May 11, 2011 by Marj Hatzell
I joined a local gym last weekend (excuse me, it’s a health club) to try and get my life back on track. So far the score is Real Life 3, Me 0. Not exactly liking that score, real life. SO STOP IT RIGHT NOW.
When I went for orientation, the trainer told me to start thinking about my goals. You know, what I want out of this experience? And I told him “I wanna look like a cross between a VS model and a hooker. You know, tight arse and tummy with ginormous bewbs.” Except I said that under my breath and stuff and told him I wanted to get in better shape. which is a lie, but if I told him the VS model/hooker story he might get the wrong idea about me and I’m a delicate flower and the PTO president and I’m not that kind of girl. In the daylight. And then he showed me which equipment I could use safely without effing up my back and ending up in a wheelchair again. Which is good because, Real Life? Don’t want to end up in a wheel chair again, mmkay? Got that. Good.
I made these great plans to start first thing Monday morning, then hit the grocery store, then come home and shower and stretch and relax. But Real Life said, “You know what, Deeg? You’re getting a little too complacent in life. You know, like spoiled and stuff? Yeah. So here’s a curve ball. You’re welcome.” And the key thing happened.
Then my brother went to St. Lucia to get married and I am watching his dog, Bruno, and Bruno has been acting neurotic and has been up most of the night since he got here and was starting to aggress towards my dogs (and he is NOT an aggressive animal, he is sweet and happy and…not this week, that is) and cried all day and was basically all, “OH MY GAAAAAH don’t leave me while you go to the bathroom! NOOOO!” So my plan yesterday to go to the gym and then go to the grocery and then come home to shower and then relax? Thwarted. Again, like. Because I had to take Bruno to the vet and spend the whole day with him, walking him and petting him and curled up on the floor with him because his separation anxiety is SO BAD. Which I don’t get, because I’ve watched him before while they’ve been away, he comes to my house weekly and if I visit them at their house? Bruno hops in my car and insists that I take him home with me. Which is why I’m all confuddled and whatnot. So. Vet. Drugs. Good ones, too, because he slept most of the night last night, enjoyed his walk, ate like a normal doggy and stopped aggressing and walking around growling. Thank Flying Spaghetti Monster.
So today I planned on hitting the gym, blah, blah, blah. Which is why it was absosmurfly perfect that Bugaboo woke up at 2am (at least the hubs and I had time to snuggle and whatnot. Which is tough when you have three needy dogs begging to get onto the bed. Which kinda kills the mood when you’re snuggling, which is why we shut them outside the bedroom whilst snuggling, which meant they scratched and whined…but I digress). Bugaboo acted hungry, whined a bit, begged for cup after cup of water and juice and then went back to bed. For ten minutes. Then he came into our room and flopped like a flounder. Then he went to his room and whined and flopped like a flounder. And just when I was dozing off, he came back to our room and flopped like a flounder for another hour and then suddenly sat up and…projectile vomited about a gallon of liquids, stained a weird reddish-brown due to eating a protein bar and filled with FLECKS OF RICE. And that’s when I discovered that his rice bucket? The one he plays in for sensory play? The one that keeps him happy and occupied when I’m eating or making dinner or when it’s raining outside? HE SHOULD NOT BE LEFT UNATTENDED WITH IT. Because judging by the appearance of his puke (what? You don’t look at your kids puke or poo? Um. Neither do I?) he shoveled down two cups of dry rice, which may explain why he didn’t want to eat dinner, gave us a hard time about taking his meds, begged for juice for hours and then horked it up all over my bed.
By the way. Don’t read this while eating. Too late?