So yesterday I went for a jog. While I was still in my neighborhood, I passed a kid putting pizza fliers on the doorknobs of each of the houses.
Our neighborhood is a deed-restricted, no soliciting neighborhood. Big signs at the front gate that say so. So my initial reaction was the desire to tell this kid that he can't do that here.
But then I looked at him. The kid was maybe 17. Fairly clean-cut. Wearing basketball shorts and a t-shirt, carrying a backpack. I thought "Hey - the kid is just trying to earn some money." I mean, is it really the end of the world if I get a pizza coupon on my door? And this kid is working. He's not doing drugs or robbing gas stations. He's actually doing something productive. Most likely someone from the pizza place dropped him off and said "go flier this neighborhood", and he was just doing what he was told. Whatever the circumstances, at least he was doing something not involving criminal activity. So I smiled and said "good morning" and ran on by.
Then, about a half mile later, I thought..."Wait a minute. Shouldn't that kid be in SCHOOL right now?" Granted, I am in denial about my advancing years, and this makes me really bad at judging ages. But this kid looked young. I suppose there is a chance that he's a college student. If he had classes on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, he would have had yesterday - Tuesday - off to work.
Which leads me to the people selling stuff at the entrances to grocery stores. I always buy from kids selling stuff at store entrances, and here's why. Once I was walking into a WalMart, and I saw a group of kids selling candy bars for their baseball team. If you haven't put kids in Sports programs lately, let me tell you - it's expensive. Especially if it's a regional or travelling team. Expensive. Anyway, while I was walking in (I was going to get some cash at check out and buy some candy on the way out...) the kids smiled and asked this old man if he would like to support their baseball team. The old man CHEWED THEM OUT. Yelled at them about bothering people and why don't they go work to earn that money. His rant went on for several minutes. The kids, who were maybe 9 or 10 years old, were stunned, as was the adult that was with them.
I was embarassed. I mean, here are some kids who are participating in sports. Sports and other activites are proven to help keep kids out of trouble and keep their grades up. After school and on Saturdays, they are on the ball field instead of loitering around causing trouble, or going brain-dead in front of video games. On this day, they were simply trying to sell some candy to offset some of the expenses of their team. Why is that so bad?
Bart is worse than I am. If you are a kid selling something, be it for school or scouts or your sports team, come to our house. Bart will buy anything from a kid. A few months back he bought a Dominos pizza discount card for $20, and we hate Dominos pizza. He will cause a 5 car pile-up to stop at a kid's lemonade stand.
The point here is these kids are doing something productive, so why not support them if you can? Or, at a minimum, be polite? Even if you don't want the $20 pizza card, you can always give the kids a $2 donation.
Which leads me to the car wash. Bart and I are also fans of fundraising car washes. Again, it is usually kids raising money for their sports teams, band, etc. They are outside with people in broad daylight (which can be rare for teenagers.) I hate washing my car, so why not let the kids do it? I can almost always scrounge up $5 - sometimes in change - for a donation for a car wash. My biggest complaint? The signs. Make BIG SIGNS that tell me which team or cause you are fundraising for. If I really need a car wash, I'll stop for pretty much anyone. However, sometimes I don't need one, but if it's a cause near and dear to my heart (God bless you, band geeks...) I will get one anyway. Or make a donation.
Maybe I should get a flier job. Outside, in the sun, don't have to talk to anyone, can wear my Ipod. Exercise too. Hmmmm....
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
I Am Tricky, Hear me Roar
My favorite holiday of the year is Halloween. I love the candy, the costumes, the pumpkins - all of it. It's the best.
My 2nd favorite holiday may be St. Patrick's Day. I'm not sure it used to be my 2nd favorite. I mean, it's great and all. I have Irish heritage. I've been to Ireland. I like green beer and Guiness and Irish Coffee. Goofy green clothes and sunglasses and beads. It's all good.
But then last year I became part of an alter-ego. I say "part" because I am not him alone.
Tricky is a leprechaun. A particularly troublesome one who likes to create havoc and mischief in Mrs. Harrison's Kindergarten Class. Last year I was recruited to help Tricky with his work. I arrived at the school at 6:00 am (Starbucks in hand for me, and the other half of Tricky, mrs. Harrison). Tricky then proceeded to do all kinds of damage. He turned the toilet water green. He turned the milk green. He left green little leprechaun footprints all over when he got into the finger paint. He left little pots of gold for each child. He vandalized the dry erase board with catchy little things like "Tricky Wuz Here". He turned all the chairs over and rearranged pretty much everything. I have never had so much fun in my life.
