The Truth About Cats and Dogs

I have a dog and a cat. They are both weird. The dog might be crazy. Let me 'splain...

About 7 months ago, the dog saw a squirrel on the top of the pool screen enclosure. Admittedly, this is a rare occurrence, since we live in the burbs and there are not many mature trees in my hood. Anyway, he saw the squirrel, and a chase ensued. This resulted in the squirrel making a terrifying leap from the 2nd floor roof, across the fence, aiming for the tree. I don't think he made it, but we never found him, so who knows. We have not seen a squirrel since.

The problem is, the dog is still looking for the squirrel. He patrols that pool enclosure like it's Guantanamo, always on alert. We thought it was funny for awhile, but them it got annoying. He always wants to go out, but not to do his business. He just wants to run patrols.

Then, in recent weeks, he's started looking for the squirrel inside the house. He runs around looking at the ceiling and baseboards, hoping for a glimpse of his nemesis. It's really distracting to be trying to watch a movie while an 80 pound dog runs back and forth in front of you, looking over your heads.

We even bought a stuffed squirrel (it's really a koala, but looks enough like a squirrel), so that he could "catch" it and have some closure. We haven't used it yet, because we're worried it will make it worse. It will confirm in his squirrel-filled mind that - "A HA! See? There are squirrels! I knew it I knew it I knew it..."

Has the dog had some kind of psychotic break? Maybe. And we are 100% at a loss as to what to do.

Then there's the cat. I had never had a cat before this one, and I never intended to have one at all. But this one fell into my life when I worked at a vet clinic years ago. We have gone through alternate stages of he loves me - he hates me but loves Bart - he loves me because I'm pregnant - he loves Karlin - he hates Chase - he's on death's doorstep - he's Benjamin Button - and back to he loves me. The cat supposedly had cancer and 6 months to live. That way 5 years ago. He's healthier than ever.

He's 15 years old, and weird in his own ways. For example:

The cat is loud, and I don't mean meowing. The cat weighs about 4 pounds soaking wet, but when he runs down the hallway or up and down the stairs, it sounds like a herd of Buffalo. Seriously. One time my sister was staying over, babysitting the kids. She heard that buffalo-herd noise and jumped out of bed, worried that Chase had fallen down the stairs. It's that loud.

This cat also likes to have someone watch him eat. He will stand outside the laundry room door (where his food is), and meow furiously. You think he's out of food, so you go in there only to find that his food bowl is full. He just wants you to stand there and watch him eat.

He loves to hand out inside the pool screen enclosure (careful not to be stampeded by the Guantanamo Squirrel Patrol.) If Bart gets up in the morning and leaves for the gym or a run, he usually lets the cat out. If he forgets, or if it's too cold, the cat will raise holy hell, screeching like he's on fire.

The cat hates for Bart to read. It is the funniest thing I have ever seen. When Bart gets in bed with his book, the cat appears and immediately lays on the book. If Bart tries to move him or reposition, the cat will continue to head butt Bart and the book until he can wiggle himself back onto the pages. I can lay down next to him and read anything I want. It's only Bart who is not allowed to read.

Then there's the bedtime routine. Bart usually falls asleep first, while I am up reading or watching TV. The cat stays curled up at the bottom of the bed during this time, usually a little my side of center. Then i get up, turn out the lights, and get back in bed. By the time I'm next to the bed, he's already on his feet. I lay down on my right side, and then cat comes alongside me and head butts my hand. We do this for about a minute, then he turns around a lays down. He expects my hand to be on his tummy, and he will not settle down until things are to his liking. It is really bizarre - he's like a little old man who is stuck in his ways, and gets pissed off if you don't do things like he wants them done. I picture him a little like Walter Matthau in "Grumpy Old Men."

So we live with a psychotic, possibly hallucinating dog, and a bossy, cranky, exhibitionist cat. Funny? Yes. But also weird.

WIJBD?

Yesterday, Jimmy Buffett had a little scare in Australia. He fell 5 feet off a stage during a show, was unconscious for 5 minutes, and spent the night in the hospital. People all over the world, well, freaked out. (He's going to be OK, by the way...)

