Diary of a Crazy Track Lady 7-10-10

July 10, 2010

Hi there, lady! I am so happy to see you again. I just wanted to take a moment to say “YAY, YOU!” for your excellent work this past week. I am glad we’ve both decided to get back on track with exercising and eating healthier.  It hasn’t been too bad, eh?

I like how we’re starting to feel….again. It’s been awhile since we’ve had a chance to experience the endorphin rush, hasn’t it? Wow, how I have missed that post-aerobo-dogging calmness! I am sooooo glad we started that up again. And best of all, it’s FREE! Okay, so the idea of joining a fitness program and working out sounds wonderful, but why spend the money when we can use our neighborhood as our gym? The economy is tight enough as is, and we’re already stretched beyond our means. So, back to strapping the harness on your BEST PERSONAL TRAINER EVER, and away we can go –out to dance, sing, jog and fret about like the “crazy track lady” you’ve become. TAKE THAT, fancy health clubs!

Keep up the great work. I’ll be checking back in on you to make sure you’re remaining focused and inspired. Remember, two and a half years ago how HOT you looked? Well, we can and will get back there again. I’m in charge now, and I am NOT going to sit back and watch you fail again!

I’ll see you in a few days. And remember, I am here for you.

Love,

Future Hot Self


Random Thoughts From the Nerd

October 22, 2009

I want to know what dogs are thinking, but not smelling. I don’t want to have to work that hard or experience that much.

Cats are impossible to read. They need an interpreter – perhaps a chinchilla?

I really don’t want to know how swine flu went from swine to human. Or for that matter, how ebola went from monkey to human. Regardless, someone was acting inappropriately in both situations.

Is it possible to freeze electricity?

There HAS to be a speed of dark. I just feel it. I’d be shocked if there weren’t.

Nothing smells better in a house than a batch of snickerdoodles fresh from the oven.

Any word that has “oodle” in it is fun to say.

The best punctuation mark in the world? The umlaut. Not just fun to use, but fun to say. Try it, you’ll agree.

Ask the Amish if they use hybrids. They’ll probably say, “Yes, I own a mule.” Great tie in with biology.

If Edgar Allan Poe were alive today, I would want to be his Facebook friend. Only.

People who think the world cares about them, but we really don’t:

  • Heidi and Spencer Pratt
  • Jon Gosselin
  • Paris Hilton
  • Tila Tequila
  • Balloon boy dad

People who will some day get their asses kicked by an assorted group of fed-up middle class and lower class folks:

  • Same folks

If we can put a man on the moon, why can’t anyone create chocolate covered potato chips? Two PMS problems solved at once.


Relentless

October 17, 2009

He sits.
He watches my every move.
He never speaks.
He drills his eyes
into the back of my head.
He fills my peripheral vision
He is an all-consuming presence
in my life.

I sit.
I see him there.
I do not talk to him.
I glare in his direction
I try to make him avert his eyes.
I am weakened by his will.

Click! He pulls the trigger.
Back and forth it goes.

Yes, now…

No.

Yes, NOW!

No!

Until I cave in.
And give him what he wants.

Such is the life of a woman.

completely smitten
with her dog.


Shoot-Me-Now Moments

July 30, 2009

“Potty Patch” – the inside patch of artificial, turf-like carpeting you can put down for your dog to relieve itself indoors while you’re gone. It comes with its own “catch tray” you can empty at the end of the day.

Advantage: You won’t need to Twitter things like “My G-dam* dog pissed on my G-dam* carpeting AGAIN!” to all your Twittermates.

Disadvantage: You might have to Twitter: “My G-Dam* dog pissed inside my house AGAIN” to all your Twittermates.

Grade: D

Comments: Teach your G-dam* dog to relieve itself outside, like they’ve been doing for centuries. They aren’t cats — they are trainable*.

(*Bischon Frises, shitzus, poodles, chihuahuas and all other designer dogs that are pampered by their neurotic owners are the exception to this rule)

ALERT: NO OFFENSE TO THE ELDERLY, THE HANDICAPPED OR SEXUALLY PERVERSE IS INTENDED BY MY COMMENTS BELOW.

