I just got through eating a piece of turtle cheesecake. Turtle cheesecake with extra caramel and chocolate sauce. I really big piece of turtle cheesecake with extra caramel and chocolate sauce. Somewhere a Weight Watchers founder rolled over in her grave or an angel lost her wings or a kitten died or something. (Me? Melodramatic? Nope. Not a chance.)
See? Terrible joiner.
Just wanted to reiterate that point from my last post. I keep hoping I will get on board with the whole points counting thing and be a good little trooper. OK...that isn't entirely accurate. What I really hope is that at some point I will grow a backbone and quit letting turtle cheesecake, or one of it's cohorts, turn me into a quivering pile of cellulite.
*sigh*
I guess I'll just keep at it and eventually I'll get off my butt and start working out or something. Right after I finish the last of that cheesecake.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
If the dog is cute does that make me a better joiner?
I discovered over the last several weeks that I am a terrible joiner. I like to think I am a good joiner so I keep joining shit, but it always goes wrong. Why, you ask? Because I never show up for meetings. I hate meetings. So why do I keep joining crap that requires meetings? Over the last few days I have been trying to figure out exactly why that is.
I mean...I have this ridiculous deep-seated need to be included and it actually sucks when I don't get invited to stuff. The problem? I am not a fan of people in general so people in groups are even more likely to piss me off. Now don't get me wrong - I love my friends and my family and I meet some really great people all the time because of my job, but also because of my job once I get home I don't want to see or talk to anyone but Eric and Drew. I talk to people All. Day. Long. When I leave work I am pretty much done with people. Anyway, because of that quirk when I do get invited to something I will almost always come up with any excuse I can think of no matter how spectacularly implausible just to avoid going. To put it into perspective: If Drew actually got sick as often as he "gets sick" then we should really seek medical intervention. And fast.
I must pause and point out that if I call in to work because Drew is sick then it is because he is sick. Honest. It is. Really. Sick. As a dog. Deathbed. I mean it.
Ok - so to delve deeper into that whole joining thing? I have a confession to make. A really embarrassing confession. A confession that shouldn't be embarrasing, but it just is anyway.
I joined Weight Watchers.
I actually signed up before Christmas and I have managed to lose about 10 pounds since then, but overall I am a horrible Weight Watcher. The only way I could be considered good at being a Weight Watcher is if we were supposed to be watching our weight stay exactly the same. If that is the goal then I am a freakin' super rock star. Gold medal, baby!
I just hate going to the meetings. I can deal with the scale and all that, but when the meeting part starts I start to feel like I need to stand up and say, "Hi. My name is Jayna and I am a Fatty McFatsalot." They even give you key rings and stuff when you hit certain milestones. I know they mean well and I know that millions of people have lost tons (pardon the pun) of weight doing it, but it is starting to border on CULT and what with that whole "not a joiner" thing I am REALLY, REALLY, REALLY averse to joining a cult. I swear on all that is cellulite-ridden that if they ever offer me Kool-Aid I'm leaving the state. Immediately.
Anyway, it just seems like when I walk into those meetings I start to feel even crappier about myself. I would go on to say that it has become one more thing I suck at, but that would be depressing and I am going to pretend that I am all self-assured and shit. Bad self-esteem? ME? Never.
Moving on to the Best. Puppy. Ever.
My neighbors still think I am crazy. That hasn't changed, but what has changed is that it takes progressively less "Go Potty's" before she actually does it. I am less cold and much happier. I am also getting to sleep almost all the way through the night. She only wakes me up once and it seems to be about an hour or so before I would get up anyway. This dog is bound and determined to make me a morning person. I am not entirely sure because I don't have proof (yet), but I think that getting up early is making me a much snarkier person. I would take a poll of my friends, but seriously? I don't care. I embrace my inner snark. Snark is good. Snarkiers (Snarkinators?) unite.
And, because she is too cute for words, here are some new pictures of Mazie.
I mean...I have this ridiculous deep-seated need to be included and it actually sucks when I don't get invited to stuff. The problem? I am not a fan of people in general so people in groups are even more likely to piss me off. Now don't get me wrong - I love my friends and my family and I meet some really great people all the time because of my job, but also because of my job once I get home I don't want to see or talk to anyone but Eric and Drew. I talk to people All. Day. Long. When I leave work I am pretty much done with people. Anyway, because of that quirk when I do get invited to something I will almost always come up with any excuse I can think of no matter how spectacularly implausible just to avoid going. To put it into perspective: If Drew actually got sick as often as he "gets sick" then we should really seek medical intervention. And fast.
