that I think I am a lost soul, as it relates to my ability to judge others on their own attributes and not the color of their skin, but as a society, it is extremely hard to change one person, let alone many people in society. The grandfather, I have come to realize, was saying that he had no hope that his generation nor mine would change their views deep down, but perhaps the following generation may have a better chance at starting from more scratch and looking past certain physical traits.

The Rodney King trial in the 1990s. Who was on trial? The four police officers? Society as a whole? If so, why do we still call it the Rodney King trial? He was not on trial.

Laundromats and baseball parks. That's where you think about race.

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¹Now I am slowly teaching you how to think. In a few short months, I will take over the world with my mind control. Well, maybe not the world. Maybe take over New Zealand.

²Part of me laughs and says "Ha, didn't know I am infertile." The bitter part of me, that is.

Blog Awards Groveling

Addendum

Looks like Christie's Blog Awards are underway, and I have been nominated for Blogger most likely to blog while on the toilet. Can I assume that we are talking potty mouth? If you want to vote for me, you can wander over here and vote. All I ask are two things: (1) don't vote for her site for any categories (talk about stacking the deck; most of the viewers are her loyal readers), and (2) forgive her hideous layout. It makes my teeth hurt.

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Please don't stop here if you are a regular reader. I posted something else today, and as OCD as I am, I did not want Christy's contest to touch the other blog entry. It makes me feel a bit dirty, but not dirtier than hearing that some Danish Health Club is going to start having "nudie Sunday" so you can work out in the nude. One thought that gives me the shutters: stationary bike seat.

Friday Randomness Part Whatever

Disclaimer: another random Friday, but it seems that it is mostly about sex. Guess who hasn't gotten any in a while?

Dakota Quarters
What do North and South Carolina have in common: they have beautiful state quarters (and they joined the union in 1889). North Dakota's quarter has a couple of buffalo on the "tails" side, one of which I have been told was their first state senator. South Dakota has a pheasant and the rock that was chiseled into four presidents. I should know that landmark. Is it Mount McKinley? Anyway, I know someone who reads this lives in one of these two states. No slight of the states. I believe they are in the north-central US; in Georgia, we don't have to learn all of the states, just the confederate ones; another joke, that is a joke about our educational system.

Sheep
Earlier today while writing my last blog entry, I playfully mentioned that I am a conservative democrat, and stated that I am a sheep to the political system. Okay, that was bad grammar, but what I meant to do was liken me (and many of us) to sheep when discussing politics. My last foray into discussing political issues sort of reminded me of that. Prata correctly pointed out some of my more simplistic comments. I think my response was "bite me."

Back to sheep – we are sheep. We get sheered at tax time. We are led by the politicians. And some, not me, would say that we get f***ed in the butt by politicians (sort of like lonely farmers). Politicians = lonely farmers. I did not mean to indicate that lonely farmers, er, let me stop right there. And I don't want to defame beastieology (my political correctness kicking in).

Political Correctedness
Funny that when I discussed beastieology (and, I have no idea how I got onto that subject), I was torn between saying that I did not want to slight those engaging in that behavior. But then I thought of the poor animals. I mean, they did not ask for that. They can't consent to it, you know. And then I wonder why I am still typing about this. Gross. As an OCD-loving person, this gives me the willies.

Friday Post
This morning, I was thinking of an extremely serious issue, and I wanted to blog about it. But you know, Fridays should be light, and I have noticed that my Fridays have taken on some really tough issues: red fingernail polish, bald popes, naval fuzz. I just could not ask you to endure more serious issues on a Friday.

Thursday Post
Did you notice Thursday's post was really lame. Did you notice the same with Wednesday's post? Did you wonder if I am in a mental institution and my Internet privileges have been taken away temporarily? I didn't think so. Did you think you would see the word beastieology three times on my blog?

Referrals
Now that I have been using tags for a while, I have been looking at which tags people use most. I really don't care (or I would use "Britney Spear's muffin" as a tag). Well, not her actual muffin, but you know. And I was trying to find a very polite word to use. Doesn't muffin sound all sweet and innocent?

You know my most viewed tag: Prata. Now in no way am I saying that Prata is anything less than a man who enjoys getting jumped in dark alleys so he can kick ass, but that was the most viewed tag. Well, erotic was, but I took that tag out. It seemed superfluous. I mean, all of my entries are erotic, right? And I think the lack of comments from guys some days has to do with all of their blood flowing to their male member and them passing out. Sorry guys!

Big Boy Stereos

This morning, on the way to work, I was thinking about what the heck I was going to write about today. I wanted to write about romance, and well, I just did not want to write about it.

And as I was listening to the radio, I had a fleeting thought. All of my thoughts tend to be fleeting in the morning. And in the afternoon. And at night. The good part about this is that when I get old(er) and lose my senses, I won't have far to travel.

Okay, my idea. You know, when I was in college, I remember stereos. Real stereos. Component stereos.

Okay, the stereo in my dorm room belonged to my roommate. It was technically a component stereo, but all of the components matched, and, well, the stereo was not too large. No women in the dorm had what I will label as a "man's stereo." Well, maybe a "big boy stereo."

Big Boy Stereos, or BBSs (I am a lazy typist), are component systems that are normally made of components that don't match. Big boys, I was explained to (intentional word choice) once, purchase components based on their sound quality, and not necessarily their esthetic value. The basic colors of the components were grey, black and silver, and I think most guys prided themselves on having at least two colors in their rack (the place where they put their stereo, not a woman's breasts).

Now, I can barely remember the names of the popular manufacturers, so I will not try to fake my way through this, but I grew to like component systems.

I remember being invited into dorm rooms at the end of the date, and the guy and I would normally have different objectives. I wanted the opportunity for a second date (if the first one went well, or if it did not go well but I saw potential for good dates), and the guy wanted to separate me from my clothing.

Anyway, I can remember drinking cheap wine and watching the needles on the tape players dance to the beat of the music. Mesmerizing, the instrumentation was. The music was forgettable (we are talking 1980s), but the atmosphere wasn't. And when not listening to tapes, some of the guys would put on a record.

There are advantages and disadvantages to records. A tape would last about 40 minutes and a record, about half the time. So if we were kissing, sometimes the record would end before I wanted the kissing to end. But turntables were really sexy. Well, not turntables themselves, but many turntables have a small white light (I think it is so you can see where the needle hits the record), and the white light dancing on the ceiling of a darkened room. Extremely sexy. Extremely.

