July 01, 2009
Why I Might Have to Get Divorced
Note to my dear readers: before you scroll down and review the pictures, be warned. What is the SINGLE MOST HATED THING IN MY LIFE? What do I DESPISE FOR ITS EVILNESS, ITS FILTH, ITS OVERALL DELETERIOUS EFFECT ON SOCIETY? What is constantly plaguing me AS IF BY SATANIC CONTROL? That, dear reader, is the subject of this post. And now you are warned. Carry on.
I had grand ambitions to talk about The Plan (Day 24) – namely how since I was at a conference for the last 2.5 days The Plan and I have not been on speaking terms. I have eaten what we put in front of me (including desserts) and I have not exercised (unless you count meandering window shopping). Indeed, there was going to be a critical analysis of the dangers of dieting while on business travel wherein you would gasp with my thrilling insights and nod your head at my sage wisdom.
Instead, I am here today to talk about The Thing. The Thing That The Dog Dragged In (And That Which My Husband Marginalizes As Something I Should Just Deal With). It begins with arriving home from my conference at 1 p.m. and being greeted by the dogs, who promptly rushed to the air conditioned family room and went to sleep. I sat down at the computer and made a few phone calls and replied to the mountain of email that had accumulated in my absence. (I also took note that the recycling didn’t make it out to the curb in my absence, and that “doing the dishes after each meal” was apparently not a high priority over the past few days. It seems Mr. MMB was too busy pining over his solitude.)
At some point, Maya and Gracie woke up and trotted outside, going in and out of the dog door (like they do) as they located all of their toys, checked out the dogs next door (who were barking at something), and various other dog-like activities. This went on for approximately 15 minutes without any incidents (like book destroying, fighting over bones, etc.), when for some reason I decided to check out Gracie, who had just walked in and flopped down on the floor. Something was in her mouth.
I initially thought it was a piece of rope, or perhaps a piece of carpet and reached to grab it out of her mouth. Gracie has been chewing up her toys (as well as the carpet) and this thing has tiny little pieces poking in every direction, indicating to me that it was something frayed. But it was a dark color, and we don’t have any dark rope toys (or carpets) and so then I thought MY GOD IT’S A FROG AND THOSE ARE ITS LEGS STICKING OUT OF HER MOUTH.
Dear reader, I have never jerked my hand back that fast – even that time I accidentally touched the heating element on the stovetop. I shrieked and Gracie started to come towards me in a “ooh goody, let’s play” kind of way, and I realized that this was a matter of life or death. I marshaled all of my resources and in a calm and steady voice I said “Gracie, drop it.” She put The Thing on the floor, and I immediately beckoned her toward me – having to stop midway through praising her to divert Maya, who was eagerly walking over to investigate The Thing.
I grabbed both collars and dragged them outside. Then I peeped back into the room and was HORRIFIED to see that it was not a frog at all. (Note to reader: I am having shuddering convulsions while writing this, and a feeling of nausea keeps sweeping over me. Mostly though, I’m having visions of getting in my car, driving away from this tainted house, and never coming back.)
Here is the view from my office door, where I just happened to have the camera.
And here is the view from the camera with the zoom lens:
At this point, it struck me that The Thing laying on my floor, MY PERFECT FLOOR, was a dead baby bird. Right then and there, I almost died. Really. I know you think I'm exaggerating, but I did. Almost Die. And continue to Almost Die even now, more than an hour after the incident occurred.
I grabbed my phone and ran outside to call Mr. MMB, my husband and savior. My knight in shining armor. The man who knows me best, who understands my fear and loathing of birds. Who just THIS PAST WEEKEND gently scooted me to the opposite side of the street to avoid having to pass a woman with a parrot on her shoulder who was walking along as if nothing were out of the ordinary like, say, a BIRD ON YOUR SHOULDER THAT COULD FLY OFF AND ATTACK ANY INNOCENT PASSERBY. But I digress.
