Giraffe Spit Smells Like Marigolds

Yesterday, my whole hand was in a giraffe's mouth.

This giraffe and I got up close and personal.  I know what it's spit smells like.

It was pretty much the best day of my life.

Hops in the Right Direction: It's a Journey, and This One's Wet

I know, I know.  No one is really interested in me, and you've only been checking here for the most important question:  What is Prada the Puff up to?

Well, we moved a few months back.  Now, rather than it just being us girls (Prada, Stink the Cat, and me), we've got boys to contend with (the Dude and his two dogs).  We're kind of like the Brady Bunch, only with pets and no maids.  It's awesome.

But Prada has had a hard time adjusting--she's been marking in two places in the house.  At first we thought the behavior would stop once she had a chance to get used to everything, but we're into month four, and the behavior continues.

Back to the drawing board.

I like research, so I've been doing some.  I haven't worked out yet whether her marking is stemming from dominance or anxiety--knowing her, it could be either or both.  A large part of the problem is that she ninja-pees:  leave the room for ten seconds, and when you return, you've got a mess to clean up.  So it's been very difficult to catch her in the act, when we could correct the behavior, or find any common behavior before she does it.  (Because it's by no means every time we leave the room, and it's frequently very shortly after she's been outside and gone potty appropriately.)

But there are options:

• A shaker can (a soda can filled with pennies you can shake when you observe the behavior):  This probably won't work for us, because we don't generally catch her in the act, and even if we did, she's anxious enough that we don't want to scare her into peeing more, or have her associate those two places with a scary sound.
• A thorough carpet cleaning:  We've done this once, but it's probably time again, despite spot cleanings.  Hopefully then any lingering smell won't entice her to repeat performances.
• Keeping her on a leash:  As a temporary solution, it may help us keep an eye on her and prevent any bad behavior or at least let us catch her in the act.
• More walks:  A tired dog is a well-behaved dog.
• More bonding time:  If the cause of the behavior is anxiety at the move and the fact that there are more dogs to compete with, special Dana/Prada bonding time may help ease her nerves and prove to her she's still special.  Even if she is already spoiled rotten and gets lots of cuddle time every day.
• Sprays/barriers to keep her from the problem areas:  Logistically, this won't work for us, as the problem areas aren't neatly contained or able to be cordoned off.
• Positive reinforcement:  Continuing to praise/treat for appropriate expelling.
• Doggie diapers:  it'll keep her from marking and will make her uncomfortably damp, so this may be an option until we can retrain her and break the bad habit.

So at this point, it's a matter of experimenting and figuring out what works for both her and us.

We'll get there, and our carpet will be the happier for it.  So will Prada, for that matter.  And she's worth it.

The "I don't want to DIE(t). So I'll just eat all these tasty things instead, okay?" Non-Diet for People Who Like Food and Don't Hate Themselves

The word is a loaded one, and it's a word I hate.  I've gone into some detail why I won't do it, but the short version is I like my body, I like food, and I'm not willing to deprive myself.

Which is different than not wanting to eat better.  George the asshole is triggered by food sometimes, and I've been cheating more than is good for me.  So it's back to the basics for me, and cutting out trigger foods:  anything processed, anything white, and beef.

Obviously, this excludes Mt. Dew.  I've tried cutting it out entirely before, and the withdrawal symptoms are pretty terrible.  I've tried switching to diet soda, but the artificial sweetener made me lose time and caused some fairly serious cognitive dysfunction.  Not fun.  But the next 12-pack I'll buy will be the one with real sugar, not high fructose corn syrup.  Because I'm not giving anything up.

And when I want tacos, I'll make it with my accidentally vegetarian recipe instead of ground beef and salty seasoning.  Because tacos are delicious, and I actually like my recipe better.

This weekend, I had a cheeseburger--it was made with ground pork, which the Dude didn't even realize until after he'd inhaled his.  So I'm going to do some recipe-searching and see if I can't find what seasoning was used to make it taste so frigging good.  Because I like cheeseburgers, okay?!

And when I want some ice cream, and nothing but ice cream will do, I will eat some goddamned ice cream.  I could have a bit of food that is terrible for me, or I could feel homicidal.  You tell me what decision is better for my health.

I call it "I don't want to DIE(t).  So I'll just eat all these tasty things instead, okay?" non-diet for people who like food and don't hate themselves.



