Run. Dog. Cat. Cat. Me.

Everything you need to know about running and life and any other random crap I find bouncing through my mind like a ping pong ball. And always be sure your shoes are happy.

Archive for the tag “Pet”

Happy Flookie Bootie

It’s my birthday!  I may as well admit it; I’m typing so I’m still breathing, so odds are I’m gonna have one of those at least once this year.

It really is a beautiful day, 60 degrees this morning when I woke, gorgeous sunrise and nothing I had to do, not even a race I needed to work which hasn’t been the case recently.  Here’s a pic of the beautiful morning:


This photo was taken with an iPhone by a total amateur.

I have no work I have to do, and I have nothing I’m training for, so I can – call me crazy – go for a run with … wait for it … NO GOAL.

Right.  Breathe in … breathe out … breathe in … breathe out … I know you’re both taken aback, I realize the idea of just going for a run like you were a kid with no responsibilities on a Saturday morning is completely out of character for any real runner and could cost me my card.

But, then, I’m just wild and crazy and there’s no stopping me, as we’ve discussed before so you know what?

Nanner Nanner Boo-Boo.

nanner nanner

That’s What.  This photo was not taken by me with my iPhone.  Thank you,

Now that  we’ve settled that like three responsible adults, as I said, I decided to go for a run.  Just a run.  That’s it.  Not being a total rebel nor completely insane I did not, however, run nekkid.  Garmin and HR monitor are our friend.  Once I did not wear Garmin and HR monitor and while I was gone Garmin committed GPS suicide.  The next run Garmin refused to charge or find the Mothership.  I cannot bear that type of responsibility.  At this point in my life the goal is shedding responsibility, not taking on more.

Becky batshitcrazy-biker-babe Elkins met me and biked alongside for a few miles.  We ran into (not literally, of course, because that would be rude, right?) April “Honeybadger” Henderson and Donnie “Deacon” Baldock who were at, oh, I don’t know, 87 miles or so.  Becky had to peel off back home so I hung with Donnie and April.

Here in my fascinating narration of the un-run we will stop.  You two go watch the Honeybadger vid linked to April’s name, above.

It’s ok – go on – I can wait.

Eew, that’s so nasty.”

 “Look, it’s eating larvae, that’s disgusting. “

(Just entertaining myself here, go ahead, watch the vid.)

Done?  OK cool.  That’s the end of that part of the story, I wanted you to see the honeybadger vid, the rest was just verbiage to get there.  Otherwise this story would be one word long and probably everyone would be grateful.  To bad, it’s not.


In a vain attempt to distract Donnie and April (running animal beasts), and since we’d about exhausted honeybadger quotes, I thought if they heard a story they would be fascinated and slow down, and also because something reminded me of the story but now I cannot remember what, I told them the story of the day our dog Maxie bit my butt.

Actually he didn’t bite it.  I mean, he did bite it, but it wasn’t really a bite, he was barking.

For some reason I happened to be chasing the twins through the house – for FUN! – they were running in circles laughing and I was chasing behind them laughing and Maxie was running in circles behind me barking.  Unfortunately I had to stop suddenly and Maxie didn’t brake, instead running right into my backside while barking and on the downstroke of the bark he bit my butt.

 It broke the skin and bruised, he had a strong jaw, and I had to go to the doctor to get an antibiotic and get it checked.  It was a bit embarrassing but what can you do?  You have a dog bite on your butt.  It’s not like you can say, oh, look, I think I broke my finger.  They’re pretty much going to have to check things out, if you know what I mean, and they don’t believe you when you say you broke your finger but you actually didn’t.


Two or three weeks later I got a phone call.  The insurance company.  “I understand you were bitten by a dog.”

“Oh, gawd.  Um, yeah…”

“I need to determine if there will be any suits filed in the incident.”

“Right.  No.  It’s OK.”

“Have you made any type of settlement then?”

“Uhhh.  Mmmmm…” so I had to tell another stranger about the dog bark biting my butt, that it happened in my house, to me, and was my fault, so probably I wasn’t suing myself.

“…so you see,” I concluded, “it was just a fluke.”


Immediately Donnie and April composed a birthday song named after me entitled “Fluke Bootie.”  It goes like this:


FLUKEY BOOTY Fluke fluke fluke bootAY


After that you let the band riff for a while.


The moral here, Boy and Girl, is never tell anyone your dog bit your butt but it was a fluke.

Well, that sucked. YAY!!!

I did six miles this afternoon and it sucked 🙂  I can’t hold a pace under 9:45 without an oxygen mask dropping from the overhead, I’m maxing my HR and my heart looked pretty much like this:

bugs bunnyOnly it wasn’t because I saw a sexy bunny.

