Temporary Dog

This is our Temporary Dog.  We have her because our neighbors got evicted, and they had nowhere for the dog to go.  We have always loved this dog, so on behalf of my parents, who I never consulted, I said “Of course we can keep her until you can get her!”  It was really no secret that “I’ll be able to get her in a month” was wishful thinking, as it’s been about 6 weeks, and there is no end in sight.  However, we don’t want there to be an end in sight.  We want to keep this dog.  

 Image

We’ve had some ideas as to how to go about dognapping this dog.  The first idea was to just pretend we didn’t know what her owner was talking about.  “I’ve come for my dog.”  “Dog?  What dog?  Who are you?”  We vetoed that idea pretty quickly, because no doubt the dog would run to the door to greet her people (she likes to greet everyone).  On to option two.  “The dog ran away.”  That might not work because I am actually friends with the dogs owner, and inevitably at some point, she’ll visit my house.  I could just send my dad out on a really long walk, and hide all the dog food, but I’m not good at lying, so I would end up blurting out the truth within minutes.  The last thought was saying “We gave her away”, but that’s unlikely as well, because why would you just give a person’s dog away after agreeing to keep her until they came back?  That’s stupid. 

 

Our only hope is that her owner forgets she’s here, or moves somewhere where dogs aren’t allowed.  Both are unlikely. 

 

I want my dad to keep the dog because at some point in my life, I’ll be taking my cat and moving out.  Do you have any idea how boring it will be in my house without me causing endless messes and without my cat attempting to kill my parents every night?  They will miss us!  So Temporary Dog is a perfect solution – she’s extremely sweet and non demanding, and my dad has extensive conversations with her that always result in him giggling.  He talks to my cat a lot, but it’s usually “Stop biting me, cat”, or “It’s not time to eat yet, Mr. Cat”.  His conversations with the dog usually go more like “What is that person doing out there?  Do you see him?  Is that a weed whacker?  Can you see?  Here, let me move this so you can see.  Ok, see him?  What is that?”  So yes, basically the dog has become an accomplice to my dad spying on the neighbors.  Not to mention, Temporary Dog is IN LOVE with my dad.  She sits in her chair and gazes at him.  When he sits on a couch, she lays next to him, upside down, with her head on his lap.  And when I say the dog has her own chair, really, she has about three of them.  Any chair that used to be my mom’s now belongs to Temporary Dog.  We have our priorities.  

 

The problem for now is that my beautiful baby Squishy Kitty, who is the epitome of grace and hospitality, hates Temporary Dog.  TD will be lying in the living room, and my cat will walk in and hiss at her, and then walk away as if the dog had done something horrible.  Squishy places herself in front of the dog’s bowl of food, and the poor dog is so scared of her, she just sits from a distance until my cat leaves and lets her eat.  There is the occasional bitch slap on behalf of Squishy, but usually not too bad.  The dog reacts with a mild interest and not much else.  One time my mom and I came home later than usual, well past my dad’s designated bedtime (10pm exactly), and found him sitting in his chair with a horrified look on his face.  “Oh my gosh,” we said.  “Are you ok?”  His exact words were “Dog.  Cat.  Terrible fight.  I can’t talk about it” and he went straight upstairs to bed.  The “terrible fight” turned out to be my cat hissing and making crazy kitty noises, and then finally going bat shit and leaping towards the dog, and the dog just sort of tried to play, and then backed away.  

 

This is the very sad part.  Temporary Dog is used to living in chaos – kids, cats, kittens, and other dogs.  She has no concept that a cat wouldn’t like her.  And after 6 weeks, she STILL has no concept that the cat doesn’t like her.  At least Squishy is toning it down a little and not attacking, just hissing and growling.  

