Facebook Makes Me Crabby

“Facebook Makes Me Crabby” – was a post from one of my friends awhile ago.

I wholeheartedly agree.  This was my response to her post “I know what you mean Lisa. I think I’m going to write a story with that title because I’ve been thinking the same thing. As of this point I just attempt to keep going and using it for what I believe (which may not even be true) it was intended for. A place to share ideas, keep people informed on issues and events (common sense needs to be at work with this one), spread humor and positive thoughts and keep in contact with long lost friends. Now I’m on a roll…..I better get writing.”

So here it is….here is why Facebook makes me crabby.

  1. People are dumb.  We have given the same social media platform to all people no matter what their race, religion, gender, political beliefs or education level is.  That’s all well and good but for those people who have no filter, no common sense or no sense of decency, it is a breeding ground for stupid.
  2. It has given the passive aggressive people a whole new outlook on life and a medium that breeds passive aggressive.
  3. It makes people dumber.  Let’s share this post from someone who says they won the lottery and are going to share their winnings.  Really?? Come on people, if you look at their Facebook page you will see they are an aspiring actor, athlete or just plain someone who wants attention and followers.
  4. It has made us believe anything.  Someone posted it on Facebook, it has to be true, right? No, no, that’s not right!!
  5. It doesn’t have a grammar or spelling filter which would allow all posts to at least make some sense.  Half the time you can’t even understand what the person was attempting to say in the first place.  Abbreviations, emoticons and needless to say, bad grammar are rampant, like a bad case of poison ivy.
  6. There should be a delay in publishing.  If you still want to say that stupid, idiotic, asinine thing in 2 hours, go right ahead but you’re fair game.
  7. I think Facebook should have a rule for every negative thing someone posts, they have to post two positive things.  If you break the negativity rule too many times you’re shut down.
  8. I want to see New Stories,  not Top Stories!!!!  I don’t want to see that post again, I saw it 3 days ago!!!
  9. Politics.  By all means, express your views, make a good (the key word here is good) argument, post truths (again, for any of you who are slow, truths) but be respectful.  We all have different views  and we all walk in different shoes.
  10. I realize as I type this list it’s people that make me crabby, not Facebook for the most part.

To be fair I better tell you why it doesn’t make me crabby.

  1. Humor, humor, humor.
  2. I get to keep in touch with people I never would have kept in touch with otherwise.
  3. I get to laugh at all the idiots out there.
  4. It makes me feel like an English major and a spelling wiz when I see other people’s posts.  Almost like going to Wal-Mart, it’s an ego boost for sure.

Sadly enough, the people who are reading this probably aren’t the Facebook idiots I outlined above.   Those people are too busy being passive aggressive, bullying or posting selfies for the 15th time this week but I will give a little advice anyway.

Be kind, be funny, if you won’t say it to someone’s face, then don’t post it on Facebook, we’re all human, we all make mistakes and we’re all beautiful in our own way.



Not Funny But Funny

I am a firm believer that things are funny even when they shouldn’t be and that’s okay.  Just because  you find something funny, especially after the fact, doesn’t mean that you’re downplaying it or even being disrespectful, it just means you can dig the humor out of even the worst situations.   If I can see the humor in something, it helps me deal with the aftermath anxiety I get following a stressful situation.  I’m not sure if anyone else is like this but it seems I can get through almost anything as it’s happening and then 5 minutes, 1  hour or even 10 hours after the fact I have an anxiety attack that rivals Sheldon on The Big Bang Theory.

I live with a Type 1 Diabetic.  Diabetes is not funny and is a very serious disease.  However, some of the things that happen because of this disease, can be funny, especially as we’re telling the story after it happens.  I say “we”, because his rendition of the stories are also funny….they’re just about me instead of about him.  I’m going to share a couple stories that happened recently.

Over New Years, he was in the hospital with several things wrong due to having Strep and getting dehydrated.  This 5 day stay in the hospital has made me a bit nervous about his health now so I have become the hoverer, the questioner and the bugger.  Just last night as I was “checking” his skin temperature he groaned “I’m fine” because he knows I’m worrying.