This means that, one, I really am back to running because I’m no longer jogging along comfy just for the sake of being on the pavement.  Two, I’m running.  You can’t complain about a run if you can’t run.  Thus I had the very sweet luxury of running along thinking *&^% this SUCKS.  I SUCK.  This run SUCKS, and as I thought it I found myself smiling with the joy of a sucking run.

Again proving runners are #crazynutjobs.  But – we’re happy crazy nut jobs so you gotta love us, right?

This week has sort of sucked.  First, I guess because Jen and I had talked about him, and then I wrote about it, Tuesday night I dreamed of my brother.  I never dreamed of him when he died. I wanted to, I’d have taken any chance to see him even if just in a dream, but it never happened.   This dream was incredibly real.  Nothing special, Bret I were talking, about mom and anything else you’d talk to your brother about if you were in the kitchen one afternoon, and I remember nothing other than that.  Then I woke up, which surprised me because I thought I was awake talking to my brother, and I realized it wasn’t real.  It was SO real, and then it just wasn’t, it didn’t exist, and I started crying.  I couldn’t quit and poor Hubs was lying there patting me on the shoulder.  “Is it Murphy?  Are you upset about Murphy?” but I just kept snorting all over, my pillow wet with tears.  It was, quite frankly, rather stupid.  Here I am, again, with my body doing something I have no control over.  I mean, I tried.  I bit the pillow, I clenched my jaw, I stuffed my face in the pillow – nothing.  Just kept crying, except when I stuffed my face in the pillow because then when I sniffed I kinda choked because of course there was a pillow stuffed into my face.  I guess actually you could say it was successful, in that I did quit crying while I choked.  Anyway, I finally drifted off to sleep still crying and then the next morning I looked like I’d run into a wall.

Du Maurier

When I woke I realized I was going to have to call the Vet about Murph T. Dog because he’d been limping around since Monday afternoon and now he wouldn’t eat or drink, and he kept yelping when he moved wrong.  Mostly he just wouldn’t move at all and I had to lift him into the Explorer and back out of the Explorer and he does weigh about 36 pounds hanging there in my arms, miserable.  Then he pooped on the Vet’s front door step.  “My dog just pooped on your door step,” I announced, carrying the limp bag of dog cement into the office, “do you have some paper towels I can use?”   They were very nice and refused to let me try to pick up poop while holding the aforementioned 36 pounds of useless dog and one of the techs cleaned up my dog’s poop for me.  I’m sure this is not the first time she’s had to do that but I still felt bad.

He has a couple vertebra that have been a problem in the past and sure enough, he hurt it somehow, so they filled him with shots and I carted home two pill bottles about the size of a jelly jar.  He moped around in pain and finally hid under the bed, having eaten one little doggie biscuit and two very large, peanut butter wrapped pills.

Thursday morning he came downstairs almost sort of perky and Chunk was not upset when she saw him so I figured that was a good thing since she gets rather insulted when people don’t feel well, like it’s a bother to her somehow.  “Oh, I’m sorry I’m vomiting out most of my insides, Chunk, I know you find it offensive,” I feel compelled to apologize.  Oddly, despite her complete irritation and disdain for all things sick or injured she is strangely fascinated, roaming about smacking inanimate objects and the offender, yet she refuses to leave their side.   “Smack!  Quit it!,” she seems to be saying and it makes me think she was a neurosurgeon in her past life as my experience with neurosurgeons evidenced about the same level of compassion, not that I’m bitter or angry, just stating facts.

Unfortunately Thursday afternoon he stood up, yelped quite loudly and refused to move, just stood there, head hanging, heart pounding.  Well crap, I thought, maybe he’s ruptured a disc or something.  It was too late to call the vet so I carried him upstairs, he scooted under the bed and never came back out.  In fact he appeared ready to stay under the bed the rest of his life so this morning I had to get the mattress and box springs off the bed and carry him downstairs.  Despite not eating much in the past 48 hours I can attest that he has not lost any weight, and we repeated Wednesday morning only omitting the pooping on the door step, which made me happy.

They knocked him out with a muscle relaxer, Xrayed his back and gave him some different steroids and gave me another big bottle of pills.  Since Murphy was splayed out in a kennel like a freshman at 4am during rush week I left him there and will get him later this afternoon.  The Vet prefers – and we concur – to try to treat this medically.  Surgery is an option but I really hope that is not going to happen.  I expect if you could ask Murphy he’d agree.

So – my week kinda sucked but it’s a luxury to have a sucky week with a tough run and a sick dog because I know a whole bunch of people with way worse things going on, marriages and cancer and death so I think what you should do is ruefully shake your head at this week’s travails and go kiss your loved ones and also kiss your dogs and cats despite the fact you will get hair in your nose and sneeze.

