Craptastitic Adventures in Diarrheaville

At a recent staff meeting one of the Mom's on maternity leave was telling the table about the con's of having two kids under the age of two.  It seems that her children have decided to conspire and have opposing sleeping schedules which means she and her husband do not get a lot of sleep.  She turned to me and commented "Having pets, you probably know what I mean.... late night wake-ups, needing to go out, etc."

That is when I made my vital error.

I replied-  "I have senior pets.  They sleep in longer than I do.  Gone are the days of sleepless nights and multiple wake-up calls.  My life right now is simply divine."

The Gods of Divinity did not like my answer.  Divine retribution for my cheeky reply was their new mission.  Within two days the poo hit the fan.... I so regretted my earlier comments, but it was too late to take them back.  I just had to live with the consequences.

Some back ground information-
I am an urban farmer.

An urban what??????

An urban farmer is a someone that longs to live in the country but currently lives in the city.    They compensate by trying create a little country in the city.  If there were no pesky city by-laws, the urban farmer would make the leap and become a full-fledged in-town farmer.  Alas there are by-laws, so the urban farmer has imposed limits to animal options and must show restraint in their urban farming efforts.

In my case, my farm diversification plan includes a furry herd (three cats and a dog) and a plethora of flower gardens.  One of the cats is 18- years old and is

Syd... the cat who dreams of being an only cat!

consistently defying my predictions that it is close to the end of her life.  For three years I have been convinced that she will soon meet her Waterloo.  She chooses not to be defined by my predictions and continues to defy the odds I have outlined for her.

She is starting to look a little like Skeletor.  Her petite frame has shrunk from 11 to 5 pounds over the last three years.  She continues to be agile and eats.... as long as I stand guard and banish the other cats from her dining area by the hot air register.   My only complaint is, she has occasional diarrhea and appears to have lost her ability to predict when it is coming.  This has led to accidental pooing in areas other than the litter box.

Delightful... it is not.

As I mentioned I also have a dog.  Having a dog ensures that I do not hold the neighbourhood title of "Crazy Cat Lady"..... the title gets shortened to just plan "Crazy" or UF (urban farmer) as I like to refer to myself.  For the most part the dog has a bladder and bowels of steel.  However, every now an then

Gimli-  the dog that thinks he is a cat

he is stricken by the dreaded diarrhea.  He tries to help out by eating the feathers of his tail or grass, but that ultimately results his hacking up of a giant hairball.

Ohh yeah!!!!!  Raise a dog with cats and he eventually thinks he is a cat.  He attempts to do all that cats do-  like sleep on the back of couches, jump up on counters and it is not long until the dog demonstrates he can regurgitate hair with the best of them.

So now that you are up to speed here is a recap of the night the Gods of Divinity decided to punish me for bragging about the ease of having a furry herd.

It was Gimli who started the poo-poo parade.  He woke me up at 1:30 am by placing his nose close to mine and letting out a low guttural "Woof" in my face.  I jumped up startled, not really know where I was- let alone why I was up.  The dog's to and fro prancing quickly alerted me to his immediate need to go out.  As soon as my feet hit the floor the dog shot to the door like a bolt of lightning.  I trudge begrudgingly down the stairs after him.  I donned my boots, scarf, jacket and mitts ready to face the frigid outdoors.  He vacated his bowels in three different spots and we returned to the comfort of the house and I to my warm bed.   Soon I was asleep again.

But my slumber did not last too long......

Within an hour I awoke to a foul smell.   It was close and it was over-powering.  I felt something leap over my prone body.  I sat up... I sniffed... the heinous odour was close.... too close.  "No, no, no, no!!!!!"  I flicked on the lights only to witness the graphic art design left behind  on my bedding by the cats' ample diarrhea!  The only saving grace- she shat beside me and not on me.

2:30 am  and what was I doing?   Laundry of course.

An hour later I was crawling back into my freshly made bed.  I delighted in the fact that the worst was over.  I curled up on my side but sleep was a no go.  I flipped onto to my back.... nope still awake.   I went for no fail sideways sleeping position.  Nope!  Back to side lying.....  finally I fell asleep, when....

Duh duh da!!!!!!

The dog woofed at me again.

"You've got to be kidding me!"

I stood up and the room started spinning.  My legs felt weak.  I looked at the dog and knew I did not have the fortitude to don all my winter apparel to take him outside to "pee" out his poo.  I almost cried.  Then I recalled I have puppy pee pads for the cat.... it really saves the hardwood floors.  I grabbed a couple and instructed the dog to use them when he finally broke down and let the diarrhea flood gates open up.  I crawled back-up the stairs and locked all the animals out of my room.  I knew there would be at least one mess to clean in the morning, but I hoped it would not be too big and that it was conveniently on the pads vs the one and only area rug in the house.

As it turned out-  I might as well have taken the dog outside.  This was the same night that Bill (cat #2) decided to serenade me for the remainder of the night!  ** See "Timmy Better Have Fallen  In the Well" post. ** 

Around 5:00 am I needed to extricate myself from the room to use the washroom.  As I was sitting there, I noticed a dark blob on the light flooring.  It was lit by the soft glow of the night-light.  Sans glasses I squinted trying to make out what it was..... a sock?  Did I drop something?

