I notice that I have reached that age when people who either don't know me very well but still buy me Christmas gifts - or people that do know me well - give me the gift of food. I'll admit that I sent my parents a gift box of various food - or simulated food- products. I had run out of things to give them. They are both in their 80's and there is very little they want or need. But they still want to receive gifts. I settled on one of those "tower of boxes" with a large ribbon around them to remind people that they came from one source. Unfortunately, they arrived about 3 weeks before Christmas, since I wasn't the one mailing them.
A week before Christmas I asked my parents if they received the box, and they said they did. In fact, they told me, it has been sitting under the Christmas tree. I cautioned them that there may be things in those boxes that should be refrigerated but they said it was cool enough by the tree. Ba-bye food products - I hope they enjoyed looking at those cute little boxes for 3 weeks because I'm thinking that they weren't going to enjoy looking at the fuzzy little mold in them on Christmas morning. When I called them on Christmas, they did not mention the boxes at all.
I'm guessing it wasn't quite cold enough under that Christmas tree!
But it made me realize that I am now becoming that person who is starting to get food for Christmas. I believe I still have a few good years left. And, they wouldn't be too short changed to get me something with a lifetime warranty. This year, for the first time, mixed in with my presents of scarves, books and gadgets, I have under my tree a box of cheese and sausage products. I wonder if it should be put in my frig? No, I think it's cool enough to stay under the tree for a few more days.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Sunday, December 5, 2010
My Life and the Poop Butt
I never thought my life would get to this point. I now spend an inordinate amount of time intently looking at my dog's butt for signs of activity. Now, I try to have a pretty active life myself, but that's part of the problem. My dog, Seymour loves to take walks. I swear that he has learned that the longer he holds off the "activity", the longer he will be allowed to leisurely walk the neighborhood, the side of the road, the parking lots and even take the furtive trips onto private property.
I used to enjoy looking at the flowers, trees, into neighbor's open windows and pretty much viewing everything higher than 6 inches from the ground. Now I focus most of my time on Seymour's butt. We seem to be at am impasse. I know that he has full control over his butt and he uses it to tease me. Most dog owners know about the poop butt phenomena. That little butt hole grows to a bit "O" when it is ready to do you know what. I get a little excited when I see that "O" but I try to do a happy dance inside my head so he doesn't notice. Once he senses that I realize what is about to happen, he puts that poop butt away faster than Clark Kent can change into Superman. How can he have that much control? I have to cross my legs when I hear the song "Singing in the Rain".
We have developed a dysfunctional walking routine. I take him to all of the places that will tempt him so much that he can no longer control himself - like the high weeds along the road, any area where another dog has been or his favorite - right beside my mailbox. He gets excited, expands that butt and even does his little squat dance in circles but then straightens up and continues walking with a smirk on his little snout. I've worn out 3 pairs of shoes in the last month while he has learned to dribble 3 drops of pee every few blocks - and can somehow hold is poop for days.
I appreciate that he has increased my walking to almost marathon distance, but sometimes I need to do things like oh, go to work or maybe even use the restroom myself. He doesn't take that into consideration at all. I'm trying to see the positive in this and am sure I'm not the only one with a butt-controlling dog. I see a popular children's book in my future - My Life and the Poop Butt, a story of a tired woman and her dog.
I used to enjoy looking at the flowers, trees, into neighbor's open windows and pretty much viewing everything higher than 6 inches from the ground. Now I focus most of my time on Seymour's butt. We seem to be at am impasse. I know that he has full control over his butt and he uses it to tease me. Most dog owners know about the poop butt phenomena. That little butt hole grows to a bit "O" when it is ready to do you know what. I get a little excited when I see that "O" but I try to do a happy dance inside my head so he doesn't notice. Once he senses that I realize what is about to happen, he puts that poop butt away faster than Clark Kent can change into Superman. How can he have that much control? I have to cross my legs when I hear the song "Singing in the Rain".
We have developed a dysfunctional walking routine. I take him to all of the places that will tempt him so much that he can no longer control himself - like the high weeds along the road, any area where another dog has been or his favorite - right beside my mailbox. He gets excited, expands that butt and even does his little squat dance in circles but then straightens up and continues walking with a smirk on his little snout. I've worn out 3 pairs of shoes in the last month while he has learned to dribble 3 drops of pee every few blocks - and can somehow hold is poop for days.
I appreciate that he has increased my walking to almost marathon distance, but sometimes I need to do things like oh, go to work or maybe even use the restroom myself. He doesn't take that into consideration at all. I'm trying to see the positive in this and am sure I'm not the only one with a butt-controlling dog. I see a popular children's book in my future - My Life and the Poop Butt, a story of a tired woman and her dog.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Fall Back - on my Time Pieces - Please!
