2019/03/31

Eight Turns

Da Goddess @ 18:32

Because my new home is teeny tiny, I don’t have the luxury of a dishwasher. At least, not a dishwasher run by electricity. It all comes down to me.

I’ll be the first to admit I’m not currently as diligent about getting the job done as I should be, but they always end up done eventually.

Because I’ve been trained well in the art of pathogen elimination (“we can’t be all ‘ooh! Pathogens…having a party'” as per the man who ran the food handlers’ course I had to attend to work in a restaurant back in my teens), I’ll fess up to having a bit of an obsession with making sure every dirty dish as clean as possible (this was something the former bf didn’t worry about & which often led to me rewashing anything and everything he handwashed during our time together). In order to do this, I’ve developed a ritual.

1. Hot water. Lots of it. This causes me an unwelcome level of agita as I have to turn on the water full force in order to get any heat at all to said water. I live in California. We’re notoriously droughty. But this is the only way for me to get my hot water and needs must.

2. Soap. I need an adequate amount of dish soap to ensure each item is properly cleaned. The former bf would notoriously use a single drop for at least half the entire amount of dirty dishes. That’s inadequate and one of the reasons I rewashed his work on a regular basis. As it stands, as much as I’m pinching pennies, I will NOT compromise when it comes to anything that could possibly make me sick. Food poisoning caused by poorly cleaned surfaces is not an option in my home. Thus I definitely use more than one drop of dish soap per item. I bought a large bottle of dish soap in January and, surprisingly (to the former guy), there’s still more than three quarters of that soap left (he considered anything more than that one drop wasteful). In fact, the smaller bottle I’d filled is still half full.

3. Cleaning utensil. I don’t use a sponge. I’d rather mainline pure clostridium than allow a disgusting petri dish of a sponge to touch anything my food will be in contact with. No matter how many times you run a sponge through the microwave or dishwasher (and, frankly speaking, if you have a dishwasher, just fucking use it, okay? It sanitizes beautifully), that sponge will never not be anything more than a pathogen delivery system.

So what DO I use? A brush. A glorious brush from the dollar store or IKEA. You don’t need to spend more than a buck or two for a brush. More expensive brushes don’t perform any better, they simply cost more.

Because brushes lack soft absorbent surfaces, they don’t retain bacteria or fungi the way a sponge does. That said, at least once a week, let your brush sit in bleach for a minimum of one minute to help eliminate any germs hiding in the opening where the bristles attach to the brush wand.

4. Friction is your friend. You don’t have to scrub hard if you have decent friction. Enough friction to create a good amount of bubbles. Bubbles help lift germs from the surface of whatever you’re washing, which then means they can be sent down the drain and away from your gut. (This same principle applies to handwashing as well, as does the amount of soap you use.)

5. Have some fun. Why not? If, like me, you’re stuck washing dishes by hand, it doesn’t have to completely suck. For me, it’s an opportunity to think about things or to let my imagination run wild about projects I’d like to tackle. It’s also prime music time. I put on music I enjoy and let myself just blank out for a bit…or sway or bop along with the beat.

5a. I also indulge my secret, deeply hidden OCD.

Every dish or glass gets the eight turn treatment each side. (Silverware and cooking utensils get a slightly modified eight turns, but I’ll spare you the details.) I hold the plate or bowl firmly by the edge, scrub quickly up and down (or back and forth, or side to side… however you need to imagine it to make it make sense to you) until I get a decent amount of bubbles in that linear pattern that looks lovely. Then, a quarter turn, repeat the scrub. Followed by several more turns with more bubbles. Basically, I end up doing, you guessed it, eight turns. I repeat the same process on the bottom of the plate, bowl, pan, etc.

Why eight? Four alone would seem inadequate. Five would be uneven. Six wouldn’t allow for every rotation to give equal attention to the surface of the item. Seven, again, odd. Eight turns means each direction gets two chances to get rid of food and germs. The twelve it would take to get each turn the equal number of scrubs just seems like overkill. I’ll do it if I must to get rid of everything bad, but this rarely happens.

Eight turns. Each side. Lots of suds (they don’t need to be big bubbles, just sudsy).

6. Rinsing. Hot water, obviously. Both sides, natch.

7. Drying. Make sure you allow your newly cleaned items on a newly cleaned surface, be it a clean towel or a rack. I use a metal rack because it’s the only option I have available, but it’s also what I’d choose due to the ability to sanitize it.

I allow the clean items to air dry. Towel drying has the potential to transfer icky, mean, nasty pathogens to everything you just spent a fair amount of effort to clean. Don’t let the pathogens to party on your watch!