 

We assumed Temporary Dog misses her puppy friend, and cats who let her chase them, so we’ve been trying to get neighbors to come over for playdates.  Neighbors dogs, that is.  Beatrice across the street came over a few times.  Beatrice LOVES chasing a tennis ball.  She will chase it until she drops over dead.  Temporary Dog does not understand the concept of chasing a ball, all she knows is “Chase Dog”.  So Beatrice chases the ball, and Temporary Dog chases Beatrice.  Once Temporary Dog realizes Beatrice isn’t playing the right game, Temporary Dog gets bored.  

 

My parents and I have both made asses of ourselves trying to show Temporary Dog how to chase a ball.  She sits nicely on the patio while we throw and fetch a tennis ball.  My mom is getting pretty damn good at it – I think I’m going to train her on frisbee next.  

 

So, cheers to Temporary Dog and everyone keep up the mantra, “Let Temporary Dog become Permanent Dog”, because we love her and don’t want her to leave!

You Gotta Know When to Hold ‘em, Know When to Fold ‘em, and Know When to Stand in a Corner and Rock Until Your Mother Finds You

My mom, in addition to having an online pogo.com addiction, is an avid gambler.  It’s not her fault.  First of all, she’s Irish.  She’s prone to drinking and gambling, anyway.  But also, I swear the woman has the attention span of a gnat, and if she’s not actively doing something all the time, she gets bored out of her mind and either annoys my dad, takes a nap, or goes gambling.  Or she redecorates the house, which is a blog post unto itself.

This time she decided to go to a casino.  From where I live, you have to drive anywhere from an hour and a half to three hours to get to a casino.  My mom goes about 5-6 times a month.  She also has crazy friends who encourage her to do this.  They will call on a random Tuesday afternoon and say “We’re leaving in 5 minutes, want to come?” and of course, my mom says yes.

So the other day, she was bored.  I happened to be home because AJ had plans with his dad.  My mom asked if I wanted to go to a casino with her and she would give me $100 and it would be Oh So Much Fun and we could bond and all this.  We both know that if we spend more than 15 minutes in the same room, we’re likely to try to kill each other.  But I couldn’t say no to this obvious attempt to bond with me, so off I went.

My mom could drive for 15 hours in a row and not get bored.  I get bored after 15-30 seconds.  Not literally, though.  Really, my drive time patience is about 20 minutes, and I can’t handle it after that.  So my mom is happily driving and I’m slowly going insane in the passenger seat, fueled by the ginormous iced vanilla latte I was drinking when I knew I shouldn’t drink it.  Coffee doesn’t make me alert or awake, it makes me completely nervous and spazzy.  Not a good choice for a long car ride.

We both lived, and made it to the casino.  My mom hands me some cash, says “These machines will only hit the jackpot when the jackpot is above $3,000, so we have to come back, because it’s close.”  Then we went our separate ways.  I found penny machines that featured animals doing funny things, and went through $100 in about 25 minutes.  I wandered around looking for my mom and couldn’t find her.  I also failed to realize that in the state the casino is in, you can smoke inside.  I’m not used to that anymore, so I am pretty sure I caught lung cancer while I was there.

After wandering for about 30 minutes, I got nervous, because I hate it when I can’t find someone and I feel that they should know I’m looking for them and make an effort to be found.  Plus, there was the coffee, so I was heading straight for a full out panic attack.  That’s when I saw the buffet.  I thought, hey, I really like eating.  My mom knows I like eating.  If I go there, not only can I eat, but my mom will find me because she knows that I will be where the food is.  So I go to the buffet, text AJ to make sure that I can, in fact, eat as much of whatever I want while I’m there, and I get my mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese and some other form of potato and sit down.

15 minutes later, my mom had not found me, and I wanted more food.  Specifically, I wanted the Glorious Island of Desserts.  I was allowed to take as many of those as I wanted, too.  But I didn’t know what I was supposed to do – leave my stuff at my table and go get desserts?  Wait for my mom and have her watch my stuff while I go get desserts?  Wait for someone to tell me what to do next?  All of this uncertainty added to the panic, and I sat at my table and rocked for another half an hour.  No one found me and no one told me what to do.

