Mostly I’m Sane, Except on Thursday

I think I mentioned it.

I have a new housekeeper.

She started last Thursday. She was an hour late. Not a good sign.

She’s due again today. In about ten minutes.

I’ve had a housekeeper before.

It was years ago.

It was great.

She came and went while I was busy trying to extricate various criminals from the long arm of the law.

I have no place to escape from now, being “retired” and all. I feel “in the way” in my own home.

Now you have heard it all. Complaining about the inconvenience of having a housekeeper.

Don’t I just beat all?

But since I’m doing such a bang up job of complaining, why stop now?

A couple of days ago, I stopped by the local grocery to pick up a few items to drop off at the church.

I had two large bags of paper plates and two large boxes of plastic silverware. They were slightly unwieldy but I had not thought to grab a cart. I balanced them precariously as I made my way to the express lane.

Of course upon arrive, I found two people in front of me.

Of course, one of those two persons, a somewhat elderly lady, (you know the kind, they take forEVER to write a check), apparently had a good case of the counting disorder.

As in, how does six filled plastic bags in a cart = fifteen items?

The man behind me, who had no where near fifteen items, but did have the intelligence to have a cart, grinned as I whispered, “creative counting”,  all the while threatening to dump my silverware into the Lays Potato Chip display. I was threatening that is, not him.  He grinned and offered the usual manly helping hand.

“I bet you didn’t know that items of the same type, i.e. bread count as ONE no matter how many loaves you actually have, did you?”

“Why no”, he laughed. “Is that how it’s done?”

“Yes, but that’s just the beginning of how you get to fifteen. You can use the “all breakfast items are ONE”, all non-foods are ONE, all fruits are ONE. I mean do you count a bag of six apples as six? Of course not. No reason to count a grapefruit as an individual thing when it’s really just a different looking kind of apple. Or at least it could be called generically a citrus.”

By now, a second all you can stuff up your shirt lane had opened, and my best check out clerk was at the helm. She motioned me over and I gratefully dumped my load on her counter. “Do me a favor,” I intoned, “have that sign changed to creative counting, or How to make thirty-two items into fifteen.”

She laughed. “Honey, I can tell you that I’ve seen far worse than thirty-two in my day.”

Adventures in the Express Lane. It would make a good book title.

Which reminds me, I have an acquaintance who hasn’t a clue what the difference is between stupid and ignorant. True to form, she refuses to look either up to become informed. This borders on being both at the same time, or as I define it:

Being stupid is being ignorant and then opening your mouth and letting the whole world in on it.

Speaking of which, stupid or ignorant, that is. I have another story of small dimension.

I’ve been having the hair-pulling joy of trying to explain evolution to people who are very sure that God did it all in six days, and just 6+ thousand years ago. I mean it drives sane women to drink to engage in this sort of baby steps approach to human learning.

So after link after link of “here are tons of real biblical experts, and here are lots of theologians, and here are honest to goodness WHOLE Freaking Churches who know there is no dilemma between science and God, all I can arouse from that creaky rusty brain is:

“Well, no matter what you say, I still will never believe humans come from monkeys! I mean monkeys are still having monkey babies, aren’t they? Show me one that had a human baby?”

Well, slap my face and show me whose boss!

I’m relatively certain that God reserves the best accommodations for those of us who maintain a straight face (online of course) to that type of remark, all the while not shouting from the roof tops–STELLLLLAAAAA I MAY JUST HAVE FOUND THE MOST INSIPIDLY STUPID PERSON ON THE FACE OF THIS PLANET.

It raises the real specter that indeed there may be people in this world not worth educating, but rather just consigning them to bottle Soylent Green in dark factories, allowing them to scurry to underground caves for their rest and meal of gruel. Only allowed to procreate under adult supervision. Ew, that sounds gross doesn’t it?

This was followed by the following episode of “Aw, come on, I really can be dumber than a whisk broom”.

I asked the reasonable, (or so I thought) question which went something like this:

Given that 71 children under the age of 12 have died since Newtown, the result of negligent gun ownership by adults, would you agree that at the least we might try background checks just to see if we can keep guns out of the hands of people who can’t be trusted with them and thus prevent needless deaths?

The answer I got?

“Sherry, just because you think that will prevent them,  is just your opinion. There will always be children dying you know.”

