Animal Domination

I think my pets are fucking with me.  And really why wouldn't they?  I picture them sitting around their shared water dish; to clarify it's shared because I've tried a number of different receptacles for the cats to drink water out of and they will only drink it out of the dog's dish. Anyway, late Friday night after we've all gone to bed I imagine them sitting around the dish and doing stats.  Stats such as how many times during that particular week I was able to experience the joy of cleaning up their poop and/or vomit.  And bursting into fits of puppy and kitty laughter when they think back to the time I vomited while cleaning up the dog's vomit.  The dog's vomit on our less than a week old newly installed carpeting.  I'm sure that's a favourite.

Today one of the cats, and I'm pretty sure I know which one, decided it would be extra fun to shit just outside the laundry room door.  Which was open. Their litter box is in the laundry room. I had just cleaned it this morning so it was clean as I'm aware of cat's issues with cleanliness.  I swear to God she noticed I was doing a fair bit of laundry today and have been all week so thought she'd try and spice it up with me stepping into her poop while doing so.

Think I'm giving my pets too much credit?  I don't.  These animals have watched me clean up after their bodily functions for nearly nine years (cats) and six years (dog).  Why would they not think I am actually a servant of sort?

Same said cat who played the laundry room trick vomited on my bed while I was sleeping in it a few short months ago.  Nice.

So why not get rid of them?  Because, insane human I am, I like them and particularly enjoy my cats holier than thou attitudes and my dog's incessant good nature and love for cheese.

Sigh.  I will carry on bitching about the volumes of dog hair plaguing every inch of this house and article of clothing we own; about the cat puking after what seems like every time she eats; cleaning up poop inside the house and out and then, I will go to Petland and spend $35 for dog treats (that last time appeared to make him sick so he shit on the front carpet again (reference Family Day blog from February) and cat toys that they played with for all of five minutes before ignoring.

I guess this all begs the question of really who is the higher species?

             Callie                                                                            
                                                                                                       Melody                                                                                         

Toby

Good News, At Last!

Hey party people, I've got some good news. Which I think was probably evident from the title, but what's the shame in stating the obvious?  I think our society is almost built on this concept.

Anywho, remember about how my husband, and in turn, our family, got royally screwed over by a nearly toothless redneck?  Well ta-dah the bastard paid up his fine on Friday! Yay, us!  I suppose he was just avoiding court which would've been the next step and he did wait until the last possible moment, but in any event we got the money.

So what have we done with this windfall? Went fucking nuts at Costco. Yes ladies and gentleman we are only a tooth or two away from being rednecks ourselves...two carts and wild abandon in our hearts.  At one point my six year old turned around and upon perusing the contents of our overflowing cart, asked: "Are you sure we have enough money for all of this?"  He sounded dubious.

Let me tell you, I will not need to buy toilet bowl cleaner, Bounce, Shout or Swiffer refills for a good two months.  I also bought a 24 pack of mango juice.  That might have been pushing it.  My son and I tried the sample though and enjoyed it.  After cracking a can of it last night though, I was less sure of my decision to spend $11 on mango juice.  Then I added vodka. Yep, still a good purchase.

We have a ready supply of breakfast cereal and Advil Extra-Strength Liqui-Gels.  Those little gems are what makes our family's world go round.  I could go on and on about our purchases but really it was all good.  I even got one of those sweet beach chairs with the short legs and a padded head rest. 

Diva, I am not. 

So does money buy happiness?  Not necessarily but it makes a trip to Costco a hell of a good time!

New Profile Picture

For those of you who are curious this is a self portrait of my oldest son and I at the ACDC concert this summer.  No, he is not special needs.  Just a teenager which may be paramount to the same thing. I'm not sure why I look like I just did five lines of cocaine, but at least I look happy, which is no small feat.

I'm Screwed

I have four children and I am the oldest of three children. I've always taken a keen interest in those articles about birth order and the impact it has on one's personality.  I've always taken pride in being the first born and a leader, etc.  I've always wondered what kind of bullshit really takes place with the 'baby' of the family.  Now I know.


My youngest child is a boy. He will be three in just over two weeks. He is the infamous tracker of my penis-less existence.  He also has me completely wrapped.  He is very soft.  He has ginormous green eyes.  He is spoiled rotten.  I like him.


Here's the problem. He is already big for his age and by the time he's a teenager will no doubtedly be much taller than me. And judging by his current attitude and aptitude for not missing a beat, I'm in big trouble.  He is the first child who has really made an issue out of the fact that I swear. A lot. He has said to me on more than one occasion, ever so gently, "Mom, don't say fuck to me today, okay?"  Which, for the record, I don't swear at him. I'm more of a "The fucking cat puked again" kind of person.  Although now I try not be.  One night he asked for a third hot dog at supper and when I commented "For the love of God, that will be your third one", his response was "Ah,fuck!".  My response was to duck into the hallway to laugh. I know, I'm a bad parent.


Case in point. He is, like I said, going to be 3 very soon. May 14th, to be exact.  He, like all my other kids did, has/had a choo-choo.  To clarify for those people who did not have to wipe anyone's asses but their own today, this is a soother. Some people call it a pacifier or a suckie.  Around these parts it's a 'choo choo'. He, at almost three, has had it far longer than any of his siblings did.  Why? I'm tired.  The thought of losing sleep in the weaning process is more than I can bear.  Then the other night, I thought, it's now or never, so told him it was lost.  He was disappointed but really, it wasn't so bad. He went to bed with little fuss. This was two or three nights ago.  Then this morning he was up before 6 a.m. so by 7 p.m. this evening, he was barely managing to cope with anything life has to offer.  I put him to bed and he was crying and so sad and so overtired and mentioned his choo choo. I told him I didn't know where it was. He was upset.