No!!!!!!  It couldn't be!!!!!  It isn't a pile of poo.... Is it?  I became frantic.

Did I step in it??????   Reason set in-  No you didn't.  It would have gushed under your foot and between your toes if you had.  Whew!!!!

The next thought was-  Crap, crap, crap, is it on my pant leg.  I wanted to know the answer but was loathe to feel to find out.  I waited until I was free to turn on the light.  Yup-  it was pooh and no it was not on my pant leg.  A quick clean up and it was back to being serenaded by Bill until I finally gave up on trying to get some sleep.

Animals!  

If you have them- be prepared to deal with proverbial and literal pooh!!!!!!!

Poo Bags-  The Urban Farmer's most prized farm implement

In Case You Haven't Noticed, I'm Not Thumbellina!

Well the Corporate Fitness Challenge has produced many a group workout that requires the participants to assume and hold interesting positions all under the guise of "it's exercise".  The most heinous exercise to date required us, the participants,  to slip our arms in straps, hold the straps and then lift our legs up to our chest repeatedly over a 40 second period.  When the trainer first demonstrated I started snickering and then immediately started looking around trying to find the hidden cameras.

This had to be a joke..... Right?

I don't know for sure, but I hazard a guess that this  "fitness activity" is in the encyclopedia of Medieval torture right between the Rack and the Judas Cradle.

Zaftig- "fat in a pleasing way"- Merriam Webster 

The trainer insisted there would be no pressure on our arms or shoulders, that only our abs would get a work-out.   That maybe for the average munchkin or for Thumbellina, but when you are a zaftig woman there is absolutely positively no way that there will not be pressure on your arms when you are hanging from said appendages in a trapeze contraption.

See....there is a little thing call gravity!  

Obviously the trainer has not heard of it.  Just the mere physics of it all, supports the fact there is 10X's multiplying factor that has to be contended with.  Also applied to this formula is the fact I have very wimpy arms (they are just decorations on my body).  So 10 times my body weight + wimpy arms=  a body that is more on the floor than in the air.  I was able to lift my legs to my chest in this very awkward position, but it was not a pretty thing to behold.  Olympic gymnastic champion I will never be.

The next day I could not lift my arms up past 90 degrees.  Okay that is a slight exaggeration!  I could lift my arms up but the screech that accompanied this movement brought others running to me in a panic.  So for the interest of staff safety I kept my arms down for the next three days.  

All I can say is....  it is another thing I can cross off my bucket list.  It is not likely I will try it again any time soon.... unless Arnold Schwarzenegger agrees to an arm exchange or I take the Zaf out of the zaftig.  But if you feel you need a challenge to increase the size of your "pythons" or to sculpt your 6-pack......  have at 'er- you can take my spot in the rotation.   

I doff my cap to you Sir or Madam!

Timmy Better Have Fallen In A Well......

Ahhh relaxation!

There are minimal advantages to living the life of a spinster.  People look at you and wonder what is wrong with you that you can not inspire others to love you.   You are constantly asked-  "Do you have a boyfriend?  Girlfriend??.... Hell any kind of friend????"  Which is invariably followed by the dreaded "Why not?"  

Making a choice to get a pet or two, or maybe more than two, can have a drastic effect on how others view you....."Hmmm so she is one of "those".... a crazy insert label of choice lady.  That explains the lack of a significant other!  Who would want to be saddled with that hot mess!".  Last but not least, there is no dual income and no one to blame when the roll of toilet paper doesn't get changed once it runs out.

In my opinion one of the main advantages of spinsterhood is sleep.  Glorious, glorious sleep!  If I want to take a nap in a sunbeam in the middle of the afternoon or say 30 minutes after waking..... I can!  If I want to sleep in and spend all day in my jammies... I can!    There is no one else around to throw a quizzical glance at my choices or to disturb me.  It can be a blissful existence.  Unless, of course, you make the decision to introduce a pet into your life.  

Pets don't automatically equate to sleep intrusion and major life-style cramping.... it all depends on your choice in pet.   Say if you chose a fish or a bearded dragon to fulfill your need for a company.  Not much impact on the wake-sleep cycle of your choice.

Hamster?

Well be prepared to be up all night, especially if yours owns a squeaky wheel.

Cats or dogs?

I can attest to this one.  Heed my warning.  There will be days where you will question the saneness of your choice(s), especially in the begin.  But these days will be followed by days where you can not believe you even own pets, especially once they reach the senior stage and they enjoy sleeping-in more than you.   

That is unless you have a Bill!

Mild mannered cat or evil Mastermind?

Bill is friend to all,  but is chalk full of quirks.  The most annoying quirk is his propensity for announcing that he has entered the room or has decided to join you on the bed.  Instead of a drum roll, he relies on a "Merow!!!!!" to alert you to his presence.  Not an issue when it is noon, but definitely not so delightful at 3 am.  I have lived with this irksome habit for 11 years and for the most part have become accustomed to it.  But on my "cranky-pants days" it drives me around the bend.