The End.


I woke this morning still tired, still coughing, still sniffing, and still not running on day 12 of the Cold from Hell.  I did a bit on the treadmill at Killer’s on Friday but had to keep slowing so I could hack up more of my insides.  We have a huge yard for which I’m extremely grateful, the beauty, the trees, birds and squirrels, very blessed.  We spent two hours yesterday raking leaves and got about 1/20th of the yard done.  Today is the last nice weather for most of the week and I will not be doing yardwork as I have to work.  I’m going to be doing the damn leaves until May.  Hubs’ idea of doing leaves is vacuuming up the stuff in the flat part of the yard with the mower and filling a garbage can weekly, sometimes getting a couple extra bags filled if he has enough time.  His spare time weekly totals about 3 hours so you can see that at that rate we’ll be done doing the 2013 leaves in about 2018.  I’m watching my body age and change and I don’t like it.  I don’t like how clothes fit differently.  I don’t like that everything is sliding slowly, inexorably, toward the floor.  I don’t like feeling even more tired even more often.  Hubs asks, why are you so tired?  I DON’T KNOW.  The cat is peeing in that spot on the carpet again which indicates the UTI is no better or she’s stuck in a bad habit.  Since she’s also bogarting the floor heating vent I’m going with the UTI.  I don’t know what else to do.  I keep a huge towel in the spot, the only compromise I can come up with unless I throw the cat away, which some people might suggest but it kinda goes against my personal theology to throw away living things which fail to meet my expectations, although I will indulge my occasional and extremely poor coping mechanism of throwing several very loud F bombs around the house.  This probably only serves to create more peeing when I scare the cat with my screaming so there’s another fail.

I am stuck in a funk.

The idea of coaxing anyone out of a funk by showing them evidence that someone else definitely has it worse is, to me, ineffective.  If you are having a bad day, you’re having a bad day.  Who knows what else is going on in someone’s life?  Who knows what else is going on my life?  (Right, not a very good personal argument since I spew my life all over the interworldweb like I currently spew coughs, but we’ll assume a lot of people do have things in their lives about which we are not aware.)


This is my friend’s son:

Cancer patient and avid golfer Kevin Bezon, 28, has grown too weak to stand, but he doesn’t regret the many things he can no longer do ….Doctors have found more tumors on the lining of the brain that are resisting chemotherapy, but Kevin told his father, Ron Bezon, in December that his body is tired, and he doesn’t want another surgery. His father said, “He’s almost at end-of-life care.”

This article is copyrighted by the Commercial Appeal and I’ve linked the article in the quote above.

I’m not much of one to ask people to donate money, however, if you are currently considering supporting St. Jude, please consider doing so through Kevin’s page.

Meanwhile I’m going to get things ready for today’s race.  I’m going to wear my Adidas to the race and I’m going to get a little jog in this sunny day while the runners are out on the course.  If I have to stop and cough a bunch of crap out, tough sh*t.  When I get home I will rake leaves for whatever daylight remains.  The cat can pee on the towel, we’ll all live through it, and I will once again move the towel 6 inches closer to the litter box every couple days until she’s back using the box; it will probably cost about a minute of my life.

11:15am update:  Heading to the race site.  When I first looked at Kevin’s page he was 12% of goal; he is currently 16% of goal!

5:45pm update:  He’s at 25% of goal!

Zooming through my Zoo

5:05am and wide awake again.  I think I may start trying to do the elliptical.  I hate to drive to the center just to ellipticize for 20-30 minutes but I’m going to have to do something to use up some energy and calories so I can quit waking so early with nothing to do.  The exploding head would probably blow off some energy but it’s so much messier.


You know, it’s fairly easy to find an argument on Google for whatever you wish to find permission to do, so I did use the elliptical at Killer’s on Friday for 20 minutes.  I actually did it for about 10 minutes, with a rest every other minute because I have, indeed, lost that much fitness in five weeks and had to stop and breathe every other minute.  We will not dwell on that.  I balanced on my heel with no pressure on the forefoot and it didn’t hurt.  I haven’t tried again; I don’t want to screw anything up even though, as I said, it didn’t hurt – I’ve been burned by the Injury Fairy so many times in the past 15 months that right now I’m gun shy.  However, from what I could find on The Great Oracle Google, it’s OK to do the elliptical if I’m stabilized in the boot.  Now I shall consult the other two Great Oracles, you, my two faithful followers of my world-famous blog.  Should I do the elliptical or not?

Remember, the safety of my family, the animals and my foot lie in your hands.  No pressure.