I must pause and point out that if I call in to work because Drew is sick then it is because he is sick. Honest. It is. Really. Sick. As a dog. Deathbed. I mean it.
Ok - so to delve deeper into that whole joining thing? I have a confession to make. A really embarrassing confession. A confession that shouldn't be embarrasing, but it just is anyway.
I joined Weight Watchers.
I actually signed up before Christmas and I have managed to lose about 10 pounds since then, but overall I am a horrible Weight Watcher. The only way I could be considered good at being a Weight Watcher is if we were supposed to be watching our weight stay exactly the same. If that is the goal then I am a freakin' super rock star. Gold medal, baby!
I just hate going to the meetings. I can deal with the scale and all that, but when the meeting part starts I start to feel like I need to stand up and say, "Hi. My name is Jayna and I am a Fatty McFatsalot." They even give you key rings and stuff when you hit certain milestones. I know they mean well and I know that millions of people have lost tons (pardon the pun) of weight doing it, but it is starting to border on CULT and what with that whole "not a joiner" thing I am REALLY, REALLY, REALLY averse to joining a cult. I swear on all that is cellulite-ridden that if they ever offer me Kool-Aid I'm leaving the state. Immediately.
Anyway, it just seems like when I walk into those meetings I start to feel even crappier about myself. I would go on to say that it has become one more thing I suck at, but that would be depressing and I am going to pretend that I am all self-assured and shit. Bad self-esteem? ME? Never.
Moving on to the Best. Puppy. Ever.
My neighbors still think I am crazy. That hasn't changed, but what has changed is that it takes progressively less "Go Potty's" before she actually does it. I am less cold and much happier. I am also getting to sleep almost all the way through the night. She only wakes me up once and it seems to be about an hour or so before I would get up anyway. This dog is bound and determined to make me a morning person. I am not entirely sure because I don't have proof (yet), but I think that getting up early is making me a much snarkier person. I would take a poll of my friends, but seriously? I don't care. I embrace my inner snark. Snark is good. Snarkiers (Snarkinators?) unite.
And, because she is too cute for words, here are some new pictures of Mazie.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
My neighbors must think I am completely insane.
In case anyone out there wasn't clear on this...Puppies? Have to go to the bathroom. A. LOT. I never really thought about how often a dog will pee until I got Mazie and became responsible for ensuring her timely bathroom usage. She still hasn't gotten the whole "go outside" thing down, but we continue to work at it. Eric is threatening to make Mazie AND me sleep in the backyard until potty training is complete so I am trying hard to be consistent with her when it comes to when/where/what/how/what I say/etc. That means that I have to take the dog out about every 45 minutes or so during daytime hours and 2 to 4 times overnight.
Anyway, the first trip to the great outdoors is around 1:30 and the second time is around 4:30. From time to time we add a couple of other trips since it keeps me on my toes. I must remain stealthy. Like Ninja. For both of these trips I carry Mazie down the stairs to the kitchen, slip on a pair of shoes that sit by the door, shrug into a coat and go outside with her. Once outside I will put her on the ground and wait to see what happens. I learned through trial and error that if I put her down before reaching the door it is kind of a crapshoot (pardon the pun) whether or not we get the pee/poop/whatever to be deposited outside as opposed to in. Once we successfully make it out the door and I have put her down on the grass, I have to begin repeating ad nauseum, "Mazie, go potty."
The trick to this little adventure is that no matter what I have to stay out there in the cold, snow, sleet, hail, tornado, tsunami, nuclear explosion and keep repeating the same phrase until she actually does something. Most of the time she will pee the minute her feet hit grass. Other times it becomes a 15 minute battle of wills. I generally win because it is cold and I am the only one of us wearing a coat, but the fact remains I am standing in my backyard in the middle of the night wearing a ski coat over...well...over not much else and pleading with my dog to go potty.
"MAZIE! PLEASE. GO. POTTY. If you don't go potty I swear I will leave you out here all night and I don't care if you freeze because I am tired and I don't want to stand here waiting for you to christen the lawn. I mean it. You better start peeing. RIGHT. NOW. You take a piss THIS VERY SECOND. Quit playing. Just pee so that we can go back to bed. You. Must. Go. Potty. Mazie. NOW. RIGHT NOW. Just pee for criminy sake! Pee. I mean it. You really have to go potty. Mazie, go potty. Go potty. GO POTTY. GO! POTTY! Go potty RIGHT! NOW!"