There's a popular slogan that makes fun of the "WWJD" - "What Would Jesus Do?" slogan. It's "WWJBD?" (What Would Jimmy Buffett Do?) After the scare yesterday, I began thinking about this one: WIJBD?

"WHAT IF JIMMY BUFFETT DIES?"

Yes - it's morbid. But he's no spring chicken. Jimmy Buffett is more than a singer, more than famous. He's a legend. An icon. A lifestyle. Even people that don't like him can respect and envy the life he's made for himself. (That would be you, Bart.)

Let's face it. Like Elvis and the Beatles, there is no other Jimmy Buffett. When he's gone, there will be no replacement. He changed popular culture forever. What will we do when he's gone?

Then I start thinking things like "Maybe I should stay sober so I can take my kids to see Jimmy while I still can." We all know that's crazy talk. First off...me sober? And second: Who stays sober at a Jimmy Buffett concert? Has that ever even happened before? And would he condone it anyway?

So then I start thinking...OK - in 8 years Karlin will be 18, and Chase will be 16. I can take them then. 8 years is a long time. What if he falls off the stage again? And what caused him to fall anyway? Was HE drunk at the Jimmy Buffett concert? I just wonder becuase it looked like a pretty obvious edge-of-the-stage to me. Granted, I've never been on stage with spotlights shining on me while 60,000 screamed and sang at me, but still. What if he's just getting old? Too old to tour?

I cringe to think of a world without Jimmy Buffett. 99.99% of us will never have his life. Or even a part of his life. But he gives us hope that maybe one day we will. And when you are in a God-awful hawaiian shirt, with palm trees on your head, pirate beads around your neck, drunk on 6 hours of tailgaiting, and singing arm-in-arm with 25,000 of your new closest friends - it seems like - just for a few hours - you're there. We're all in the tropics, on a boat, drinking margaritas together. For a few hours, the real world stops and we're all on Buffett time.

I look forward to those few hours all year. The best thing about living in Tampa is that Jimmy comes here every April. We can all be Pirates and Parrot Heads Fruitcakes and generally be irresponsible for awhile. We can sing to Mother Ocean and ask our neighbors to Get Drunk and Screw. We can all be Nobodies from Nowhere. None of us knows where we're gonna go when the Volcano blows, and we all know where the Fins are. We had our Cheeseburgers in paradise in a tent in the parking lot, and lord knows we are wasted away in Margaritaville.

Stay with us for awhile, JB. The world is a brighter, funnier, tackier place with you in it.

Micellaneous Observations For The Day

Star Date Thursday Jan. 20, 2011. Captain's Log:

* I want to cheerfully beat my friend, who has lost 50 pounds and is still not happy about it.

* There is a video on the Internet of this stupid lady who was text messaging in the mall, and as a result fell into a fountain. Some security camera caught it, and someone then posted it on You Tube. Now the lady has a LAWSUIT. This? Right here? Is why America is so messed up. Instead of laughing and saying "ha ha - maybe I should have been watching where I was going..." She's now claiming that she "could have been hurt" and someone should have helped her. Please. My quote for the day?

"Stupidity is Public Domain."

* Let's imagine for a moment that there is a 9 Year Old girl, who - after school yesterday - managed to take off her khaki pants and put them God Only Knows Where. Knowing the next day is class picture day, Mom does the laundry so that beautiful brilliant 9 year old can have nice clean khakis for school the next day. Flash forward 14 hours. 9 year old never actually put her pants in the hamper, meaning they didn't get washed. The only pair that are now clean are "too tight in the legs, and too big in the waist, and are a nightmare!" (said with as much angst as a 9 year old drama queen can muster up at 7:40 in the morning...) This is the same pair of pants that I bought 10 days ago, and that were fine last week.

* Which leads up to our next observation, which is: Why can't the kids put their clothes in the clothes hamper? I mean, they can put them on the floor next to the hamper. Why can't they make it the extra 3 inches to the hamper? This would ensure that pants stay found, and that the laundry gets done. Is it because their dad has the same problem with dishes and the dishwasher? or because I have the same problem with my shoes and the shoe cubbies in the closet?