And then? I got to bring Chase back to school and see the kids responding to Tricky's havoc. Ab.So.Lute.Ly. Priceless.
Little did I know that Tricky had also been across the courtyard in Mrs. Kasper's first grade class. You see, Mrs. Kasper's daughter Olivia had been in mrs. harrison's class the year before Chase was. So the Tricky tradition continued and grew.
So this year I get to do double Tricky duty. Tricky already sent green pencils to the teachers that say "Tricky Wuz here!" Today, Tricky sent letters to both classes, daring them to catch him and hinting at the mass chaos he's going to bring on Thursday.
This year Tricky is replacing all of the color posters on the walls with green ones. He's replacing all of the desk name tags with ones that say "Tricky". he's even going to replace the American Flag with a St. Patrick's Day one (but just for the one day.) And his little paint footprints may extend outside this year, leading from one class to the other.
Being Tricky is one of those weird little experiences that you never dream you will have when you have kids. But to anyone out there who isn't Tricky: be your own Leprechaun. Finf some kids somewhere and make their day.
Lord knows only too soon we grow up and have to deal with Taxes and Tsunamis and Nuclear Meltdowns. Right down the road is safe sex and drugs and alcohol.
But for now - for just one day - they can BELIEVE. They can believe that there really are Leprechauns who play tricks on you and leave you little treats and defy caputure year after year after year.
We can all be Tricky to someone. So get out there and turn some toilet water green!
My 2nd favorite holiday may be St. Patrick's Day. I'm not sure it used to be my 2nd favorite. I mean, it's great and all. I have Irish heritage. I've been to Ireland. I like green beer and Guiness and Irish Coffee. Goofy green clothes and sunglasses and beads. It's all good.
But then last year I became part of an alter-ego. I say "part" because I am not him alone.
Tricky is a leprechaun. A particularly troublesome one who likes to create havoc and mischief in Mrs. Harrison's Kindergarten Class. Last year I was recruited to help Tricky with his work. I arrived at the school at 6:00 am (Starbucks in hand for me, and the other half of Tricky, mrs. Harrison). Tricky then proceeded to do all kinds of damage. He turned the toilet water green. He turned the milk green. He left green little leprechaun footprints all over when he got into the finger paint. He left little pots of gold for each child. He vandalized the dry erase board with catchy little things like "Tricky Wuz Here". He turned all the chairs over and rearranged pretty much everything. I have never had so much fun in my life.
And then? I got to bring Chase back to school and see the kids responding to Tricky's havoc. Ab.So.Lute.Ly. Priceless.
Little did I know that Tricky had also been across the courtyard in Mrs. Kasper's first grade class. You see, Mrs. Kasper's daughter Olivia had been in mrs. harrison's class the year before Chase was. So the Tricky tradition continued and grew.
So this year I get to do double Tricky duty. Tricky already sent green pencils to the teachers that say "Tricky Wuz here!" Today, Tricky sent letters to both classes, daring them to catch him and hinting at the mass chaos he's going to bring on Thursday.
This year Tricky is replacing all of the color posters on the walls with green ones. He's replacing all of the desk name tags with ones that say "Tricky". he's even going to replace the American Flag with a St. Patrick's Day one (but just for the one day.) And his little paint footprints may extend outside this year, leading from one class to the other.
Being Tricky is one of those weird little experiences that you never dream you will have when you have kids. But to anyone out there who isn't Tricky: be your own Leprechaun. Finf some kids somewhere and make their day.
Lord knows only too soon we grow up and have to deal with Taxes and Tsunamis and Nuclear Meltdowns. Right down the road is safe sex and drugs and alcohol.
But for now - for just one day - they can BELIEVE. They can believe that there really are Leprechauns who play tricks on you and leave you little treats and defy caputure year after year after year.
We can all be Tricky to someone. So get out there and turn some toilet water green!
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Should I Stay or Shoud I Go....
In my husband's exact words: "I don't want to stay in this house forever. I want to live in a house that makes me feel like I'm on vacation."
