Monday, January 24, 2011

Groundhog Poosday

Holy crap people. Last week was a shit-storm and Tuesday was just the beginning. I had so much to write about all week, but was so busy and exhausted and headachy that I couldn't form the words in my head, let alone stare at my computer screen long enough to type them.

Two important things happened: the first is awesome, the second is utter crap. Let's start with the awesome....

I had a migraine for 3 days straight last week (yes, this IS the awesome part. I told you it was a shitty week). The first day I thought it was menstrual. I took a migraine pill, got my ass drugged up, felt better and fell asleep. In the morning, my head felt slightly achy and by the end of the day, I had another rager. Ok, I thought, maybe the headache isn't menstrual, maybe its stress (and there was plenty of that to go around), so I repeated the process. Pill, drugged up, better, sleep. And then, I woke up with an ache. I'd had enough and called my chiropractor for an emergency appointment.

And she fixed me. My neck was out of alignment, she pushed me back into place and within six hours, I was feeling great without the aid of drugs that do god knows what to my central nervous system. Score.

I'm still trying to figure out what the difference is between my headaches that are caused by stress, and those that are caused by my period and those that are caused when I'm out of alignment. But, I'm getting there. Moving forward and finding new ways to deal with the head. Progress is good.

Now the bad. Oh so bad.

Leroy the cat, the poosday shitter, was diagnosed with diabetes. Kitty Diabetes! He's five! Kitty diabetes is a disease that old cats get. Old and fat cats. Leroy is young and fat. Its not fair.

Prof went to the vet with me on Thursday when we took him in for the initial visit, and I was so thankful that he was there. When the vet came back with the test results, I just shut down. I couldn't focus, I couldn't ask insightful scientific questions. I could just nod and say "uh-huh." Prof asked great questions, remembered what the vet said (I didn't), and helped me get over my initial shock.

My house has become a kitty infirmary. Arlo takes a variety of pills a day, and to add another sick cat to the load... well, it made me unhappy. And, diabetes hits pretty close to home. I know he's only a cat, but the whole thing is just so familiar. Cat diabetes is pretty much the same deal as human diabetes, and I know exactly what happens when a human has diabetes. Its not been that long since I haven't had to care for a diabetic human, now I have to care for a diabetic cat. Diet, exercise, glucose levels... its all there, just in a smaller, furrier package, with sharp nails.

I wanted to think about treatment for a while. Was I really ready to give insulin injections two times a day? EVERY DAY?

Selfishly, I immediately started thinking about what that means for us. Shots every 12 hours is no big deal monday through friday, but what about on the weekends? What about when we want to pick up and go to the beach, or go to Maine, or Europe? Throwing some food and water in a bowl and letting them go at it for 3 days isn't an option anymore. Especially with a diabetic around the house.

And, I didn't want to burden Prof with cat care. Arlo and Leroy are my problem, not his. But, they are in the house with us, so its hard for it to not be his problem. He initiated the conversation; as I was struggling with what to do, he told me what he would do. Insulin injections. He said that the cats were his cats now too, and that he was there to help me. I couldn't ever have done this on my own, but together, we made the decision to give the insulin a try.

We started this weekend. The vet showed us how to do the shots, we bought our (very expensive) supplies and tried to figure out where in my tiny house we could put the sharps container. He's really taken the initiative, giving 3 of the 5 shots we've given so far.

Leroy hardly notices the shot; but it will be difficult to try to arrange our lives so that we can get the shots in him on a routine basis. I think I'm going to have to get out of bed earlier in the morning to make it happen. And I'm not getting enough sleep as it is.

I never thought I would go to such extreme measures to keep an animal alive. Particularly one that bites and scratches and chews up my important paperwork. But, he is occasionally cute. And he's got too much life in him to not give this a try. And I have Prof to help me. And I found a cat-sitter well versed in diabetic cats.

Its all just more proof that life never gets easier. The challenges just change.

Thank god I have a new strategy for getting rid of migraines. I have a feeling there are going to be a lot more of them coming up.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Crappy Poosday

Too bad I didn't know that yesterday's bank excrement incident was a foreshadow of the things to come today. I would have taken a tranquilizer and stayed in bed. For days.