(FOR THAT MATTER, NO OFFENSE TO NEUROTIC DOG OWNERS, EITHER. BUT I WOULD RECOMMEND YOU GET YOURSELF A “REAL DOG” INSTEAD OF THAT OVER-SIZED RAT YOU’RE TRYING TO PASS OFF AS YOUR OWN FOUR-LEGGED ‘BABY'”)

“Freedom Wand Self Wiping Toilet Aid”: An extending, toilet-paper brush for those hard-to-reach personal areas. (Translation: ass crevasses too large to scale down in a single swipe)

Advantage: Believe it or not, this makes great sense for those who are handicapped and do not have 100% use of their hands or arms. (A demographic that seems to be completely overlooked in the general media population by the way — Hi, Aunt Bevvie!–be over real soon! Stay tight until then, okay?)

Disadvantage: It probably would not be a good idea to mention you use one over a dinner of frijoles and/or oatmeal.

Grade: B- (only because of the handicapped issue, otherwise a D)

Comments: There are very few people who’d be kind enough to help me with my personal hygiene issues. I imagine we’d have to be “really, really” close friends, or they’d be working in a nursing home.


Who Owns Whom?

July 29, 2009
My Party Animal

My Party Animal

I swear, my dog has an invisible watch he wears around his front left paw. At 3:58 every afternoon, it goes off and reminds him it is “Now time to pester the humans until I am fed”. No matter where I am in the house, or how deep of a doggy semi-coma he has worked himself into from the 12th nap of his very lazy day, he will begin his familiar routine: stand, stare, plead, whine, bay, prance, dance, sit, wag.

Weirdly enough, I’ve recently had to resort to feeding him akin to feeding pigeons in the park. He has been eating out of a metal food bowl for years now. But for some unknown reason, about a month ago, he started leaving his food in his dish. Thinking he was “going to get around to it later”, I really didn’t pay it much attention. Granted, I should have realized something was amiss — after all, he is a fully grown beagle. Nothing edible escapes his grasp. I know, because I once had to scoop up the backyard droppings after he consumed an entire 96-count box of waxed crayons he had taken from my daughter’s school backpack. It was as if a rainbow of colors had exploded directly over our pie-shaped patch of lawn. The only benefit to that was it was very easy to spot between the patches of brown grass and dirt.

With this new quirk came some in-depth analysis on my behalf: “Hmm, wonder if he’s ill? Lost his sense of taste/smell?” Nope, wet nose and waggedy tail — still healthy. Being able to pick a used tissue out of our son’s bedroom closet — nope, still going strong in the smell department. So, what could it be?

“He’ll eat when he’s hungry enough” said my husband. True, that did happen eventually. But, by the time he would actually eat his bowl of kibble, three feedings had passed and he was chomping down three times his regular portion in one sitting. I swear, the dog was sandbagging me.

So, I tried something different. It came about accidentally. I tripped a little coming back into the house (his food is kept in a bag in the garage where it occasionally serves as a buffet to the neighborhood raccoons, so I have discovered). Out flew the kibble from my hands, and my dog immediately went into “clean up mode”. He attacked his kibble with the same ferocity of a death row inmate during his last meal. That was my light bulb moment. From that day on, I started dropping his kibble over the floor near his bowl, and just allowed him to eat at his own pace. That seems to work.

But, it doesn’t end there. No, that’d be too easy, right?

At 7:00 pm every night, again without fail, he begins the “dessert” drama. He plucks himself off from whatever surface he’s morphed over, stands in front of me and starts baying “I O!!” “I O!!” To add a sense of urgency, he’ll trot into the kitchen — where he knows his can of treats is (on top of the refrigerator). If I don’t obediently hop up and follow behind him, he comes back, stands at the entrance of our living room, and begins the process all over again. Eventually, unlike I do with my human children, I give him what he wants so he’ll shut the hell up and let me go back to watching whatever latest vapid reality TV show is now polluting the silver screen.

It’s my own damn fault he’s this way. First, he knows he owns me. Second, I  realize now I never should have taught him to bay “I O!” in response to my “O H!”.

He knows I can’t resist a good, old OSU cheer.


Dog Haiku

July 29, 2009

Dusty Dog Digs Dirt

Decimating Deep Ditches

Delightfully Distracted.