Then I hear over the intercom, “Darcy Lindner smoshmooshfoopdippitydoo”.  All I recognized was my name, I had no idea what they said.  So I froze in terror.  If I leave to go ask someone at some sort of desk what they just said, I may not get my desserts.  If I don’t leave, I may never find my mom.  I sat frozen for another 15 minutes.  I finally grabbed my purse, got up and ran to the big main atrium lobby thing, and I stood there and rocked in a very open space for another 20 minutes.  FINALLY, my mom comes out of the abyss of smoky slot machines and we reunited.

I expressed my concern over not getting dessert, so we went back to the buffet and my mom got food and I told the waitress what happened and that I really, really wanted dessert(s), and she said “Go ahead honey, you’re fine”.  That was all it freaking took.  I could have walked in 8 times and just taken all the desserts I wanted.

After my dessert consumption, my mom deemed it time to go to the “Triple Diamond” machines, because the jackpot was over $3,000.  We had to actually hover behind people who were already at the machines, that’s how crazy people were about these things.  We both got machines and my mom gave me another $80 and we were then going to win the jackpot.  It took THREE HOURS to go through all our money, because we kept winning more.  I was sitting next to a lady who was drinking, and very funny, and she smelled good because she was wearing Clinique Happy.  So she talked to me and I responded sometimes, and then my chair made a really loud noise.  I said “Crap, I think I’m breaking the chair” and she said “Honey, don’t, because I’m not picking your ass up off the floor” and then she smacked my arm and laughed.  I laughed, too, because it was funny.  She turned out to be an avid arm smacker, and then her family would come over and she would say “I keep hitting this girl!”.  Then, a guy 3 seats to my left won the stupid jackpot, all my time was wasted, I was bored and bleary eyed from staring at this machine, and I had lung cancer.  Thankfully, it was time to leave.

That was my adventure at a casino.  The end.

Damn it, I AM funny.

People laughing at me because I Am Funny.

Do you see those people in the picture? They are laughing, and they are laughing because they think I am extremely funny. Actually, no, I have no idea what they are laughing at, I just found that picture on Google images. I’ll probably get sued for copyright infringement or something. But here’s my point – I posted on Facebook and said “I am taking applications for someone to take me on a ride on a motorcycle. Some things to consider: I outweigh you, I have a big butt, and I don’t want to flatten someone or their motorcycle, so you know, you’d need to be driving something big and hard core. And…go.” The lovely Ann Margaret Donato replied with “u r sooooooo freakin funny!” and I thought, hey, I am. I can be funny sometimes. And that, after all this time, is what finally got my ass motivated to write a blog post.

First off, HELLO to Kim and Michael (for the love of God, NOT MIKE) who I met at Flour and are hopefully reading this right now. Let me tell you about these two – we go way back. AJ and I were sitting at the bar of Flour, an Italian restaurant, stalking our friend Will, who is a bartender. Michael and Kim sat down next to us and proceeded to order Arugula. It’s possible they ate something else, or that there was something WITH the Arugula, but mostly I just know that they were eating a lot of Arugula. I actually think there was a pizza underneath the Arugula. I hate Arugula, just for the record. So that’s pretty much my relationship with them, and exactly how deep our relationship goes. I did find out that in their youth, they were forced to collect dandelions and eat them, which may explain some of their obsession with leafy green things in their adult lives. But they were nice and they were super fun, despite Michael accusing me of being 22 and loving Twilight (neither of those tidbits are true) so I want them to read my blog and say “HEY! There are our names!” and then go hang out with me and AJ at Flour again, because no one else really likes to hang out with us once they know us well enough. We usually have two, three visits with people before we never hear from them again. I mean, yes, I tend to drool and I sometimes shout things and interrupt an actual conversation because I wasn’t paying attention to it and I thought of something that I just REALLY wanted to say, and from what I’ve been told, that habit is off putting. I also comment on people’s food while they are eating it, and usually the comments are along the lines of “Ew, do you know that looks like what came out of an infection I had on my stomach once?”, and again, I’ve been told that is not something that makes people want to talk to me.