In my words: "I want my kids to go to Dunedin Highlands Middle School and Palm Harbor University High School."
In my realtor's words: "You're screwed."
OK - so she didn't really say that. What she did do was give me a possible sales price for our home, and it ain't pretty. We would maybe break even, but there's no way we could make enough to put a nice sized down payment on a new place. A place on the water. In the right school district. With neighborhood boat facilities.
Which is really depressing if you think about it. We didn't even buy at the peak - we bought right as the peak started up. It seems really unfair that after paying on this house for 6 1/2 years, we're only about $6,000 up. And that's before you factor in the pool Purchase. I really feel for the people who DID buy at the peak. How the hell are they supposed to manage the finances on that?
So the house may be the perfect house for us. It os across the street from the Gulf, with Gulf access in front of the house. It's the right size. The right location. Has cool features.
Of course, it's also un-Godly expensive.
Then there's the whole do-we-change-the-kid's-schools-now-and-move-them-away-from-their-friends-and-make-them-find-new-Scout-Troops thing. Granted, the house is only about 12 miles from our house now as the crow flies. But still.
You think maybe if we wait a few years, things will balance out better financially, right? Except that if OUR house increases in value, so will the house we are trying to buy. And once the kids are in college we may not even be able to afford to move, with paying the damned Harvard and Duke tuitions.
So we wait until the kids are out. That would be about 15 years from now. Making me 55. Too old to enjoy it.
There's no easy solution. Part of me feels if you don't aim high, how will you ever get there? But Bart is level-headed, and says it's a poor financial move.
He always says "Life is long - we can find our dream house in a few years." I say life is SHORT, and you have to scratch and claw to get what you want while you can.
Maybe I shoudl go buy a Lottery Ticket.
In my words: "I want my kids to go to Dunedin Highlands Middle School and Palm Harbor University High School."
In my realtor's words: "You're screwed."
OK - so she didn't really say that. What she did do was give me a possible sales price for our home, and it ain't pretty. We would maybe break even, but there's no way we could make enough to put a nice sized down payment on a new place. A place on the water. In the right school district. With neighborhood boat facilities.
Which is really depressing if you think about it. We didn't even buy at the peak - we bought right as the peak started up. It seems really unfair that after paying on this house for 6 1/2 years, we're only about $6,000 up. And that's before you factor in the pool Purchase. I really feel for the people who DID buy at the peak. How the hell are they supposed to manage the finances on that?
So the house may be the perfect house for us. It os across the street from the Gulf, with Gulf access in front of the house. It's the right size. The right location. Has cool features.
Of course, it's also un-Godly expensive.
Then there's the whole do-we-change-the-kid's-schools-now-and-move-them-away-from-their-friends-and-make-them-find-new-Scout-Troops thing. Granted, the house is only about 12 miles from our house now as the crow flies. But still.
You think maybe if we wait a few years, things will balance out better financially, right? Except that if OUR house increases in value, so will the house we are trying to buy. And once the kids are in college we may not even be able to afford to move, with paying the damned Harvard and Duke tuitions.
So we wait until the kids are out. That would be about 15 years from now. Making me 55. Too old to enjoy it.
There's no easy solution. Part of me feels if you don't aim high, how will you ever get there? But Bart is level-headed, and says it's a poor financial move.
He always says "Life is long - we can find our dream house in a few years." I say life is SHORT, and you have to scratch and claw to get what you want while you can.
Maybe I shoudl go buy a Lottery Ticket.
Friday, February 18, 2011
That "Oh Crap" Moment
So...I have successfully run 4 times in 5 days, didn't eat crap (aka junk) all week, and as a result lost 5 pounds. Which is great. I am likely the only crazy person on Earth who chooses to start a diet program on Valentine's Day. Why would I do such a thing? Because I had the "Oh Crap" moment.
People have their "Oh Crap" moments at different times. Maybe some don't ever have their "Oh Crap" moment. Mine happened on Sunday 2/13, when I saw some of the pictures from Bart's birthday bash at EPCOT.
I quite literally did not recognize myself in some of the pictures. I thought I was wearing a somewhat flattering outfit - dark jeans are supposed to be slimming, right? - but I was wrong. As a matter of fact, I don't think there is an outfit that would be flattering on me right now. I just stared at some of the pictures, and could not believe that was actually ME. I don't see that in the mirror, so where does that person come from? Does she burst forth and multiply mass and volume as soon as I leave the house?