Meanwhile back at the Zoo, waiting for the Shrine to heat up, I let Murphy out.  Hubs said, don’t forget Murphy.  I said, it’s 5:15 in the morning and it’s cold and rainy, he won’t last five minutes out there before he’s scratching on the door.  On the way out to the gym hub’s final words:  just don’t forget Murphy.

So, of course, I did and now he is not in the yard.  dammit.  It’s 35 degrees and raining lightly and I’m out on the deck in the darkness (I tell you, I hear shuffling.  Do snakes shuffle?  Maybe it’s a fox.  Rabid racoon?  I know it’s not Murphy because his collar jingles.) yelling softly (and how stupid is that?  can you even yell + softly?  Isn’t that just talking?)  MURPHY MURPHY but no response.  I’ve had no coffee.  I really really do not want to go down the steps of the deck and hobble around the yard in the dark, in my sock feet sans boot, stepping on razor sharp edges of hickory nut shells which the squirrels constantly drop from the tress, littering the path.  I go to the kitchen door and stand in the carport MURPHY!  MURPHY! and the damn cat scoots out the door and under the car.

I do not have my boot on and I’ve had no coffee.  I’d intended to get a cup of coffee and then get ready for the day.  Now I don’t have time to get my boot on because if the damn cat gets under the deck the story is over and I’ll be crawling in rainy drizzly cold wetness in the dark where snakes might live and that’s going to happen exactly:  never.  I try to peer under the car to see if I can grab her, but I can’t see anything.  Oh, wait, it’s FIVE EFFING O-DARK-THIRTY IN THE MORNING and it’s pitch black outside in the dark rainy morning in which I’ve had no coffee.  Plus I can’t bend all the way over because then my forefoot bends *ouch* so I’m kind of hunched like some crabby old cat lady whispering dammit Chunk!  I hobble back into the house and grab the broom, meanwhile trying to intimidate Mo enough that he won’t go near the open door, which is open in the useless hope the damn cat will run from under the car back in through the open door and into the house.  Plus, intimidating Mo is like candy from a baby, there’s no need and it’s mean so now I feel bad.

I swipe the broom under the car and she scoots out … and directly around the corner to the front porch which is freeking dark as night because it IS night.  I hobble after her in my sock feet on the pebbly surface of the carport *ouch* *ouch* *ouch*.  I can’t see her on the black hole of a porch so I hobble back into the house and around to the front door and turn on the porch light.  Scurrying like a crab I return to see the damn. cat. scoot back under the damn car.  

!@!#$!!!   &^%$!!  *&(*&&^!!!!  and  @#$%!!! I mutter as I sling the broom under the car, swiping wildly.  Where is the damn cat??

Oh, I see.  There she is, so cute and fluffy, sitting in the kitchen doorway watching me attack nothing under the car.

“Whatcha doing, mom?”

Munker and baby

Look at that sweet innocent face, taking good care of her baby to show me how it should be done.

Then I drove  around the block twice trying to find the dog.  I gave up and went home only to find Murphy right there in front of our house, peeing on the neighbor’s bushes.  Tucked tail, ears down, he runs into the back yard and onto the deck.  OH, look, here I am!  Right where I should be!

I’m going to have to do something to use up some energy and calories so I can quit waking so early, forced to be responsible before I’ve had coffee.  The exploding head would probably blow off some energy but it’s so much messier.


Never leave home without it

Tuesday was the one year anniversary of my dad’s passing (I like the word “passing'”.  Passages.  Life is a series of them.) so I was visiting with my mom for the past week.  She lives in the hills about 1-1/2 hours north/northwest of Phoenix.  The town is not that small but I was reduced to 2G on my iPad, which sucked since I’m attached at the hip to the internet and have no life to speak of.  I felt rather as though one of my arms had been torn off.  Probably by Zombies.  This was particularly irritating when area TV stations kept emailing MRTC to see if we had any runners in Boston and could I give them their personal contact info.  We have 3400 members, I don’t know and I’m not giving you their personal info if I did know, but thanks for asking.  That, however, took 12 minutes to type every time, apparently you can’t type too fast on an iPad with 2G or you crash it.  Repeatedly.

Hey, at least I didn’t have to call AT&T, right?

Mom lives in a bi-level house built on the side of a steep plot of land, the backyard about 1-1/2 stories above the street.  The guest room is downstairs and the window sill is level with the yard.  I look upward to watch chipmunks steal sunflower seeds from the bird feeder and see the lizards amble past.  It’s cool and dark and I’ve named it The Bat Cave.