A couple of weeks ago he became odd (hard to find words sometimes to describe what these situations are like), a little cold and clammy, a little distant and very very quiet.  He said he was just exhausted and wanted to go to bed.  Well, as soon as he hit the bed he became  unresponsive, breathing, but unresponsive.  I panicked a bit, had no idea where the tester was and flashbacks of ICU danced in my head.  I didn’t hesitate long, I called 911.  The ambulance came and the paramedics came.  They put in an IV and juiced him up on some sugar and he came around.  No, it wasn’t that easy, he was combative, his skin is tough so they tried 4 spots for an IV and it takes awhile for it all to take affect but nonetheless, he came around.

Once he was sitting up and answering questions like a trooper I looked at him and said “Well, I can now say I’ve had 6 men in my bedroom”.  Without hesitation he replied “It’s too bad all the attention was on me”.   The paramedics looked horrified and then one finally said “I think he’s fine”.

Again, let me stress before I get hate mail.  Diabetes is not funny.  It is a horrible disease, like lots of other diseases and I hope a cure surfaces sooner than later.  My coping mechanism is humor.  As I’m crying about something tragic I can help myself deal with it by finding something humorous either in the situation or something around me.





The Joys of Bartending X

It’s been quite some time since I’ve written about bartending.  Not because nothing funny has been happening but because I thought everyone was sick of hearing about it.  I’ve been getting requests to start back up so I figured I would start with something a bit different.  Instead of talking about the nutjobs I serve drinks to I will ease back into it by talking about me as a bartender.

I’m 48 years old and I’m wondering when I should be retiring from this portion of my life. It’s 4:30 AM and I just got done eating “breakfast” because I didn’t eat “dinner”.  I use those terms loosely because when I bartend, traditional meals and sleep schedules are completely thrown out the window.

My ankles feel like they’ve been hit by Kathy Bates in the movie Misery.  The only difference is that it happened over and over again, starting about 9:00 PM.  I wouldn’t mind Kathy showing up right now to tend to my wounds, as sad as that is.

The bottom of my feet feel like I’m continuously walking over one of those nubby shower mats…that’s upside down.  I would like to throw that mat away.  My shoes had a small but noticeable blow out by the big toe, even it gave out.

My thighs are chaffed from my jeans, it’s a miracle that a fire wasn’t started with all the rubbing together that happened during my shift.  I’m sure there’s some sort of salve or powder for that….I will Google it as soon as I’m done here.  I think I will stay clear of the powder as that sounds like I would find some sort of paste when I got home.  Kind of like Ross from Friends when he wore leather pants.

As I’m moving up my body I will spare you all the details of parts of my body that sweat, that until I bartended I didn’t know it was possible for them to sweat.  I will tell you that I cannot wear enough layers to stop that annoying river that runs down the crack of my….well….you know.

Speaking of my ass, my back is very very tired of holding it up and I’m pretty sure it’s the reason my ankles and feet feel the way they do.  My entire body is waging a protest against the size of my ass, I should probably do something about that.  A red DOT flag is pending.

My bra gave up hours ago and the underwire has worked its way out to poke me in the top of the breast.  I wonder how long one has been hanging that much lower than the other?  I’m sure the shirt I’m wearing (otherwise known as an upper body pressure bandage (God Bless Sam who I stole that line from)) does not hide anything so I dare to bet someone noticed and I am the subject of their social media post or their blog story.   I have no doubt I have been on a People of Walmart post at some point in my life.

Bartending is not for the faint of heart and not just because of the people you have to deal with.  I know the skinniest of people who struggle with hurting body parts after a long shift.  It’s a tough job but somebody has to do it.  Let’s hope I won’t have to do it for much longer.  Oh, that reminds me, I need to go buy a lottery ticket.





Spring Cleaning

Every year “spring cleaning” happens.  I’ve had an ongoing draft of a spring cleaning story for years and just never published it.  Today I will tackle it again.

I wrote this last spring:

One should not always wait until spring to clean, seriously.  Sometimes I’m scared to do spring cleaning.  I’m scared of what I’ll find.  And after this week I know why I’m scared.  For a few days it’s been spring cleaning at my house.  You know, little by little, bit by bit, or something like that.