The reality is no - she's doesn't. She's me, and that is what I really look like. I weigh more now than I ever have in my life, outside of pregnancy. God bless Bart with his rose-colored glasses...I know he doesn't mind. My kids still love me, although I think they're starting to realize that I don't look like most of the other moms. (Tampa is a very fit community.) If you took 2 pairs of my jeans, you could build a tent to house 4 people (there's a tent tie-in coming in a sec...). It's that bad.
Here's the jest of it all. I am going on a surprise cruise with my kids in a little more than 2 months, and I want to be in some of the pictures. I live in fear that something terrible will happen to me, and my kids will have no record of me being a part of ANYTHING, because I'm always the one taking the pictures. This is not because I'm some accomplished photographer. It's because I hate the way I look in pictures. It's the reality that I don't like to see.
It's like that Jimmy Buffet song line that goes "I treat my body like a temple; you treat yours like a tent." This is me and Bart. He works really hard at staying healthy. Granted, some of it is genetics - his whole family is skinny, and his dad used to be a runner in the Boston Marathon. Some of it is conditioning. For 8 some odd years, he was a diver in High School and College. Those daily practices and 2-a-day workouts became a habit for him - a routine. If he stopped exercising all together, he'd likely feel all wacko. It's too much a part of who he is. He doesn't exercise as much as he did in college, but he still exercises religiously. 4-7 days a week. He doesn't eat a lot of crap. He basically sets a great example for our kids.
I'm the tent. I hate to exercise, I hate salads, and if I could live my life eating Mac and Cheese and drinking beer, I would. I am a bread cheese potatoes and beer kind of girl. My genetics are much harsher than Bart's. I have little willpower, and I set a horrible example for my kids.
That changed last Sunday.
I have been worrying about my weight and how I looked since I was in 7th grade. I can remember faithfully doing the "20 Minute Workouts" on TV in 1982. If I started when I was 12, that means I've been obsessing about this shit for 28 years. And I have nothing to show for it. I am still heavier than ever. I need to fix this now. My own daughter will be 10 this year, and I don't want her to waste 28 years of her life on body image obsession.
I realize that I am 40 years old, and I will never be 20 again. I'm not aiming to be a super model. All I want is to not hate myself so damned much. I want to be in the pictures on our fun vacations. I want to not constantly be disappointed and guilty because I failed again. I want to not cry in the dressing room because I am solidly in the Plus section. I have a wonderful life, a fabulous family, and terrific friends. I just want to spend less time miserable, and more time enjoying all the blessings in my life.
I just want to not hate myself anymore. That's my "Oh Crap" moment. That picture of my fat ass in front of a fountain in EPCOT's Italy.
I can't even post the pic, because I immediately edited out everything below my boobs. But trust me - it's that bad. And don't even get me started on the 3 chins...
People have their "Oh Crap" moments at different times. Maybe some don't ever have their "Oh Crap" moment. Mine happened on Sunday 2/13, when I saw some of the pictures from Bart's birthday bash at EPCOT.
I quite literally did not recognize myself in some of the pictures. I thought I was wearing a somewhat flattering outfit - dark jeans are supposed to be slimming, right? - but I was wrong. As a matter of fact, I don't think there is an outfit that would be flattering on me right now. I just stared at some of the pictures, and could not believe that was actually ME. I don't see that in the mirror, so where does that person come from? Does she burst forth and multiply mass and volume as soon as I leave the house?
The reality is no - she's doesn't. She's me, and that is what I really look like. I weigh more now than I ever have in my life, outside of pregnancy. God bless Bart with his rose-colored glasses...I know he doesn't mind. My kids still love me, although I think they're starting to realize that I don't look like most of the other moms. (Tampa is a very fit community.) If you took 2 pairs of my jeans, you could build a tent to house 4 people (there's a tent tie-in coming in a sec...). It's that bad.
Here's the jest of it all. I am going on a surprise cruise with my kids in a little more than 2 months, and I want to be in some of the pictures. I live in fear that something terrible will happen to me, and my kids will have no record of me being a part of ANYTHING, because I'm always the one taking the pictures. This is not because I'm some accomplished photographer. It's because I hate the way I look in pictures. It's the reality that I don't like to see.