Every evening we watched movies on AMC, which, as an aside, I’m kinda pissed at AMC.  Mom’s AMC is having a special this month with little notes popping up throughout the film about the actors, funny anecdotes, etc.  I was so excited.  I was going to watch AMC the rest of the month and learn all kinds of useless pieces of info.  For instance I learned, while watching Willie Wonka, that all the little Oompa Loompas liked to rent a limo every day after filming and bar hop.  This was particularly funny to me, and totally not PC, because I kept having a mental image of the little dudes hopping up so they could see over the bar:  HOP “Scotch” HOP “on the” HOP “rocks, please” (bar?  hopping?  right?)  So I apologize if either of you are an Oompa Loompa and also that I’m an insensitive un-PC bitch.

But, no.  No little notes on my AMC.  Dammit.

Oh, well, I’ve been distracted by the talking heads on CNN anyway.

Mom is of an unstated age that allows her to pick and choose what she feels like doing and I expect she’s earned that right.  Personally, however, I do think she should have felt like killing those large red ants with the big mound of ant mansion in her backyard sometime in the last few years.  I particularly think she should have killed them before one of the little bass turds bit my foot.  Dammit, that hurt.

I grabbed some rubbing alcohol and some cortisone cream and some anti-itch cream and sat with ice on it while we watched the Oompah Loopahs roll away the large blueberry girl (one of my favorite parts, although I’m sure it wasn’t fun for her as she apparently wore the Styrofoam ball all day long and couldn’t eat while the rest of the crew had lunch because her arms couldn’t reach her mouth.  Seriously?  No one could spoon a little soup in her mouth?)  Then I started worrying about her.  What if she needed to go to the bathroom?

Well, it’s too late now, isn’t it?

Sorry, I’m back now, I was gone for a while there ^^^ Chunk is on my desk hovering over my keyboard, trying to smack my hand every time I type.  Apparently the typing is keeping her awake or something.  So sorry, Princess, your constant jumping on me is the whole reason we’re all awake at 4am.  Think about that tomorrow.  Anyway, now she is distracted as the sun is coming up and she can see the birds outside so she’s at the window chirping, tail twitching, and no longer trying to kill the dreaded Fingers of Typing.  That’s some tail, I tell you.  I had to move my coffee cup.

After Charlie gave Mr. Wonka the Everlasting Gobstopper back (which, BTW, they do make Everlasting Gobstoppers in real life but they actually only last 16 minutes, thank you, AMC) and proved he was a great guy and got to own the whole candy factory I retired to the Bat Cave to read a while before bed.  Of course then that damn ant bite started itching like fire.  I didn’t want to go back upstairs to get all the anti-itch stuff because every step you take in that 40-year old house makes the cups rattle slightly in the cupboard and I would wake mom, so I sat there for a while trying to ignore it.  You know how that goes.  Pretty soon the ant bite was the size of a basketball and it was all I could think of, itch! itch! itch!, the way a mosquito in the night ends up the size of a 747 and the next morning the bedroom looks like a war zone because you’ve thrown everything you could find at the damn thing and now you have to buy a new lamp.  Not that I ever did that.

I kept thinking there had to be something I could put on it to sooth the itching, something in that bathroom had to have alcohol in it, right?  Dad’s old aftershave?  Something?  But, no.  Mousse, Ajax, extra lightbulbs, I dug everything out of the cupboard – nothing.  I started digging through my overnight bag, furiously rubbing my foot against my leg uselessly trying to stop the burning itch which was now half the size of Alaska.

And then, voilà:


It worked!  Or, maybe it was just mental, but either way, the itching finally stopped, I fell asleep in the cool darkness of the Bat Cave and slept not like a baby until the sun came up.

We had another fun day and went shopping and eating and shopping and eating.  I had a nice run in the hills – at 5,000 feet it takes a while to get acclimated to the thinner air so I had to do some stopping and starting but it was a beautiful day and I was so happy to be running my beautiful Arizona.  You can’t feel too sad when you have a view like this:

Valley and hills

And this:

Thumb Butte

Beautiful, huh?

That evening we watched Ground Hog Day and read all the little stories at the bottom of the screen which my AMC doesn’t have, not that I’m bitter or going to harp on that all month.  Then I went to the Bat Cave to read my second book since I’d finished the first book I’d brought.  This new book was one of those that Oprah’s kingdom has deemed worthy of her honor and they’d slapped a sticker on the front.  But the sticker was a little loose in one spot, which was irritating because I could feel it with my fingers while I held the book.  So I tried to pull it off but I think they use Gorilla Glue or something on those things so all it did was tear in half and then when I tried to read it was sticky.  This was even more irritating.  I tried scraping it off with my fingernail but that started to mess up the book cover, which was currently new and smooth.  If you’re going to read a book it either needs to be new and smooth or totally worn out, not sort of new and sort of worn out.  There had to be a way to get that sticky off the cover.  If only I had something with a little alcohol … or … something…


So now my book reeks of mouth wash.