It seems every day I find something new to clean or that I forgot to clean.  I’m not exactly sure how that happens but it does.  I was vacuuming the living room just a few minutes ago and realized I have got to move all the furniture and get the hose out, the dust bunnies have nestled up close to the wall hiding from the vacuum.  The dust bunnies are now made up not only of dust but of dog hair as well.  It’s at the stage I could make a complete new dog.

I wrote this 2 springs ago: 

Even after cleaning the bathroom…..bathrooms makes me throw up……that’s not a job I want to do.  I now see that the walls should actually be scrubbed down, hairspray and condensation have caused havoc.  One more thing to add to the list, which is longer now than when I started getting stuff done.

I wrote this 4 springs ago:

What I really want to talk about though is the refrigerator.  I’m a pretty clean person, my house is usually in order and I do things like vacuum, dust, throw out leftovers and do floors often.  Today I realize one thing I don’t do enough is give the fridge a good cleaning.  I mean, take the shelves out and scrub everything down.  Apparently just wiping down the shelves when you notice it needs it, isn’t enough.  After we tag-teamed the fridge today I was very disappointed in my housekeeping abilities, I’m not a good housekeeper at all, I think I need therapy.

There was so much stuff in my fridge that shouldn’t have been there, including nine bottles of miscellaneous condiments, etc. from the door that were expired.  Now, when I say expired I mean EXPIRED.  Who has stuff in their fridge from 2009?  I do, pick me.  When I threw all those things away and moved all the other stuff that was left on the bottom shelf made me question every cleaning bone in my body.  It was disgusting.  When I handed them off to my roomie she even said “holy crap”.  I said “just shut up and clean it before I throw up”.  We laughed about it but I’m taking a serious time out here to think about some things.

What kind of person am I that has caked on ketchup, BBQ sauce from 2009 and a furry something or another in a dish?  The fridge is going to be on my to do list every week from here on out.  What’s worse is I just did this same thing prior to Christmas and it wasn’t nearly this bad.  Oh hey, maybe I should be blaming the roomie…yeah, that’s it, it’s her fault, she moved in not long after Christmas.  Nah, I’m kidding, I take full responsibility.

As I’m writing I’ve thought of five more things to add to my list, I wonder if we should just call it cleaning instead of spring cleaning because it’s such an ongoing thing.  My advice, don’t wait until the spring, you will find something from last spring.

How have I improved?

I haven’t.  This is my confession.  I haven’t.  Here comes spring and I realize I really need to dig in and give my house a good cleaning.  Which is actually not the house I wrote about last year, or 4 years ago.  So this is house #3 I am apparently struggling to keep in order. All I can hear is Al Pacino saying “you’re out of order!”.

In my defense I have two dogs, my other half, a homeless friend (who in August was going to stay for a few days) and a 14-year-old (actually she helps quite a bit with trying to clean and then gives up) who contribute to the outoforderness of the house.  The breakfast bar is a puzzle holder, tool box, mail center, dinner table and all around shit collector.  The stove looks like I boiled over 13 dinners and didn’t once clean it up.  I have, it just looks like I haven’t.  We have a shower that looks like it’s an orange color from the 70’s when it’s actually off-white and just rust coated.  I clean it but not with rust remover.  That’s now added to the list.

I have people over for dinner and Dog Hair is a menu item.  I can’t stop it, I can only hope to contain it.  I feel like I am failing in the “homemaker” category every day.  And I realize something this year:  I DON’T CARE!

Why don’t I care?  Because my home is welcoming, it’s warm, it’s safe, there’s always something to eat and drink and it’s held together with love.  Something has to give and on the nights I don’t have prior plans I come home, work on a puzzle, snuggle with my dogs, snuggle with the other half and watch something tantalizing on Netflix like the Great British Baking Show!  The house gives, it’s clean, it’s just not CLEAN.

I will do my spring cleaning to get rid of the deep down things we don’t see every day, do the projects that need doing and start the nice weather off with a really good feeling.  I will falter again.  I do every year.  I will forgive myself.  I will deep clean again in the fall.  And I will do it all again next year.  I refuse to spend my time worrying about what people will think of my house if they come over, I will not spend my time that way.

Spend time with those you love and don’t worry about cleaning all the time!!