Yes, and horses will continue to defecate at will, but I can keep them off the kitchen floor can’t I? But I do wish to offer my condolences. I understand that when the right and left brains are severed, some people manage to develop fairly normally. Sorry that you weren’t one of them.

Just to prove that I have a sense of humor, I leave you with another Contrarianism. Those who read regularly know that sometimes, nothing beats a Contrarianism, or Sometimes you feel like a nut.

So, out of the blue the other night, I got asked this:

“So did it take you a long time to get used to wearing those shoes?” referring to my flip-flops.

“What?”

“I tried them once. Got horrible blisters between my toes. Just horrible.”

“No doubt you did. I’ve been wearing them since I was a kid, ” I sighed, not knowing what else was coming.

“Anybody with a brain would know that you don’t shove something between your toes. That’s why there is a between . . . .to protect the between part. I mean that’s obvious, right?”

“I’m going to sleep now.”

WAKE UP!

I’m done. Return all tray tables to their upright positions.

We have landed.

ADDENDUM. The housekeeper just called. Can’t make it. Probably is passing kidney stones. Pray for her. Forgot all about her job. Doctor said it’s probably kidney stones. Going to doctor. Pray for me.

Why me Lord?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Day in the Life of Dog

It’s me. Diego. Also known as “the dog”, “butthead” and sometimes “pumpkin”.  My momsy is busy so I thought I wud tells you about my days here in Las Cruces.

I am a busy guy. I like being busy. I need to get busy showing my momsy take better pictures of me than the one to the right. But that’s another whole story.

My days, as I said, is busy. I have lots of jobs to do. It starts out with getting popsy up in the morning. Momsy says I am to wake him up but not her. Popsy is supposed to turn Momsy’s coffee on. I sometimes catch a few winks with momsy after I have hauled the old man out of his bed. He don’t like that much I tell ya.

Okays, so after I gets Popsy up, I has to listen for my paper distributer. He’s a nice enough fella, but very unreliable. So I listens real real careful for his car. Then I gets all excited and twirls around and whines. The parentals seem to get what I mean. So Popsy opens the garage door and I run as fast as I can and grab that old paper off the driveway. And I runs it back in as fast as my four paws can scramble which is pretty fast I tell ya.

Then I grab a bite or two of my kibble which is my snack food. Then Popsy’s phone goes off and he goes “sweetie, sweetie, it’s quarter to.” Whatever that means she grumps and gets up, Momsy that is. I give her kisses.

Ya see, my first job, before all the others is to be cute and loving. I am really really good at that. It comes natural to me. I don’t knows why. But I got to be happy, cuz heck, I’m alive, what’s to be unhappy about. Hooomans are weird. They get grumpy for dumb reasons. So I gots to cheer ‘em up with my big smile.

So anyways, after a while, I finally convince my Momsy it’s time for me to walk her. I gets her all dressed and we go out for our walk. I feel bad that hooomans only gots two feets, cuz it’s lots more fun when you gots four like me. I mean hooomans are sooooo slow!

‘K. I guess you might have heard I gots a new fence. It makes my patrol area bigger. And I can look for bad people easier. ‘Cept we don’t seem to have any bad people around here. Which is darn good, cuz I don’t like to be mean. I growl at the man who fixes stuff around here and made my fence. He reminds me of somebody who was mean to me. I can’t ‘member any more ’bout that tho.

Did you hear about my hair cut? It looks real nice and is comfortable for me. I fits in me bed better! That was a joke! Anyways, Momsy has a man called Roger who cuts her hair, and Popsy goes to the same place but in a different part to get his hairs cut off, but me? They don’t take me there. It says “fambly hair cuts” but they don’t take me there. I don’t know why. My hair guy came right to my house! He was nice, but I was kinda scared of that buzzy thing around you-know-where! But he didn’t hurt me. Popsy said I smelled like a girl. I like girls.

There is a disease here in my neighborhood. It’s called “gotta rub a belly” disease. It’s a big effort and sacrifice on my part, but I go around and tend to all the hooomans who suffer from it. I take my belly right too ‘em. There is this one lady, Lizbeth, she got it real bad. I go over there ever chance I can. Momsy is always apologizin’ for my “bothering” her, but she really needs to rub my belly, I mean it’s like she’s addicted to it!

I would recommend my Momsy to you if you are hungry. She cooks real real good. She still won’t let me eat at the table tho. I don’t get that.