Every once in a while, two roommates would both have good stereos, and I wonder how the roommates would decide which stereo to listen to. Random, I know, but I wonder about that.

Today I would think that college "stereos" would be much different. I can see roommates having their computers hooked up to a receiver or just an iPod or MP3 player with speakers. But what about the sexy stereos. I wonder if sharing a pair of ear buds while listening to an iPod would be the same. Sharing earwax germs. Never. I guess my OCD is acting up again.

Instinct vs. Feelings

Prata had an interesting blog the other day. He touched on a lot of subjects, but one, "instinct vs. feelings" is an interesting concept that I have some thoughts about.

I asked him if he would not mind be blogging about this, not because I am a curious soul, but because Prata has asked me nearly the same thing in the past. I really don't know if he wants me to talk about it. The risks we take. So here we go.

Instinct verses Feelings. Let's say you have a stimulus, for instance, seeing a snake running close to your feet. Well, normal people recoil. Prata would probably kick the crap out of the snake, but I am talking about normal people – more on this later. When we are recoiling, this is an instinct. We instinctually recoil when we see what we think is a snake (hey, I recoil when I see moving vines, twigs, etc.).


Somebody did a study – I remember this from a Psych class, so forgive me if it is a load of crap – where they showed people (and other primates) a series of pictures. And they measured iris size – and it was fairly universal that everyone (and their moneys too) constricted their irises when viewing snakes. Uncontrollable. Anyway, the psychologists inferred that humans (and other primates) instinctually recoil from the image of snakes. Crap. Maybe it said they are afraid of snakes. Crap. This is not where I wanted to go.

You see, most people respond with fear when seeing snakes. Fear is an emotion. I wanted to show how emotions and instincts are separate, but perhaps they somehow seem to interact with one another. Not all emotions, but some of them. Fear can be a good motivator. Instinctually we may react to things that scare us. Snakes, for instance. But just because there is an interaction, it does not mean that they are the same thing.

Okay, this post is officially lame.

Prata said in one of his last posts, "I’m not a hard man to get along with I don’t think. I’m a man of principle though, and I am certainly picky." I think most of us think we are "not hard to get along with." We rarely think, "I am a pain in the ass."

Oh, and you know, I am hard to live with - it has taken time, but it is the truth. When I was first married, I thought to myself, "Hubbie is so fortunate to have such a loving and understanding wife. His transition from bachelorhood to husband will be so freekin' easy." I remember teaching hubbie the right way to fold socks. We both folded them differently, and my way was the "right" way, and his way was the "wrong" way. He tied them in knots (the longer socks), and rolled the shorter socks in balls. I, however, stuffed the socks so as not to stretch them. We still fold them my way, but it took him several years to master my sock-stuffing method. Bottom line is that I spent a lot of time telling him how wrong he was (really), and he listened to me and tried to get better at such a useless thing. We could have used that time to redecorate, to learn French, or to fuck. Wasted time, because I am a tad inflexible.

I don't know if you know anyone who has OCD, but when we say we are a tad inflexible, you can translate it to someone who rigidly follows a complex set of rules in order to try to control her environment.

Me, I am still scared of snakes, but I can, over the course of years, teach people to fold socks. Folding socks is not instinctual. Neither is learning French.

Mud Flaps and Trailer Hitches

By using a blogspot account, I support a company (Google) that chooses to filter information, based on the country you live in (e.g., China). Prata, don't try the link today as I think his power is out, mentioned Psiphon Friday, and I wanted to at least inform you about it today. That way, I can atone for using blogspot. Psiphon uses something I will call "technology" to allow some people access to websites that some countries block. You know, the US may have a deal with Google to block sites – we just don't know about it. For those inclined, check out the site.

Today, I want to talk about men. Friday, Mark told me of a special vehicle hitch that seemed almost unreal. When I first saw the hitch, I thought to myself, "who would place this on their vehicle (in Texas, they say "truck", I am told). This sort of reads like some traffic cop. "Please step out of your motor vehicle." Sorry. I did not want to drink warm diet Coke this morning.

I just wonder why people place such things on their cars. Then I remember mud flaps. I mean, having silhouettes of naked women on your truck; what's the point. I do not know any girlfriends who have ever said, "You know, I saw that truck with the naked women on it, and flagged the guy down because I just had to have him." Never have I seen it, never had I heard it, never has it been a porno movie plot. Lots of times have a mis-delivered pizza been the start of a clandestine rendezvous. Well, sort of clandestine, considering the camera man just happened to be there, but you get the point.

Sometimes I do not understand people.

I don't have a single bumper sticker on my car (think, OCD and you will know why), but I enjoy reading said bumper stickers. Especially theme cars. You know the type – the 1972 VW beetle with 12 different Wichian bumper stickers. Or the H2 Hummer with environmental stickers. These things really entertain me. But I will not stick any bumper sticker on a car.

Crap, it is getting late, and I have not posted. Christmastime seems to be so rush-rush. I only have 27 people on my list to go. Not really, but it seems that way. This afternoon I will go Christmas shopping. Hope I don't get behind someone with naked girl mud flaps. I mean, don't want to be turned on (tongue in cheek) when looking for loofas.

Falling Out of Love with Blogger

When my blog was new, I would religiously check several things – which new blog/person linked to me, where are my visitors were from, how many hits I got that day, and the like. By the way, I just checked to see who was linked to me, and I found a wonderful post by Ddot. Oddly, it sort of talks about the same thing – but from a "remember when" approach. First people who visited his blog, etc. His post is great – check it out. Perhaps we are writing about similar things because we are approaching our anniversary at about the same time. Same general topic, different perspective. I have always liked Ddot's perspective on things. Enough love given to that DC guy.

Well, over time, I changed. I guess I really changed again. I first started writing to please me and I could not give a darn about anyone else. Then people started commenting, and for a while, I played to the masses. And then I looked at my writing and subjects and changed a third time, again writing for me. I thought about turning off comments, but I knew it would drive people away – a good blogging buddy did it, and I was so proud of her for doing so. Comments changes the way you write – it really does. But I did not have the nerve to turn off comments. I still have about the same readership, but now I have less active readers (not as many comments).

