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.