It's that time of year when I realize I have too many clocks and not enough instruction manuals. The good news is that the big wall clock in my living room is now right, since I didn't have the ambition to "spring it forward". The not so good news is that I have a pile of clocks I do not know how to adjust. My eyes have been strained from trying to figure out the strange markings on my clocks and the tip of my index finger is noticeable flatter due to pressing every button on each friggin' clock hundred's of times to try to get that little hour to flash and light up. I need to know the time!
Just in my bedroom, I have 3 clocks - 2 digital alarms because I can't figure out how to set one but it plays my CD,s - and a travel clock that only needs a dial turned to set the time and alarm. Guess which 2 of the 3 are not set yet?
Because I'm a little anal about being late, I also put my solar atomic watch (that does not seem to believe that the time has indeed changed) and my wind up watch on my bedside table. When I woke up, I looked at the various time pieces to try to figure out what time it was, but I eventually gave up and dragged myself down to check my finally accurate living room wall clock. I could sleep on the couch to be close to something that has the right time, but then I wouldn't have an alarm. Or I could set my alarm clock 1 hour earlier - or is it one hour later?
Maybe those of us who are time adjustment challenged should just mail our clocks that seem to want to move to another time zone - to someone in that location. Now, would I send them to someone on Eastern time or Mountain time?
Just in my bedroom, I have 3 clocks - 2 digital alarms because I can't figure out how to set one but it plays my CD,s - and a travel clock that only needs a dial turned to set the time and alarm. Guess which 2 of the 3 are not set yet?
Because I'm a little anal about being late, I also put my solar atomic watch (that does not seem to believe that the time has indeed changed) and my wind up watch on my bedside table. When I woke up, I looked at the various time pieces to try to figure out what time it was, but I eventually gave up and dragged myself down to check my finally accurate living room wall clock. I could sleep on the couch to be close to something that has the right time, but then I wouldn't have an alarm. Or I could set my alarm clock 1 hour earlier - or is it one hour later?
Maybe those of us who are time adjustment challenged should just mail our clocks that seem to want to move to another time zone - to someone in that location. Now, would I send them to someone on Eastern time or Mountain time?
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Doctors Favorite Patients
If you want your doctor to hurt his frontal lobe by rolling his eyeballs too far into his skull, just say "Dr. Oz says . . ." or "My friend's sister's friend said I probably have. . . ." My friends and I fall into that "Not My Favorite Patient" category.
When I was sick recently, in the course of 24 hours, I started trying to figure out what was wrong with me. I first diagnosed myself as having heartburn and went out to purchase a large package of antacids. When that didn't work, I remembered reading in People magazine about all of these stars doing colon cleanses and thought that might be my problem, so went back out and found one better - a whole body detox cleanser. Still no relief. Alka Seltzer seemed like the next best option and I was lucky to have found a neighborhood-sized box - on sale. Still no relief. Finally, my daughter told me that her husband told her that my symptoms sounded like his previous symptoms; I probably had appendicitis.
By day 2 of my symptoms, I decided to check with a professional - so I went online to check wikipedia. My symptoms were too general to choose one diagnosis. Feeling that I had at least eliminated many diagnoses - I decided to see if an emergency room doctor could figure it out. He could and after a week in the hospital, I came home to enough over-the-counter medicine that I now have plenty of things to give out on Halloween.
I'm not the only one who self-diagnoses. One woman finally headed to her doctor with the sound medical conclusion that her problem was that her liver hurt. Now, of all the various parts we have in our body, that was one I totally forgot about. Yes, you hear about people who drink too much having liver problems but I've never heard anyone complain that their liver hurt. And now I know why - the doctor said that there are no nerve endings in the liver so it couldn't "hurt". And he determined that it wasn't her liver, but her broken ribs that hurt. I guess it was in the vicinity.
I'm sure that the only saving grace for doctor's having to deal with people who self-diagnose is that it gives them things to talk about at cocktail parties and during surgery. I just hope they weren't laughing so hard that they dropped a small pointed medical tool into an open wound. That is the only thing I can come up with that could be causing the pain in my side.
When I was sick recently, in the course of 24 hours, I started trying to figure out what was wrong with me. I first diagnosed myself as having heartburn and went out to purchase a large package of antacids. When that didn't work, I remembered reading in People magazine about all of these stars doing colon cleanses and thought that might be my problem, so went back out and found one better - a whole body detox cleanser. Still no relief. Alka Seltzer seemed like the next best option and I was lucky to have found a neighborhood-sized box - on sale. Still no relief. Finally, my daughter told me that her husband told her that my symptoms sounded like his previous symptoms; I probably had appendicitis.