***

And there you have my insane approach to handwashing dishes. If I had a two well sink, I’d include a bleach dip. But I don’t so I can’t and I’m okay with it.

Do you have a specific approach to dishwashing? I would love to hear about it.

2019/03/16

Humbled

Da Goddess @ 23:11

Autocorrect was invented so we’d be humbled at least once a day.

There’s no way to maintain an air of superiority when autocorrect sneaks in and messes with you. Whether it’s during an argument or serious or “intellectual” discussion, I’m telling you it’s impossible to see yourself as having the high ground when you notice the error and it’s too late to change it.

Humbled.

Every single time.

2018/08/16

Thursday Thoughts

Da Goddess @ 00:01

“Every popsicle is a race against time” ~ Lin-Manuel Miranda

Ain’t that the truth?

From the same Twitter thread:

“Live each day like it’s a popsicle in summer” ~ Blake Severson

I’m telling you, Twitter has been a life-saver this year.

2018/07/29

Down the Toilet

Da Goddess @ 08:44

If you’ve read the Secret Squirrel post ( because you know where the password can be found [it hasn’t changed location or the actual word]), then you’ll need to cleanse your palate. I might have just the thing for you.

Why is it that I can sometimes use almost an entire roll of toilet paper in one sitting and have no problem with the flush, but other times I barely use any and the toilet requires double plunging?

I’m sure it has more to do with the crappy (pun intended) plumbing than it does my bathroom needs/habits. But, y’know I had to put the question out there.

2017/11/09

Hours of Laughter and Tears with Spacegoats and a Moose

Da Goddess @ 20:29

I killed my phone battery TWICE trying to get through all the replies to this tweet.

After the past few months of absolute frustration and pathos, this is just what I needed. You need it, too. I know you do.

2017/05/05

Another Day, Another Thin Skinned Whine

Da Goddess @ 20:20

Trump: “Mommy, Colbert said mean things about me again!”

Mom (a.k.a lawyers, natch): “and did you provoke him again?”

Trump: “Um, no??”

Mom: “you did, didn’t you?”

Trump: “I’m gonna sue!”

Mom: “Of course, you are.”

Trump: “Will you come to court with me?”

Mom: “You’re on your own, kid. Your maid made your bed, you shit it, there’s only so many times someone will clean up after you.”

2017/04/29

Mr. Mockingbird Goes to Town

Da Goddess @ 00:21

Mr. Mockingbird’s patterns have revealed themselves.

We get the lion’s share of his nightly operatic endeavors, but he does share the love with others, thank God.

Mr. Mockingbird, henceforth known as MMB, now spends time in other trees in our neighborhood. He moves down the street one big tree at a time. Thankfully, some of the trees are slightly further down the street than others, giving me a most fantastic break from his endless racket!

MMB also takes a week off. I’m hoping this time, however, will be a permanent break because — fingers crossed — he’ll have a mate. That’s my wish for him. And for me. Mostly for me. Only slightly for him.

Say a prayer for me MMB that his songs‚Äčand effort have finally paid off for the little guy.

2017/04/11

To Kill a Mockingbird

Da Goddess @ 03:00

Atticus Finch said it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird, but he never met the asshat living in my tree. He also didn’t live during the time of car alarms, which are the preferred call of this particular miscreant.

I won’t actually kill the mockingbird, but I’m not opposed to serving up a big ol’ heap of “shut the fuck up!” on a silver platter.

This mockingbird in our ficus, well, his current occupation is night singing. Every night. Hour after hour, he continues with his nutso shrieking.

In addition to the car alarm impression, he does a particularly annoying crow, parrots, DUCKS(!), and he’s even managed to kind of hit upon meowing.

WTF is with this bird? Why our tree? Look, I get that he’s looking for a mate. And I get that he’s trying to “outsing” the other local males (which can be heard just down the street). I just don’t understand WHY our tree! Yes, our tree is lush and full of other birds, but whyyyyyy us?!?

I have no answers. I have a headache, but no answers. And my patience are running thin.

We’ve tried shaking the branches while he’s mid-song. He stopped singing for 30 seconds. We’ve hissed at him. He trills and squawks back. I’d let Fletch at him but 1) it’s dark and 2) Fletch would likely come away with more damage than the bird.

At this point, I’m open to suggestions from anyone and everyone.

Please. Please help end this nightmare.

2017/02/25

Bathroom Ban

Da Goddess @ 17:31

In my home, there will NEVER be a ban on who may use which bathroom. If you’re in my home, you’re my friend or relative and I love you for just being YOU.

But there is now a ban in place for myself. Why? What? Am I mad? Frankly, yes, but that has nothing to do with the situation at hand.