But enough about me.

Let's talk about Blogger. You know, I have not noticed Blogger down lately. Hopefully they are spending lots of time on the new beta, and they don't tinker with the other servers. What I would like is a way to write blog entries and have them post automatically at a later date. Since I am OCD – I like posting each day, whether I have something to say or not. And that would help me.

You know, I like to bitch, but I can't really bitch about Blogger. Sure, they are owned by Google, and Google is helping suppress all citizens of China (a bad thing). But the technophiles in China can get around this – with the anonymous surfing software available. And I could bitch about the lack of information when Blogger is down (they tell you about it only after the fact, leading to you trying for hours to try to post when servers are down).

But I have used other blogging-type websites, and Blogger is okay. I would even pay a few bucks to have Blogger be more reliable. Er, I mean, I would allow others to pay for my site. But there are some annoyances with blogger – the pop-up ads, for instance.

For not saying that I am going to bitch, it looks like I am bitching.

I want to fall in love with Blogger again. I have known others who have taken their blogs elsewhere. It sort of reminds me of those who decided they have fallen out of love, then look for someone else. They get the euphoria of new love, the rush, the butterflies. Then they take the new blog-type site and after a while, things change again. Little annoyances at first become big problems. Then they start looking for another blog-type site, one with a tighter ass, so to speak. One who doesn't talk your ears off. One that is different. But you don't change, and if you are chasing this "new love," you will never be happy. So here I am, with my Blogger, not in love anymore – not the euphoria love. One of my good blogging buddies have recently changed her site to myspace. That seems to be the tramp of blogging, the one slut that everyone rides. She's flashy, she's brass, and she has amazingly firm breasts. Nice eye-candy, no personality. No depth. A wife's worst nightmare.

Guess I better get going. Perhaps the beta is, in a sense, Blogger going to the gym, working on Blogger's ass. Don't worry Blogger, I don't get butterflies when you call anymore, but I am not leaving you just to chase that feeling.

Encore: Wunder Lust

I am out-of-town this week and I will probably not be about to post due to time constraints. So instead of saying, "be back soon" and leave it at that, I will try to dig through some of my previous (old) posts and re-run them. I have new readers and have scared off some, so this will give you an opportunity to read some of my older work.

Enjoy!

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Wunder Lust

You know, looking back on my posts from the last few days, and it occurs to me. I have not had sex in several days, and it shows in my writings. Now I know what they mean by a bitch in heat.

Several years ago, I had an "administrative job" at a non-profit organization. If you are clever, you probably know the business, and I no longer work there (from the looks of things, hardly anyone who once worked there is there now). But you have to know Savannah.

Anyway, the job was sort of menial. It really was. The pay was not great, but I would have to really bust my ass for another $2 to $4 thousand per year, and being the astute person that I am, I thought to myself, "I can either sit on my ass, fuck around (and I do mean fuck – I got paid a salary for sneaking off and fucking) and not get fired, or I could find a job where I would make $2 to $4 thousand more, work my ass off, and they would expect results." I learned about these decision trees in college, but it was a no-brainer for me. Stay in this entry job and have a good time. Hey, I was a giving girl, and I mean giving (wink).

So, every year our non-profit would get audited (not a bad thing, just how things were), and the first year I was there, I was called on to "babysit" the auditor. We were between accountants (I think the title was CFO, but he was an accountant because the pay was measly all around). So my job was to help out the auditor.

The instruction (singular, not plural) I was given is, "If you don't know the answer, don't guess, just say you don't know, and suggest that she ask the president." Since I knew next to nothing (recall, I was screwing in the back room?), I knew I was going to say that a lot.

And then I met the auditor. She was about the same age I was, very attractive, and very nerdy. I am not really all that turned on by women, but every once in a while, I get some sort of girl crush. This was one of those times.

I remember watching her set up her pencils, pens and paper. Everything was so neat, and it appeared that she needed things in the order she placed them. I am OCD, but she was like the ultimate OCD person in Savannah, perhaps the state of Georgia. And she was so nerdy that she had no idea how beautiful she was.

I would watch her as she licked her thumb before inspecting mountains of papers. I watched as she fidgeted with her laptop. She changed the background, changed where the icons were place, tucked loose hair behind her ear, lightly bit her lip and continued to fiddle with the laptop. A new laptop with someone who has a major case of OCD is less than a blessing.

We spent two weeks together, me sneaking glances of this auditor, me not making my move. Not that I was afraid of losing my job – I had already compromised that with no ill effects.

I don't get girl crushes much, but I did those two weeks. Next audit season we had our accountant nerd and I was jealous of him getting to spend his time with her. Here I was married, getting mounted by every Tom, Dick and Harry, and jealous of a co-workers time with a nerdy goddess.

I am married, have only had a few brief lesbian encounters, and I have come to the conclusion that although I really like sucking dick, there is a small part of me that every once in a while is stirred by an occasional and unforgettable woman. Does that make me a lesbian? Probably not, probably. I don't know, and it really does not matter. All I can tell you is that she stirred something inside me, something that is normally quiet and calm. Oh, and that made my week, my month, my lifetime.

Chess, Music and Charge Cards

Speed Chess
Chess fascinates me. Watching chess, that is. It seems so intellectual, so sophisticated, so "grown up." I think about spies playing chess, kings playing chess, Bobby Fischer playing Soviet champion Boris Spassky in the 1970s. Funny thing is that I was alive then, and I had no idea they played the match of the century. Guess they did not have Chess-playing Barbie back then.

One thing that fascinates me is how quickly some chess players play (speed chess). They use these timers and basically take only a few seconds per move. Well, I love watching chess, but I have little interest in really learning the game. I mean, I know how the "horsy" moves, or the one that moves diagonally, but I don't really understand all of the strategies. And saying horsy instead of knight really makes me look amateurish.

But I sort of write like speed chess players play. I open a document, and I start typing. When I reach one page, I finish typing. It takes about 15 minutes when I speed blog, and er, believe it or not, I don't edit a darned thing. So you are getting raw thoughts, from my brain to my fingertips. Sometimes I repeat myself, sometimes I don't.

Stealing Music
You know, I don't steal music. But it is not because I am moral or anything. I just like music that was published twenty years ago, and I can get the CDs for a dollar in used bookstores. What does that say to me? That most people have better taste than I do? Probably. I mean, I could find blogs that talk about music, but if I did, I would want to find out about obscure musicians. I mean, to be obscure is so much more cool than to like what the whole world likes.