We had a sloppy mess of a winter storm last night. After spending 20 minutes chipping ice off my car, I nearly hit a car in front of me at a stop sign. Apparently, nobody bothered to chip the ice off the road.

When I got to work, I was immediately handed the phone and told "this guy sounds angry." Excellent. I spent 45 minutes on the phone with guy, an angry tea-party government conspiracy theorist, while he berated me and my work and threatened to bring us down, embarrass us and expose us. 45 minutes. I remained calm. Didn't engage with him. Gently disagreed. Pointed him to other resources and eventually was able to get off the phone.

I emerged from my office dazed and shared snippets with my co-workers, who managed to be both sympathetic and gleeful at my plight.

Not too long after, I learned that our massive database somehow got corrupted. No one can figure out when or why it happened, but it did. One of our date fields indicates that most entries were made on December 31, 1899. I'm going to have to go back and check, but I'm pretty sure Microsoft Access wasn't around in 1899, so I'm pretty sure those entries are wrong.

While dealing with those two messes and simultaneously juggling several thousand other things, my computer lost changes to documents I was working on, and forced a shutdown to install new programs. On most days, this would have been minor. Today, it brought me to the verge of angry tears of frustration.

Then I came home. To poo. Cat poo. And lots of it. Smelly poo. In places it shouldn't be, like the living room. Leroy the cat has developed a serious issue. Now I've got both Leroy and Arlo pooping all over the house.

Every time I turned around at home, I was dealing with more poop. Real poop. Emotional poop. Douchebag poop.

I gave up before 9pm, and got in bed. I can only hope that today will bring better things.

Monday, January 17, 2011

A different kind of bank deposit

My friend T called me this morning to chat. I often find myself telling her something along the lines of "do something fun for YOU today." And it was no different this morning. But when she asked me what I was going to do that was fun, my response was: "go to the bank and the grocery store." Yeah. Not really so much fun, but still probably better than anything that she's got going on, since she lives in the middle of a god forsaken area, hours away from a decent grocery store where you can buy tofu and beer.

And although going to the bank isn't really that much fun (ok, no fun. at all. whatsoever.), I really didn't expect to find what I found when we got there.

Human excrement. On the floor. (and then on my shoe. And my pants)

I don't know what the TD in TDBank stands for, but as far as I'm concerned, its "Terrible Diarrhea."

We had taken a very long way to get to the bank, driving around looking at houses in a neighborhood we like, so when we got there, I kinda had to pee. And, remarkably, there were public bathrooms there. Prof stood in line so we could sign up for a savings account, and I headed for the bathroom.

Except, that as I was going in, a bank employee, who might have been all of 13 years old, came out of the ladies room, holding her nose, gasping for breath and making a face. Ok drama queen. Whatever. Sorry you can't deal with some one's fart smell. Grow up.

So, I went in. And she was right - it smelled like someone had died in there. Died, and then taken a big sloppy shit. But, I was in and I had to pee and I've faced worse situations before. I can't think of one off the top of my head, but I'm pretty sure I've had to deal with something worse than that. Ooops. Many are coming into my head, but I will spare you the details. You really don't want to know.

It stunk in there, but that wasn't all. The paper towel holder was also opened, and the tiny little hole in the wall paper towel receptacle was overflowing, with a big pile of towels on the floor. And the maxi pad dispenser looked like someone had tried to rip it off the wall. Something very bad had happened in there.

I wiped the seat down and hovered above it, vowing to wash my hands really, really, really, really well when I was done. Then I saw it. A tiny pile of loose human poo on the floor. Next to my foot - except, it was partially under my foot.

Ew, ew, ew, ew. But I was squatting and hovering and mid-stream, so I was kinda stuck.

I was completely indignant that the 13 year old TD Bank intern had not told me to wait and that she would be right back to clean up this horrible mess, and like I often do, I took matters into my own hands. I grabbed a huge handful of toilet paper and wiped the poo up off the floor. Then twice. And then flushed it down the toilet.