This week has produced a new routine in our house. Jim has to wear thigh high compression socks everyday. I have been elected nursemaid by default because there were no other candidates, I have no problem holding an emergency election if anyone else is interested. In all seriousness, he is in quite a bit of pain so he has trouble doing it himself.
There was a reason I didn’t become a nurse.  The reasons have become painfully obvious these last few days.  If you’ve ever tried to put compression socks on someone else it’s like putting a boot on a toddler’s foot who does not want to have boots on. So our day starts out with me tugging and pulling, pushing and prodding, attempting to get these stockings on an almost 6’3″ man.
I need to mention at this moment that he takes great pleasure in watching me struggle.  He’s NOT a morning person but apparently this has become his morning entertainment  because it only takes him about 1/4 of a leg to start smiling and making fun of me.  This morning he was flexing his muscles at me suggesting that this is some sort of a good for me workout.  When I start beating him with a pillow he won’t think it’s so funny.
Here’s how this works:
1.  Bunch up the stocking to a small size to get it all over his toes at once.
2.  Pull it half way up his foot.
3.  Realize the stocking is inside out, pull it off and repeat steps 1 and 2.
4.  At halfway over the foot, adjust toe hole to be below the toes, two toes should not be sticking out of the hole with the rest inside the stocking.
5.  Wait for him to get done squirming because the stocking got stuck between two toes.
6.  Readjust grip and pull over heel.
7.  Take bits of stocking that was left on front half of foot and work them over the heel.
8.  Bunch up again to attempt a good grip.
9.  Start pulling and pull leg hairs, wait for “ouch” or girlish scream.
10.  Apologize and wipe sweat from your brow.
11. Turn around and put his foot between your legs to attempt to get a better run at the calf.  Stick tongue out at him because he can’t see your face.
12.  Pull up and over the calf.  Do not fall backwards, the landing spot that your butt finds is rather sensitive.
13.  Get stocking to knee.  Remove leg from between your legs and wipe your brow again.  Remove any of your unnecessary clothing as you’re definitely pulling a Richard Simmons and  Sweatin’ to the Oldies.
14.  At this point he should be able to pull them up the rest of the way.  Do not mention that it’s on the wrong leg, the thigh pad is fine on the inside of the thigh.  Jim now thinks that’s to stop his thighs from rubbing together. I’m pretty sure his thighs haven’t rubbed together since before he could walk but I will go with it.
15.  Stifle your laughter at the sight that is him (with or without underwear on) wearing one white thigh high tight.  Please do not mention anything about his resemblance to an out of work stripper.
16.  Wipe brow and move over to wrangle leg #2.  Repeat steps 1 – 15.
17.  When you get done with second leg be sure to stand back, admire your work and threaten to take a picture of him like that if he continues to laugh at you.  That works really well on the days you have to help put his underwear on too!!
I have no idea how long this routine is going to last but I’m really hoping the next ultrasound shows some progress.  Perhaps when I get on the scale it will show progress on my part and there is some benefit to this new routine.

It’s a Doc’s Life: The First Year

I now know the meaning of “time flies when you’re having fun”.  Wow has this past year flown by.  I think I finally have the humans somewhat trained, it’s been a long process but they’re coming along nicely.  I can see why other dogs say “don’t give up, they’ll get there” and “it’s a lifelong job to raise humans”.  It’s a tough job but it’s rewarding.

I have a lot to catch you up on, I’ve been hiding my stories under the kennel so it took Mom until we moved houses to find them.  I haven’t been writing as much as I wanted to because I’m very busy and have a couple new playmates….but I’ll get to that.

After my kennel incidents and getting moved to the new kennel, things calmed down a bit.  Mom and Dad and I got into a pretty good routine.  I got them trained on a nighttime routine pretty early on.  I would get put in the kennel at bedtime each night and we would all go to sleep.  I would wake up and whine and Mom would take me outside to go potty.  I say Mom because Dad sleeps like a rock, nothing wakes him up, or so I thought.  It didn’t take me long to realize he fakes it so he doesn’t have to get up and let me out, I’m pretty sure Mom knows but there’s not really anything she can do about it.  I can’t blame him, I’ve become a master a “faking”.  Anyway, once Mom lets me in from my late night bathroom break I get to go in the big bed because I was a “goodboy” and went potty.  Good thing I can pee on demand because I really don’t have to go, I just know it will get me into the big bed.  Pretty sure Mom knows that too but I give her the “eyes” and she melts.  Plus, I’m a darn good snuggler.

