Premise: Bleach is Bad. Discuss

By Caitlin Salisbury

Dear friends,

Do not use bleach when cleaning. It is a terrible, terrible, idea. I do not mean to belabor this issue, but the more people I potentially reach with my message, the more brain cells I can save – which is a service to the collective whole of humanity. Some say that people are drawn to causes because of a person or an event that has touched them in way like no other – and I think I have finally found mine.

After an indulgent cleaning frenzy yesterday, I woke up a different person. I had a splitting headache and was slow in speech and action. This general slowing down of events probably made my boyfriend happy, but I felt a strange void – the void that could only result from a frontal lobotomy. I took an online IQ test the other day, and given the results, it felt as though the halfway intelligent part of my brain simmered down to my scored Arithmetic level, which hovers dangerously above room temperature. I had difficulty formulating complete thoughts, though I did gain supernatural empathy powers for the guests on today’s Maury Povich.

You see, I went a little crazy in the heavily-fragranced and chemical-filled isle at Walmart and bought all kinds of scented candles and some Arm & Hammer bathroom cleaner. My mom’s visiting this weekend and I don’t want her to think I’ve lost my obsessive-compulsive edge. My philosophy with regard to cleaning product has always been this: the natural stuff is all nice and good for the environment; but will it kill HIV? I don’t think so! Will it eradicate all of the E. Coli and Lysteria gracing my food preparation areas? No way, Jose! I go with major duty killer. When I’m done with a bathroom, I like to see an entire layer of skin peel off of my working hand. It’s proof of its beautiful, corrosive efficiency.

But given the extent of my hangover for last night’s fun, I am reconsidering my point of view.
I guess I huffed some bleach by accident, and got pretty messed up on it, man. It makes me wonder about people that are actually addicted to inhalants, like this one show I watched on A&E called “Intervention” (which ranks a close second to “Ghost Shows - Category” in awesomeness). There was a well-groomed young woman who was addicted to chemical duster, and would go out to hardware stores and buy out their entire stock. She’d sit on her couch, pet her cat, take a hit, and then drool on herself for a couple of hours. She’d come to, and then it was wash-rinse-repeat. (She, for obvious reasons, wasn’t a fan of the actual “intervention” part of the show, though. I cried when animal control repo-d her cat.)

I have hypothesized before that I might be sensitive to chemicals added in cleaning products. One time I was cleaning my old apartment in Jackson Hole and thought it would be a great idea to clean the radiators with this natural looking orange stuff I bought. I thought it was milder than other brand-name agents because it smelled like oranges that had gone bad–for many years - and it was my logic that dead, decomposing things would make good decomposers of grime and filth; compost in a bottle if you will. It cleaned like a charm, but I woke up at 3 a.m., just long enough after the heater kicked in, and emptied the contents of my stomach in my extremely sanitary bathroom.

I guess there was a reason I printed out the 65 Ways to use Baking Soda to use for cleaning. I’m going to use this method in the future. Those old housewives ain’t be playin’, ain’t they?

Update: Baking soda works like a charm, and has fast become my agent of choice. It doesn’t release highly noxious gases. Plus, it creates a wonderful paste that is abrasive enough to clean even the most stubborn of porcelain bathroom sinks. Even better: you can use the remaining paste from the sink to brush your teeth, then use the remainder of THAT to wash your vegetables of residual pesticides, and maybe then cook up some crack (if time permits). Baking soda is basically the Wunder Kind of all cleaning products. It is to cleaners as Mozart was to Classical Music: a little sassy ,naughty, and flirtatious, but always ingenious!

As if I haven't made it clear enough, I am done with Winter. Done with the snow and balls-cold drive to work in the morning (where the temperature gauge usually reads below 0), that is, if we can even get the truck started. I am tired of the slippery, icy driveway. I jumped with joy when I saw the first hint of gravel peeking out from under the compacted snow. A glacial ice field has grown to enormous proportions just outside the front door thanks to roof slides, and is now only a foot away from our entrance. We call the route to the door the "walkway of death", as the likelihood of slipping on the ice or being impaled by hanging icicles outweighs one's chance of survival, and lord knows I don't want to end up like Christina on Grey's.

I know I have the tendency to complain a lot, but I have come to accept that this is my nature, and self-acceptance is more important than depriving myself of the compulsive need to whine. I'm sorry that I have trouble putting up with mediocrity. I really am. I'm not always a pessimist; I have love for many things on this earthly plane at the moment. I love the convenience of the portable french press coffee maker my manager bought me in support of my boycott of the coffee house near work (see blog entry: "I want to cut her"). I love watching ghost and paranormal-oriented shows on Hulu, though at this point I have exhausted all of the episodes but have discovered a new favorite: "Lie to Me". It's great; it's an overly analytical show about facial expressions in criminal profiling. I LOVE it. My world may be small at the moment, but it is filled with things that are great.I also love watching Burmese cats meowing on YouTube. There was the cutest one ever with two of these cats cuddled up with a new-born baby. They're purebred yet, again, I will not settle for some mediocre street cat born in a dumpster........ well, ok, I would if it were left in a basket on my doorstep, but that's beside the point:

http://www.gotpetsonline.com/pictures/gallery/cats/shorthaired-cats/burmese/burmese-0024/

You may think I jest, but over the years I have come to think that it is my fate in life to start a cat farm, where the beautiful Burmese breed can wander freely and meow to their hearts' delight. The Farm might be called something like "Caitlin's Cat Cash Crop", but I won't settle on anything before I draw up the business plans:

http://www.ehow.com/how_2082719_start-animal-sanctuary.html

The cats will be bred first and foremost for loyalty, intergrity, honesty, and high cheekbones. Synonymous traits, you may argue, but each is unique in connotation.

Stay tuned. I'm thinking cat farm with a bed and breakfast on a large area of land, somewhere nice (it's environmental cat-tourism). We will have an acupuncturist on staff to help remedy guests' allergic reactions caused by excessive cat dander, as well as small Burmese children whose tiny, sanitized hands will pick out any hair that may have landed in the soup du jour. Upon departure, the guests may pick one of our highly socialized cats to take home with them for a substantial fee, after they have passed extensive credit and background checks. Our on-staff psychoanalyst will have to determine that adequate bonding has occurred between cat and prospective owner as to ensure the cats' quality of life. We will have a mandatory open adoption policy, so that I can routinely visit the kitties I helped bring into this world. A private jet will provide my transportation in visiting my cats in all corners of the world, and I will take the cats on field trips and try to get a sense of whether they are happy in their current living situation. If not, "mama bear", as I will call myself, will pack the cats onto the jet and fly back home to the ranch, where they can continue to contribute by fertilizing the organic sustainable community garden. It's really that simple.

-dillycait

COMPLIMENTARY COLORS THAT DON'T COMPLIMENT

I'd like to preface this blog by saying I love school. I finally get it. Once you get through all the bullshit general education classes and you finally get to study what you want, that's a really rewarding experience. That being said, I really hate having deadlines on creativity. I'm speaking specifically of my photo class. I don't like being forced to create and be creative. Maybe its that I'm incredibly uninspired by my surroundings. It makes it difficult to get motivated and go out and take roll after roll of film of people, places, and spaces that I feel no connection to. I like to bitch about this because I find it odd. When I think of art and artists I think of free, liberated, fluid people. No deadlines, no forced subject matter. I find myself in the opposite position. I feel constrained by my deadlines and required subject matter. Just the thought of having to shoot 2 rolls of film tomorrow seems like a prison sentence. At this point I'd rather suffer the consequences of dropping the soap.