We got this big thing in our libbing room, and it talks. My parentals watch it at night. They watch the Newwwwz on it. Momsy yells at the people talking on it then. She calls them “liars!” I don’t know what that means. Other than that, I don’t pay much attention. I chewz my bones.

I get my bonez from a place called Pet Solutions, and the mailsguy brings it to my door. Popsy left them out the last time, and I nearly got squished by the garage door saving them. I mean I don’t want my bonez stealed! I made Popsy bring them in where they were safe. I chewz them all up. Momsy won’t let me chewz them in bed tho.

I used to have  digging boxes, but they put stinky plants in them and I figure they don’t want me to dig in them now. So I don’t. Unless I forgets. Then Momsy waves her arms and says words I dare not repeat here! Popsy laughs because I like to go out and lay on the stones on my back and sunbathe my belly.

My belly rubbers says they like a tanned belly. I try to help as best I can.

I is a smart dog. And I mean that. I am as smart as the little peoples that come to visit me. They are funny, but not much as to conversation. I like the little little peoples. I am careful not to knock them down. I really am.

Momsy says I got to go. She says I talk as much as she does. That would be hard to do I tell ya.

I am so glad I ‘dopted Momsy and Popsy. They is good hooomans, and that is saying sompin in my book!

Bye, Diego saying bye.

Sooo, I’m Waiting for the Big Celebration!

Yeah, I’m waiting for the doorbell to ring, and the balloons to fall, and the gaily wrapped presents to tumble into my lap. Just to keep me busy, while I’m waiting, I walked the dog, cleaned the house, did a load of laundry, and got groceries.  I was pretty sure everyone was hiding in the bedroom when Diego and I returned from our desert jaunt.

I was even more sure that the backyard would be stacked with friends and relatives when I got back with bags of groceries. I even changed my top to look extra nice.

The guys are here to paint the rest of the new fence out front. I’m waiting, because no doubt they brought all the presents with them. Along with the paint.

Speaking of which, Diego loves his new fence. He runs out his back door and speeds around the house to check out what the neighbors are doing. He has a water dish in case he gets thirsty. He has plenty of shade. He likes it all. He’s thinking of what he wants for his birthday, and we haven’t yet even picked a date for his “birthday” yet. He seems unconcerned about it all.

Actually, I don’t pay much attention to birthdays. Other people’s? Yes, I pay attention to that because that’s polite. My own? Naw. The Contrarian managed to remember before the morning was over. That’s saying a lot. Heck we often talk about our anniversary and then get so caught up in living, that we forget when it actually hits.

Having a birthday now is sorta of a badge of survival anyway. I’m not sure that makes me feel a lot better about being 63 years of age. I’m smarter than I was at 36. But what to do with all that stuff stuffed in there? I have no clue. I figure when you get to heaven you get to put all that stuff in a box. I’m not sure how to make enchilada sauce is a useful thing in heaven.

We are going out to eat today. That’s what we usually do on Monday, so I don’t even get an EXTRA “out to eat” day. That seems wrong, and somehow doesn’t make today’s out-to-eat day all that special. I noted that on google search they had cupcakes and candles? Was that for me?

I got the usual number of “X posted on your wall” in Facebook. It took me a minute to realize it was the “happy birthday” obligatory if you can remember, stop by to type happy birthday. Or Have a great day! Or Hope you have a super birthday!  Or words to that effect. Do you try to come up with something a bit different to make it appear that you actual care? I do. But I confess I don’t think of the person’s “happy day” much past the click of the mouse to the next page.

I haven’ really thought about anything I “want” for my birthday. I pretty much buy what I want anyway. When you can afford to buy most things, nothing much seems very special does it? Unlike Tiny Tim and his wonder at the goose for Christmas in A Christmas Story. Or all those stories about pioneer life in the olden days when an orange and gum drop were major delights to be swooned over and enjoyed slowly and to the last drop on Christmas morning.

I got a number of “gifts” from some stores. JCP sent me a $5 dollar gift certificate. Pier One gave me a 25% off ticket. I got a bunch of tickets from JoAnn Fabrics. My broker sent a card, my dentist a $5 coupon at some ice cream palace over on RoadRunner Rd. I’m sure they all are thinking about me today. That makes me feel warm inside.

I noted that the wind stopped blowing as Diego and I walked into the desert. I’m sure it was homage to me and my desire not to walk into a head wind. I thought that was nice of Mother Nature, aka, God.