Things were rolling along nicely and I was having a blast being the only child….well except for the 13-year-old but she’s only there on the weekends…plus, I like snuggling with her, I get to sleep in her bed when she’s there and I’m just waiting for the day she’s with us all the time, then there’s no more kennel at night because she lets me sleep with her all the time.  Keeping my paws crossed on that one.  Her and I have an understanding.

Just as we got into a routine, life changed.  And I mean changed forever.  We went for a car ride one day and I got to play with this very cool, very beautiful girl dog.  She smelled spectacular, I fell in love.  We’re about the same age so I thought this was some sort of ‘blind date’ and we would get together every now and then and possibly make very cute puppies together.  Uff da was I wrong.  She got in the car and came home with us!  Ok, a sleepover is cool!  Well I was wrong again, she still hasn’t left!!

I was very mad to have a new housemate, even though she’s a pretty cool chick.  I’m a guy, I needed my own space, I wanted my freedom, I was still young.  I really didn’t want anyone cramping my style.  So much for my opinion, she stayed.

Her name is Kimber and she really is awesome.  I say that now but it took awhile for me to truly come to terms with her being there.  I went from a household where I wore the pants…and Mom….but as far as pets go, I was the shit, numero uno, the top dog.  And then there was Kimber.  Mom and Dad say she’s the alpha dog.  I didn’t know what that was at first but I’m a quick learner.  We play when she wants to play, we snuggle when she wants to snuggle and I eat whenever she lets me eat.  She’s not mean, just very sure of herself and wants to run the show.  I’m sure if I was a human I’d probably be dressed in chaps and a ball gag.

Kimber and I get into lots of trouble sometimes.  She’s a runner and an explorer, me not so much.  I’m more of a eater and lolligagger.  I do like to play with her but I get tuckered out before she does.  She’s a bit smaller than I am and a little wider but she’s a whole lot faster!!  Man that girl can move.  Once I’ve had a little rest, she sits on me and bites my leg to get me to get up and play again.  By bedtime we’re pretty worn out.

Because she’s such an explorer she smells kind of bad a lot.  She rolls in stuff, walks through stuff and rubs up against anything.  There are times Mom and Dad leave her outside until it’s time for a shower, which she doesn’t like at all.  Then I’m mad at her because Mom and Dad figure if they’re giving her a bath, I should get one as well.  Life is not fair.

We moved into a new house a few months ago but I’ll save that for a new story.  We went from a big house to a very tiny house.  The good news is our kennel won’t fit in the bedroom so we get to sleep on the big bed all the time.  The bad news is, we’re all a lot bigger but the bed isn’t.  Good thing Dad and I are heavy sleepers because from what I hear it gets pretty crowded and doesn’t always work out best for Kimber and Mom.  Mom says it’s asses to elbows in bed at night which seems to be true from what I can see in the morning.

Here’s  fairly recent photo of us.  Kimber’s a bit chunkier now…don’t you dare tell her I said that.  Dad calls her is Chunky Monkey, Mom yells at him.

Image may contain: dog

Until next time.