Mr. MMB picked up the phone and after listening to my out-of-breath rendition of my near death experience, he said "well, you need to sweep it up." He then went on to use words like broom and dustpan and perhaps the phrase "you'll live". I'm not sure, since after his first sentence I stopped listening and began to envision ways to get the cats out of the house and into the car, with Maya in tow (Gracie, having had The Thing in her mouth would have to be sacrificed), and drive away from this wretched house.
I stuttered something about him coming home and doing the manly thing, that we should probably contact the realtor to get the house-selling process moving along in the meantime. And, dear reader, what do you think he did? He said AND I QUOTE: Well, I'll be back in a few hours. Don't leave it there.
What followed was unspeakable, and I will not attempt to describe it here. Let me just throw out a couple of words: paper towels, flyswatter, trashcan, boiling water, soap. In a few hours I believe we'll add "barrage of angry words directed at heartless and uncaring spouse" to the mix. Now excuse me while I go vomit. And then take another hot shower.
June 28, 2009
Story of My Life
Every evening we go through the same routine:
Step 1 - Maya grabs Gracie's toy
Step 2 - Gracie decided to take it back
Step 3 - A wrestling match ensues
The Plan : Day Twenty-One
Despite royally screwing up earlier this week (thanks to Ms. WTS for the pep talk on getting back on track), The Plan is apparently still working for me. Now Mr. MMB has decided that he needs a Plan of his own, since apparently love has also made him fat. Not fat, really, but the teensy triathlon outfit he just bought for an event in September is looking a bit obscene.
We’re almost to the halfway mark of The Plan, and have to admit that I had been harboring a secret hope that I would be magically thin by now. That I would be turning heads in the grocery store, despite my dirty t-shirt and torn yoga pants. That I would be, right this very moment, out shopping for a completely new wardrobe.
Sadly, that is not the case. But after spending a little quality time with my calculator, I’ve discovered that I’ve lost weight at approximately twice the rate that I gained it over the past eight months. So at this rate, I will need to be on The Plan for another three months before I’ll be back to my usual not-svelte-but-less-flabby self. Unfortunately, that means I’ll miss the critical “get to wear last year’s cute summer clothes” window and will have to be looking at my fall wardrobe from 2007 for inspiration.
June 25, 2009
The Plan: Day Eighteen
Ugh – The Plan failed yesterday. Or rather, I failed The Plan.
But let’s begin with the good stuff – on Tuesday, Mr. MMB and I took a bike ride down the trail by our house. Mr. MMB is an avid bicycler (triathelete and all), with a fancy road bike that cost approximately the same as our wedding. I, on the other hand, have a pretty-but-heavy-and-slightly-banged-up bike that I brought home from Sweden with me in 2005. It was supposed to be a 15 minute bike ride – I told him that we would be turning around at the 7.5 minute mark. But then I forgot to wear a watch, and before I knew it, we had ridden 5 miles down the road. Downhill. As I’m sure you can understand, the ride back was not nearly so pleasant and my poor legs were like wet noodles by the time we pulled into our driveway. But it WAS 10 miles and more than an hour of exercise, so that was good.
And now the bad part. I went grocery shopping yesterday while I was hungry (bad, bad, bad) and decided to get a Hershey bar in the check-out lane. My thinking was that if I could eat some chocolate, I would be less likely to eat ALL of the groceries (which were healthy) upon my ravenous return home. I was wrong. In the car, I couldn’t find the Hershey bar and in a fit of if-I-don’t eat-anything-this-second-I’m-going-to-die-here-in-the-Harris-Teeter-parking-lot I tore off a piece of bread from the loaf in the nearby grocery bag. And thus I set off a chain of events that can only be referred to as marathon eating. Once I got back home, the Hershey bar was located and consumed, along with MORE of the bread. Dinner was fabulous (sea scallops, broccoli, salad from our garden), as was the sugar-free Cheesecake Jello that I ate for dessert. Oh, and did I mention the rest of the bread that I ate with a stack of lunch meat in the middle of the night when I couldn’t get to sleep?
Overall, I calculate that it was about 2,400 calories – which is SO not according to the plan. And probably explains why I am feeling sick today. Bah.