Back to the topic – and I’m not exactly sure what it was – check out the quotes section for some new quotes from Arugula night at Flour. Oh, hey, while you’re at it, check out the links page for some new links, too.

So anyway, I hate Chelsea Handler because she really makes me uncomfortable, and I love Lea Michele because she’s pretty and sings really well. Both of them are trying to get horse carriage rides in NYC outlawed because horses don’t belong in the middle of New York City pulling lazy people’s butts around for fun. I’ve been signing online petitions, and I have no idea if they are legit or not, to help them outlaw the horsey rides. I don’t ride horses. I love looking at horses, petting horses and all that, but I won’t get up on a horse because, similar to my feelings about potentially flattening someone’s motorcycle, I’d really hate to flatten a horse. I also really like feeding things to horses because they eat funny. I try feeding things to my cat, but she actually won’t eat most human food. She licks my yogurt spoon (and then yes, I continue using the spoon), and she licks peanut butter from my toast (and yes, I continue eating the toast), but it’s not like a horse where you can take a carrot and the horse sort of sucks it into his mouth, crunching it the whole way.

Oh hey, that “Book Talk” section – seriously, that’s going to be interactive at some point. AJ said he’d make it happen. There’s going to be some serious damn book talking going on here at some point.

I’m going to go play Snoopy’s Street Fair on my iPad now, because, hey, priorities. Hopefully this won’t be the last time you hear from me for another year.

Yoga, Me and Gravity

P90X is dead to me. I was not meant to do it. God himself tried to give me warning signs, and I ignored them.

I have been trying the yoga part of it. Well, not the DVDs, but The Boy shows me how. I’m getting mildly bendier, but any of the ones that require balance do not work in my world. I just fall down, that’s all there is to it. I have created an art form out of falling. I fall on my ass, I fall on my side, I fall on my face – I have even come to the point where I can sense I am about to fall (which is basically any time I’m standing up), and rather than being able to stop myself from falling, I have been shouting random words that mean “I am falling. Someone please stop me”. Then I hit the ground, and there is usually a nice “wumph” sound to it. The “wumph” would be all the air coming out of my lungs as I hit the ground. So one example was “SHIT…wumph”. Another was “NO NO NO…wumph”. The Boy tried to get me to start slowly. “Lift one foot off the ground, not high, and just stand there”, he said. The minute my foot came off the ground my arms started flailing, I started jutting out my hips in spastic ways, and eventually – you guessed it – I fell. This is all evidence that I have no clue where my body parts are at any given time, and if I am aware of their location, I am completely unable to control them in any way.

Then The Boy, who is not only doing P90X religiously, but has added in “Insanity Asylum”, which is just what it sounds like, and DVDs on Krav Maga and Jiu Jitsu, or as I like to call it, Ju Ju Bees. If you are not familiar with this form of martial arts, You Tube it. It is sweaty men, rolling on the floor, clinging to each other and occasionally sitting on each other’s behinds in a way I can only describe as “extremely suggestive”. However, these people can kill you. My advice is to not tell them they look gay. Anyway, I’m back to being The Training Partner, but now I wear enormous boxing gloves. For some reason I thought wearing these gloves would protect the bone on bone impact that happens when he says “Ok, punch me” and I do, and he blocks me with his bony arm. The gloves don’t help, but it makes it freaking hilarious when he does not succeed in blocking me and I punch him in the head with an enormous boxing glove. Plus, they are really fun to wear. I would also like a helmet and I have decided that August is Helmet Month. If I do not have one by the end of August, I am going to protest.