The other night after a series of unfortunate circumstances (to be blogged about later) I found myself awake and very grumpy at 4 am.  I did what any reasonable person would do..... I ranted and banished the furry herd from the bedroom.  This plan would have worked out well...... if there was not a Bill.  Bill decided he needed to "check-in" on me and my mental health.  

So very, very thoughtful of him! But not appreciated.

He kept coming to the door and asking how I was doing every 30 minutes.  Yup just long enough for me to relax and start falling asleep but not long enough to be fully oblivious to his "caring" ways.

The first time it happened I thought it was a one off.  The second time I was more than a little pissed but still optimistic.  The third time I wanted to scream but realised I would only reinforce the pattern and will have taught him that torturing me for an hour and a half gets results, so I decided to internalize my frustration and not respond.

Dear reader, what occurred after that was a Mexican stand-off.  With Bill upping the ante and alternating his "checking-in" pattern from 30 minutes to 5 minutes to 15 minutes to every 2 minutes.  

What was a I doing???? 

It fluctuated between fantasizing about killing him, trying to think of what I had close at hand that I could throw at the door, but not dint the door nor break the object that I threw and writing 4  blog entries in my head.

It was a stubborn throw down and I was prepared to win.  Unfortunately so was Bill.

I don't know how long it went on, as I refused to look at the clock, but it was around the time the sun appeared in the window that I started to wonder if he was trying to tell me something in the grand fashion of Lassie...... Maybe one of the furry herd had a heart attack!  Maybe someone was breaking into the vehicle outside!!  Maybe the pipes brust and the basement was flooding!!!  Maybe there was a fire and all the smoke alarms were malfunctioning!!!!!!!!!!  

This pondering birthed this blog and the title.  I started hoping that something was really wrong.  If there was something wrong Bill would be a hero...... not a whiner.  I could quit being mad at him and would be proud to be sharing my living space with him.  I started fantasizing about what I would say in my interview with the local press, as you know they would want to hear this fantastic story of heroism!
It went something like this....

"It was fate that brought this little critter into my life.... I saved his life and here he is saving mine.  He is the treasure of the North!  I am so very, very fortunate that he is in my life!"  

Now the only thing that remained was to extricate myself from the room, without letting Bill win the showdown, so I could bare witness to his heroic efforts.  I patiently waited until there was a lull in the meowing and made my appearance.  It was pretty clear by the time that I made my way to the main floor that there was no emergency.  Drat!  He is just a periodic whiner.

Lesson learned-  Bill is not Lassie; he is just a cat who likes to talk!

Hangry, Hangry, "Hippo"crite

The main goal of the Corporate Fitness Challenge is to eat clean.

What is clean eating?   Great question!

An example of clean eating

Clean eating is no pre-processed foods, no yeasty breads, all multi-grain products, no sugar added, no fruit juice or sport drinks, no alcohol, no cream or added fats other than coconut and olive oil, drink 8 cups of water a day and definitely...... DEFINITELY.... no burgers and onion rings!

Going into this Challenge I knew that earning the daily drink points would be just that... a challenge.   I have come to the conclusion that I have lived most of my years in a chronic state of dehydration.  It is a state my camel like body has become accustom to.  Any "extra" water tips my delicately balanced scales and can plunge me straight into water toxicity-  I get dizzy, I can't feel my teeth, my head feels all floaty, I can loose my vision and sometimes come close to fainting... pretty much I am drunk without even touching an ounce of alcohol.   Knowing this,  my strategic plan was to gain all my Challenge points by following the stringent meal plan and working out when I could (but not in the mornings.... at least on a regular basis).   I boasted to friends and family-  "Sure I can clean eat for six weeks, it won't be hard at all!"  All the while I was planning the smorgasbord of appetizers and sweet treats I would indulge in the moment this challenge was over...... my reward for being a diligent cleaning eating dubbie.

The Challenge started.  I had Week 1 under my belt.  Some sugar cravings, but nothing that looking at what I now refer to as "food porn" couldn't help with.  I had started to gradually build up my bodies tolerance to "excess" water.  Week 2 was complete.   I had not had any added sugar, I was eating the prescribed meals,  and was now drinking 8 glasses of water a day.  Other Challengers tried to tempt me with "healthy cookies" but I stayed strong.  It seemed that from 6 am to 4:30 pm, I was untouchable.

But every night as the sun slowly sank in the west, my inner "hangry beastie" started to awaken and my internal struggles began.    See Hangry, as I now refer to this altered state of self, does not have a lot of patience.  When Hangry appears I go from peckish to freakin' starving.

Hangry want food....  Hangry, want food NOW!!!!!!!!!

I am almost positive that Hangry would not exist if there was a personal chef living at my house.  I could walk in the door and Hangry would be immediately satisfied.  But, alas I do not have a personal chef... all I have is me.  A me that doesn't know when to call it quits and go home.  A me that regularly has difficulty getting groceries for the week.