Workday Entertainment

There are two ladies who live in the house next to the building I work in. The boys and I entertain ourselves by watching them mow.   It’s a great day when we see them out picking up dog poop because we know what’s next!!  It’s very disappointing when we come to work and find out they mowed after hours, very disappointing.  
One lady push mows inside the fence and one lady uses a rider for the lawn closest to us. The lady on the rider is definitely a “it’s not how fast you mow, it’s how well you mow fast” lady. She certainly rides it like she stole it.  She also wears the same outfit every time she mows. Maroon shorts, a green shirt, a floppy hat and sun glasses. It is awesome to say the least.  She’s not a tiny little lady so she has some parts that jiggle pretty good when she gets going.  I can only imagine I look very similar to her when I am on the rider, we seem to be kindred spirits.
One day I said that I wished I knew the ladies and that they had a good sense of humor because I would love to stand in the window (or outside) with rating cards. Like the ones used in sports like diving, etc. Well the boys thought that was hilarious so now I hear them telling other people about our plan.  We never give her a 10 unless she’s going full speed, hits a bump and her hat gets to flopping really good!  We don’t quite have all the criteria worked out but we’re getting there.
A couple nights ago I was mowing lawn and I knew I was going to run out of daylight so I was on the gas in the “it’s how fast you mow” zone.  The sun went down and I finally realized why riders have headlights on them.  I finished about 9:15 and it was dark.
The next morning I was telling the boys about my mowing escapades and how they would have given me a 10 for sure.  They were giving me the third degree on why I deserved a 10.  I said I wasn’t wearing a hat but I did have yoga pants and a wifebeater on and that I was moving FAST so there was lots of stuff moving that shouldn’t have been.  I told them I wasn’t even slowing down for the corners so sometimes I was up on two wheels.
Well, they stopped listening after I said “wifebeater”.  They were staring at me like I had an octopus tentacle coming out of my nose.  Finally I said “What???”  One of them said “did you say wifebeater?”  I said yes and tried to continue on with my story.  It finally dawned on me that they had no idea what a wifebeater is so I asked them and sure enough they had no idea.  I said “you know, a white ribbed tank top, usually with a stain or two on it”.  As they were laughing they asked why and I said “well, haven’t you ever seen the guy interviewed on the news with a white tank top with stains on it?”  Well, we laughed and had conversations about the kinds of people that reporters tend to find to interview after something bad happens.  I think they do it on purpose, helps ratings.
I had no idea that there were people out there that had never heard of that slang term before, I use it as if everyone knows.  Here I am, educating the sheltered one slang term at a time.  🙂


I cannot be on a diet.  I mean that word is crippling to me.  Something clicks in my head and the diet is over before it begins.  Some say that I need to get my head in a “change of lifestyle” place.  Yeah, that’s probably not going to work either so today I ventured to thesaurus.com to see what I could come up with.  First I tried another word for journey, nothing jumped out at me, then I tried another word for hunt, as in I’m hunting for a body that doesn’t billow over the top of my pants, the only one funny there is “frisking” which I would adopt but my body is in no current shaped to be frisked either.  I finally typed in the word diet and low and behold I found it.  Starvation.  I find that hilarious.   If I call it starvation I will be thankful for everything I get to eat, no matter how small or simple.

Day 4:  My head is in a better place today, I’ve done my exercises and I’ve only eaten breakfast and lunch, nothing massive in between.  I’m going to fix a shake for dinner before I leave for a 10 hour bartending shift.  It will take me 2 days to recover from that shift but at this time it’s my only job so I don’t have a choice.

Yesterday my friend who complains about weight with me was put in a hospital for some heart issues, which are ongoing with her.  She’s been sending me texts that’s she’s starving and no one cares.  This is a bit of our conversation:

Her:  I AM STARVING!!  Does no one care!?

Me: We committed you secretly and this is your weight loss program.

Her: I just peed my inderweR.  Can’t text laughing too hard.

It’s important to be supportive to our friends.  I do what I can.

I also lied, I did not have a shake for dinner, I skipped dinner and went to work and had leftover hotdish when I got home at 2:00 AM.  This is not on the starvation plan.

Day 5: The 13 year old is here for the weekend and she eats like a small village.  It’s hard for me not to want to eat like her.  I hate her because she doesn’t gain an ounce.  It’s fine though, she’s 13, I won’t hold it against her, yet.

Day 6:  I hate life, this starvation thing is going but not going.  Pounds are not melting off…at least it doesn’t seem like it.  I have developed an allergy to the scale. There’s a force field around it that zaps me every time I get close.

Day 7: I realized today that I will have no idea if I’m losing weight.  I was hoping my clothes would start fitting me better….they haven’t…and they won’t.  Why won’t they, you ask?  Because our washer is on the fritz and it only works on “hot”.  This is a chubby girl’s worst nightmare!  The only good thing is that the clothes will continue to shrink so perhaps I won’t have to buy a new wardrobe for a long time.  The bad thing is that everything of mine is like putting Barbie clothes on a Cabbage Patch Doll.  It’s a delicate situation and I do a lot of praying that the seams will hold up.  Keep your fingers crossed for me.

Week 2: The start of the second week hasn’t been too bad, I’ve been preoccupied with some personal things so haven’t been thinking about my starvation.  Now that I’m writing about it though I’m thinking about it and I’m hungry.