Wonderful Wayne's World quote: "I mean Led Zeppelin didn't write tunes everybody liked. They left that to the Bee Gees." Or something like that.

I don't steal music, but I could. My OCD would allow me to categorize all of the music I stole, and I would collect several renditions of the same song. This is the 1976 live version of Song X. And I would also want some rare masters. Oh, stealing songs and watching chess. What I geek I would become!

Great Business Opportunity
I was watching TV at the gym the other day, and there was a credit card commercial (actually, it may have been a charge card commercial, variation on a personal finance theme). I won't reveal the company, but they give you 1% back and put it in a high-yielding money market account for you so you can be a spender and a saver. Sounds great, huh?

Okay, so let me get this straight. I place money on the card, and I get 1% back. And instead of applying it to my balance (let's say you charge me between 12 and 18% interest, you will place it in an instrument that pays 4% (they actually had the percent the savings earned on the commercial).

I want that job – I lend you money at 18% and then if you lend me money, it is at 4%. And you cannot figure out that if you paid me with what was in the other account, you would net a huge savings. What a freaking great business opportunity – for the company.

Total time: 17 minutes. Crap, loosing my touch!

Spam Riches, Microsoft and Orlando

Dear Readers,

It looks like I may not be here much longer. You see, Mr. Rahim Allen, the head of auditing and accounting section of Union Togolaise de Banque Lome-Togo in West Africa, and I may be entering an agreement in which I could earn millions of dollars. All I have to do is give Mr. Allen, someone who I only know from a piece of spam (below), some money, trust the guy, and wait for him to give me my money. Soooooo, maybe I will be around a little longer, with a few less dollars in my purse. Unfortunately, by blogging about this, I have already killed the deal. You see, this is no longer "top secret." Crap.

Last week, I spent thirty minutes updating MS Windows. I don't know a lot about software – but I don't really like Windows. I was reading Prata last week, and he had a link to another blog (not like mine, there were no discussions of cum stains, lesbian lust, or philosophical discussions on the best way to trim pubic hair). Anyway, even though there seemed to be no useful information, I started reading the blog. It was all about Windows, and the entries I was reading concerned the little "security fix" that I was installing.

The "patch" was a tad deceptive. You see, first you install some type of "software authentication application" (by the way, this is all from memory, so if I get it wrong, just deal with it – you are reading about software from someone who is much more interested and experienced with hardware – and an expert on turning it to software with just her tongue and mouth). Well, you download this little application – and MS gives you a description like, "install this before you can install patches (without the patches, your computer will ignite the next time you turn on the computer)". Again, I may be wrong on this description, but just chill, especially if you are a lawyer for MS. So after you install this little program that you can never un-install, you have basically said to MS, "you can look inside of my computer any old time you want (which happens to be every time you power up the computer).

Well, for OCD people like me, I feel like never turning on the machine again. That way, Mr. Gates and his cronies can not sift through my files. And those naked pictures of Orlando Bloom are for research purposes, and Orlando gave me those pictures; I did not hide under his bed and take the pictures without his knowledge. Oh, and I am not the Leesa who has a restraining order against her. Promise.

Back to my intellectual discussion on MS. Well, afterwards, I had something like 18 "patches" to make Windows safer, which means that it takes 30 minutes for a hacker to disable my computer and use it against the Department of Defense or Ebay. I found a quote that Bill Gates said a decade ago about his Windows software: "There are no significant bugs in our released software that any significant number of users want fixed." (Focus Magazine, Oct. 23, 1995) I am sure his stance on this issue has not changed.

So now, not only is my employer paroosing my work machine – they purchased it, they can look at the contents. But now I have MS looking at my machine, just to check every time that I have "authentic MS software on my machine". And for those who think this is no big deal, here is something Mr. Gates said about China and software piracy:
"Although about 3 million computers get sold every year in China, but people don't pay for the software," he said. "Someday they will, though. As long as they are going to steal it, we want them to steal ours. They'll get sort of addicted, and then we'll somehow figure out how to collect sometime in the next decade." (On software piracy in China, July 1998)

Looks like they figured out a way to catch those in the US – but they get access to everyone else's machines as well. I am sure they will not use this information for other purposes. Like marketing. Or looking at Orlando Bloom's perfect butt.

---

FROM MR RAHIM ALLEN.
AUDITING AND ACCOUNTING UNIT.
FOREIGN OPERATIONS DEPARTMENT.
UNION TOGOLAISE DE BANQUE,UTB.
LOME- TOGO.

Dear Leesa,

I am Mr. Rahim Allen, the head of auditing and accounting section of Union Togolaise de Banque Lome-Togo in West Africa with due respect and regard. I have decided to contact you on a business transaction that will be very beneficial to both of us at the end of the transaction .

During our investigation and auditing in this bank, my department came across a very huge sum of money belonging to a deceased person who died on 26th December 2004 in Tsunami that happened in Sumatra island, Indonesia. From the information that our bank have gotten so far, the Tsunami killed him with his entire family and no none relation have been identified. The person that he used as his next of kin was his 17 year old son who died along side with the family.

Although personally, I keep this information secret within myself to enable the whole plans and idea be Profitable and successful during the time of execution. The said amount was (U.S$9.5M UNITED STATES DOLLARS).

Meanwhile all the whole arrangement to put claim over this fund as the bonafide next of kin to the deceased, get the required approval and transfer this money to a foreign account has been put in place and directives and needed information will be relayed to you as soon as you indicate your interest and willingness to assist me and also benefit your self to this great business opportunity.

In fact I could have done this deal alone but because of my position in this country as a civil servant (A Banker), we are not allowed to operate a foreign account and would eventually raise an eye brow on my side during the time of transfer because I work in this bank. This is the actual reason why it will require a second party or fellow who will forward claims as the next of kin with affidavit of trust of oath to the Bank and also present a foreign account where he will need the money to be re-transferred into on his request as it may be after due verification and clarification by the correspondent branch of the bank where the whole money will be remitted from to your own designation bank account.