* Two weeks on Weight Watchers. One pound. Enough said.

* Lately I have had the urge to get rid of stuff. Maybe it's because I've been watching Hoarders on A&E.

* I'm beginning to suspect that the real reason I want a vacation condo is so I can have a pretty, clean place that actually STAYS CLEAN.

* Good Morning America is doing a story about "Tiger Moms." What in the heck is a Tiger Mom? They aren't talking about animals.

* Starbucks is apparently trying to ease the inconvenience of having to buy two Venti coffees by offering a new 31 oz version. Maybe a good idea, but 31 ounces is bigger than the capacity of the average stomach. meaning your coffee will get cold before you can finish it.

* Coffee and Comics are the best! :)

What Happened to Sunday Dinners?

I was reading the comics this morning, and saw a Family Circus one. It was basically pondering what had happened to the old Sunday Dinner. I looked up and Bart and said "Did you used to go to your Grandma's to eat every Sunday?" He did, and so did I. We rotated between 2 grandma's houses, but every Sunday we went to Sunday Dinner.

What happened to that? Do you know ANYONE who still has or goes to a Sunday Dinner? I don't. Maybe it's because families are so spread out now. We don't have any grandparents within about 7 1/2 hours of here. Maybe it's because s many people get divorced, remarried, etc. and there are step-grandparents and step-parents and half siblings. Maybe it's because the entire freakin world is on a diet, and I'm pretty sure Nanny's home-made creamed corn and buttermilk biscuits don't make the list.

It's a little sad when you think about it. At least twice a month when I was a kid, I went over to Nanny Padgett's house. We helped Paw Paw pick the butter beans for lunch. Dad brought over tomatoes from his garden. We ran and played with the 8 or so cousins that were always there (the inside of the giant Camellia bush was the best place to hide...) Then we came in to eat. The kids all sat out on the porch, while the grown-ups sat in the kitchen or the dining room. Sometimes the men sat in the living room if good football was on. Sunday dinners consisted of sweet, SWEET iced tea (no wonder we ran around so much...), bread/rolls/biscuits, Roast beef/Turkey/Ham, creamed corn, butter beans, green beans, tomatoes and cucumbers, the best Mac & cheese you have ever eaten, fried okra, and sometimes collard greens. On holidays we had sweet potatoes too. Dessert was home-made vanilla ice cream, or the cheesecake cherry pie that no one has the recipe for. It was heaven to a kid. After dinner we'd play horseshoes, or play house out on the concrete patio beneath the giant Pecan trees. We knew when Amy got her hair cut, or Jamison broke his arm. Everyone knew that I had just cut all the hair off my new hair-styling barbie, and that Courtney busted her lip riding her bike that week.

On other weeks, we'd go to Nanny Satterwhite's house. It was a little more subdued, because we were usually the only kids. We'd go outside and watch Poppy feed the squirrels. We'd play with his dogs and collect acorns. Lunch was either Pot Roast and potatoes, bread/rolls, squash, gravy (Nanny S. makes the best gravy - you could eat it on anything), potato salad, OR we'd have spaghetti and meatballs. Dessert was usually ice cream or cobbler or something from the bakery around the corner. (Sometimes we went to church with Nanny, and on the walk back we'd stop at the bakery. We'd pick out dessert for dinner, then each get a doughnut or petit-four. It was awesome...) We watched TV sometimes, played hide and seek in Nanny's old antique furniture (the chiffrobe was the best place to hide), and played with Nanny's huge box of buttons and beads. It was always fun too.

Nobody does that anymore. All of our grandparents live hours away. My cousin and Aunt live in Alabama. Aunts Uncles and Cousins on BOTH sides of our family are a little nutty, and some of them we haven't seen in years. Bart's sister and her kids live 2 miles away, but we hardly ever see each other. My sister is an hour and a half away - too far to drive for a meal.

I guess it can't really be helped. It just never occurred to me before today that those Sunday Dinners were a staple of my childhood - for almost 18 years plus. And no one does them anymore.

Sad.

This Is Why People Quit...