By day 2 of my symptoms, I decided to check with a professional - so I went online to check wikipedia. My symptoms were too general to choose one diagnosis. Feeling that I had at least eliminated many diagnoses - I decided to see if an emergency room doctor could figure it out. He could and after a week in the hospital, I came home to enough over-the-counter medicine that I now have plenty of things to give out on Halloween.
I'm not the only one who self-diagnoses. One woman finally headed to her doctor with the sound medical conclusion that her problem was that her liver hurt. Now, of all the various parts we have in our body, that was one I totally forgot about. Yes, you hear about people who drink too much having liver problems but I've never heard anyone complain that their liver hurt. And now I know why - the doctor said that there are no nerve endings in the liver so it couldn't "hurt". And he determined that it wasn't her liver, but her broken ribs that hurt. I guess it was in the vicinity.
I'm sure that the only saving grace for doctor's having to deal with people who self-diagnose is that it gives them things to talk about at cocktail parties and during surgery. I just hope they weren't laughing so hard that they dropped a small pointed medical tool into an open wound. That is the only thing I can come up with that could be causing the pain in my side.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Casual Dress Seems to Have its Limits
I have noticed that some people in my town are so chill that they are comfortable wearing their pajamas to the gas station - even going inside to get their large soda or coffee. I have never had the guts to do that but I have taken a baby step by walking my dog in my neighborhood in my PJs.
This weekend, I think I by-passed those PJ-wearing citizens. I was in a Pet Parade, dressed as a bottle of ketchup. I had the whole sha-bang, a large red bottle that covered me from neck almost to my ankles with a red squeeze-bottle hat that made me tall enough to be considered to play with the Spurs. I did have my 7 pound dog with me, dressed as a hot dog, but he wasn't much bigger than a jumbo hot dog, so bareley visable beside the ketchup hulk. The parade was a bit haphazard, with us walking down the sidewalk while people drove past and stared. There were a few other people dressed up but they were more socially appropriate in superman capes and fairy wings.
After the parade my dog and I were - dog tired - and had to drag ourselves the 6 blocks back to the car. This time, there were no other costumed animals - or people around, but it took me awhile to notice. I walked with my head drooping, making my ketchup bottle body look like it had been squeezed by Attila the Hun. My nozzle hat had the crowd parting like it was the Red Sea. Finally, I looked up to stares of people in cars and on the sidewalks who didn't know if they should laugh or run after me with their french fries.
I quickly took off my hat but there was no getting around the big red ketchup tube around my body. I started thinking that it might have been fun to have had the word STOP on me and just run into the street periodically. I might not have gotten respect as ketchup, but I think I would have gotten attention as a moving Stop Sign. I think my dog was reading my mind because he looked at me in disgust - or maybe pity - and quickly started dragging me toward the car.
PJ people - you have nothing on me. Try going to the gas station as a ketchup bottle and then we'll talk!
This weekend, I think I by-passed those PJ-wearing citizens. I was in a Pet Parade, dressed as a bottle of ketchup. I had the whole sha-bang, a large red bottle that covered me from neck almost to my ankles with a red squeeze-bottle hat that made me tall enough to be considered to play with the Spurs. I did have my 7 pound dog with me, dressed as a hot dog, but he wasn't much bigger than a jumbo hot dog, so bareley visable beside the ketchup hulk. The parade was a bit haphazard, with us walking down the sidewalk while people drove past and stared. There were a few other people dressed up but they were more socially appropriate in superman capes and fairy wings.
After the parade my dog and I were - dog tired - and had to drag ourselves the 6 blocks back to the car. This time, there were no other costumed animals - or people around, but it took me awhile to notice. I walked with my head drooping, making my ketchup bottle body look like it had been squeezed by Attila the Hun. My nozzle hat had the crowd parting like it was the Red Sea. Finally, I looked up to stares of people in cars and on the sidewalks who didn't know if they should laugh or run after me with their french fries.
I quickly took off my hat but there was no getting around the big red ketchup tube around my body. I started thinking that it might have been fun to have had the word STOP on me and just run into the street periodically. I might not have gotten respect as ketchup, but I think I would have gotten attention as a moving Stop Sign. I think my dog was reading my mind because he looked at me in disgust - or maybe pity - and quickly started dragging me toward the car.
PJ people - you have nothing on me. Try going to the gas station as a ketchup bottle and then we'll talk!