And then washed my hands for a really long time. And then my shoe. Or maybe it was the other way around. Actually, I really hope it was the other way around.

When I came out, I expected that there would be somebody there with a mop and a trash can and some of that shaky powdery stuff your elementary school custodian would pour on vomit. But nope, the 13 year old was behind the counter, processing bank transactions like there was nothing in the world amiss in the ladies bathroom. And like she wasn't trying really really hard to not have to pee.

While Prof and I were doing our banking business, I saw several women going in and out of the bathroom, and none looked too distressed when they came out (you are welcome). 13 year old bank teller didn't once try to stop anyone or warn them, or get a trash can to haul out the overflowing container, that could have very well been hiding more poo droplets.

I said nothing to anyone about it. There were no actual adults apparent anywhere in the bank, so I can't imagine anyone was going to take care of it. And they certainly weren't going to reward me in any way. I doubt that any of the interns are authorized to give me a better interest rate because I wiped human poo up off the floor for the greater good of womankind.

Its quite amazing to me really, that this chick did absolutely nothing about the bathroom situation. She could have closed it. She could have put a warning sign on it. She could have had someone empty the trash can. But she chose to ignore it completely, and let a customer take care of it.

Customer service is officially dead.

I'm going to sue if I get any kind of weird disease.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Indecision: Its what's for dinner

I've suddenly found myself able to participate in work conversations that I haven't been able to participate in for quite some time: spouse bitch sessions. Yes, I know Prof isn't my spouse, and yes, I know he is a Renaissance man and I have nothing to bitch about.

But we all know good and well that no matter how good I have it, I'm going to bitch.

The topic the other day was dinner. And who makes it. And who plans it. And who buys the food. And who cleans it up. Consensus was, if the woman didn't plan dinner, make sure ingredients were there and cook it, dinner would consist of cereal. Or McDonald's. Even when there are children involved. Children whose future success in life relies entirely on whether they consistently eat dinners that include a vegetable, a starch and a protein.

We have come a long way ladies, but we are still lagging way far behind on this front. Way. Far. Behind. Healthy, well-balanced meals seem to be something that the male mind just can't wrap itself around. A well-balanced meal to them is one they can eat with one hand while playing x-box. So why do we care so much about it?

I've asked myself this question an awful lot. Mostly right after I stop at the market on my way home from work to get the ingredients for the several healthy meals I have cooking in my head. Then think about how long its going to take to cook the stuff. Then clean it up. But really, why is it that I spend so much time thinking about this? Prof doesn't jump up at 7pm on Sunday night when he realizes that he forgot to make hard boiled eggs for healthy mid-morning snacks during the week - why do I?

(Because I am insane and a bit compulsive, but that's totally besides the point)

So tonite, I had physical therapy for my hip and was going to be late getting home. I thought maybe Prof might want to start dinner before I got home. I'm silly that way.

Me: "Wouldn't it be nice if you had dinner waiting for me when I got home?"
Him: (laughter)
Me: (silently - "why is that funny?")
Him: I wouldn't know what to make.
Me: We have butternut squash, and sweet potatoes and fake turkey. And stuff for burritos. And, fresh green beans.
Him: How long does the squash get cooked?
Me: 45 minutes to an hour.
Him: What about the potatoes?
Me: 10 minutes in the microwave.
Him: I'll just wait for you to get home.
Me: (silence)

And I have one of the GOOD ones!!

Monday, January 3, 2011

Resolvers Be Gone!

I forgot that it was the first Monday of the new year when I decided to skip my lunchtime spin class and go to the gym in the evening instead. I was busy and trying to get my head around having to work five days in a row; running off to the gym at lunch would have derailed me.

Instead, I got derailed by the frigging Resolvers at the gym.

Listen, I really love it when people make a commitment to be healthy and change their lives for the better. I was once one of them. The size 10, bum hip, orthodic shoe inserts, and creaking shoulders didn't just happen miraculously. I worked my ass off (literally and all) for them. And so, I understand what its like to be new at it and I'm helpful to the newbies at the gym who can't figure out how to program their machine, or set up their spin bike. I smile encouragingly at people. I move my stuff over in the locker room to make space for someone else.