But – it’s smooth and new and the sticky is gone.

I’m telling you:  do not leave home without it.

Calories Calories everywhere…

Since I’m so ecstatic about being out of shape so I can burn more calories, calories now show up everywhere.  It’s like when you get dressed up all nice to go out to dinner.  Then, on the way to the restaurant to meet your friends, you realize that the rogue chin hair you’ve been waging battle with for so many years it’s gone and turned grey – but hasn’t died – has suddenly sprouted to 1/2″ in length.  Overnight.  Now all you can think of is this stupid thing sticking out of your chin like a lighthouse beam.  You’re pretty sure it’s picking up signals from Jupiter.  Others in the restaurant seem to be staring at you.  Your chin, specifically.  Although certainly you are just being paranoid.

Not that it’s ever happened to me, like, Friday night.

Meanwhile it’s become obvious that the kitty chow I got last month was very yummy and loved greatly by Munker and Mo, who were asking me about every 90 minutes for more.  Even more obvious than the frequency of the requests was the unmistakable thickening of kitty waistlines and the greatly more audible THUMP of Chunker hitting the floor.  I have responsibilities here.  We do live in an earthquake zone.

Yesterday we ran out of the Crack Kitty Chow.  I bought some ‘Adult’ cat food with reduced calories.  Now the kitty food bowls remain full while cats look at me questioningly.  “Mom?  What happened to our food?”  Fortunately they don’t seem to connect the crappy new food to me and Kroger.

I told Hubs I’d bought adult diet cat food and not only did I think the reduced calories would help them slim down, the fact they wouldn’t eat it would probably rapidly increase the weight loss.  Hubs thinks this is a great policy to pursue with the cats and not at all optional for humans.  I don’t think it’s very workable anyway, since basically the only thing I won’t eat is Brussels Sprouts and slimy stuff like eels.  I haven’t seen eels at Kroger.

So, the calorie thing now seems to be lit up like a Vegas show.  As evidenced by this post, which popped up a while ago:


What.  The.  Heck?  That SUCKS.  674??  that’s all??

However, my good running buddy (and Mo’s first stepmom), Elizabeth, turned to Al Gore’s most awesome creation, the Inter Net Web Thingie, uncovering the data that an M&M has, in fact, 3.44 calories, making the total amount of M&M’s you can eat after running a marathon and burning 2900 calories 843.02325 and not 674 lousy candies.

The good news here is that, probably, if you are out of shape but still manage to stumble through a marathon, you might could eat even more M&M’s.  If you had enough energy left to chew.  Maybe you could just lie down face first in a pile of them, then you could eat them without any extra energy expenditure.  Perhaps the RD’s of marathons should consider a pit of M&M’s like the pit of colored balls in the kiddie section of McDonald’s.  Runners could finish the race and jump in, swimming through the M&M’s, chomping away.

Also I did the math, if you burned 2900 calories on a marathon you could eat 6.17 servings of an Enchirito and a Mexican Pizza.  If you called it even and only ate 6 servings you’d be at a net calorie loss.

And people think runners and marathoners are crazy.

Hmmmm. I see what happened there…

…when I left the house for thirty minutes to help a desperate friend in need.

Chunker and Murphy will be spending some hours in time out.  And I’ve taken away their phones so don’t bother trying to text them.

Becky and I both work from home, alone in our lonely, cold garrets, surrounded by wadded up Taco Bell wrappers and discarded K-cups, huddled in the chill in our pajama pants and Uggs, wearing our favorite sweatshirt emblazoned YIPPY SKIPPY RUN 2001, the fleece covered with pilled lumps of thread, talking to pretend people on Facebook and blogging with our animals who are treated better than any child ever was.

Becky’s job requires actual work, as opposed to mine, and she has to type many very big words that have a lot of the alphabet in each one and include many z’s, x’s and y’s – which are the hardest keys to find, you know, stuck down in the corner of the keyboard like an afterthought.

After 7 straight hours of transcription Becky sat back, stretched, and her eyeballs fell out onto her desk.  She managed to find them although she did accidentally knock one off onto the floor and it rolled under the credenza which took her a while; she finally slid it out with a yardstick.  She wandered crookedly into the kitchen for a cup of coffee to help wipe the cobwebs from her addled brain.

Her brain intoned, “I spy with our dusty little eye that we only have three K-cups.  This is nowhere near enough to fill the IV bag.”  Then her brain started to scream, “NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”  Becky wandered back to her desk, frightened and alone, all alone with only Brain and three K-cups in the house.  “I only have three K-cups to last me until tomorrow.  Good-bye.  I loved you all.” she typed to her imaginary friends on FB.

