Oh, Dr. B!
We’ve been using it to wash dishes for a month, actually, out of laziness and the fact that a giant bottle of it was sitting by the sink when we got here. We only had one day where everything tasted like lavender soap, and the dishes have only been slightly oily.
I’ve had a love/hate with Dr. B ever since I went on a safari in Africa when I was 12* and it had just hit the health food stores (or, my mom’s consciousness, at any rate) and my mom bought it for me in place of the toothpaste, shampoo, conditioner, and soap the safari people recommended you bring. Because I was nauseous the entire trip because of taking constant malaria pills the size of my head (I can do many wonderful things with my mouth, but swallowing pills is not one of them.), long drives on bumpy roads in Jeeps, watching lions eat gazelles, and long plane rides, my godmother Harriet told me to smell the Dr. Bronner’s bottle to calm my stomach (?). Naturally, I associated the peppermint flavor with African dust and vomit for about a decade after that. (See also: ginger; those acupressure wristbands which will make me puke if I even see them rolling around the medicine cabinet; the exact shade of yellow of the Dramamine tube.)
Dramamine! The odes I’ve written to Dramamine! (Literally: “This metal tube shoots away from the earth, and you pray to your god, and I to mine. Mine comes in pill form, and I can already feel it working its magic, making me pleasantly loopy, handily suppressing my natural urge to shoot everything in my stomach as far out of me as possible. Dramamine, you are my one true savior, I shalt not stray from your sheltering arms again.”)
Anyway, there is really nothing I hate about Dr. Bronner’s, except using it as shampoo. It usually does a bang-up job. Which I’d sort of forgotten. Even though I hate hippies with the passion of a much-stupider Toby Ziegler, I generally use hippie-type personal care products because, you know, poison and all that.
Here are six other things:
- Childhood memorization of the Dr. Bronner’s bottle means that when I really need to get something done, I just repeat over and over: “Unless constructive-selfish I work hard, like Mark Spitz, perfecting first me, absolute nothing can help perfect me!” Once I admitted this to my mom, and all she said was, “You know, Mark Spitz is Jewish.” (My mom is the literal incarnation of that Sarah Silverman Son of Sam joke, yes.** [just search for the word "Sam" on that page, ok?])
- Knolling. My entire life has been dedicated to Knolling and I didn’t even know it until this week.
- I’m kind of not the biggest fan of SuperVegan. (Not that we’ve ever been on great terms. [Ok, maybe kinda]) Why make enemies of your community, Lagusta?? WHY NOT, LAGUSTA?
- Dear God, when I wake up, please let me have eye makeup like Beyoncé in Countdown. NOT NAILS THOUGH. JUST EYES.
- I went on an EIGHT MILE HIKE TODAY.
- Summary of this blog post: OMG AM I NOT FASCINATING OR WHAT
PS: I’m currently enjoying only two cosmetics, enough sleep & Dr. Bronner’s Magic Soap to clean body- mind-soul-spirit instantly uniting one!
*SOMEDAY LET’S TALK ABOUT THAT
** I’m actually reading an entire book that is that joke right now. It’s about, ah, let’s just say it’s about Jews plus a foodstuff I interact with a lot. The whole entire point of the book is that Jews basically brought this (brown, luscious, sweet) foodstuff to the New World (did you know Christopher Columbus was “possibly” Jewish?), to Europe, to the US, were/are the best makers and manipulators of this foodstuff, and are generally responsible for its entire popularity/flavor/invention. Which might be true (I mean, it’s not, but it “might” be), but there are enough “might”s and “could”s and “some research shows”s in this book to make you kind of want to blow your brains out. I understand why Jews are like this (everyone hates us, we gotta stick together and get as many of us around as possible), but man it’s annoying.
(Does anyone but me notice that I just did what I excoriated SuperVegan for? Yep!)