Since this Challenge began I have had to use the arsenal of strategies, learned on the job to calm  tantruming children, to buy some time from when Hangry first makes herself known and when I will be able to eat.   For two and a half weeks strategies such as planned ignoring, distraction, reasoning, collaborative problem solving, kind words and just plain pleading worked to stave off a full-fledged Hangry attack.  

Sadly last Saturday I reached into my strategy bag and came up empty.  After spending 10 hours in front of a computer, Hangry came out at her Hangriest!  Hangry was in a toddler meltdown of epic proportions-  threatening to do harm to self or others.   Hangry had graduated to a new level of Hangry that has yet to be classified.

I felt helpless.  It was not a battle I was prepared to fight.  I made the executive decision to deek into the A&W drive thru to pick-up a meal fit for a Hangry mind-   Teen Burger and onion rings.

Ahhhhhh the aroma!

Yummmmmmmmm the bacon!

Hangry..... HAPPY!!!!!

The burger eau jus was running down my fingers and chin as I bit into that bad boy. Each morsel was savored and committed to memory, as both my Hangry  and sane self knew this was a one-time only save.  No more burgers for another 3 1/2 weeks.

I took a picture so Hangry has something to look forward to......

I BID YOU ADIEU OH FAIR TEEN BURGER.... TIL WE MEET AGAIN IN 4 WEEKS"

Confessions of a Snootie McSnooterton

It is a rare occasion that I get up early in the morning to work-out.  I have grandiose plans when I go to bed-

"I'll get up early..... I'll go for a run or jump on the elliptical..... the birds will be tweeting, unicorns will prance on by, angels will be getting wings left, right and sideways."

I am so pumped with my early morning work-out  plans that I often have a hard time falling asleep.  I am like a child waiting for Santa to come on Christmas Eve.

SUPER JACKED-UP!

But then something mysterious happens in the middle of the night-  someone or something steals my workout mojo. By the time the alarm goes off, at some ungodly hour, I am a mere shell of the person that set the alarm the night before.  A shell filled with crustiness and malcontent.  The very last thing that I want to do is to crawl out from my protective bubble under the warm covers to
"workout".  Really what was I thinking...... up before the birds..... moving and lifting things.... Ackkkkkk!

I think NOT!!!!!!!

More times than not I wake in the middle of the night, well before the alarm is set to go off.  I look at the clock and softly chuckle - "You are deluded.... really working out in the morning.... face the facts sweet pea- you like to sleep!"  That is when I reach over, change the alarm to a more reasonable wake-up time, sigh with content and fall back into a blissful sleep.  (I strongly recommend a two alarm- alarm clock.... saves fiddling with resetting it.  This change has been a life saver for me.) 

On the rare occasion that I do make it out of bed in the morning I am overcome by a wave of snootiness and pride...... "If only others had as much resolve as I do, we could all be working out together."

"Not everyone has my stamina!"

"There really should be a ticker-tape parade lined-up outside my bedroom door right now.... it is time to celebrate my accomplishments!!!!!!!"

I am high 5ing myself with each step that brings me closer to the work-out.  You got out of bed-  high 5!  Your dressed-  high 10!!!!!!  Your walking out the door...... whoo hooo there is no stopping you now!!!!!!!!

As I run by houses with pitch black windows I can't help but feel slightly superior.  I really try not to, but it bubbles up from my toes and froths out of my heart and head-   "I am up and at it..... while those lazy bones are still sleeping.  What a pity for them.... they don't know what they are missing!" An anthem runs through my head with each step that takes me farther from my bed.

 "I AM AWESOME...... TRULY AWESOME!!!!"

Fortunately my inner Snoot has a short shelf life and flames out after a day or two.  I then blissfully return to the land of sleep longer.... workout later and all is right with the world!

Pointenstein

http://mediad.publicbroadcasting.net/p/ksor/files/201403/frankenstein.jpg

My brother laughed when he heard the rules of the Corporate Fit Challenge.  He couldn't believe that they engineered something so perfectly matched to my personality.  He pointed out that it would not be long before I was totally consumed by points.    See he knows me and that fact that points for making the right choices and a team based approach .... well that is like crack cocaine to a gal who strives to please those around her.

As soon as I heard about the points I, a non-lover of math,  had my calculator out trying to determine the maximum point spread and how to maximize my overall points based on my schedule.  I was like Russel Crowe in "A Beautiful Mind".  I had formulas,  graphs and pie charts..... ummm pie.....  sorry just a little distracted.......figured out for all six weeks of the challenge.  A monster.... or in this case a Pointenstein... was created.

My friend recently commented that that reason I have become obsessed with earning points is because I am overly competitive.   Sure I will admit that I am competitive.... who doesn't see a person walking ahead of them on the sidewalk and say "Hey.... I bet I can catch up to them!"   And then after you do catch up with them your first thought is "I totally can pass them!",  even though your shins and lungs are screaming because you have pushed them beyond their limits.

What?  You don't do that?

Hmmmm this is a tad awkward!