I have eaten us out of house and home at this point.  I don’t trust myself to go to the grocery store alone so I haven’t picked up anything.  In the process it seems I’m also starving the skinny guy that lives with me.  I best go shopping tomorrow.  I’m so desperate for food I’m living off of freeze pops at the moment.

Another night bartending tonight….hopefully I don’t faint from the lack of nutrition and if I do that someone kicks me out of the way of the patrons.

I’ll see you next week with either less pounds or perhaps a washing machine that actually works on cold water wash.


The Journey Begins

Ok kids, I need to do something about my weight.  I mean, I NEED to do something.  We are at Defcon 1 here.  My ankles are bad, my knees are bad, I have a bad hip and a bad back.  My waddle has a waddle people.  I’ve been talking about this for way too long.  Last month a girlfriend and I decided that we would start with 5 pounds, lose 5 pounds before the end of February and we would go from there.  Well, I have 8 pounds to go to reach that goal and it’s the middle of March.

I’ve been heavy since I was done with college.  Although the weight doesn’t come on overnight, it seems as though it does.  Maybe that’s the thing about finally deciding to lose weight, you look in the mirror one day and think “when in the hell did this happen”.  If I was still in good health I probably wouldn’t care much about losing weight.  I mean, I have to have something to make fun of myself about.  But I am currently truly miserable, I have such a bad hip that I cannot function in a normal capacity, the pain is unbearable sometimes.

I’ve been saying for a year that I need to get back to writing because it’s therapeutic for me.  Perhaps this will get me back into writing and keep me accountable.  Hopefully.  I think at this point I’m willing to do just about anything.

The starting is the hard part so here’s to starting.  My plan is to cut down on my portions, do hip exercises at least twice a day and cut down on carbs.  In general, eat better, swap a shake for meal/snack, stop eating Top the Tator (ok, I can’t quit TTT cold turkey but I will try) and get my hip feeling better.  I would love to walk or exercise in some other way but at this point I just can’t, I can’t even walk to the mailbox without being in tears.

Day 1:  I’m starving.  It’s day one and I’m going to starve to death!  I just ate a bowl of Mini Wheats and I would like to raid the fridge and freezer.  The second I think I’m on a diet I’m doomed.  I need to get my head in a different place.  I need to focus on how bad my  hip hurts and use it to my advantage.  I’ve also got to focus on the dent my pants leave on my stomach because they’re getting awfully tight.  My muffin top is more like a mountain top and it’s really starting to irritate me.

Hip exercise are going well, I lay on the floor with my knees bent and squeeze my butt cheeks together.  I do this for 5 seconds 30 times.  It’s harder than you think when you’re as big around as you are tall.  They tell you to use your core, hahahaha, my core ran for the hills years ago and hasn’t been seen since.  When I get better I can start lifting my butt off the floor, that will probably happen around January of 2020 but I will be patient.  That should be the year I’m ready for swimsuit season.

Day 2: Once again had a bowl of cereal, then went to town to run some errands.  Stopped at the bar I work at with free drink tickets.  I don’t think I have to be specific about what happened next.  The day went to hell in a handbasket and I was behind the wheel. The only good thing diet-wise was I didn’t eat the rest of the day.  The bad thing is I now have to work on my drinking apparently and I didn’t do my hip exercises.  Let’s add that to my pile of vices.  That doesn’t happen often so it shouldn’t be hard for me to give up.

Day 3: Hotdish leftovers for breakfast!!  Really?  I’ve also realized I’m very much a bored eater.  Being at home right now has proven that ten times over.  I’m on a Criminal Minds watching binge and it would be very easy for me to binge on food as well, that’s very difficult to control.  I need to get to a point where I’m project oriented so I can get some things accomplished here before I go back to work. I think I could also kill someone and get away with it, I need to stop watching this stuff….well, after 4 more seasons anyway.

Hip exercises are going okay but they hurt like the dickens.  I feel like a jackpot doing them but it’s just me and the dogs so no need for me to be embarrassed.  They come and snuggle with me while I’m laying on the floor.

Until next time.  Let’s hope I don’t starve to death or go on an eating rampage and wake up in a pile of ice cream, pizza and Top the Tator.