I am beginning to wonder which one of us is more intelligent. I swear the little shit is laughing at me. I just can't prove it.
SO...why does all that make me think the neighbors are mere moments from having me either committed or murdered? Well, it is partly because I turn on the back porch light on each of our bathroom adventures and that light just happens to shine directly into their bedroom. In addition, the way our yard is shaped we have a very short distance from our back door to their bedroom window and I am sure they get to hear these middle of the night discussions between me and the dog.
I walked outside this morning at about 7:30 and they were on their back porch smoking. The second I opened the door they did a mad scramble to get rid of the smokes and go back in the house before I could make eye contact. I am not even sure they have figured out that I am, in fact, talking to an animal of some kind. For all I know they think I am talking to an alternate personality that I force to pee in the yard. I would explain if they would stay outside long enough. I honestly think they have just accepted the crazy neighbor shouting about going potty while wandering around the backyard at odd hours of the night. It really isn't too far from what could be considered normal in our house.
And that? It's a little scary.
And a just a little bit sad.
Anyway, the first trip to the great outdoors is around 1:30 and the second time is around 4:30. From time to time we add a couple of other trips since it keeps me on my toes. I must remain stealthy. Like Ninja. For both of these trips I carry Mazie down the stairs to the kitchen, slip on a pair of shoes that sit by the door, shrug into a coat and go outside with her. Once outside I will put her on the ground and wait to see what happens. I learned through trial and error that if I put her down before reaching the door it is kind of a crapshoot (pardon the pun) whether or not we get the pee/poop/whatever to be deposited outside as opposed to in. Once we successfully make it out the door and I have put her down on the grass, I have to begin repeating ad nauseum, "Mazie, go potty."
The trick to this little adventure is that no matter what I have to stay out there in the cold, snow, sleet, hail, tornado, tsunami, nuclear explosion and keep repeating the same phrase until she actually does something. Most of the time she will pee the minute her feet hit grass. Other times it becomes a 15 minute battle of wills. I generally win because it is cold and I am the only one of us wearing a coat, but the fact remains I am standing in my backyard in the middle of the night wearing a ski coat over...well...over not much else and pleading with my dog to go potty.
"MAZIE! PLEASE. GO. POTTY. If you don't go potty I swear I will leave you out here all night and I don't care if you freeze because I am tired and I don't want to stand here waiting for you to christen the lawn. I mean it. You better start peeing. RIGHT. NOW. You take a piss THIS VERY SECOND. Quit playing. Just pee so that we can go back to bed. You. Must. Go. Potty. Mazie. NOW. RIGHT NOW. Just pee for criminy sake! Pee. I mean it. You really have to go potty. Mazie, go potty. Go potty. GO POTTY. GO! POTTY! Go potty RIGHT! NOW!"
I am beginning to wonder which one of us is more intelligent. I swear the little shit is laughing at me. I just can't prove it.
SO...why does all that make me think the neighbors are mere moments from having me either committed or murdered? Well, it is partly because I turn on the back porch light on each of our bathroom adventures and that light just happens to shine directly into their bedroom. In addition, the way our yard is shaped we have a very short distance from our back door to their bedroom window and I am sure they get to hear these middle of the night discussions between me and the dog.
I walked outside this morning at about 7:30 and they were on their back porch smoking. The second I opened the door they did a mad scramble to get rid of the smokes and go back in the house before I could make eye contact. I am not even sure they have figured out that I am, in fact, talking to an animal of some kind. For all I know they think I am talking to an alternate personality that I force to pee in the yard. I would explain if they would stay outside long enough. I honestly think they have just accepted the crazy neighbor shouting about going potty while wandering around the backyard at odd hours of the night. It really isn't too far from what could be considered normal in our house.
And that? It's a little scary.
And a just a little bit sad.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Chuck E. Cheese and Mardi Gras Beads
This weekend we had two big parties. There was a time that would make for a great weekend. Not so much with the constant partying now that I am old. Put two parties in the SAME DAY and you might as well plug me in to the caffiene IV because I need some kind of chemical fuel. Caffiene? My drug of choice.
The first, and most important, party was Drew's 5th birthday party. He decided that he wanted it at Chuck E. Cheese's (damn you, you giant singing mouse). So, we invaded. At noon. On a Saturday. With about 17 of Drew's friends.
It was pandemonium in the best possible way.