However, I swear on a mountain of Bibles-  in this situation my desire to win was not the seed that fertilized the Pointenstein zygote.... nope nothing could be farther from the truth.   My main goal upon joining was not to be last in the competition and within my team.  I would be perfectly happy being just average-  run of the mill...... middle of the pack.

Unfortunately my tendency to panic, thinking others will achieve more than I do and then ipso facto  I by default will be last, has gotten me into a bit of pickle...... yummmmm pickle (yet another food item I am not allowed to have).

What happened?

The first week I hit my target-  middle of the pack status.  I felt good.  Then during a group workout someone mentioned that they had spent 5 hours doing moderately exerting physical activity on the weekend..... I did the math...... 20 points!!!!!!!!

I started getting the jitters.  My mind raced!  What if everyone else earned as many or more points.  My brain screamed..... "You're screwed!"

Panic, panic, panic..... my plans were eroding before my eyes.  There was only one course of action; I needed to set the bar higher then I originally intended.   The joke was on me though.  The other participants put in solid performances, but nothing close to the person I had been talking with.

That is how I ended up being the top of the leader board for weekly points on the second week.

Yikes!

I would have to adjust my game plan.  No problem, I was traveling for work.  All that sitting would greatly reduce my ability to earn movement points.

Right?

Not so much!  I frickin' repeated my week two performance for week three.  How could that be?  I was sure it was a math error... as my Grade 12 Math teacher liked to point I am totally inconsistent when it comes to math.   I triple checked my math..... the results came up the same every time.

UGHHHHHHH!!!!

What makes it worse is the fact that I have now set the all time highest score for weekly points for the Corporate Fit Challenge... not just with my workplace but for all workplaces that have participated.

Crap, Crap, Crap!  What the hell was a I thinking?

Now I have started a stupid trend.  Now I have a title to defend.  The pressure is on!  Not good.  To think this all happened because I did not want to be last.

Will I ever learn my lesson?

Probably not.... fear+points+people pleasing= overachieving Max.

31 Day Work Detox

Hello-  My name is Max and I am a workaholic.  They say the toughest thing is admitting you have a problem and I do have that....... a problem.  I try to leave work at work but it is an itch that begs to be scratched.  I say over and over that I will not check my work email, but then I encounter some down time and before I know it I have unconsciously logged on to the work account.  I figure since it is open there is no harm in scanning the emails to see if there is anything important and needs my immediate attention.

Yup-  full fledged addict.

My table any given weekend

My official last day of work was Nov 28, 2014.  I was prepared to have five weeks of uninterrupted leisure time.  That was the plan on paper anyways.   As the clock ticked down to the start of my vacation my pulse rate increased along with my stress and my level of dread.  I had way too much unfinished work.   How could I leave and relax knowing I was leaving a disarray of paperwork.

Answer-  I couldn't.  I bit the bullet and decided to spend my first weekend of vacation getting caught up on outstanding reports and letters.... two very full days of work and I still did not get it all done.  I left the building on Sunday hesitant but determined I would not spend the rest of my vacation dwelling on the three things I did not get done.

So what!  The holiday started off rough but it could only get better right?

Dec 1- 4th I checked my emails at least seven times a day, if not more.   What?

I still had many, many days to relax- no sense in allowing my mailbox to expand to an unmanageable size.  Plenty of time to have fun.

By the 5th I realized if I let myself continue to be sucked into the work vortex I would be unofficially working the full holiday.  I had to detox...... and detox fast.  I should have just phoned a priest and had an exorcism or made an appointment to have a lobotomy.   That would have been the easy way out.

I thought I was strong, but my yearning to know what was going on was stronger.   By the 12th I had many slips but had also had a few days of not checking my email at all.  I employed the ancient technique of throwing myself into other projects with reckless abandon.  As long as my brain and body were busy, the desire to check emails was held in check.    But the minute there was a some down time I was fighting the urge to just peek at the email.... just a little bit..... not too much!

Desire and curiosity are powerful biatches!

As of today my desire to check my work email has been mentally whipped out of me.  All it took was 4 consecutive weeks off for my mind to de-program from work mode and enter into relaxation mode.

That is just plain sad.  

I joke that I have an Etch-a-sketch brain.... one that erases with a shake of the head.  Sadly this holiday has proven that I don't.  I  have faced the fact that I have been saddled with an elephant memory and an uber strong work ethic.  Both haunt me by periodically providing me with mental images of what I did not get done prior to leaving.  They are my kryptonite.  What I need to slay in order to enjoy a
few moments of blissful relaxation.

Now I have reached my final week of vacation my brain has decided to lead a revolt against returning to work.  It is like a two year old in midst of a full tantrum...... NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!   NO, NO, NO!!!!!  

Why?

Because I am finally on Vacay and am planning on enjoying every last second of it!

Peace on Earth.... and in my head!

Underwear Roulette

Available at the Keep Calm-o-Matic website

I don' know about you but I am afflicted by a bubble butt.  I had a Kardashian before any of the Kardashians were a glimmer in their parents eyes.  If you also have a bubble butt you can commiserate.  Finding a comfortable pair of underwear can be a like undertaking a quest to find the Holy Grail.