I will not fail to inform you that this transaction is 100% risk free. On smooth conclusion of this transaction, you will be entitled to 30% of the total sum as gratification, while 10% will be set aside to take care of expenses that may arise during the time of transfer and also telephone bills, while 60% will be for me. Please, you have been advised to keep it as a "top secret" as I am still in service and intend to retire from service after I conclude this deal with you.

I will be monitoring the whole situation here in this bank until you confirm the money in your account and ask me to come down to your country for subsequent sharing of the fund according to percentages previously indicated and further investment, either in your country or any country you advice me to invest in. All other necessary information will be sent to you when I hear from you.

Yours faithfully,

Rahim Allen.

Meme from Ddot

Okay, I was tagged to do this stupid thing. I have decided since I killed on Friday, I may become a bad-ass and kill the next person who tags me. I mean, not kill, but accidentally run them over as they fall out of a tree or something. Nothing pre-meditated at all, but we know people fall out of trees and are hit by cars all of the time.

1. If you could be doing what you really want to be doing for a living, what would it be?
I would like to be an advice columnist. I can see myself getting paid huge amounts of money to answer three or four questions per week. In the end, I would probably be a callused old lady, bitter and rich, complaining all of the time.

2. If you could slap the shit out of any famous person, alive or dead, who would it be?
Um, I have OCD. I would be afraid of getting feces on me if I slapped the shit out of someone.

3. What's the dumbest decision you've made in the past 5 years?
When I decided to cheat. Dumbest decision of all. Wish I had not done it, though through the whole process, I probably am a more spiritual person now. Strange, but so.

4. Give up one for a year: (good) sex or (good) music.
I rarely listen to music, so the choice is obvious.

5. Dudes, would you rather have a big dick or a great sense of humor? Ladies, nice tits & azz or common sense?
I think my answer has changed over time. When I was twenty-one, bring on the nice T&A. Now that I am married and in my mid-30s, I need common sense a heck of a lot more than a nice set of honkers.

6. So you've been invited to an all expense paid Blogger Prom in The Bahamas. You're sitting at the bar on the beach. Which blogger do you want to join you for hours of good convo?
This is a hard one. Ddot answered it by including a ton of people in his answer. I want to limit it to one person. I guess I would have to say . . . . whatever I answer, I am screwed. I mean, I would offend most of you. I think, believe it or not, right now it would be Grant, partly because I want to know more about writing, and partly because I think he has multiple personalities.

7. Which blogger would you most like to cuddle with on the beach? (and don't defer to your current signif other either. Infidelity won't count against you. Duh.)
Right now, I would most like to cuddle with Dani. I figure, she sounds like she has not really been loved too much and she is so lesbian-phobic that it might do her some good. I think she could do with some real nice cuddling.

8. You're going on a 5 hour road trip...which 5 CDs do you bring?
#1 Fleetwood Mac, Rumours
#2 Celtic Woman, Celtic Woman
#3 Loverboy, Get Lucky (Has working for the Weekend)
#4 Queen, Greatest Hits, Vols. 1 & 2
#5 Foreigner, Foreigner

9. Would you rather bury your children young or have your children bury you young?
Too easy – I would rather be buried young. No question about it, but partly because I am not sure I would ever recover from something like that, loosing a child at any age.

10. What's your biggest insecurity?
Answering meme's incorrectly.

11.What's the first blog you read every day...or however often you read them? (And I swear to God, don't be saying mine just cuz I'm the one asking...unless of course you really mean it. lol)
First blog I remember reading was Ddot's blog. First blog I read every day – it changes. I have been reading Stacy's or Mike's first thing, mostly because they consistently get their posts out early.

12. When's the last time you peed your pants?
Pass.

13. Which was better, your first kiss or your first pay check?
My first kiss! I can't remember my first paycheck, but I still remember my first kiss.

14. Do you have kids? Want kids?
Don't have kids. Want kids. Probably won't have kids.

15. You get dropped off at home after the office holiday party by your bitch azz boss that you can't effing stand...you exit the car and he peels out, runs a red light at your corner and rolls up an unsuspecting midget. The next day the midget watch groups are on TV outraged at the heartless hit and run, and are calling for any witnesses to please come fwd...that half dead midget has a family at home waiting on C-mas presents. Would you take $1000 hush money? $500? $100? A six pack?
Crap, this has actually happened to me twice. First time I took the money, and I felt so guilty I got another job. Second time I became the prosecutor's star witness. My boss is still in jail.

16. Live the rest of your life without your eyebrows or your fingernails?
Eyebrows. I would simply draw them on or get a tattoo to correct the problem.

17. What makes you angry?
Getting tagged to do this freaking blog entry makes me mad.

18. What makes you horny?
Heck, riding the bus makes me horny. Better question for me would be "what doesn't make you horny?"

19. What makes you nervous?
Police make me nervous. All of the time. I don't purposefully break laws – occasionally speed, 5 miles/hour over the posted speed limit, but police always make me nervous.

20. What makes you smile?
Watching children play, feeling a cool breeze in the fall, knowing I have helped someone, reading one of my favorite stories while sunning at the beach, staring at the clouds in the sky . . . and lots else makes me smile.

My Nudie Day

I am going to have to fight my OC tendencies. You see, I really want to write a post for Friday, and Monday, and then another post for Tuesday. You know, I like posting each day, but I will resist the temptation, partly because I was gone from work for a couple of days, and, well, I have, um, work to do. I sort of wonder if blogging will make its way to my performance appraisal. Somehow, I think I should refrain from putting this under the heading of work accomplishments. Call it survival.

Anyway, I did something yesterday that sounds very sexy but was actually sort of peaceful. I know, after reading the last sentence, you are wondering what I am talking about. Anticipation, sweeties, that is what this is all about.

Anyway, I took what I like to call a "mental heath" day on Monday. I just sort of called in sick, trying not to lie. Okay, the conversation sort of went like this:

Leesa (while holding my nose to sound more nasal): Um, (cough), I am not (cough) feeling that (cough) good today.

Boss (currently being deceived): Er, Leesa, there is a lot of work to do today.

Leesa: I know, Boss, but (cough) I don't want what I have to infect the rest (cough) of the office.

Boss: Okay, thanks for thinking of us.

Leesa: I think staying (cough) at home (cough) will do a world (sniff) of good for me.