(True:  I did diet once, with my GP and rheumatologist's approval.  I followed the Lupus Recovery Diet, it helped me figure out what did and didn't work for me, and I have continued tailoring what I eat since then according to what I learned.  It was fucking hard--like the hardest thing I've ever done.  Ever.  And I once carried an air conditioning unit up three flights of stairs without assistance in 100 degree heat.  So have a support group on hand, have your mom on speed dial, and talk to your doctor before trying it or any other "real" diet.)

FAQs

These are the most common questions I receive.  Here are the anxiously-awaited answers. 

I'm sorry.



1)  Can you help me with my English homework?
Sure.  That money I spent on college ought to be put to some sort of use.

2)  What's with the possums?
I don't know.  It's the best kind of mystery.

3)  What should I read next?
A book.

4)  What are you wearing?
Long underwear in a dingy gray, two pairs of socks, old sweat pants, a hoody two sizes too big, and a parka.  Or if that floats your boat, whatever you think is gross.

5)  Are you a feminazi?
If a dude called out another dude for being a douche, does that make him a dudenazi?

6)  Why do so many crazy things happen to you?  Do you make them up?
Sadly, no.  It's serendipity.  And a lack of social and/or motor skills.

7)  Can I someday be as awesome as your dog?
No. 

8)  Nine, Ten, or Eleven?
Ten.  Obviously.  The hair.  And below that, the... sneakers.

9)  You say you are from Wisconsin.  Do you like cheese?
Only if it squeaks.

10)  Who is your hero?
My nana.  I once went to her in an existential crisis.  She took one look at me and said, "Suck it up.  You're a Whoozit*."
*Name changed to protect me from the marsupial-lovers.

11)  How do you get through each day?
On my monitor, I have a shrine to the Virgin Mary, Superman, and Britney Spears. 

Happily Ever After, Cat Edition!

When I got to work yesterday, everyone was in a buzz.  A kitten was in the engine block of a company truck, and no one could get it out.  Someone had even stolen some tuna out of the fridge as enticement, but no dice.  Eventually everyone wandered back inside to do some actual work.

Except me, because I'm a sucker, and the poor thing was crying.  And a coworker's husband, who's a softy for cats.  He'd recommended we try unclipping the underside of the dash cover, and I recommended putting the plate of tuna on the battery, where we'd maybe have a chance to grab it.  We did both--the tuna lured the kitten to a place where we could just grab it from inside the cab.

I took him inside, gave him a bit of a bath in the bathroom with dishsoap with a friend's help (not ideal, but he was covered in oil, and it's what we had), let him eat a bit of the tuna, and grabbed a blanket out of my car for him.

Long story short:  he checked out fine with the vet, and he went home with my friend.  Her kids are ecstatic, and the kitten (who has been named the Slovenian word for "cat," which I can't spell, but which sounds like "Muchki") has made himself right at home.

Yeah, he's adorable.

There are things you'd think I'd remember...

I've been told I can get a little feisty.  And I fight flat-out dirty.  I'm small and arthritic, so I've got to strike quickly and efficiently.

So I bite.

Not strangers or whatever, just friends and the Dude, whenever we get to wrestling.  (Actual wrestling--get your mind out of the gutter.)

The Dude commented on this penchant of mine last week.

"Yeah," I said, laughing.  "Remember that time I missed and accidentally bit your nipple?"

"Uh, that wasn't me..."

Whose nipple did I bite?!

Ricky, you have some mansplainin' to do...

It was my senior year of college.  I had taken a fall down a flight of stairs, and had some pretty severe bruising on the inside of my left arm, and a ladder of less-severe bruises down my back.  Hurt like a mother, but nothing terribly serious.  However, within a few days I'd developed some hard lumps in the bruise on my arm--calcium deposits.

I took myself off to the campus health center, and the doctor happened to be in.  (He was usually available for a couple of hours, two or three days a week; the rest of the time the nurse was available.  And generally more helpful.)  I sat on the table, rolled up my sleeve, and explained that I was concerned by what I felt--

"Don't worry.  It's not cancer."

--which I was pretty certain was a series of marble-sized calcium deposits, and what was the best course of action to take to ensure I didn't pass them through my urethra.

"Oh.  Oh.  Well, warm, damp compresses should help with that."

Gee, thanks.  I'm so glad you were able to ease my fears about cancer of the bruise.  What color ribbons does that have again?  I'm sure I saw it on a rubber bracelet somewhere.

If you don't know what mansplaining is or aren't aware how commonplace it is for women to be on the receiving end of it (from whatever gender), I recommend checking out this link.