Henceforth, I am no longer allowed to let Fletch or my cellphone into the bathroom at shower time.

I have to do this. HAVE TO. Because if I don’t, my shower time becomes epic in proportion.

1) Fletch is too entertaining. He climbs into the linen cupboard (second shelf is completely clear just for him) and bats around a hairclip. He’ll bat it around inside and them knock it out for me to pick up and toss back in. We do this for at least 15 minutes. He usually waits until I’m completely naked before he decides to play, so that’s kind of a comedy in and of itself.

2) If my phone is with me, chances are I’m forehead deep in Twitter blackhole. I do a lot of reading on my phone these days (and I’m currently writing this on said phone) and sometimes the best finds come via Twitter. Yeah, yeah, I once said I’d never do Twitter, but that ship sailed back in 2010. Needless to say, it’s just as bad a time suck as anything else, but I’ve been extremely pleased with the vast majority of my Twitter experiences. Because of Twitter, I’ve had conversations with Carrie Fisher (God rest her soul) about hummingbirds. I’ve won some sweeeeet prizes (Black Sails has been very good to me lately!). And I’ve been able to stay in touch with some friends who don’t do much in the way of email/text/blog updating.

The phone is allowed to come to the bathroom with me ONLY if I’m in need of entertainment while my gut isn’t playing nicely or if I’m showering and am expecting an important call. Otherwise, I’m going to abide by the ban.

2016/12/16

True Love

Da Goddess @ 21:20

I laughed myself silly over this.

2016/10/25

How Rude!

Da Goddess @ 12:53

If you go to the National Weather Service site you can find a list of all the names of big storms.

Don’t you think it’s kind of rude that they know about the storms so far in advance and don’t give us warning until the storms are practically on our doorsteps?

/Sarcasm

2015/01/15

Funny Is As Funny Does

Da Goddess @ 02:23

No matter how you slice it, THIS is funny!

2014/12/04

Be Proud of Me!

Da Goddess @ 01:01

This is going to sound very silly to most of you, but it’s kind of a big deal for me. So, please, be proud of me for accomplishing something amazing: I got my 12 Days of Christmas posts ready! Woo hoo!

I know, I know. You’d think it’d be easy and all that, but it’s NOT. Totally not. And I got on top of it early. Which is kind of impressive considering I’ve been (w)racked with pain (and let’s not even get into the correct spelling of “w/racked”, okay?) since Thanksgiving as the drive down to my sister’s was long and nothing but torture (and sadness because LD was going home to his dad’s). Sitting here on the computer is the last thing I’ve thought of doing lately. Getting these posts done? Major. MAJOR.

I was going to do all 25 days, but I figured I could cram all that goodness into just 12 days. Yeah, yeah. There’ll be days with double posts because I’ll find something I have to share. You won’t mind though, will you? That’s good. I knew you wouldn’t.

So let’s all celebrate my achievement and do a Dance of Joy!

2014/09/07

So Much Nothing

Da Goddess @ 01:34

I’ve been adjusting to another round of increased pain meds this week. Between P.T. and the drives to P.T. (really, driving makes my neck and back so much worse…and I’m just the passenger!), I’ve been having the worst time knocking the pain down to a manageable level. So, the doc has me on another two week course of Oxycontin to go with all my regular meds. It’s either that or I’m miserable. Except that I’m kind of miserable anyway, what with it making me sleep all the time. Poor King Arthur! He’s stuck with this lump of nothing all day long.

Also started reading a new book that’s rather interesting. “Life After Life” by Kate Atkinson. It’s very good and I’m having trouble putting it down. Kind of like the last book I read, which was “Code Name Verity” by Elizabeth Wein. Do yourself a favor and pick that one up immediately! “Verity” is simply heroic and joyous and heartbreaking and everything in between. It’s beyond words. I’ll have to let you know what I think of “Life” when I’m all through with it.

Been on a bit of a Stephen Fry tear again. I can’t help it! He makes me happy. As does Craig Ferguson. Sigh. I was supposed to go audition for Ferg’s new game show, but my back said, “No, No, Nanette!” Bother.

There’s a great piece on Joan Rivers over at Vulture. Man, she was the best! She was way ahead of her time. Always.

I’ve become the cat beacon once again. Fletch has returned to sleeping on my head, or at least nearby. Celia is often close, too. Perhaps it’s my pain level they’re sensing and are trying to comfort me through. Who knows? They haven’t left many clues as to the why.

OOOH! Also found a great article about a new Viking ring-fortress that was recently found in Denmark! Color me intrigued! P.S. I love that Viking kings had names like Bluetooth and Forkbeard (and yes, I knew this because I’m weird).