It’s a Doc’s Life – The Second and Last Time

I’ve really been trying to be a good boy since my great escape but there’s so much I want to learn about and it seems to get me in trouble.  This house of mine is so full of smells, small objects, corners, windows and gadgets I just can’t seem to stop myself from getting into “mischief” as Mom and Dad call it.

I have some new nicknames, Mom calls me Menace, Dad calls me Shithead, Mom and Dad both call me Naughtyboy a lot.  I know Naughtyboy isn’t good because Mom is usually shaking her finger at me or it’s followed by a swat on the butt.  Not a fun swat either, sometimes it stings a little so I know I’ve done something bad.  It seems it happens when I’m in the middle of chewing on something, apparently something I shouldn’t be chewing on.

We’ve been doing lots of fun things too.  Sundays we go to the bar where I get to see lots of people!  I have a few girlfriends at the bars that we visit.  They kiss me a lot and rub my belly.  If I shiver they hug me super tight and whisper what a good boy I am in my ear.  Most of the time I shiver when I’m not even cold, I like to be snuggled tight.  Don’t tell them that though.  I also like the car rides, Mom says I’m just like her and sleep in the car, her and I have lots of naps while Dad drives.  He says he doesn’t trust Mom’s driving so he’s losing out on nap time.

I try to help around the house.  I supervise when Dad loads the dishwasher and I ride the mop when they’re scrubbing floors.  I also take laundry out of the basket for them.  Dad and I work in the garage a lot so I need to supervise out there too.  Most of the time they yell “you’re not helping” but that doesn’t make any sense to me, of course I’m helping.



Dad also has been introducing me to new things.  One of those being a ride on a 4 wheeler and a lawn mower.  I don’t mind it but I would rather be running around the yard exploring on my own.


We also visited Mom’s family far away a couple of times.  Once when I was really little and I met a baby, he smelled good and was just my size so we snuggled.  He kicked a lot though so I eventually had to move away from him, he wasn’t a good napper.  They have a big dog that I like to play with but he doesn’t want to play and sometimes growls at me. His name is Rugby and he’s kind of a grumpy old man but I like him anyway.  I think he secretly likes me but just likes to be grumpy because it’s his house, plus, I peed on the couch once.

Let’s get back to the real reason for my story.  I got out of the kennel again.  This time it wasn’t latched all the way after I was let out when Mom and Dad were at work.  I was in the bedroom and I really really tried to just lay there and not explore.  Needless to say, that didn’t work.

At first I was just looking around, you know, seeing what was under the bed, in the closet and in the bathroom.  Then I smelled the garbage in the bathroom and I just needed to dig.  Well, I found lots of stuff in there, Dad’s snuff pouches, Q-tips, an empty box with plastic on it and a bunch of Mom’s hair.  I emptied the whole thing on the floor and ate a majority of it until I felt a little sick.  I laid down for a while wondering if it would go away and of course it didn’t, it got worse.

My tummy was hurting pretty bad and I started to panic, and I mean really panic.  I didn’t want to poop on the floor but I had no choice.  I think it was those snuff pouches of Dad’s, I’m not sure how he puts those things in his mouth.  I started scratching at the door hoping that Mom and Dad were really home and would hear me.  I gave up after I had scratched the carpet down to the wood floor and finally pooped on the bathroom floor, A LOT.  Boy was I sick.

Once I pooped I felt a little better and laid on the big bed until Mom and Dad got home.  Mom and Dad were not happy when they opened the bedroom door.  Not only was I not in my kennel but the room smelled pretty bad.  And then they saw the carpet….or lack thereof.  Holy mackerel did they say some very bad words, ones I have never even heard before.  Mom was moving pretty fast too, she chased me all the way out the door and was threatening military school, the glue factory and the pound.  I have no idea what those things are but none of them sounded good.

As usual they forgave me.  The next day I was laying on the big bed with Mom and threw up on the blanket.  Apparently the sock I had swallowed the night before didn’t digest.  Mom was mad and then thankful, something about intestines and surgery….sometimes she makes no sense to me but I love her anyway.

I think it’s safe to say I will never ever escape from the kennel again.  Within two days I had a new kennel and I see no way of escaping from that one.  It’s okay though, my new one has a lot of room and I can see everything much better because it’s all open.