And that's how the conversation went. Now I will show you how this is deceptive but not untruthful (okay, suspend your rational thought for a moment, please). First, I was not feeling good. I did not want to go to work and I had a case of the blahs. Maybe I still do – if you find this post crappy and mindless, I still have the blahs.

The coughing and the nasal voice – I never told Boss I had a cold or cough. He just assumed this because of what he heard. And my concern for the office? Well, I did not want others at the office get the blahs; it is really a bad feeling. Plus, it shows the office that I am putting their welfare above my welfare. Okay, that is stretch. But you know, I was trying to tell statements that were correct but deceiving. I know this is not truthful; sort of reminds me of President Clinton and the definition of the word "is".

Here I am telling you of the set up, and I have almost exhausted my page limit for a post. Drat. Another thing that I am disregarding.

Okay, yesterday after I called in "sick", I took the rest of the day for me. I did not leave the house, and after a long and relaxing bath, I did not dress. I just lazed around the house nude all day. And this was not a sexy nudity, it was more of a relaxing nudity, if that makes sense. I just did not want to get dressed.

I am not really in touch with my body – okay, that made no sense. Start again: I don't sleep in the nude; never have, never will. And I did not sunbathe nude growing up, even when we all wanted to do so senior year so that we would not have tan lines for the prom. I did actually nude sunbathe once during the senior year with some friends, but it went horribly wrong, and some very delicate skin got burned. Better than the one girl that put baby oil all over her, including her lips, and she had burned lips.

I like clothes, partly because they are useful. I get cold really fast, and clothing helps with this. I also have a problem with other people being nude because of the whole OCD, if you think there is feces on shopping carts, check out chairs with a bunch of nudists, thoughts. Sorry for being so direct, but there you have it.

I knew someone who worked at a nudist facility in the 1980s. I did not know her very well; she was an adult, and I was a teenager – but I did housesit for her when she and her husband took a trip once. I just thought she must have been a little bit of a swinger. Probably completely wrong, but again, that's how my mind worked at the time. I have actually met some nudists since then, and none of them were swingers. They were very liberal, but they did not swing.

Well, I had fun on my nudie day, and I can really imagine the attraction of those who go to nudist colonies. It can be so relaxing. But for me, if I ever went nudist, I would have to wear something to sleep in. Does that sound prudish to you?

Mud-wrestling on family vacations

When I was growing up, we, as a family, would travel to a nearby state most summers. Many families do this, I know. So far not a compelling story.

We were not a wealthy family – we had relatives who lived near the water, and the vacation was extremely reasonable. One night, however, we would go – all of us, which totaled two tables normally – cousins, grandparents, etc. – to a restaurant. It was the same seafood restaurant, and we would have a nice meal. Grandfather’s treat, every summer. Again, so far not a "grant-like" story.

Then, when I was a teenager, we noticed a new message on the magnetic sign under the name of the “non chain” restaurant: MUD WRESTLING WED. Here this family-friendly restaurant was hosting mud-wrestling contests each Wednesday evening.

I really did not know much about mud-wrestling, and, unfortunately, here is where the story ends. We probably could not have attended the “performances” since we were less than eighteen. Well, grandfather was older than 18. So were our parents. But taking us there would probably have been classified as “contributing to the delinquency of minors.” So instead, we turned 18, went to college, and became delinquents that were legally responsible for our actions. I am guessing corrupting minors has less of a downside, from the legal perspective. Well, except that you are breaking laws, morals and standard decency. Our world is so much of a give-take, and sometimes you have to break a few eggs in order to make a good cake. How is that for a mixed trite metaphor?

And this mud-wrestling scenario got me to thinking, “I could never be a professional mud-wrestler or a porn “actress” because of a condition I have: OCD. A few weeks ago, I was chatting with someone who will remain nameless about mud-wrestling as a means of dispute resolution (that has a side benefit of generating cash flow). And I would absolutely suck at mud wrestling for the following reasons:

1. I don’t like getting dirty, and because of this discomfort, I am not sure I would whole-heartedly engage in the effort.

2. I don’t like my hair being pulled. As much as I delude myself in believing I am a bad-ass, I am a bit of a wimp and I don’t like my hair being pulled. I can see making a rule about not hair-pulling, but I am also very competitive, and if I was not wrestling a Catholic nun, I am fairly certain I would be pulling out hair by the fistfuls.

3. I am modest. Although I have never seen mud wrestling, I am fairly certain that the uniform involves bikinis, string-bikinis. And once my top was pulled off, I am sure I would be clutching my breasts with my hands. So I would have muddy, yucky hair plastered to my breasts. How attractive would that be?

4. I am strong for a girl, but let’s face it, I have a limited reach. If my reach is less than my opponent, she has the advantage. So my top would be coming off first, even if I were trying to scalp her because of my competitiveness and lack of ethics.
That being said, at least I don’t think the police would bother me. I mean, I don’t want to introduce handcuffs into the equation.

I would want to be able to pick my own opponent. I was looking at the blogs I normally read, and wanted to tell you whose female ass I could kick. And looking over the list, I am sorry to say that I would probably lose to them all. Unless ~deb trips first. I have heard that she is quite a klutz. Perhaps if I get her drunk first. Either that, or I need to find a patsy and train with prata. I hear prata excels at causing maximum pain with minimum effort.

Blogger Voodoo Dolls

Okay, I got a rude awakening Monday morning, and I am not talking about the neighbor who insists on cutting his lawn at 6:30 am. If I was a more violent person, I would stew his pets. But I digress. Please continue to view me as that lovable blogger who writes about kittens (but not kitten recipes), butterflies and pink hearts.

Okay, I come on Monday, with albeit, a crappier than normal post but I just wanted to push something out this morning. Wrote the post, saved the post, pressed "publish" and nothing. Looked on blogger's site to see if something was wrong. What I got was:

Friday, April 21, 2006

One of our databases is down, which prevents users from publishing to certain blogs. We are working on getting the database back.

Update: the database was repaired early this morning PST.

Posted by Pal at 00:51 PDT

Okay, that is Friday, today is Monday. I saw lots of blogs published Sunday, for some odd reason. Not sure why. And that was all. I wrote a couple of people (not ~deb, as Monday and Tuesday are her day's off) and all I got was one response: "Ha Ha Ha. I don't use blogger/blogspot anymore. They suck. They are unreliable. They suck." Well, something like that. The girl may have said something about wanting to be me. Not. But anyway, no sympathy.