I actually did not mean for this blog to become about food and losing weight. I chose “myfoodisproblematic” because it is a line from one of my favorite tv shows. However, I just talked about exercise and now I’m going to talk about food. I came home at 2am from The Boy’s house with white, sticky goo all over my shirt, mouth and hands. GET YOUR MIND OUT OF THE GUTTER. I stopped at Walgreens and got Krispy Kreme donuts. I said “I’ll eat one donut, because I really want a donut right now”. Partially due to my excessive need to do things in a particular way, and partly due to the fact that I am a gluttonous whore, I ate more than one donut. We do not need to go into details, here. Suffice to say, I think there are donuts wrapped around my heart trying to kill me right now. And this is actually how I visualize the human body working. You eat something healthy, and your insides turn all pink and things flow smoothly and there are little people sweeping out dust and singing. You eat something bad, and it doesn’t even go down to your stomach, it immediately wraps itself around your heart. I have drawn a diagram to show what I mean.

So whether I’m shoving Krispy Kreme donuts in my face, or a cheeseburger, or something else encased in grease and fat, this is what I imagine happens. Then I start to breathe funny. Like, I can’t breathe. Logically I realize I’m panicking over the fact that I think I’m about to have a heart attack, but illogically, it is the donut wrapped around my heart causing me to not be able to breathe.

I’ll do yoga again tomorrow. I’ll fall some more. I’ll probably eat something, or many somethings, that I should not eat. And that will be just another day.

And since I figured out how to draw a picture and get it on here, here is a picture of a moose:

Oh, and I’m staying up till 6am to try to get into freaking www.pottermore.com and if I don’t, I am going to be MAD!

Thank you and goodnight.

I Do Not Like The Cone of Shame

Dug

Well, here I am. Here’s the thing – it’s not that I STOPPED P90X, it’s that I had to take a temporary leave of absence from it. It’s still my bitch, make no mistake about it. I am a powerhouse. Except that in real life, outside of my brain, I am not a powerhouse, I am an uncoordinated, clutzy person who does not know what various parts of her body are doing at any given time.

You see, it’s like this….I have deformed wrist bones. This is going somewhere and is relevant, I promise. It’s called Madelung’s Deformity, and it actually exists outside of my head and in the medical world. It’s not just me being a hypochondriac. You can Google it if you want, but the bottom line is, it appears (usually) in females in their late teens. That is when I started having issues holding a violin. The doctor said “It’s tendinitis!” and treated me for that. It never went away, so you know, this is me we’re talking about, I quit playing the violin altogether. Years went by, and I decided to join a karate class. In this class, I was forced against my will to do push ups. I can tell you the exact moment my wrists went bad and never came back – I woke up the day of my karate class and my wrists hurt. I went to the karate class, did push ups on my knuckles because I couldn’t bend my wrists, and my wrists hurt. It never stopped after that. On any given day my pain level is somewhere between “a lot of pain” and “intolerable, incessant, no relief, I want to cut my arms off” pain. I’ve become used to “a lot of pain” and I consider that my normal state. But when it goes beyond that, it can get really bad. I had wrist surgery on both wrists several years ago, but it did not do anything. The doctor did not expect it to. The only actual cure for Madelung’s Deformity is a pretty extreme surgery that doctors will only do in the most severe of cases, which mine is not. So I live with pain.

This is where it applies to P90X – remember way back to the blog I wrote about faceplanting when I tried to grab my ankle with my hand? Well, as you may recall, at the last minute I realized I was careening out of control towards the floor, and I stuck my hands out to catch myself. It hurt. At the time I thought, this isn’t so bad. But it IS that bad. My wrists have been extremely bad since then. And for those of you who have chronic pain, you may be aware of the fatigue, crankiness and lack of interest in anything that goes along with the pain.