I’LL SAVE YOU!  I replied! and I leapt or lept or leaped in my trusty Explorer, Babs, and brought her coffee and saved her life and that of her family and probably several neighbors!  I was a hero!  News Channel Zippy wanted to interview me!  But I’m humble and loving and giving and told the reporter than I needed no reward or recognition for saving my friend, her family, the neighborhood and, probably, actually, the world.

And you know the rest of the story.  I left the computer open in my haste and apparently Chunker and Murphy had a little verbal sparring contest with my blog.  I apologize and I would make them write an apology too but I believe they would enjoy that too much.

Flush with her success, Chunk has become a terror today.  I heard a faint mewing and tracked her down in the closet, on a pile of boxes, trying to climb up and walk across the hangers.  When she saw me she jumped down and wandered regally down the hallway.  “What?  There’s nothing to see here,” her tail twitched.  She jumped up on the bathroom counter so fast she skidded into Mo, knocking him into the sink.  Ignoring him, she then tried to grab my arm to turn on the water, which I did just so I could watch her shove her snooty nose in the air and jump back down.  She’s terrorized Mo, attacked the bedskirt, tried to eat the fern then turned, jumped on the desk and slid to the other side falling off onto the chair, smacked Murphy on the nose for no reason whatsoever and then, when I came upstairs to work, I found this:

chunker 2.19.13

And her royal highness, seated on my laptop, was searching online:

print job

Apparently she either needs glasses or needs to dust her eyeballs because she had enlarged the screen.  And she doesn’t seem to know exactly how to spell oy vey, but I have a feeling I know what her next comments about me were going to be.

chunker is a suck up

i didn’t drool on mom’s shoes.  i just kinda licked them a little bit.

chunk thinks she is so smart but mom got out the heating pad to sit on and then chunk ran over and jumped up on mom’s lap and fell asleep in about 13 seconds.  i knew she would do that.  so now mom can’t get up because chunk is asleep on her lap.  so now i get to write stories.

this is a good story.  there was a bird that came in our yard and i barked at it and it flew away.  then, i peed on the grass where the bird was.

see? yeah.  dumb bird.

this is a good story too.  mom made carrots.  me and mom love carrots.  she chops them up chopchopchop and then she says ooops! and the carrot falls on the floor!  then i get a carrot and she gets a carrot.  then she chops carrots more and another one falls on the floor!  i love it!  i love it!  i jump and catch it and it never lands on the floor because i am so fast!  chomp chomp!

then i run in a circle and then i see momo and i chase him!  hahahaha we run and run and i bark and bark.


which that means.  um.  i’m not sure.

i’ll just wag my tail and look at her.  i think that’s what it means.

yep.  that worked.  then she said, murphy you are so crazy.

that means i love you.

i love you too mom!

HI! It’s me, Chunk!

I thought mom would never leave.  she’s been hogging the computer all day.  then she had an emergency, she said oh my gosh this is bad Becky is out of coffee!  and she ran through the house and got in CAR which I hate, stupid thing.  I don’t know how she can help Becky when the only place that CAR ever goes is to the horrible vet that puts things up inside where things should not be put up inside a self-respecting cat and then pokes you with needles while the entire room stinks and reeks of dogs which drool.

I wanted to get on the computer because I have to google doctor krackurback and send him an email and tell him thank you for fixing mom’s butt.  I don’t really get it, since it’s mostly her head that gets upset about stuff, but humans are just funny things and you have to love them anyway.  So anyway her head is much happier now.  She doesn’t say oh my aching head I wish I could burn off some energy.

yesterday she came home and said oh sweet little chunker you are so pretty!  then she said oh my little MoMo you little sweetie you’re so sweet and then she said Murphy!  Do you want to go outside? and of course he’s such an idiot he said yes but then as soon as he was outside he wanted back in because he needed to smell mom’s shoes.  He said her shoes smelled like dirt and grass and moles and squirrels and all kinds of stuff.  He liked them a lot and then he rubbed his nose all over them and finally I said Murphy jeeze get a hotel.

Dogs drool.  I wonder if mom knows there is drool all over her shoes.  ick.

anyway she said oh Munker I had so much fun I ran cross country today.  Which I’m telling you, I love her but she’s so stupid.  I know that country is big.  I googlemapped how to get to Petco and it’s a long way across the country.  I don’t think she could run that far in one hour.  She said she ran ten Kays across country.  Whatever ten Kays are she was happy and said it was a pretty day out with the sun shining going For A Run like she did.  But I know her friend  Ms Kay and I don’t think there are ten of them.  Also Ms Kay doesn’t run.   So, you see how she is, even on her good days.  No wonder me and Mo have to take naps.  She wears us out.