So blogger, without any public knowledge of anything going wrong, published all of the blogs in the queue at about 1:24 pm (Eastern Time). But after the event was over, a meek entry was seen as follows:

All publishing is broken right now. We’re working on fixing it.

Update, 10:15AM: We have Blog*Spot publishing working again. External publishing coming soon.

Update, 10:41AM: External publishing is working again as well. Plus users, we haven't forgotten about you.

Update, 10:50AM: Everything sorted out now and working fine. Expect possible transient slownesses as we shore up some of the quick fixes that we had to make.

Posted by Pete at 09:42 PDT

I wanted it to also say, "We apologize to Leesa and anyone else who has severe OCD because you must have been very uncomfortable since you could not post. You probably circled your computer, pointing at the screen and wanting the "Publishing is in progress, Files published... 0%" to continue. Knowing that we were just sitting on our butts, wanting to know how many of you OCDs were not getting work done because you habitually blog first, check work-related e-mail second, get that second cup of coffee third. Ms. Leesa, we would like to publicly apologize to you, and as a favor, we will be coming by to wash and wax your car, and power clean your outdoor windows. We are scum."

Okay, that second part of the message never appeared. All I can say is I would like to purchase the materials to make a blogspot voodoo doll and start poking the doll with little pins. Since there is now a scheduled outing at 4:00 pm PDT, I wanted to post this before Blogger updates their databases. Girls and boys, I am sure I will loose all of my best stories. So just pretend I wrote something good.

Oh, and this just in. I have heard from a very reliable source (she gives great oral, I have been told – but I don't have proof, she won't give me the pictures) that the reason that Blogger was so screwed up is because of Mike. Apparently today's post was so controversial that Blogger (wholly owned by Google, a company which helps China with censorship) has chosen to censor Mike's blog. Little do they know they are feeding support for Mike.

Little Notebooks, Crap and Inspiration

Yesterday, I started my blog with a “crap follows” warning. Two people said, “This isn’t crap.” I was not being shy or modest. I had not thought of a thing to say – and my OCD sort of forced a post. But, at the last minute, something came together.

You see, when I blog, I really can’t figure out how people will react to my posts. I know how I will react, but not others. I remember the most important post I ever wrote – I wrote it one day to be posted the next. I told people, a few bloggers, the next post is good, real good. I mostly just doodle here – and that post, to me, was heartfelt, well-written, and had a message that was important. Real important. I got four comments.

I post about “slut radar” (an old post that struck a chord) or complain about another blogger with the same name (recent post), and I get comments, lots of comments. And I don’t understand why.

I read a blog yesterday that talked about a 100 post challenge – where the blogger gets 100 posts, and then challenges the next person (tags them, I think the phrase is), and then they get 100 posts. I couldn’t get 100 posts if I make a collage of Bored Housewife’s braless Tuesday pictures. A sort of a “tit for tat” post. But I digress.

And that got me to thinking about something else – inspiration. That well-written post that didn’t get many posts – I can’t remember if I was inspired or touched. I can’t remember, maybe touched more than inspired. But inspiration comes and goes so quickly. I have read that some really important people carry a notebook around and jot notes to themselves, before they lose inspiration. And those of you that saw Mike’s last post, I was not referring to him. But he does the same thing.

There are days where ideas flow through me. They are like minnows in a stream – if you don’t have your net ready, you miss them all. I am not a good writer yet, but I wonder if I carry a notebook around, could I remember those little inspirational moments that come and go. Now I can’t see asking hubbie to stop rocking my world while I write down some thoughts. It would kill the mood and he may find that his thingie is not the only thing I have on my mind at that exact moment.

Who knows, perhaps this will make for better blogging. And, I will tell you a secret. Pssss. Come closer. Whispering: I have started writing a book, a real book. I just hope I don’t quit on it if I don’t get inspiration.

So many letters, so little content

On my way to work this morning, I was thinking about what to blog about today. My employer would go crazy if he knew where my head was – or my heart was. I mean, he rents my time; when he pays me, I work and think about work. When off, I am not thinking about work. And truthfully, half the time when I am at work, well, other things go through my mind.

Promotions are not always good
Okay, I made a stupid move recently. Employer promoted me, and I accepted the promotion. See – before, I could do my job in about 2 hours per day. So on an hourly basis, I was making good money. The other six hours were mine. If I was more motivated, I could probably have performed some moneymaking activities to take advantage of these hours. I could rent out my desk – but you know, I think employer might have questions if they saw a "want ad" with the company number advertising the space. Also, when he saw someone else sitting in the desk every day, well, I am sure after some time, he would put two and two together, and at least figure out that it did not add up; I am not certain he would ever guess four.

I mean, the easiest thing to do is start some sort of online business. Not sure I am committed enough to sell stuff on Ebay. I would have to find crap to sell, take digital pictures of it, glow flowingly of the crap I want to unload, and ship the stuff. I hate shipping stuff, so this scheme does not play to my strengths.

Online porn? Nah, too close to blogging.

In short, there are no good moneymaking activities that play to my strengths.

But you know what, this is all water under the bridge because I took my $2K promotion. So instead of working two hours, I work six, and I get $2K for the other four hours. Project that out for the year, and I make $1.92/hour for those hours of work, yet I am working three times as many hours. This is sort of reverse leveraging my talents. Not a good thing.

Filler
Okay, if you have not abandoned the page yet, you may not know I have absolutely nothing to say today. I sometimes wish I did not have OCD, so that I could not post when the posts are going to bomb. But instead, I drive traffic away from this site. Good think I don't care what most people think.

Bad URLs
In January, I found some URLs that probably should never have been created. Well, it is not that they are porn sites that try and trick people to visit (when the Internet was still fairly new, how many of us visited the White House at whitehouse.com (intentionally no link), and instead of going to the White House's site, you went to the other White House's site (some gay porn site).