Once I find a brand that has manners and stays in place, hugging the curve but never ride up it.... I buy as many pairs as I can... you know just in case there is a year long snow storm or they stop making that brand.  You think with all this preparation I would be safe from experiencing having my panties in a bunch!

NOT SO MUCH!

I think there is an evil genius working at each underwear company.  The main goal in each of these geniuses lives is to make underwear that looks like, feels like and initially acts like all the other underwear but it is secretly Ninja underwear ready to surprise you with a "Crack Attack" the moment your not expecting it. This Ninja underwear is all about stealth.  It lies in wait.  Why surprise you when you have an opportunity to exchange it with another mild manner pair.

NO!  NO FUN IN THAT!

Ninja underwear allows you to leave the house and drive to work.  As you walk into the building you slowly feel the left side creeping up the curve into the nether regions.  It rights itself.  All is right with the world again.  Maybe you just imagined it.  You are now walking down the hall to your office or getting on the elevator, the right side starts creeping up.  It goes higher and higher.   You look to see if you will get caught retrieving wayward Righty and you work it back into place willing it to behave and stay put.    It seems to listen.  You make it to your office and through two meetings.  But the underwear is playing you, it is lulling you into a false sense of security and then.....

BAMMM!

Both sides are up in your grill.  Of course you are busy and in a crowded area so you just smile and wave and hope that you can ignore the fact that you are now chaffing and generally miserable.

You say to yourself...... "That's it, I am throwing these naughty buggers out the second I get home!".  Of course you get home and you think about all the Criminal Minds and CSI episodes involving stalkers and question if you really should be throwing out worn underwear that anyone can pick out of your trash.  That's when your mind comes up with a plan..... "Wash them first and then throw them out!!!!!" This makes the Ninja underwear very, very happy!

WHY?

It allows the nasty beasties to mix in with the "good" underwear.  They know how to blend.  If you listen carefully you may hear a faint snicker as when they realise that you can't tell them apart from the comfortable pairs.  You start to panic comparing sample to sample-    "Was it this one?   No maybe it was that one?"

UGGGHHHHH!

Now you are scared you are going to throw out the good underwear.

ANGST!

An executive decision is made to keep both pairs and hope you will be able to ferret out the heinous pair before you leave the house the next time.  Hence the birth of Underwear Roulette.  You take the comfort of your buttocks into your hands every time you select a pair of underwear from the underwear drawer.

"Go Ahead!  Make my day punk!"

PS-  I am pleased to say that I was able to identify one of the culprits which is now on their way to the landfill..... just one more pair to go and my buttocks will be safe..... for now!

Life Is A Highway- Unless Your Dog is a Bonehead!

My dog has it in his head that he is golden and nothing bad will happen to him.   I am sure when he looks into the mirror this is what he sees....

Picture from US Magazine.com

But the reality is more like this......

As you can see, there is a valid reason for his assumption.... he is a Golden.  Unfortunately, the name of his breed does not provide him with any extra super-dog powers... no matter how much he tries to be a member of Marvel's Avenger Team.  

 

Over the years I have experienced countless seconds of panic and shear terror and hours of worry.  Here is a sampling of his "golden" moments.

4 months old-  He decided that it would be a great idea to try and eat my Schick Quattro razor.  This resulted in his swallowing one of the blades and me spending the next two days squishing bags of poo trying to make sure the blade came out.  I am sure the neighbours thought I was loosing it.... "Yep Martha she is out there squishing poo bags again.  Now she is jumping up and down, celebrating!  Do you think we need to phone someone?"

4 months- present-  I used to have a running total of all the socks, tights, etc. that he swallowed, regurgitated or passed.  I stopped at 13 that was around about his 3rd birthday..... he is now 9.   As he as aged he need to eat hosiery has decreased but very now and again, when my guard is down he surprises me.  When Gimli arrived, I bought Golden Retrievers for Dummies.  The book recommended pet insurance because Golden's are know to eat everything.  So true.

 

You are probably wondering why I do not pick-up said items and put them out of the dogs reach.  I trust me I do..... the rest of the furry herd i.e. the cat has taken to finding the socks and knocking them down for the dog.  Are they working in tandem or is the cat secretly trying to kill the dog?  This is an unsolved mystery. 

11 months-  We were chilling at a rest stop in Michigan.  All of a sudden he noticed the long curved drive in.  A light bulb thought bubble appeared over this head and I heard a ding as he turned and took off at full tilt down the drive.  That was not enough for him. He hungered for more distance and speed.  What's a dog to do?

 

Solution- turn and head down the middle of the highway with traffic coming at you from both directions.  I was beside myself.  He was not responding to my "YOOOOOOOOUUUUUU COMMMMMMMEEEEEE!"  In his mind he was....