WOO HOO. It's January, folks! Time to lose that weight! (again) Time to make healthier choices! (again) Time to get healthy! (again)

So I started Weight watchers last week. (again) Can't say I was 100% perfect, but I stayed within points 5 of the 7 days, and only went over a little on the other 2 days. I also exercised this week (first time since Thanksgiving.)

I have spent this week sore and hungry. I sat at Disney World and watched my family eat Ice Cream sundaes as big as their heads (as I munched on my yummy and totally satisfying protein bar.) I didn't eat pizza during the national championship football game. No chocolate. No pasta. Measuring food. Limited bread. No pasta.

So what do I get for this whole 7 days of deprivation? NADA. Nothing. Zip. Zilch. Did not lose a single pound.

This is especially depressing to me because - as all women know - usually the first week of a diet is when you lose the MOST weight. Your body has a shock, and you lose like 4-5 pounds. Then it slows down after that. So if we follow that well-established precedent, what does that mean for me? If I lost NOTHING the first week, how can it slow down from here on out? Will I actually gain weight? (possibly)

So here I am, after 7 days, almost in tears and ready to quit. It's so hard to diet when you have kids in the house and your married to genetically skinny exercise Nazi. It was much easier when it was just me, or even just me and Bart. But trying to cook meals and do the shopping for a family of 4, while trying to stay within your diet guidelines and getting the kids to eat whatever it is you are cooking, is HARD.

So what do I do now? I am supposed to run this $#*& 5K race with a bunch of !%#*&^% skinny people in 7 weeks. I can't run outside because as I type this it's 30 degrees outside. Meaning I have to get dressed and haul myself to the gym. FOR WHAT PURPOSE?

"To be healthier!" you might say. Well, I was at the doctor in December for my physical, and I am 100% healthy. She even said the weight had no visible health consequences in me. All of my lab work came back optimal. Not, good, not normal, but PERFECT. I am healthy.

I have been dieting and exercising for the better part of 16 years. It never works. It never sticks. Here I am, still fat. Maybe I am fighting a losing battle. Maybe I am just genetically predisposed to being this big. Maybe I should just embrace it and be one of those chicks on Dr. Phil who just loves themselves just the way they are.

Or maybe I should just go to McDonalds and get 2 Breakfast Burritos.

The Changing of Christmas

Christmas is all about the kids, right? So it's cool when you have kids, and you get that age-old Santa torch passed to you.

That first year, everyone goes all out. Santa, Mom & Dad, both sets of grandparents, two great-grandparents, 2 aunts, cousins, and more all present the child with MILLIONS of gifts. Never mind that the 6 month old child is just as happy gnawing on that pretty red bow for, oh, 3 hours. It's HER FIRST CHRISTMAS. She's THE FIRST GRANDCHILD.

Fast forward 12 months. This time, everyone figures she's old enough now to get it. So Santa, Mom & Dad, both sets of grandparents, two great-grandparents, 2 aunts, cousins, and more all present the child with MILLIONS of gifts. This time, she is actually interested in the actual toy. However, that's where it ends. She opens one gift, and then - for the love of Pete - actually wants to just play with THAT ONE TOY. For hours. This leaves about 30 relatives anxiously awaiting thier turn to give her their pile of presents. At the toddler's pace, this will take approximately 18 years. Try to give her a new present - just go ahead. She doesn't want it, and she will cry if you take away the ONE TOY.

By the time she's on her third Christmas, everyone pretty much accepts the situation, and it takes her about 2 weeks to get through all the gifts.

Fast forward again about 6 years. Now THE FIRST GRANDCHILD has a younger brother. Brother learned much faster that after THE ONE TOY there is another. And another. And another. So this year, the two children ripped through their MILLIONS of gifts in approximately 25 minutes. And then want to know what's next.

Granted, some of the things they unwrapped, but still haven't opened to play with. The point is that in the beginning, you wait with baited breath FOREVER for the child to open the gifts. You don't really appreciate how wonderful that is until years later when $3000 worth of Christmas is decimated in a half an hour.

Santa still comes each year. There are cookies and milk. There are reindeer feedings. But sometimes I still wish I could see the endless fascination and joy my kids found once upon a time in THAT ONE TOY.