It's like that Jimmy Buffet song line that goes "I treat my body like a temple; you treat yours like a tent." This is me and Bart. He works really hard at staying healthy. Granted, some of it is genetics - his whole family is skinny, and his dad used to be a runner in the Boston Marathon. Some of it is conditioning. For 8 some odd years, he was a diver in High School and College. Those daily practices and 2-a-day workouts became a habit for him - a routine. If he stopped exercising all together, he'd likely feel all wacko. It's too much a part of who he is. He doesn't exercise as much as he did in college, but he still exercises religiously. 4-7 days a week. He doesn't eat a lot of crap. He basically sets a great example for our kids.
I'm the tent. I hate to exercise, I hate salads, and if I could live my life eating Mac and Cheese and drinking beer, I would. I am a bread cheese potatoes and beer kind of girl. My genetics are much harsher than Bart's. I have little willpower, and I set a horrible example for my kids.
That changed last Sunday.
I have been worrying about my weight and how I looked since I was in 7th grade. I can remember faithfully doing the "20 Minute Workouts" on TV in 1982. If I started when I was 12, that means I've been obsessing about this shit for 28 years. And I have nothing to show for it. I am still heavier than ever. I need to fix this now. My own daughter will be 10 this year, and I don't want her to waste 28 years of her life on body image obsession.
I realize that I am 40 years old, and I will never be 20 again. I'm not aiming to be a super model. All I want is to not hate myself so damned much. I want to be in the pictures on our fun vacations. I want to not constantly be disappointed and guilty because I failed again. I want to not cry in the dressing room because I am solidly in the Plus section. I have a wonderful life, a fabulous family, and terrific friends. I just want to spend less time miserable, and more time enjoying all the blessings in my life.
I just want to not hate myself anymore. That's my "Oh Crap" moment. That picture of my fat ass in front of a fountain in EPCOT's Italy.
I can't even post the pic, because I immediately edited out everything below my boobs. But trust me - it's that bad. And don't even get me started on the 3 chins...
Thursday, February 17, 2011
A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The.....
OK, so the weirdest thing happened to me today.
A few months ago, my two hateful evil friends asked me to run the Gasparilla 5K with them. They are both cute and skinny and I'm sure I'll be the comic relief, but I'm game for anything Pirate-related, so I responded with a resounding "maybe!"
Then I had the flu the first week in January. Not the best way to start a training routine.
After recovering, I started this training program that several people I know have used. It's called the "Couch to 5K" plan, and there are several versions of it on the internet. I downloaded a podcast from a dude named Robert Ullrey, and started it mid-January. It's supposed to get you running a 5K in 8 weeks.
First off, I only had 6 weeks. But OK.
It starts off innocently enough. You run for a minute and then walk for 2 minutes, or something like that, for a half an hour 3 times the first week. Week 2 increases to run for 2 minutes, walk for 90 seconds. Week three increases a little more. Then Week 4 hits. All the sudden, he wants you to run for 3 minutes, walk for 90 seconds, then run for 5 minutes, walk for three minutes. And then do it again. You go from a total of 8-9 minutes of running time to a staggering 16 minutes. It sucked.
I actually failed the first time. Couldn't do it. I began to fantasize about Mr. Ullrey, and not in a good way. On his podcast, he says "I'm a 43 year old Southern Californian who decided to start running again on my birthday." I have conjured up this whole life for Mr. Ullrey. I picture him as a cross between Bruce Jenner and the dude that played Cameron in "Ferris Bueller's Day Off." He lives in a post-modern style ranch home in Southern California. He drinks fresh orange juice everyday, and rides his bike to his graphic designer job.
I created this whole fantasy so that I could then fantasize about running him and his bike over with my car. Repeatedly.
Then this week - WEEK 5 - we entered a whole new level of Hell. Day 1: Run three 5 minute intervals, with 3 minute walks in between. Amazingly, even after a weekend of Drinking Around the World at EPCOT, I managed to do it.
Day 2: It got worse. Two 8 minute intervals with a 5 minute walk in between. (That's running for 8 straight minutes with no break, two times.) Miraculously, I did it.
Day 3: (That's today) 20 minutes of straight running. No walking. No breaks. No way. I was sick yesterday, and I have blisters on my feet from wearing heels to the Science Fair Awards 2 nights ago. But I put on my shoes and headed out anyway.