The housework went nicely, all the dust cooperated and clung to my dust cloths. Some people call their dust cloths rags, but I think that’s just mean. How do you expect a slip of cloth to do its job well when it’s referred to as a rag? I mean really. These things are important folks.

The car cooperated in my drive into town for groceries. That was a nice gift I thought. It’s been a thoroughly nice car for some time, although the engine light does like to come up a lot. That’s got to do with the catalytic converter according to the computer code at Auto Somethingorother place, which hooked her up and said she was only unhappy with her fuel mixture. It goes on and off. We can disconnect the battery and let her sit and stew in her unelectrified self for a bit and then plug her back up, and the light stays off—until it doesn’t again. She’s just petulant.

Actually I think the car is not a she. But I haven’t gotten under her to check for sure.

If you are in your twenties and reading this, boy are you in the wrong place. Unless you are studying to become a geriatric nurse. Then you can screw OFF. I’m being polite, and not using the F word. If you are in your 30-50′s, then the above is a preview of the state of mind you too will attain upon reaching your 60′s. It’s got to do with social security. It’s not very social, and not very secure by the way. And Medicare doesn’t care one whit I suspect either. You’re just another warm body until you are a cold body. And then it’s on to someone else.

So hey, if you get lucky and get to be 63, you too can be the happy person you’re reading right now! Aren’t you excited?

Yeah, well screw off then too!

Just kidding.

Sorta.

 

 

 

How To Fold a Fitted Sheet

I thought I was being pretty darn anal. But I was on Facebook one day, and I saw this video posted by one of my “friends” on how to fold a fitted sheet.

I admit, I was intrigued. I bit.

I watched it. “Wow, how easy is this!” I mused.

The next Saturday when the sheets were dry (I waiting with eager anticipation I gotta tell ya), I raced to the bedroom with my sheets and started following the directions as I remembered them.

After three tries, I threw the wadded up mess on the shelf in disgust.

But then, well my anal really kicked in.

I went to YouTube and searched for a fitted sheet folding video.

And I found dozens.  I mean literally dozens.

It seems that (1) almost everybody knows but me, and (2) almost everybody wanted to show me how.

So I tried again.

And failed again.

And again.

And again.

I watched at least six different videos.

Finally after watching ever more closely, I got the hang of it.

So I was going to just mention it to you in passing–you know the way people do on the street–”hi, good morning”–(walking past each other, then turning)–”let’s do lunch next week okay?”–(walking a bit further but still not out of shouting range)–”oh, hey, your hair looks great like that! New style?”–now just a bit too far past to hear, so wave and turn and go on your way. . . .you know what I mean.

But I went in search of a picture of the process, and accidentally found this site. Well not exactly accidentally, since I was looking for the picture, but I double clicked instead of single clicked and found myself at this lady’s site, and I went, “whoa this is anal +.” So I thought I’d show you some of her stuff, cuz I makes me look really really normal.

Well, normal. That is a relative term if there ever was one right. I mean if you are in a “home” for the crazies, and you are the least crazy, well, you’re normal as far as they are concerned aren’t you? And if you are at a psychiatric conference in San Francisco, my dog probably qualifies as being the most normal. Ya see what I mean?

Anyway.

This is anal:

I mean really? A sign to tell you what you are looking at? But she means it literally, as you can see:

See? These are not “antique” quilts but “play” quilts. Don’t get mixed up.

Here’s the whole enchilada if you wish to see a “well-conceived linen closet:

I mean it’s to die for right?

I knew a person like this. But it was a guy. We used to sneak into his office and “mess” it up for fun. We were adults. He put up with us. He bought a house. A year later he was “sorting” out his attic.

I admire people like that. When I don’t call them crazy. You can admire crazy.

I can be tempted by “order”. But I fight against it.

I like to imitate the universe.

It may seem ordered, but it’s really ordered chaos.

The blog is called “I Lived on Wisteria Lane”. She seems to have stopped blogging abruptly in October. That’s always worrisome. If you like organization, well, do visit it.

By the by, I still can’t figure out fitted sheets. I have a mental block I guess. I’m a failure in the housewife wars.

So I’ve made a cake, and some pastry cream. It’s for the Contrarian’s birthday on Monday. It’s a Boston Cream Pie. He likes Boston Cream Pie. My cakes are still sinking in the middle. I have upped the temperature, and reduced the baking powder. They still sink. I’m a failure in the baking wars.