Picture courtesy of The Flash TV Series



the fastest dog in the world.  He was off and running, no cares in the world.  There were beautiful butterflies floating by and the path was lined with unicorns.  My frantic screaming put a halt to this reverie and he realized his presence was required else where.  He returned cutting across the middle of the rest area, but before I could clip the leash on him he turned his head, noticed the road again and was off with a click of his heels.  Repeat cycle. 

 

Needless to say he lost off leash privileges after that little escapade.  

1 1/2 years-  He decided to eat fungi on a back-packing trip.  The fungi was poisonous.  He was gravely ill and was cyanotic for weeks after.  Milk Thistle to the rescue.  Now when back-packing the dog has his own First Aid kit.  Sadly he feels the need to create situations so it can be used each trip.   It's a good thing it is well stocked.

 

5 yrs-  There is something  about  curved and "L" shaped roads that floats Gimli's boat.  He is attracted to them and for whatever reason feels the need to run full tilt when he sees this type of configuration.  Could he turn to the left and run down the non-traffic side. 

 

Noooooooooooo!

 

Where would the fun be in that.  No he always heads to the right to run across 4 lanes of a highly used street to stand on the other side.  When he notices that I am not following he runs back across.  Now as an observer your heart is in your mouth, your stomach is flipping and "S" and "F" words are coming out of your mouth involuntarily.  He has only done this twice but it is two times too many.  The last time the cars stopped and waited for him to cross.  Apparently his running high clouds his awareness of his environment,  as he ran directly into the side of a car that stopped to let him pass safely.   That was a "Du Oh" moment.   

 

7 yrs-  He decided he needed X-rays two months in a row.  He ate a stick of butter, an ice cream sundae, a steak, a bake-potato (foil and all) and a bar of soap.  Of concern was the fact that to the best of my knowledge the foil had not come out and he became sick.  X-rays revealed no foil present.  (Please note that this was at his Grandparents house-  He was under their supervision not mine)

The next month he decided to eat 2/3's of a bag of Cat in the Hat fridge magnets.  I wish I had the X-rays to post.   Very sparkly!!  (Again please note it was Grandma who left the bag of magnets on the ground.... not me)

He now has a reputation at the Vet.  As soon as I come in they ask.... "What has he eaten now?"

8 yrs-  During another back-packing trip, he decided he was a member of the flying Wallenda's and leaped off the top of a 6-foot rock only to land on his stomach on the edge of the rock that was 3-feet below it.  That contributed to a long night in the middle of the bush worrying that he might be bleeding internally.  Gimli of course decided to self-medicate and ate some hidden fungi (I think he was a truffle pig in a previous life as he can find fungi like no one's business).   Was the resulting twitching and night terrors a result of hallucinogenic mushrooms he ate or internal injuries?  I will never know.  All I know was it was a very, very long night for me and we both made it out safe and sound the next day. 

 

9yrs-  Last week was the kicker of all kickers when it comes to Gimli-capades.  I was going out of town for work so he had to stay at the kennel.  We arrived at the kennel just as a snow squall hit.  He likes the kennel and snow... so his transition into the paddocks was not an issue.  He was busy running around sniffing out remnants of pee-mail when we both realised at the same time.... the gate was not closed.  He beat me to the gate-  he is the dog version of the Flash.... was there really any hope that I, a mere human, would be able to beat him.   He ran out into the yard and that is when he spotted the "L"-shaped lane. 

 

Now you are probably thinking "Oh crap!!!!!".  I know I was. 

 

Before I even had "Gim" out of my mouth he was down the long lane and on the highway, running into on coming traffic.  By the time I made it to the end of the lane he was about 500- 700 metres down the highway on the opposite side. 

 

That is when two things happened.  He stopped and turned and I noticed the semi.  Now I could barely see him in the white-out conditions I hoped the Semi who was closer would be able to make out that he was there.  Before I could react,  Gimli darted across the road on his way back to me.  There were two tense filled seconds while I waited to see if he was fast enough to beat the Semi.  Thank the Lord he was.  Then there were some more angst filled moments while he kept pace with the Semi down the highway until he ended up in my arms and the confines of his collar. 

 

I definitely do not want to relive anything like that in the near future.  I still get the shakes thinking about it. 

 

Lessons you can learn from this post-  the power of prayer works,  gates are a gals best friend as long as they are closed, Gimli is like Mikey of commercial fame-  He'll eat anything and socks and fungi can be delicacies for dogs so beware.

The Max Paradox

It never fails, what I want to do is not what I am supposed to be doing.  Let's take right now for instance.  What I really, really want to do is write more for this blog.  The creative and humour juices are really flowing this morning.

 What am I supposed to be doing?

Doom...... DOOOm..... DOOOOOOOOMMMMMM!
(ominous music playing in the background)

I am supposed to be opening the black briefcase of doom and writing reports; so  I am all caught up before I take my month's vay-cay.

It has always been this way.  My desire to run increases 200 fold when I have an injury that side-lines me from running.  My need for an uber clean house is magnified if I have to study for a test.  You could always tell when it was exam time in university... my dorm room or apartment was super neat, organized and you could frankly eat off the floor it was so sterile.  I long to visit home but when I have to leave to travel there I want to stay where I live now.  The list goes on and on.