I don't believe I have ever witnessed such a spectacle. Kids? Everywhere. Volume? Ear splitting. The basic principle behind the place is to fill it with video games and lots of children. Then you crack them out on soft drinks and pizza. Add in animatronic Chuck and friends singing weird songs at full volume and you have the basics.
It. Is. Insanity.
Times a hundred.
But we lived. There was one moment at the end where my life flashed before my eyes. Drew was trying to turn in all his tickets for cheap prizes out of the display case and for one brief second I thought we were going to be taken out by an 8-year old with a crazed look in his eye, but we escaped relatively unscathed. The only obvious victim? My sanity. But, it was already the weak one of the herd so I'm not surprised that the band of screaming kids took it down.
That night we had a Mardi Gras party to go to. We go to the same party every year and it is always a lot of fun. I get all decked out in some crazy outfit and lots of beads. You know...as an aside...you have to give props to the guy who managed to convince millions of women that they absolutely HAVE. TO. HAVE. cheap, plastic strings of beads. MUST. HAVE. THEM. Oh...and then? Convinced them that flashing their boobs to random men is a perfectly reasonable sales price. That guy? Needs to come and do marketing for my company. Seriously.
Anyway, this year I painted on a Mardi Gras mask. It actually turned out really cool.
See?
Now it is Sunday night and I am getting ready to go to bed. Between the two parties yesterday and the new puppy keeping me from sleeping through the night for the last week I am pretty much a bag o'crap today. I don't remember being this tired in a really, really long time.
The first, and most important, party was Drew's 5th birthday party. He decided that he wanted it at Chuck E. Cheese's (damn you, you giant singing mouse). So, we invaded. At noon. On a Saturday. With about 17 of Drew's friends.
It was pandemonium in the best possible way.
I don't believe I have ever witnessed such a spectacle. Kids? Everywhere. Volume? Ear splitting. The basic principle behind the place is to fill it with video games and lots of children. Then you crack them out on soft drinks and pizza. Add in animatronic Chuck and friends singing weird songs at full volume and you have the basics.
It. Is. Insanity.
Times a hundred.
But we lived. There was one moment at the end where my life flashed before my eyes. Drew was trying to turn in all his tickets for cheap prizes out of the display case and for one brief second I thought we were going to be taken out by an 8-year old with a crazed look in his eye, but we escaped relatively unscathed. The only obvious victim? My sanity. But, it was already the weak one of the herd so I'm not surprised that the band of screaming kids took it down.
That night we had a Mardi Gras party to go to. We go to the same party every year and it is always a lot of fun. I get all decked out in some crazy outfit and lots of beads. You know...as an aside...you have to give props to the guy who managed to convince millions of women that they absolutely HAVE. TO. HAVE. cheap, plastic strings of beads. MUST. HAVE. THEM. Oh...and then? Convinced them that flashing their boobs to random men is a perfectly reasonable sales price. That guy? Needs to come and do marketing for my company. Seriously.
Anyway, this year I painted on a Mardi Gras mask. It actually turned out really cool.
See?
Now it is Sunday night and I am getting ready to go to bed. Between the two parties yesterday and the new puppy keeping me from sleeping through the night for the last week I am pretty much a bag o'crap today. I don't remember being this tired in a really, really long time.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
It's been a long time coming
After 6 years of marriage I finally got Eric to agree to the one thing he swore he would never agree to. No - we didn't hire David Aebischer as my personal masseuse; and, NO - he didn't let me drive to Chicago and attempt to propose marriage to John Cusack. However, I am still working on those.
Instead?WE GOT A PUPPY
I grew up with dogs. We had a Hugo and then Fritter (hey, don't blame me I didn't name him) and then Gator. When I moved out of my parent's house I got Bodie and Scout. All the childhood dogs are long deceased. Bodie now lives happily with my ex-husband and Scout lives with my Dad. I have been dogless for a long time and about 2 years ago I started The Great Dog Campaign.
Eric has always said that he is "just not a dog person." I get the concept. I am not a bird person. Or a snake person. Or a spider person. My argument was that I AM a dog person so shouldn't we at least talk about it? Last summer Eric finally said, "OK. We'll talk about it.
Someday.
Some day that isn't today.
Or tomorrow."
I figured that was as good as an invitation to pick the dog of my dreams. So, I began searching for just the right puppy. When Eric caught on (the nightly recitation of puppy ads off Craigslist might have been a little hint) and told me to stop it because we? Are not getting a puppy. AND - I might as well just drop it because if I don't then I will have the opportunity to go live with someone else's puppy. At their house.