I am going out soon to help with planting. I have my new L-shaped planters to fill with petunias in the front. And about seven thousand planters in the back. The Contrarian is concentrating on the veggies.

We’ve got plenty of good old New Mexican soil in the bottoms of everything. It’s hard as a rock. It doesn’t seem to rain here.

We have bags and bags of manurish top soil. It smells like horses, well the behind of horses. Wait, that’s not right either. I don’t smell the behinds of horses, I can promise you that. But the stuff that falls out of their behind. The dirt smells like that.

Diego likes the smell of the soil. Maybe he would even like the smell of a horse’s behind. He doesn’t say. We have put up wire lines to keep him from rooting and digging in the big beds. He’s a dog after all. They like dirt apparently. Diego digs in the desert a lot. I think he’s looking for jack rabbits. He just wants to be their friend.

They don’t seem to understand dog speak though. They run. They run very fast.

Just me knitting in the garden

 

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Can’t We All Just Get Along?

NO!

We can’t.

And some days, I do get powerfully tired of discussing why you’re wrong and I’m right.

Because I am right. Truly. I mean it would shatter my entire persona should I discover that I’ve been wrong all these years.

Makes life an entire waste of time, being wrong. You clearly see that.

So do me the kindness to play into my delusion that I am right about EVERYTHING. For I get awfully nervous when I’m wrong about ANYTHING.

That pretty much sums up the state of affairs in America today. Can I get an Amen?  Yeah, okay, a tepid uhuh will do.

Some days I am purely not up to the task of yammering on and on about all the stupid people and stupid stuff they do. I mean, my sanity is at stake here too you know. I have a right to peace and quiet don’t I? I was reduced to calling a woman a bitch today at the pool. I mean is there no place where general common sense rules can’t abide without resort to that?

I mean we are paying a paltry buck to swim, you don’t own the damn lane woman! She said I was “unprofessional”. Since I’m not a professional lap swimmer nor do I portray one, I don’t know what that meant. If she doesn’t want to be called a bitch, she should stop being insufferably selfishly bitchy. Seems obvious to me.

I don’t think I’ve called a woman to her face that in 25-30 years. Truly I don’t. Maybe since I was a teenager. It’s not my normal sort of language.

I figure the GOP made me do it. They are always riling me up with stupid.

So in the name of sanity, I shall not go on and on about the state of the freakin’ly screwed up world. A word or two will suffice.

• GOP: still in denial that they lost, and still lying about everything.
• “New Ryan Budget”: same old same old Ayn Randian crap designed to weed out the weak in favor of the “fittest.”
• Fundamentalists: still abusing the bible for their own self-comfort, making it hate who they hate, and love who they love.
• Democrats: still living in denial that GOP cares about what the public thinks about anything.
• Corporations: still raking in the profits and laughing as they sit sipping fine cognac after an afternoon of schussing at the chalet in Switzerland, or drinking Pernod at their villa along the Cote d’Azur.
• Survivalists/conspiracists/Teabibbers: still actively drinking the kool-aid and waiting in the dark with their assault rifles for the coming of “that Negro’s” Blackhawk copters.
• Republican state governments: still wasting taxpayer money on beating up on Planned Parenthood, and stupid laws to protect “our freedoms”.
• Congress: still spending ninety percent of their time raising money from their masters, and using the other ten percent to spew platitudes that even bore them now.
• Professional Athletes: still engaged in efforts to get away with doping, since sports are now the way to become a multimillionaire in one easy contract.
• Professional actors: still plying their trade all the while believing that their opinions on anything other than their trade matter to anybody else.
• School system in America: still lousy and getting worse.
• Business in general: still laughing that anyone thinks their major goal in life is to “create” jobs.
• Media: still trapped in the notion that presenting both sides is their job, when one side is one neuron short of a brain.
• Health care: still great if you are rich, increasingly lousy if you are not.
• Dental care: still great if you are rich, almost non-existent if you are not.
• Public transportation: great if you like buses. Lousy if you dream of high-speed rail or non-polluting vehicles.
• Religion in General: still missing the call to en mass call for justice and social reform in America. Jesus does not recognize most of them as following Him, surely.
• Dogs and Cats: still offering the best and sanest alternative to human interaction around, and they are cheap too!
• The rest of the Animal Kingdom: still holding on, hoping to survive the insane human invasion.
• Planet Earth: still coughing and hoping that humans will come to their senses before it must eradicate them forever.
• Reactionary Republicans: still happy because they have God on their side, and don’t care about anybody else anyway.
• Progressive Democrats: still unhappy because they care that everybody isn’t  getting their fair share.
• The Aliens among Us: still more interested in the poker game at the Galactic club house on Saturday night.