I gave it to him.


I'm fucked.

To Spin or Not to Spin?

I am so so so tired.  In approximately fifteen minutes people are going to be looking for me to go to spin at lunch.  I know I should.  It will be the teensiest bit easier today.  Maybe.  Or maybe it won't be and after I'm done I'll die and be unable to carry out my tasks this afternoon for work.  I will most definitely be beet red and sweaty and no longer wearing make-up.  This might prove effective when considering some of the tasks at hand this afternoon.  Or it might mean by 5 p.m. I will barely be able to drive home and will fall asleep at the wheel potentially injuring countless seniors on my commute.

On the other hand, if I don't go I'll feel guilty and weak-minded.  That being said I will not be sweaty.  Fresh complexion, make-up still in tact...it's a hard question.

Why am I so tired?  Maybe because at roughly 12:30 a.m. I wandered down to the couch.  My husband followed and asked me what I was doing to which I apparently replied: "I have a stomach ache". I have no recollection of this.  I do recall waking up and wondering what I was doing and being cold so getting up and going back to bed, but not without first picking up the remote to turn off the TV.  The TV wasn't on.  So when I was nearly across the living room the TV did actually turn on as I had pressed the power button.  For a moment I panicked and was a little scared that the TV turned on by itself.  Yep.  Then I realized I turned it on.

No I did not drop acid before bed last night.  I ate a chocolate bar, had a glass of milk, and watched some American Idol. Which for the record, I'm over Michael.  Too much drama.  I'm also over Casey's hair.  I mean I like it but they really need to stop coiffing it to that extent. What happened to the ponytail? And what the hell was Cara wearing around her neck?  Thank God for mute and fast forward because I was able to muse about what exactly that was in peace and quiet rather than listening to her judge (whine).

Eight minutes...should I or shouldn't I?  Stay tuned after lunch...either I'll be guilty and fresh or sweaty and further disenchanted with physical fitness.

p.s. I do shower afterwards but it's almost a futile effort.

And One (or Two) More Thing(s)

Exercise is supposed to make a person feel better and give them more energy. I've had a headache that won't quit since about 3 p.m. and can barely hold my own head up right now. In no way shape or form do I feel any better for having exercised today.  But I'll go back.  Because I'm competitive and bitchy and have some messed up inner motivation to conquer spin.  Which is ridiculous and I know it.

Um, a little bit of a sidebar here, just got back from Wal-Mart where I went to pick up a prescription.  The pharmacist was a little over-eager for my liking. Very very 'white bread' sort of boy.  Trying to edge it up a little with some strategically used hair product and those wood-like earrings but really he's a tiptoe away from being the poster boy for Abercrombie & Fitch.  To begin with, Opie, if I were to discuss my side effects with you I think you'd wish you'd never asked and secondly, why don't you just run along now. I'm sure you have better things to do like thanking mommy for cutting the crusts off your sandwiches for all those years. 

#$^@*&!!!

The title most accurately reflects my mood at present.  Remember all that bullshit about trying to be less angry? BULLSHIT.  That's right. I said it.  Complete fucking bullshit.  Now some of you are asking, why Angela, why?  It was so nice to hear you sounding upbeat and positive and all turning over a new leaf-y.  Yeah, that was nice, wasn't it?  It's over.  What happened? I'll tell you what happened.  I returned to spin today.

After a six week hiatus bred of work engagements, lunch engagements and sheer laziness I decided I'd better get back to the gym and more importantly, back to spin.  Now if you follow along you know I've been to spin before and never have I really been a fan.  That being said, I had gotten to a point, roughly six weeks ago, where although it was still hard, I didn't hate it.  Today, I HATED it.

About five minutes in my legs were burning and my heart was asking me why.  All I could think about was why was I intentionally causing pain to myself? And who the fuck is the new chatty guy in the corner?  Hey, guy, shut up.  I don't care if you drank a lot of beer or if you crave hamburgers every day. The bigger question is: have you ever been on a date? Didn't think so.

Okay, maybe that's harsh.  Maybe he's a super nice positive guy.  Maybe he loves fitness and was feeling all good and energized by the exercise.  Maybe he should just shut the fuck up.

Now the regulars, most of whom are friends of mine, know my rule about talking during spin.  When I first started I could sometimes take my mind off the burning and lack of oxygen by focusing sheer rage at the people chit chattin' it up about the weekend while I hung on to my bike for dear life and scoped the room for a trash can to vomit in.  Unless you are swearing, I don't want to hear you talking. Then again, about six weeks to two months ago I was conditioned enough I would partake of some of the small talk and not feel so angry about it.  Today it made me angry.

Today I was angry about everything and everyone.  And after the class, when one usually feels a real sense of accomplishment, I felt like I didn't like my friends anymore.  I felt like being by myself and laying on a cold floor with a roll of refrigerated cookie dough.  Just lying there, sweating, cooling off and eating cold dough.  And maybe crying a little.  Instead it was back to work.  I'll admit, I had difficulty speaking to my friends after class. They understood.  They are good friends in that respect.  Well, except for one in particular who actually teaches the class.  I'm not sure what her deal is but if she ever ever eats something she thought she shouldn't have prior to teaching spin again, I will flatten her tires and key her car.  (I'm talking to you Kar Kar).