Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Translation: I Must Be Retarded

    You know what's more gross than the dried up dead worms decomposing on the local paver sidewalks? Callie crouching down and rubbing her head/neck/shoulders all over them!!!! I can't figure out why she does this. It's disgusting. She must be sending out a message like, "Yeah, I killed that.........I'm deadly!" or "That's right, don't mess with my scent or you'll end up like this pathetic worm!" or "Agh, I love the smell of worm compost so much I want to wear it as perfume.". . . . . . . . Any other ideas? Do I have the only dog that behaves this way or are there others? And why are all the worms getting so lost? Remember those sand worms on Beetlejuice???? CREEPY!
     Sumo has always wanted to do everything he sees Callie doing and a couple of weeks ago he started burning out/kicking up grass with his hind feet after certain potties, just like his sister. . . . . . . .Well, KINDA. It's especially funny when he does it because he is huge, heavy, and clumsy which causes him to do it abnormally slow, lacking the graceful quickness that his older sister has.
     I wish I could imitate a good dancing robot. But, similar to my son Sumo, I lack sharp organized movements as well, but if I was gifted with the ability, I would do the robot all the time. One of the other things that makes for a good robot is the beat of a good song, and that is what I was definitely missing today while I was working out. My "me time" lately has been on the stationary bike gently huffing and puffing away at a mild-moderate intensity to help increase my heart rate’s threshold to a maintain fat burning level for longer periods of time and while doing that, I treat myself to a good read on the Kindle. Yesterday when I finished, I thought I'd squeeze in a short run on the treadmill, so I set up my headphones and Pandora . . . . . . . . . to realize that about 9 minutes into my 10 minute run, my ears where hot and stuffy, but not rocking out to any kind of beat! Translation: my music stopped after half of the very first song, never to came back on, and I was too occupied in some sort of transverse universe to even notice until it was too late! Bummer! I was wondering why I was having such a hard time blocking out the sound of my own lungs gasping for air. (I feel like if I drown out my heavy breathing with music, it helps me forget a little bit about how hard I'm working and more about getting through a number of songs without stopping.)
     Tonight, one of my patients has a CD player soundtrack playing some random collection of classical children songs over and over and over and over again, with one of them being the song from Milo and Otis. Ever see that movie? I conned Patrick into watching it with me one day, exclaiming it was a must see! I have it on DVD. No joke. I love the way the narrator does their voices in that movie! So now I can't get the image of a barn cat and pug dog running together through fields of grass and floating down the river in a tiny crate. Silly I know.
     Note to self: I need an intervention for one of these two things. Either my love affair/addiction with fruit punch must come to a devastating end or my clumsy mannerisms need to step aside and let those mature body functions prevail. I have spilled again. This time ruining the seat cushion to one of the break room chairs at work and probably staining my pretty lime green scrub top for life. Whoever is coating my fingertips with butter in my sleep can just go ahead and cease their shenanigans now.

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