I rest my case. You have all the news you need. Perhaps I shall find something of actual interest tomorrow. Hope as they say, springs eternal.

Yeah It’s Good For Some

The Stock Market hit a new high.

Corporate profits are probably at all-time highs as well.

The people who do the work? Not so much.

Between 1979 and 2007 59.9% of gains in income went to the top 1%, 36.7% alone going to the top 0.1%. During that period, gains by the 90%? A mere 8.6%.

Productivity has increased since 1950 by 254%. During that same period, wages went up 113%, and most of that increase occurred by 1975. Productivity, on the other hand, has risen steadily and continues to rise.

The response of the corporate board room to the recession has been to find more efficient ways to accomplish their target goals. They devote their R and D to the purpose of creating a cheaper way to make their product. Cheaper never involves hiring workers. They would make their products devoid of human workers if that were possible. Machines don’t require health care benefits and pensions. They don’t need money devoted to safe working conditions and lunch breaks.

Don’t tell me, please that corporations are job creators. They are profit creators, and hiring is now the last resort to accomplishing that goal. That’s why Wall Street is doing so well, and yet the unemployment figures are still so high. It’s got zero to do with regulations or very little. It’s got very little to do with “uncertainty” about what the buffoons in Congress are going to do. It’s got to do with profit. There is no morality here. It’s not part of the capitalistic model.

Meanwhile, there was this farcical drama in North Korea.

The pity is that the media thought any of this worthy to report upon. Dennis Rodman is a delightful entertainer. As an intellectual, well, he leaves a great deal to be desired.

His “opinion” is about as useful as that of a three-year-old. And I like the dude. He’s had a tough life as a kid, and he’s managed to make a good life for himself. I give him credit.

Kim? Oh good lord, he never got spanked as a child, that is certain. And I’m not much for corporal punishment either.

But he definitely needed spanking. In fact he needs spanking now. He’s always in the middle of a tantrum.

And dude, find a new barber. That haircut is silly. Seriously.

It’s hard to judge this Supreme Court. I’m not sure if we haven’t had this kind of horror before, when the Court was filled with really nutty people who make a mockery of the Constitution.

The Dred Scot Court comes to mind. That must have been an awful one.

But it would be hard to argue that this one is close to the top of the list of really awful benches.

Scalia is an intellectual joke, playing word games about original intent of the Framers, when all it comes down to is his personal disgusting beliefs.

Calling the right to vote a “racial entitlement”. And then suggesting that instead of testing a law against the Constitution, he has a new job–doing the dirty work for Congress, meaning that Congress is too beholden to special interests and can’t do the “right” thing because it might cost them an election.

So Scalia to the rescue. Doing the “right” thing. What a douche.

Let me get this straight.

Some Republicans are all upset at the use of drones against US citizens.

Got that.

No Republicans ever raised this issue when Bush starting using them.

Don’t get that.

In American courts, EVERYone, citizen or not, is gets the same rights.

Got that.

Sulaiman Abu Ghaith is arrested in Turkey. He is moved from Turkey to Jordan (Turkey prohibits the extradition of prisoners to those few countries that still practice the use of the death penalty and we are one of THOSE countries) and then transported from Jordan to the US for trial.

Got that.

Republicans are incensed because he can’t be interrogated properly except at Guantanamo (he was interrogated by an elite force of experts in Turkey and talked to the tune of some 20 pages), and because he is a bad dude and has no right to the rights granted him in our civilian courts.

Don’t get that.

Morality sure winds a crooked course in the Republican mind. And incidentally, in a good many Democratic ones as well.

Just a word about something I care about.

I am now the Sunday morning cat adoption “cleaner” for Pet Smart. I do this through a local adoption group in my area called A.W.A.R.E. What I learned is that Pet Smart joins with local animal groups across the country to adopt out animals. That’s a good thing.