What else? Hmmm. Oh, yes. King Arthur and I went to his daughter’s to have dinner and see the baby. It’d been so long and she’s so big now! Doing a lot of cruising and crawling and eating and being adorable. I miss those days with my kids. They really were great babies and they’ve grown into great adults. So very proud of them. Just as KA is proud of his daughter.

Finally, I’ll leave you with this weird dream I had yesterday: King Arthur and I were at Burning Man (he was watching a doco on it when I fell asleep), but we were there early to set up and had faire garb with us (hmm, could be because faire is coming up again and we have to get ready for that). At some point, KA did something mean and had me in tears and I refused to go to meet up with our group because I didn’t want them to see me crying. Somehow or other, I ran into him at a beer stand (??) and he wept profusely and begged me to forgive him. I was still upset and set off to distract myself with entertainment. I passed Par1s Hi1t0n (???!?!?!!) who was dressed like a total hooch in the middle of the desert on my way to see Derek Trucks and Susan Tedeschi (????!) on the big stage. Eventually, I went back to our car because my back hurt so much (yes, even in my dreams I hurt…which is normal, except for last week when I was dreaming of my life before I got hurt) and began freaking out because I couldn’t find my medication anywhere. Talk about crazy ass dream! I’d like someone to sort that out for me. Also include an old high school boyfriend, a former LV boyfriend, Shemar Moore, a brother I have never had, and some unknown people who were in two groups: either hassling me or exceedingly kind to me. Oh, and a sculpture I made out of trash and recyclables for my Burning Man art project (because you MUST participate). If anyone can make heads or tales out of that nonsense, please do tell!

2014/07/12

Caught in a Trap

Da Goddess @ 22:08

Every once in a while, I go into the spare bedroom to grab clothes or put clothes away. Fletch follows me in. Celia is not allowed in there. Fletch is pretty easy to extract. Celia is not. So I do everything possible to keep her out of that room.

While Mojo was here a few weeks ago, we had gone into the spare room and Fletch had followed us. As we were getting ready to leave, Fletch had basically set up camp in a corner where I couldn’t reach him, and from where he chose not to respond when I called him. So Mojo and I walked out of the room and closed the door on him, with me fully intending to go back in a few minutes to let him out. Well, we got to fixing lunch and talking and then began to play games and it wasn’t until probably two hours later that I remembered he was in there. No fuss or anything from him to remind me. Noooo, that would have been too easy! So I go in and expect to see him sitting by the door, giving me the look of disgust for leaving him in there, and I see him, instead, atop the tallest dresser, lounging as if this were the best damn thing he ever thought of. I pick him up and coo my most sincere apologies to him and he really just couldn’t care less. (Although, to be fair, he did give me a couple of little kisses.) Horrifying “locked in a bedroom for hours” ordeal over. You’d figure he’d be wary of the room. Ha!

This morning, just before King Arthur went out, he’d gone back into the room for something, not checking to see who was behind him and not closing the door as he walked into the room. (I know nothing of this at the time, just filling in the audience as a good narrator should.) King Arthur leaves for his lunch meeting with his investment counselor. I’m doing laundry. I get caught up in a show. I eat some lunch, awaiting King Arthur’s return from his lunch, and I wonder where my Fletch could be. I see Celia, but no Fletch. I call for him, look around to see where he might be hiding. Nothing. I hear no distress cry or scratching, so I figure he’s just napping and “vants to be alone” a la Garbo.

Couple hours later, King Arthur returns home and I’m still puttering around the house. No sign yet of the Fletch monster. Finally, after much discussion, it’s determined that he simply has to be in the back room (or perhaps, in the closet in our bedroom, which is another story for another time) and I head back there, open the door, and there he is! King Arthur’s insistent that he’s not been back there for anything. I know I haven’t. And we’re pretty certain Fletch hasn’t learned to open doors quite yet. Turns out, that, yes, King Arthur HAD been back there before he left the house. Ay yi yi! This is about the time I start planning signage for the door along the lines of: “Check for cat before entering room. Shut door before he enters.” “Check for cat before leaving room!” “Check for cat! Always check for cat!”

Once again, Fletch made it out of there sans trauma. In fact, I’m pretty sure he thought it was simply independent play time in the special Fletch playroom.

Silly cat.

Since then, we’ve been playing with bubbles, which he LOVES! He catches the between his paws. He bites at them. He stomps them with his furry little paws. And then he looks up at me, expectantly, awaiting more. Always more. More. More. More. Please, more bubbles! More. Please! I like bubbles!

Best damn 25 cents I even spent at a yard sale.

Maybe the next one will have signs for the bedroom door.

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