And this is where the funny thing happened. I freakin did it. And it was even almost not painful. I looked down at my watch and had actually run 45 seconds past my turnaround time without even realizing it (yay to my buddies Usher and Taio Cruz.) And I ran for an extra minute and a half, just to compensate for the fact that I had to stop twice and wait on traffic to cross the road. But I did it!
The one mystery through all this has been: even though I run more of the time each week, I never seem to go any farther. It's always between 1.8 and 2.2 miles. Today I hit 2.5. I figure if I can survive 2.5, I can probably run the 3 necessary for a 5K race.
Something clicked with my body this week. It's like suddenly it went "Oh - so THIS is what you want me to do?" Don't get me wrong. It's not fun. It's not easy. But it is survivable.
So I registered for the race. I still have 8 days - time to get through 1 more week of training. It won't get me all the way, and I won't be running fast. But I think just maybe I might survive it without throwing up or passing out.
I think today I will let poor Mr. Ullrey ride his bike to work in peace.
A few months ago, my two hateful evil friends asked me to run the Gasparilla 5K with them. They are both cute and skinny and I'm sure I'll be the comic relief, but I'm game for anything Pirate-related, so I responded with a resounding "maybe!"
Then I had the flu the first week in January. Not the best way to start a training routine.
After recovering, I started this training program that several people I know have used. It's called the "Couch to 5K" plan, and there are several versions of it on the internet. I downloaded a podcast from a dude named Robert Ullrey, and started it mid-January. It's supposed to get you running a 5K in 8 weeks.
First off, I only had 6 weeks. But OK.
It starts off innocently enough. You run for a minute and then walk for 2 minutes, or something like that, for a half an hour 3 times the first week. Week 2 increases to run for 2 minutes, walk for 90 seconds. Week three increases a little more. Then Week 4 hits. All the sudden, he wants you to run for 3 minutes, walk for 90 seconds, then run for 5 minutes, walk for three minutes. And then do it again. You go from a total of 8-9 minutes of running time to a staggering 16 minutes. It sucked.
I actually failed the first time. Couldn't do it. I began to fantasize about Mr. Ullrey, and not in a good way. On his podcast, he says "I'm a 43 year old Southern Californian who decided to start running again on my birthday." I have conjured up this whole life for Mr. Ullrey. I picture him as a cross between Bruce Jenner and the dude that played Cameron in "Ferris Bueller's Day Off." He lives in a post-modern style ranch home in Southern California. He drinks fresh orange juice everyday, and rides his bike to his graphic designer job.
I created this whole fantasy so that I could then fantasize about running him and his bike over with my car. Repeatedly.
Then this week - WEEK 5 - we entered a whole new level of Hell. Day 1: Run three 5 minute intervals, with 3 minute walks in between. Amazingly, even after a weekend of Drinking Around the World at EPCOT, I managed to do it.
Day 2: It got worse. Two 8 minute intervals with a 5 minute walk in between. (That's running for 8 straight minutes with no break, two times.) Miraculously, I did it.
Day 3: (That's today) 20 minutes of straight running. No walking. No breaks. No way. I was sick yesterday, and I have blisters on my feet from wearing heels to the Science Fair Awards 2 nights ago. But I put on my shoes and headed out anyway.
And this is where the funny thing happened. I freakin did it. And it was even almost not painful. I looked down at my watch and had actually run 45 seconds past my turnaround time without even realizing it (yay to my buddies Usher and Taio Cruz.) And I ran for an extra minute and a half, just to compensate for the fact that I had to stop twice and wait on traffic to cross the road. But I did it!
The one mystery through all this has been: even though I run more of the time each week, I never seem to go any farther. It's always between 1.8 and 2.2 miles. Today I hit 2.5. I figure if I can survive 2.5, I can probably run the 3 necessary for a 5K race.
Something clicked with my body this week. It's like suddenly it went "Oh - so THIS is what you want me to do?" Don't get me wrong. It's not fun. It's not easy. But it is survivable.
So I registered for the race. I still have 8 days - time to get through 1 more week of training. It won't get me all the way, and I won't be running fast. But I think just maybe I might survive it without throwing up or passing out.
I think today I will let poor Mr. Ullrey ride his bike to work in peace.
Monday, January 31, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
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.
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.
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