I made a valiant effort – I brought the DVD from the Boy’s house to my house. And then I fell asleep on the couch snuggling my cat. The Boy came over and we did Krav Maga together, which was super fun for me, but not for him. Apparently I make a very bad training partner. You are supposed to NOT hit when you are doing the moves. I hit. I hit hard. Saying “In slow motion, without actually hitting me” means the same as “I’m putting a chocolate bar in front of you, don’t eat it” to me. It is completely meaningless and irrelevant. Put your hands around my neck, I’m going to do the full attack back on you, that’s all there is to it. At least after I’ve hit you, I stop really fast and get a big surprised look on my face and say “OHMYGOSH I’m so sorry!”, but somehow, I don’t think that made up for punching the Boy in the Man Bits several times. What’s worse is that I can never remember the actual moves, so I start with the right thing, and end by punching, kicking and biting whatever body parts I can reach. I spazz out. My defense is either duck and cover, or completely spazz out on a person. I mean, really, you try doing a standard martial arts move against someone who is flinging their limbs at you in all different directions, and biting you every time you come close. It just isn’t going to happen.

I also find it hard to work with the standard “training” method in martial arts. “You stand here, and I’ll stand here. Now put your hands around my neck. No, not like that, like this. Ok, now I will defend myself”. That doesn’t happen in real life! “Hi, I’ll be your attacker today. If you’d just turn to your side, I’ll place my hands around your neck now. Ready?” So when it’s my turn to attack, I run full force, in spazz mode, and attack. Beat that, Jackie Chan.

So Krav Maga, hey, that’s exercise! It also creates fun new ways for me to hit the floor at full force.

All this is to say, I AM IN PAIN! My wrists are beyond tolerable and I can’t do a thing about it. I went to pee at work the other day, and I pulled my jeans down and pinched a nerve in my neck. I can not even pee without adult supervision.

I am not going to stop P90X, like I said. I’m going to do it again. But I will be doing it sporadically and very, very carefully…..who am I kidding? This is why I am always injured, I don’t do anything “carefully”. I run into things head first and at full force, absolutely convinced I can do whatever physical feat I am attempting. My brain can not conceive that my body is completely incapable of even walking a straight line, let alone balancing on one foot. Oh, and the Boy tried teaching me some of the yoga parts of it – I might actually let him video tape me doing it sometime, that’s how funny it was. Literally, 1 second standing on one foot, and I’m down. Sometimes I’m not just down, but pitching forward face first.

To add to all of this, my reputation for injuring myself/getting poisoned/getting deathly ill is so great that when I didn’t post a blog on my third P90X day, my super awesome friend called and asked if I was still alive, or if I was in the hospital because I injured something. That almost made my epic failure worth it!

On a completely unrelated note, a customer came into my store yesterday, looked straight at me while a male employee was right behind me, and said “I’d like to see a male employee”. This man, to me, looked like a mailman. He was not a mailman. I sincerely thought he meant “mail” employee, like, someone who handles the mail. So I said “Do you mean m-a-i-l or m-a-l-e?” and he glared at me. Thankfully, the male employee behind me stepped in, and I stepped to the side. It turns out the guy had naughty books to sell and he didn’t think he should expose me to things of that nature. I’m not going to lie, I don’t want me exposed to that, either. There’s a reason we have a Not Rated D for Darcy rating. So Male Employee #1 reassured the guy that his buy would get done, but that he was going on break, so he’d pass it off to another employee. Here is where the customer, Naughty Book Man, glared at me again and said “Not her”. Male Employee #2 was behind our second counter, doing his best to pretend he didn’t hear anything that was going on. Male Employee #1 summoned him to do the buy, with much protesting from #2. I will also add that Male Employee #2 is related to me and rather than having mercy on my innocent mind, wanted to traumatize me by forcing me to do the buy. I think my next blog will be all about him. He is more accident prone and clutzy than I am, earning him names such as Thumbs and Crash, and he also got bit by a sea mutant of some sort in a lake. I have never been bit by a sea mutant. He is still allowed to bring in shipment, though, and I have been forbidden under threat of death never to touch shipment because I am dangerous to myself and others.