So I have had to resort to making a deal with myself..... finish this posting and do one more and then it is straight to the black box to write reports.  I am sure I will give myself some time off for good behaviour so who knows... if I am not all computered out, there may be another post tonight.

Hmm, but maybe I should be posting my catch-up posts in the Photo Challenge blog I am a part of?

Ahhhhhhh another paradox!

Oops!  I was supposed to be proof-reading and finalizing this post but got side tracked looking up the definition for paradox..... now I am confused..... maybe too confused to write reports.  I am also querying if the above is truly a paradox.  I might be unwittingly misrepresenting paradoxes.

Must solve the paradox mystery before I can accomplish anything else.  Off to do some more Googling!

PS-  Can someone please explain to me why I have such a hard time spelling the word oops.  It is only 4 letters for crying out loud and everytime I type it, I type opps!  One day maybe I will be able to spell it right on the first try.

PPS-  Paradox solved-  Productive procrastination!!!!!  I will be able to sleep tonight knowing that I will not be sued by a paradox for inaccurate representation.

And So It Begins......

I recently found out trouble with the curve is a baseball term meaning someone who has difficulty hitting a curve ball.  I thought it was also a fitting title for a blog about facing and dealing with the curve ball's that life throws you and as such co-opted the term.

What inspired me to start this blog?

The fact that I have it all together and am awesome at providing sage advice?

Nope and Nope.

The impotence behind the blog was my recent decision to join a Corporate Fitness Challenge at work.   I would love to say that as soon as I heard about the Challenge I was all over it like a "sugar freak on a Smartie"....

I wasn't!!!!!!

When the Challenge was being explained to us, all I could think was "For the love of the Lord... why!  Why, did they not let those of us who will not be participating go so we could get lunch and check our emails!  This is tedious and torturous.  I walked out of the room feeling ornery!  I wanted to hit someone or something. It was safe to say a Fitness Challenge was positively, absolutely something that I would not be doing in my lifetime!

Later that week a curve ball caused me to rethink my original position.  I am taking part in a 365 Day Photo Challenge (something else that has caused me angst over the last year).  One of the challenges was to take a picture of "Too Small".  I thought and thought and came up with a plan to take a picture of my old Cheerleading outfit as I knew it would definitely be too small.

As I put the skirt around my thigh, I was faced with the concrete proof that the skirt, that used to fit around my waist, when I was a teen, only fit around one thigh with only 2" to spare.

UGGGHHH!!!

I know my cup has started to runneth over in the curve department, as I have aged, but a waist-sized thigh... say it ain't so!

You have probably heard of Helen of Troy-  the  face that launch a thousand ships.  I am not her.  I am the woman who has a thigh that launched a quest to find a semblance of the fitness level that I had in my youth.  

Proof that it did fit at one time.

Enter stage left... Corporate Fitness Challenge.  The Challenge ceased to be a heinous and instantly became a life preserver.  Something to motivate me to get off my flabby behind and start challenging myself to improve my health, my fitness and to find a balance between work and life.

The only problem.... a pre-health screen to take all my vital statistics height, weight, degree of wobble in my wobbly bits.

It was hard enough seeing the photographic evidence proving what years of neglect had done to my body.... I did not need more bad news.   I borrowed from "Frozen" for this one and decided to "Let it Go!"  The only place to go was up.  Any improvement was just that an improvement.

In the end I did better at the fitness screen than I thought I would.  However, I was not prepared for my traumatic flashbacks to Canadian Fitness testing in grade school.  At least there was no flexed arm hang.   I am also amused to report that over the last 30 odd years there has been little change in the flexibility in my hamstrings and my ability to do a push-up.  During the sit and reach the trainer commented that it would be easier to rest my finger-tips on the edge of the measuring device..... my reply...''Umm I am trying, but it does not seem like that will be possible right now!"

Yes dear reader-  it is true.  If it was possible to score negative numbers in the sit- and- reach I would.  My hamstrings have never been bendy.... okay they were for a very brief period when I was Cheerleading but they quickly retreated to Inflexible Land the moment I stopped needing to do the splits.

But my real kryptonite is any activity that requires me to use a tricep, deltoid.... heck who am I trying to kid.... any arm and shoulder muscle . Push-ups, well this ole' enemy continues to plague me.  When I was younger I held the belief that if I had bigger breasts I would have be able to do more push-ups.  See the bustier students did not have to bend their elbows to a full 90 degrees, as that may result in accidental grazing of the bustial region which would be deemed inappropriate touching.  Me-  with my lack of boobage, basically had to touch my nose to the ground and return to a fully up right position to count as a full push-up.  Sadly this long held belief was disproved during the recent testing.  I now have front curves and even though I don't have to dip down as low as I did when I was younger, I still could not muster more than 5 push-ups in a row and even that was pushing it.

Well here is hoping that the next six weeks brings about a few noticeable changes and maybe a smidgen more arm strength.... if not I will be typing out the blog using a mouth stick!