Also it’s real nice she left for a while because she’s been singing again.  She has the radio on and she is singing and it’s awful.  It’s like that time she stepped on Mo’s tail and he screeched and yowled and ran and hid behind the dryer for thirtyseven hours.  Only worse.  Louder.  Screechier.  Endless.

I wanna ROCK and ROLL all NITE and PARTY every DAY
I wanna ROCK and ROLL all NITE and PARTY every DAY

Then later she should have put on a sweatshirt because she was

OOH OOH OOH cold as, cold as
I, i, ice, (you’re as cold as ice) yes (Right here she would give a little bounce in her chair and fist pump the air)

(Cold as ice) You’re as cold as ice, cold as ice, I know
(Cold as ice) You’re as cold as ice, yes I know
(Cold as ice) You’re as cold as ice, you’re as cold as ice, cold as ice, I know

So if she knows so much she should turn the heat up.  I love the heat.  I love to sit on top of the heating vent.  it’s so warm and cozy and I love it.  I curl up on top of the vent and the nice hotness keeps me so nice and warm.  then mom is like, MUNKER!  no wonder it’s cold in this room!  But it’s not cold at all!  It’s wonderful and warm.  So again you see she’s basically an idiot.

Oh shoot I hear CAR!  I gotta go!


Happy Sunday

this is really a great weekend.  mom said that she is not going to do any work all weekend, and then she went downstairs and started cleaning her office.  which she really needed to do because it’s a big mess.  she should not leave papers on the bed like it was a filing cabinet because it’s not fair to Mo.  Mo loves paper.  he loves to jump on it.  then if it flips up he tries to hide under it.  which that’s kind of stupid because he’s bigger than a piece of paper and I can still see him so then I jump on the bed and smack his head just to show him.  then he smacks my head and we have a really fun time rolling around on the bed pretend fighting.

then you know what she does?  she gets mad at US.  we aren’t the ones leaving her papers all over the bed.  she should yell at herself but she says HEY!  you SILLY CATS!  WHAT are you DOING!? and then Mo gets scared and hides under the bed for thirtyseven more hours.

anyway, she’s down there muttering like she always does so me and Mo are up in the sunporch and guess what?? she left the laptop turned on!  So now I can talk to everyone again!  Two days in row!  I’m so happy.  you have no idea how boring mom is.  Oh My Cat, she is boring.  sometimes I fall asleep right on top of her, bored out of my mind while she is still talking.

which also I found some more great dumb dog pictures

hey.  wait.  How did that picture of the cat get on there??  that just ticks me off.

dumb dog

I’ll hunt them down.

anyway, this morning was so nice.  I was all cuddled up soft and warm with my nose under my paws.  Hey, mom made a poem for me.  Do you want to hear it?  She named it Sheldon’s Song but I don’t know why because she made it up for me and also she doesn’t sing.  which that is a very good thing because she sounds like two cats screeching.  believe me, I would know.

Sheldon’s Song for Chunker
Soft kitty,
Warm kitty,
Little ball of fur.
Happy kitty,
Sleepy kitty,
Purr, purr, purr.

So that’s what I was doing.  purr purr purr and then all of a sudden the stupid dog is in the kitchen barking which totally woke me up.  If I were mom I would have said, dammitmurphyyoudipshit you’re barking at your own dad.

which actually that is what she said.

dad was standing outside the kitchen door, looking at us and Murphy was barking at him.  See?  I’m telling you, that dog is dumb.  Mo and me said, Murphy, you’re so stupid.  That’s dad!

Murphy looked up and saw dad.  he said, oh, sorry and sat down and started licking himself.

anyway, it turned out that the secret door opening thing is broke.  serves them both right.  they never let me and Mo outside through the door anyway.  it’s their turn not to get to go out the door.

altho dad did look sort of cold, standing out there in the dark carport.  So then I felt bad.  for like, a whole minute.

so the other thing that was fun is last night mom sat at the computer box downstairs and she started yelling for dad to COME HERE and she was laughing.  She told dad LOOK!  My review is on!  then dad laughed too so I think it was a good thing.  One clue is if the word dipshit or dammit is in the loud voice.  If not, then you’re probably ok.

I don’t really get it.  I looked at her reviews and she doesn’t make any sense.  for one thing, we both know her name is not Hortence.  See if you can figure it out.  Also she told dad to please go like it so I don’t know what that means, because he laughed so I know he did but I guess I’ll ask you two to like it, too.

Tasty but deadly

Rabbit Stew destroys first floor of Shady Grove Nursing Home

OH!  I gotta go!  Dad just came home and can’t get in the door again so Murphy is barking and I bet mom will yell at him again!  YAY!  I’m telling you, it’s a great day!!!

Oh – also, Maya is a dog.  Dogs drool.  Cats rule.  Nanner nanner.

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