So, after two years of near constant harrassment I finally gave up. The Great Puppy Campaign had come to a disappointing end.
And then...
Last weekend we are at the hockey rink because Eric is in a hockey tournament. My friend and co-worker Issa comes to the rink with her brand new puppy. I am unaffected. I am bitter from the long years of battle and no longer care if I ever get a puppy. I am resigned to my puppyless existence.
I pet the puppy a little. I hold the puppy a little. I am happy Issa got a puppy because I can hold and pet the puppy and not have to return to the fields of war to do it. Then Eric walks over and looks at the puppy and then looks at me and says:
"Do you think it is a cute puppy?"
(with caution)"Of course I do."
"Do you want a puppy like this one?"
(with extreme caution)"Ummm...if we were ever going to get a dog then this would be the kind of dog I would want."
"You should find out where they got it."
This is where I lost control of my bladder. And fainted.
SO...on Sunday we got our puppy. We adopted her from a no-kill shelter. She is one of a litter of 9 and she is the sister of Issa's puppy.
Her name is Mazie and she is black lab with just a little bit of border collie. She is also the cutest thing EVER!!! Except at 2:00 in the morning when I am sitting outside in 19 degree weather while it is snowing and she flat refuses to go to the bathroom. Then she's not so cute. At that point she is more like the devil incarnate and I can hear that little voice in her head that is saying something along the lines of:
"Alpha dog my ass, lady. You only THINK you are the alpha dog. Let those toes of yours get just a little more frostbitten and I'll SHOW you who the alpha dog is."
Anyway, I am now in the midst of potty training and crate training and don't bite me training and don't jump up on my leg training. I am sleep deprived. I am frustrated.
I am starting to think Eric was spot on with that whole "not a dog person thing."
Instead?
I grew up with dogs. We had a Hugo and then Fritter (hey, don't blame me I didn't name him) and then Gator. When I moved out of my parent's house I got Bodie and Scout. All the childhood dogs are long deceased. Bodie now lives happily with my ex-husband and Scout lives with my Dad. I have been dogless for a long time and about 2 years ago I started The Great Dog Campaign.
Eric has always said that he is "just not a dog person." I get the concept. I am not a bird person. Or a snake person. Or a spider person. My argument was that I AM a dog person so shouldn't we at least talk about it? Last summer Eric finally said, "OK. We'll talk about it.
Someday.
Some day that isn't today.
Or tomorrow."
I figured that was as good as an invitation to pick the dog of my dreams. So, I began searching for just the right puppy. When Eric caught on (the nightly recitation of puppy ads off Craigslist might have been a little hint) and told me to stop it because we? Are not getting a puppy. AND - I might as well just drop it because if I don't then I will have the opportunity to go live with someone else's puppy. At their house.
So, after two years of near constant harrassment I finally gave up. The Great Puppy Campaign had come to a disappointing end.
And then...
Last weekend we are at the hockey rink because Eric is in a hockey tournament. My friend and co-worker Issa comes to the rink with her brand new puppy. I am unaffected. I am bitter from the long years of battle and no longer care if I ever get a puppy. I am resigned to my puppyless existence.
I pet the puppy a little. I hold the puppy a little. I am happy Issa got a puppy because I can hold and pet the puppy and not have to return to the fields of war to do it. Then Eric walks over and looks at the puppy and then looks at me and says:
"Do you think it is a cute puppy?"
(with caution)"Of course I do."
"Do you want a puppy like this one?"
(with extreme caution)"Ummm...if we were ever going to get a dog then this would be the kind of dog I would want."
"You should find out where they got it."
This is where I lost control of my bladder. And fainted.
SO...on Sunday we got our puppy. We adopted her from a no-kill shelter. She is one of a litter of 9 and she is the sister of Issa's puppy.
Her name is Mazie and she is black lab with just a little bit of border collie. She is also the cutest thing EVER!!! Except at 2:00 in the morning when I am sitting outside in 19 degree weather while it is snowing and she flat refuses to go to the bathroom. Then she's not so cute. At that point she is more like the devil incarnate and I can hear that little voice in her head that is saying something along the lines of:
"Alpha dog my ass, lady. You only THINK you are the alpha dog. Let those toes of yours get just a little more frostbitten and I'll SHOW you who the alpha dog is."
Anyway, I am now in the midst of potty training and crate training and don't bite me training and don't jump up on my leg training. I am sleep deprived. I am frustrated.
I am starting to think Eric was spot on with that whole "not a dog person thing."
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