Evolving Kitty Antics

First of all, I should update you that my TV fasting really did work. I watched only two hours of television in nine days, a record of which I am quite proud. And then a weekend rolled around, and I finally caved and cleared out my DVR. The proper balance seems to be avoiding it at all costs during the week, and then enjoying being a glutton all weekend.

But what I really want to share is a new development in Ziggy's demented personality. Every morning around 5:30, Ziggy comes into the bedroom, jumps up onto the bed, climbs over me and onto the side table, and starts chewing on the lampshade. And it drives me absolutely bonkers. The first few times he did it, I jumped up and chased him out of the room yelling and waving my arms like a maniac. But it seems as though it's all a ploy for attention, since the more peaceful tactic of scootching over to create a warm spot for him to be my little spoon seems to work. At least temporarily. As soon as I fall back asleep, and therefore stop petting him, he resumes eating the lampshade. Lately we've been repeating this cycle about three times before I finally jump up and chase him out of the room yelling and waving my arms like a maniac.

When he was a kitten, his nightly routine was to attack my face promptly at 11 pm. So I guess we're making progress?

Yes, you should be embarrassed,
you little nocturnal attention whore.

A Self Righteous, Passive Aggressive Moment

The next time my neighbors decide to throw a loud, obnoxious party until 3 a.m., I just might have to wake up at 6 a.m. the next day to do some yard work. In particular, I might have to mow the non-existent grass and blow around all of those leaves that are in my side yard. You know, the side yard right outside my bedroom window where all their drunk friends were parked, and thus where their drunk friends kept slamming their car doors all night. Apparently, a prerequisite for attending an obnoxious party is the ability to enter and exit things emphatically. I might also have to scream expletives while I'm doing said yard work, but that shouldn't bother them because it seems to simply be the way in which they communicate with one another.

Seriously though, I live in a really nice, family friendly neighborhood. If they want to throw down like that, they should have chosen to live on campus in the Greek Village. I realize I'm sounding like an old fuddy duddy, but people's complete obliviousness (or plain lack of regard) for how their actions might effect other people gets under my skin and drives me crazy. We've had parties here until the wee hours of the morning...but we keep the noise inside the house, not outside right next to where our neighbors are trying to sleep. Even in my college heydays I tried to keep the volume down whenever I had parties. Be young and fiesty, do whatever you want. But don't force the whole rest of the neighborhood to listen to your idiocy. It's just rude.

The Order In Which I Neglect Things:

1. Blogging (sorry folks)
2. Anything and everything that could be considered a "domestic art"
3. Exercise
4. Sleep
5. Personal hygiene
6. Sanity

Only seven more days until the end of the summer semester.

Time To Get Some Shape-Ups...

...is what a snotty undergrad said to me yesterday as I walked past her and her boyfriend on campus. I was turning in a final paper and returning some library books before hitting the gym, so I was wearing my workout clothes. As I passed them I smiled and nodded hello, as I do to everyone. Instead of smiling back, she looked right at me and made a snide comment. Apparently, she was unimpressed with how my legs looked in my running shorts.

Her comment was particularly timely since this weekend I saw myself in a bathing suit for the first time in a very long time, and thus I am keenly aware of my lack of muscle tone. But even though I know that I'm a bit jiggly these days, give me a break! I was headed to the gym! All I can say is that being hateful will hold her back a lot more than it will effect me. I can trim down and buff up with some simple exercise, but overcoming a bad personality is a lot more difficult. I am seriously mourning the decline of manners and civility in our society.

But, despite her rudeness, I really am curious about those toning sneakers and wouldn't mind wearing them around campus since I usually end up walking a lot. I like some of the styles that look more like regular sneakers rather than the Shape-Ups. Has anyone tried the New Balance or Reebok versions?

And speaking of bathing suits, The Hubs and I finally booked our honeymoon! This summer we are headed to the French side of St. Martin for a glorious week of sun and relaxation. The kicker? We're staying at a very nice, very nude beach. A "clothing optional paradise!" ha ha. I seriously doubt that I will be flashing the full monty, but perhaps I'll go topless. It would be so European of me :)  Although, exposing my tender bits that have never seen the light of day might be a bit painful. I'll have to take SPF 100,000,000 and wear it like body paint.

Have you ever been to a nude beach before? If so, did you "participate"??

Pet Therapy

No, I'm not talking about sending our animals to a pet psychiatrist in order to figure out their frustrations and anxieties...although I am possibly a big enough wackadoo to try something like that. I do love me some Dog Whisperer! What I'm talking about is taking advantage of the dopey cuddliness of animals in a purely selfish way.

This week has been incredibly busy, as every end-of-the-semester is. But in addition to all the final projects and presentations and work and volunteering, I am itching like crazy from head to toe. Spring allergies are making the inside of my skull prickly. I got stung by a wasp, so my thigh is swollen and red and rashy. My left foot has fallen victim to a ridonculous poison ivy reaction, and of course the bubbliest itchiest spot is exactly where any shoe or sandal will rub. (I would post pictures but I don't want to ruin your evening.) Halfway through running errands today, my car decided not to start. After switching cars with The Hubs, I needed to get gas. So I tried going to the hornets nest that is the PX gas station on a Friday afternoon, circled a few times, got honked at, gave up, and paid an absurd price per gallon just for the luxury of using a slightly less aggressive filling station. When the lady at Hobby Lobby was rude to me, I wanted to scream, "JUST SHOW ME WHERE THE DAMN BEESWAX IS! DON'T YOU KNOW THAT I'M ITCHY?!?!"