My job is to clean the cages, feed and water where these cats live, and to play with them as much as I wish while I’m there. This is done twice a day, seven days a week, all serviced by volunteers.

My only point here, is that if you are interested in adopting a kitten, think of them as a source. You are not getting a “kitten” mill animal, but one that has been rescued and needs a good home. Prices are typically $50, and all animals are already spayed or neutered and have all their shots. In some cases the animals may come from the local shelter. You will probably get a bit better animal, since these kittens get more socialization than those typically housed in shelters.

I have no agreements of any kind with Pet Smart or A.W.A.R.E. in return for these statements. It’s only because I care about the animals. Perhaps other pet stores do the same. I haven’t inquired.

 

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I Never Tell the Truth: I’m Lying

So I lied.

So sue me.

I said that I was through with dieting and I meant it.

Until I didn’t.

I have walked 6 days a week and swam 3 days a week for eight months–nine hours of continuous physical movement per week.

I have stronger legs, stronger arms. I have a back that hurts a great deal less. I have more stamina. I have better wind. (no, I don’t fart better!) I have bigger muscles, not that I or anyone else cares.

I have lost not a single ounce.

It’s not about vanity. I dumped vanity as my companion about three years into my marriage, figuring it was a “for better or worse” thing and well, appreciate the meals and cleaning, because I’m not dying my hair, or worrying about stubble no more.

It’s not about health per se, since I’m feeling fine, and figure my exercise routine does a pretty fine job keeping things running normally. But that doesn’t mean it couldn’t be better.

No, it’s about not being able to bend over very well, or being able to kneel down and get up again without a winch. (kidding, but damn it’s a struggle all the same) It’s about not being able to do yoga because downward facing dog is more likely to end up with my face planted in the tiling.

It’s about my weight impinging on my back and my feet. Sooooo, as they say, I found another diet.

But, it’s not a diet per se. It’s more like a lifestyle change. It’s called the Intermittent fasting, or 5-2 diet. You fast 2 days and eat regularly 5. You don’t fast 2 consecutive days. You try to not be a pig on the five, but eat normally. On the fasting days a woman consumes 500 calories, and a man 600.

It seems reasonable. It has not yet been studied long-term, but short-term results are promising in terms of blood chemistry and weight loss. Blood pressures go down, blood glucose return to normal, and there is some evidence that it suppresses cancer and heart problems and increases longevity. Mice live longer than normal on it.

People anecdotally claim that they mostly lose weight (although some find that their “feast” days are so out of whack that they have to learn what is “normal”). They claim that they feel more energetic. Many claim that they feel they can stay on this forever when they finally reach their norm. Apparently the fasting days are not so extreme that the body has time to go into starvation mode which is what ruins most diets in the long run. And it’s not a diet per se so much as a way to control calories for life without having to try very hard.

I’m game.

Because it’s calorie restricted on two days it encourages foods that are low in calories yet bulky, like veggies and fruit. You are encouraged to eat a wide range of healthy food the other days.

I’ve made some changes already. I haven’t had chocolate since Ash Wednesday and I’m finding that I don’t miss it that much, substituting my afternoon snack of chocolate with an apple. I’m off all corn syrup fructose drinks, drinking about two traditional 12 oz Cokes a week, instead of about six a week of the bad coke. I also can get Sprite and Fanta Orange!  I just love the orange, wish they would have the grape too!

So, I’m giving it a ride. Because I don’t have to give up anything, just amounts a couple a days a week. One day will be Sunday, since it’s FFY day (fend for yourself). The other? I’m not sure. Tuesday I suspect.

Everybody is doing something it seems. Even Michael Moore walks every day for thirty minutes. He doesn’t care about losing weight. He cares about feeling better and he finds walking enjoyable.

I haven’t changed my basic premise. Diets don’t work. Because diet implies an end. And the end is where things go wrong again. For most of us at least. And I do think you can be big and healthy. And I don’t think ultra skinny is healthy or attractive. And I do believe in eating real food as opposed to boxes of crap. And I do just want to enjoy doing things as long as I can.

So there it is.

Call me a hypocrite, or a liar, or a dumb broad who finally woke up. I’m all, none or something else entirely. I’m just doing what I want to do. And I don’t care who thinks what.

But, seriously, what do you think?

And NO, that’s not me! I’m still rockin’ gorgeous!

 

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• Why you should starve yourself a little bit each day (io9.com)