But this total and complete onslaught of Resolvers, I cannot tolerate.

There was a line 16 people deep waiting at the front counter to sign in, and I had to wade my way through them and look pathetic before the dude would scan me in. When I made my way into the gym, there was exactly one piece of aerobic equipment available, and it wasn't the one I wanted. The sound of several dozen machines all running at once was sort of mind numbing, and the number of little heads bobbing up and down was a little dizzying. When the bike I wanted (with the video game) finally was open, I made a dash for it, but lost because I wiped my machine down. F'd again for doing the right thing!

I couldn't wait to get done and get the hell out of there.

The vast majority of the Resolvers will be gone by mid-February, which is actually quite sad. I think that's what the gym counts on - selling new memberships and dealing with the overcrowding for a little while, eagerly anticipating the time when the new members will continue to pay, but not come. I know it makes me a bad person, but I'm eagerly anticipating that time too.

Sunday, January 2, 2011

Let's try again in March

I'd like to make the world a very serious proposition.

Let's move the beginning of the year from the beginning of winter to the beginning of spring. Or better yet, the beginning of summer. Yes, yes. I know. The new year starts just as the days start getting longer again. Its very symbolic. But wouldn't be just as symbolic to start it at the equinox? When days and nights are equal, and days start winning out over nights?

Think about it - you could ring in the new year in Times Square without wearing 18 layers of thermal clothing. You could wear a nice dress to the theater without freezing your tits off. You might actually be able to have a little barbecue. You could make fruity girly drinks and actually enjoy them. And, when you were hung over the next day, it would still be light outside when you finally managed to drag your ass out of bed.

At 7:30 pm.

Yes, I am speaking from experience. I spent my entire New Year's day in my bed. When I wasn't hanging on to the toilet anyway. I would have dragged myself up earlier than that, but by the time I started feeling halfway normal again, the sunlight was already fading. Why bother getting up when the day was already over?

Its so very seriously unfair. I wasn't drunk. At. All. There was no slurred speech or naked, lampshade wearing table dancing. There was only Rock Band and cocktails and pleasantries. I'm sure the late night champagne was trouble, but then I also remembered that I drank a big glass of Gatorade before going to bed in a desperate attempt to rehydrate myself.

But I didn't have red Gatorade, my miracle liquid. Or even orange Gatorade, red's slightly less trustworthy sibling. I had lemon-lime.

I have a very sneaking suspicion that whatever fake chemical acidity they put in that crap to make it taste like lemons and limes combined with the champagne and chocolate martinis and turned my stomach into a chemistry experiment gone bad. Seriously, seriously bad. And then, when I tried to rehydrate later, it happened again. I had about 3 sips of the lemon-lime, and I was off to hug the toilet. Again. I finally started feeling better when Prof went to the store and came back with a bottle of Red. Lovely, lovely red. I instantly started to feel better.

But even though I'm no longer hung over, I still feel like shit. I missed the first whole day of 2011! I know it doesn't really mean anything, but to start off the new year like that rattles me a little. But I at least have a new resolution: no more lemon-lime. I think I'll be able to stick to that one pretty easily.

Saturday, January 1, 2011

2011 - f. u.

Seriously 2011? Do we have to have a talk already? You are only 3 hours old, and already you have turned into a chimpanzee shit thrower.

Or maybe its not the fault of 2011. Maybe its the fault of 3 too many chocolate martinis, some carrot cake, a cheese log and a half bottle of champagne?

Nope. Let's blame 2011.

So, here it is. Just after 3:00 am on Jan 1, 2011, and I am sitting at my dining room table. Blogging. You know why? Because I am afraid to go to bed.

Because I just threw up. Four times.

Seriously folks. I am 35 years old. I am way too old for this shit, and I didn't even do anything to deserve it. Except have sushi for dinner, drink three very stiff chocolate martinis, cram carrot cake and crackers down my gullet, and top it off with half a bottle of champagne.

As I said, I've done NOTHING to deserve this.

F.U. Food Lion Carrot Cake.