But then I got home, and all of our pets rushed to greet me with purrs and wagging tails. I scooped up the kitty, sat down, started scratching the dogs behind their ears, and within 30 seconds all was right with the world.

The Benadryl is calling me, but I'll leave you with some gratuitous pet photos just in case you're also having one of those days. Maybe their magic will work even virtually.

Sarah

This never would have happened if I was still 10 years old.

I injured myself. Like, really injured myself. Playing kickball. And it's not like I did it during an epic showdown of stealing home and sliding into the catcher. It was the first play of the game. I was in right field. When the player "at bat" kicked the ball, I started to run forward to cover the throw to first base. And on my very first step, it felt like both quads had been ripped off the bone. When I was a kid, I did not have to slowly warm up and stretch for an hour before engaging in any physical activity. I just went out and started playing. When did my muscles begin to petrify, making my legs into useless, inflexible stumps?

As I've gotten older, I've noticed that there are a lot of walls I'm hitting. One day, all of a sudden, I woke up and my face was too busted looking to go out of the house without makeup. One day, out of blue, I went from being able to pull productive all-nighters to becoming completely incompetent after 11 o'clock. And now this!

If I was still ten years old, I would be fluid and carefree. I would be able to roll out of bed, climb on my bike, ride down a hill, smash into a tree, get right back up and do it again. I would not have bags under my eyes, or need to medicate and pack myself in ice after a simple game of kickball.

But I also would not have boobs, or be able to drink alcohol. So I've got that going for me.

Cheers,
Sarah

My Boney Butt, And Other Things

March is my roll-over Loose Ends Month since--as is typical of my behavior and the primary reason I needed a Loose Ends Month in the first place--I procrastinated until the end of last month to start conquering all of my tasks. But, I'm still on a roll and have been quite productive lately. There are a few things I still haven't addressed (our taxes being the most pressing) but this month I have: gotten my hair cut, made doctor appointments, took the safety warning stickers off the bathroom cabinet, finished my DIY project, cleaned out the sun room, threw out some leftovers that had been lurking in the back of the refrigerator for months, rearranged and cleaned up the guest room, mowed the lawn, and got my bike tuned up (one of my Groupons!). And that is where my boney butt comes in.

It's been about two years since I last rode my bike, and the day I picked it up from Cycle Center was a lovely, sunny 75 degrees so I couldn't wait to take it out for a spin. I only rode for a few miles, but oh man! My butt bones are still sore almost a week later. Granted, I'm not in "bicycling condition," but can one's tush ever really become conditioned to balancing on that little wedge? I mean you don't get, like, calluses down there, do you? Please oh please say no.

(not my photo)

With campus so close to our house, and the weather so nice this time of year, I'd like to start riding more often. But since I have no rear padding of my own, I will probably have to invest in a gelly seat cushion, or a pair of those ridiculous puffy bottom pants. Or both. This flat-bottomed girl needs so much extra padding that the "junk in my trunk" may start to resemble an episode of Hoarders.

Bottom line (get it...bottom line) I can't go through the rest of the summer with sore pudendal nerves. But I'm not quite ready to sacrifice the amount of dignity necessary to actually put on a pair of these pants. I'll let you know how it turns out.

Happy riding,

Sarah

Suspicious Activity

It looks like someone tried to steal my base pass off my windshield. Anyone ever had this problem? It's really creepy to think about someone trying to sneak onto base illicitly...good thing they're not easy to peel off!

Brain Delay

This morning I woke up, washed my face, brushed my teeth, combed my hair, did my makeup, dressed for work, let the dogs in and out, made breakfast, packed my lunch, poured my coffee, walked out of the house, locked the door, got into the car and then finally realized that--hey wait a minute, I can't see anything! Why? Because I never put my glasses on. And then suddenly all the stumbling around and dropping things and tripping over hazy inanimate objects (or possibly animate...how would I know?) finally made sense. It was a good thing I needed to sit with the defroster running for a while this morning, otherwise I could have killed someone just trying to pull out of the driveway.

I guess it's like when you have the same commute every day until habit finally takes over and you can make it home while only paying attention with half a brain cell. Scary, but it happens. But when it does happens, I am usually at least wearing my corrective eyewear.

'Doh!
Sarah

p.s. Don't ask how my hair and makeup looked.

Shit Happens...Literally.

I love my pets. One might say that I'm actually mildly obsessed with them. I even had this lovely portrait of them commissioned for The Hubs this Christmas:

Yes, we are "those people."

I've become accustomed to the constant battle against the tracked-in mud, the tornado of fur, the kitty litter that always seems to get everywhere despite the special paw-wiping pad we bought, the toxic dog farts, the early weekend wake-up calls, the wallet-busting vet bills, and the need to trim dingleberries off doggie "private areas." The intense love that I have for our animals more than makes up for all of these annoyances.

But today, my friends...today I hit rock bottom. Please brace yourself for what is about to follow.

I just had a tug-of-war battle over a huge. frozen. turd. I don't know why dogs insist on eating poo, when I can assure you that ours are more than well fed. After this revolting activity, in which my grocery-bag-covered hand rescued only half of the turd in question (blecch), I sucked it up and set off to perform my least favorite pet-related chore: yard duty. (Or should that be "doody?") Still in my work clothes, heels sinking into the rain-soggy ground, I navigated our mine field and ended up with two full grocery bags of poo. And now it's time to clean out the litter box. I can't even imagine how much excrement our household will be producing once we have kids and there are diapers involved.

Crap.