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
High School Reunion
I went to my ____ high school reunion. I won't say how many years but I will say that most everyone was retired - except a few of us who either enjoyed working or enjoyed money. What surprised me was that people either didn't remember me much or remembered me totally differently than I did. For example, I saw a friend from grade school who said "If someone asked me to say 20 things about what you would be, funny wouldn't be one of them." Geez, I've always cracked myself up.
I can remember honing my craft by doing nightly visits with my good friend to read the various special occasion cards in the "Humor" category in the drugstore. You know the ones that say "I couldn't decide whether to get you a car or a diamond ring for your Birthday - so I got you a card". That was funny back then. Now I wonder who was paid to write something that lame. I'm not saying I didn't buy that card - a few times - but still . . . .
Maybe that is where my love of humor started. Giggling and snorting while reading the cards aloud was one of my teen year pleasures. Soon I wanted to tell my own funny stories. It makes life a lot easier when every bump in the road of life experiences is made into a a hilarious tale.
"Yeah, I went to a conference with 2 different shoes on - and the worst part was that the heels were 2 different heights! I only noticed when I went to the ladies room and wondered why, when I walked, I heard click, shhhh, click, shhhh."
That's a funny story, my grade school friend. And I have more where that came from. I want a re-count.
I can remember honing my craft by doing nightly visits with my good friend to read the various special occasion cards in the "Humor" category in the drugstore. You know the ones that say "I couldn't decide whether to get you a car or a diamond ring for your Birthday - so I got you a card". That was funny back then. Now I wonder who was paid to write something that lame. I'm not saying I didn't buy that card - a few times - but still . . . .
Maybe that is where my love of humor started. Giggling and snorting while reading the cards aloud was one of my teen year pleasures. Soon I wanted to tell my own funny stories. It makes life a lot easier when every bump in the road of life experiences is made into a a hilarious tale.
"Yeah, I went to a conference with 2 different shoes on - and the worst part was that the heels were 2 different heights! I only noticed when I went to the ladies room and wondered why, when I walked, I heard click, shhhh, click, shhhh."
That's a funny story, my grade school friend. And I have more where that came from. I want a re-count.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
My Dog Has Become - An Animal!
I should have expected it. It's like when my kids started kindergarden - something changed. Prior to K, they were sweet, thought I knew everything, and pretty much worshipped me - mainly for the rides I could give them to fun places, the toys I would purchase for them, and the snacks only I could make for them. Then came the big change! They walked into the K door an innocent child and came out a know-it-all, mom-knows-nothing, punk kid. I was in shock the first time that happened but by the time my second child started kindergarden, I was dreading, but expecting the change. Now I understand why parents want to home school.
The same thing is happening with my sweet little quiet, innocent dog/human, Seymour. It just took him a few extra days to make the change. He went into doggie daycare as a naive little dog and came out like an - animal! First, I noticed that his loyalty to me was waning - he looked forward to leaving me in the morning to be held in the arms of another woman. Then he went from a dog that wouldn't bark if someone knocked on the door to an animal that barked at tree stumps. But the worst thing is that he's starting to smell like a wet dog - all the time. He goes in to his daycare smelling of lavendar and comes out smelling of doggie poo and doggie breath, but with a smile plastered on his face.
He no longer wanted to sleep with me so I had to bribe him by lifting him into bed and massaging him until his knees and eyelids both dropped. He's not happy that he has lost control of his bedtime "attitude", but his need for a massage is a little more important than control. This gives me a flicker of hope that I can slowly get my little boy back and eventually make him forget he is an - animal. I couldn't save my kids from growing up and learning that I wasn't as smart as they are, but I think I have a chance with my dog, thanks to the fact that he'll never learn to drive, text or read self-help books. I just might get my boy back.
The same thing is happening with my sweet little quiet, innocent dog/human, Seymour. It just took him a few extra days to make the change. He went into doggie daycare as a naive little dog and came out like an - animal! First, I noticed that his loyalty to me was waning - he looked forward to leaving me in the morning to be held in the arms of another woman. Then he went from a dog that wouldn't bark if someone knocked on the door to an animal that barked at tree stumps. But the worst thing is that he's starting to smell like a wet dog - all the time. He goes in to his daycare smelling of lavendar and comes out smelling of doggie poo and doggie breath, but with a smile plastered on his face.
He no longer wanted to sleep with me so I had to bribe him by lifting him into bed and massaging him until his knees and eyelids both dropped. He's not happy that he has lost control of his bedtime "attitude", but his need for a massage is a little more important than control. This gives me a flicker of hope that I can slowly get my little boy back and eventually make him forget he is an - animal. I couldn't save my kids from growing up and learning that I wasn't as smart as they are, but I think I have a chance with my dog, thanks to the fact that he'll never learn to drive, text or read self-help books. I just might get my boy back.
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