Well the following sites have really bad URLs:

http://www.whorepresents.com
Which is it, "who represents" or "whore presents"? You know, whore presents "guy with the biggest shlong" or "guy spewing on whore breasts. No, this is a site that focuses on finding who represents whom. Like I trust a site with such sucky PR to find PR people.

http://www.penisland.net
Okay, I was hoping this linked to Penis Land. I really was. I theme park full of phallic images, rides and statues. What an awesome girl vacation – talk about lay over! But alas, it is for Pen Island, a site to purchase pens. And, yes, they are surprised that someone has started vulgar spam that uses their domain. Imagine that.

http://www.therapistfinder.com
Now, is this "the rapist finder" or Therapist finder"? And if I had some real sexual dysfunction and needed a therapist, would this URL just scare the crap out of me?

http://www.molestationnursery.com
Why would "Mole station nursery use this URL? I mean, are you catering to pedophiles who enjoy gardening? This is one of those that you just don't want to think about.

Mission Accomplished
Sadly, I have done it. I have written an entire blog entry and discussed nothing. Ironically, also, I have noticed that many people have been talking about the lack of substance in blogland lately. It seems I have added to this minutia today. I blame this on the school systems – seems we blame everything from the teenage pregnancy rates to gun violence on our schools. Might as well blame this as well. Oh, and let's pay our teachers a pittance as well, because we know that children are our future. Oooops, guess we are already doing that.

Shopping Carts and Anal Sex

I have OCD – and part of the benefits of having this wonderful mental illness (I call it a personality trait, not an illness) is that I wash my hands, doorknobs, the bathroom floor, etc., constantly. People at my work know that I have OCD. I don't advertise this, but from my actions, an observant person could guess. I like cleanliness – and that's part of the reason, I believe, that I have never been very excited about anal sex. The bottom was made as an exit, not an additional orifice in which to place a penis. Men see a whole and think "friction"; I just know they do.

Well, people send me articles that they think will entertain me. And, no, this is not going to be about anal sex. Sorry. But there will be fecal matter involved. Fecal material in supermarkets – really. I am going to post the full article italicized at the end of this post – just to show you that I am not making this up.

Drum roll please.

Researchers found that about half of shopping cart handles "weren’t frequently cleaned," and 21% tested positive for bodily fluids. Think about shopping in a supermarket for a moment – we get a cart, use the cart handles to push said cart, and sometimes sample food after touching cart handles that may contain bodily fluids.

Shopping cart handles are dirtier than public restrooms but not as dirty as playground equipment. Children are our future, but apparently we don't as a society want to pay to clean them to protect our children.

I mean, technically, it may be as sanitary in some instances to place fingers in a stranger's butt than to touch a shopping cart. Come to think of it, at least with the stranger, at least you know you are touching unclean parts. When we toodle around with a shopping cart, we don't really realize how dirty we are being.

You know, the more I learn, the more afraid I am of stuff. I think when folks say, "Ignorance is bliss," that is what they mean. At first, I thought it meant that it is nicer to go through life not thinking all too much – it is a lot less work just letting things go by. Now I believe that it is far nicer not to know things because of the overhead involved. I mean, health concerns aside, I imagine it is more comforting not to know how close the US gets in pissing contests with other countries. How many missile crises have we gone through and not known it?

Pardon me while I wipe down my desk. It's not that I think co-workers are having hot steamy sex on my desk after I leave. But you never know – I mean, fecal material gets on shopping carts in ways I really don't want to contemplate. So the next time someone wipes their hands after shaking hands, don't think they are merely strange. After all, they really don't know where your hands have been.

Truly a 'must-have' for shopper
Friday, February 03, 2006
Janet Cho
Plain Dealer Reporter
Gnaw on this the next time you're at the supermarket.

You know that shopping cart you don't think twice about grabbing with both hands? The one in which you toss all the fixings for dinner?

Well, chances are pretty good it's teeming with germs, bacteria and other things you don't want to know about.

Shopping carts are filthier than public washrooms, which at least get sanitized regularly, says Kelly Reynolds, an environmental microbiology professor at the University of Arizona in Tucson.

Think about everything you load into your shopping cart: fresh veggies, raw poultry, your firstborn.

Now consider this: When Reynolds and other University of Arizona researchers tested nearly 1,100 public surfaces for germs, shopping cart handles turned out to be among the dirtiest -- right after children's play ground equipment and public bus rails and armrests.

Grocery cart handles tested positive for the proteins found in mucus, blood, urine, sweat and saliva, as well as for salmonella, E. coli and fecal matter.

The results indicated that roughly half of shopping cart handles weren't frequently cleaned, Reynolds said. Twenty-one percent tested positive for bodily fluids.

Even worse, "We witnessed children actually directly mouthing the handles."

For about three months, Heinen's Fine Foods, the family-owned grocery with 16 stores in Northeast Ohio, has offered shoppers disposable SaniCart Wipes to wipe down carts between uses.

"We don't wipe them down every day or anything like that, but we're pretty proud that our carts are pretty clean," said Jeff Heinen. "We steam-clean them twice a year."

Reynolds' response: "Twice a year is better than nothing, but when you think about it, it's only as clean as the last person who used it."

She said the fabric covers that some parents take to the grocery store to cover the seat before baby sits down often end up taking those very germs home. The covers must be properly laundered between uses.

Response to the SaniCart Wipes has been somewhat underwhelming.

"The vast majority don't use them," Heinen says, perhaps one in 20. The ones who do, however, rave about them.

Tops Markets LLC, which has 46 stores in Northeast Ohio, plans to install SaniCart Wipe dispensers in its stores within a month, said spokesman Denny Hopkins. Giant Eagle Inc. said it is also considering providing shopping cart wipes.

SaniCart Wipes, made by Nice-Pak Products Inc. of Orangeburg, N.Y., are one of several EPA-registered disinfectants designed to wipe out germs like staphylococcus, salmonella and the common flu virus.

Named "Best New Product" at the 2004 Food Marketing Institute trade show, the wipes are in about one-third of America's supermarkets and on the verge of launching in Canada, according to Jon Luposello, product manager for Nice-Pak.

"The people who are most appreciative of the product are customers with small children," he said. Moreover, "We're getting interest from other retailers."

Reynolds, who now not only washes her hands more frequently but also carries her own disinfecting wipes, said many store employees aren't taught how to kill germs.

"I was at the grocery store recently and there was a big pool of blood on the conveyor belt," she said. "And when I asked for something to wipe it up, she handed me some paper towels and window cleaner."

Although proud of the research she did, Reynolds said she paid a price for collecting all those samples. "I caught the nastiest illness I've ever had in my life," she said. "I was sick for about three months."

Now, that's taking one for the team.