I know what common animals look like: cat, dog, horse, rabbit, cow…. but those other animals that live in trees and in the ground…. I have no freakin idea. I once thought a possum was an abnormally large rat. I’m from the South, too, so I should be better with identifying animals. My bladder is actually better than I am. If I’m ever in the woods and suddenly wet my pants, I know that there’s a carnivore in my path and my bladder is warning me…. or……. I’m drunk…..but I haven’t been drunk in the woods in 10 years, so I’m going to stand by my bladder being an attack-animal alarm system.  That could actually be a super power! When the heroine wets herself, it’s a sign of nearby danger…. she would be called The Excreter. There could be chaffing repercussions though……I digress… it’s a huge problem!

LUCKILY, I’m not alone when it comes to animal identification issues. Deb Amlen, fellow blogger and hilarious author of, “It’s Not PMS, It’s YOU!” had an episode with her vet. Read Deb’s words, my kittens:

It occurred to me the other day that perhaps I’m not as prepared for Nature as I thought.

I was born and raised in New York City, where contact with other carbon-based life forms was limited, animalistically-speaking, to leashed dogs and the occasional squirrel or pigeon.   I also went to high school in a particularly dangerous part of the Bronx (school song:  ”Look Out!  A Mugger!”), where squirrels and pigeons were smart enough to maintain a polite distance from the human residents, mainly so as not to disturb the drive-by shootings.

When we moved to New Jersey to raise our kids, I had this city-slicker fantasy that I would finally get to commune with Nature and befriend all of the charming woodland animals that scampered about my property.  My kids and I would frolic with the birds, and the deer, and the antelope, and the carp, and whatever else came our way, and they would sing a charming woodland animal song to me as I scattered woodland animal food for them, just like in a Disney cartoon, which clearly shows you how demented I had become.

Obviously, none of this ever happened.  The birds were more concerned with pooping on my outdoor furniture than singing, and the deer were much more interested in eating my flowers than frolicking.   This disappointed me, but it had no real impact on my life until the day my dog had a showdown with Cujo, the Hostile Yard Rodent.

Jade is a Border Terrier, a quirky, happy-go-lucky breed, and I like to think of her as the Roberto Benigni of dogs (“I luff evry-BAHDY!”)  She’s never met a human or an animal she didn’t like, so when she woke from her afternoon nap in our sunny yard and saw another four-legged being standing over her, she naturally came to the conclusion that it had come to play.  I did not become involved in the game until I heard Jade yelp and walked out to the side of the house to see her, nose to nose with a hissing football with a bushy tail and bared fangs that obviously did not have a game of Tug-of-War in mind.  Border Terriers are known for having their own minds, but when I called her, she turned tail on the football and ran, with only a glance back that said, “You’re lucky she called me, or you would be SO over!”

Because I was already operating at a disadvantage due to having grown up in an ecological wasteland, I called the veterinarian, who told me to bring her in so they could check for bites and give her a rabies booster.

“What kind of animal was it?”, she asked, still looking at her clipboard.

“Well, it might have been a beaver.  Or a very large squirrel.  Possibly a jackalope.”

The vet glanced up from her clipboard.  ”You’re not from around here, are you?”, she asked.

“Well, I don’t really know what kind of animal it was….”, I said, feeling like a total doofus.

“Stay here.  I’ll be right back.”

When the vet came back, she was holding what appeared to be a stack of flash cards, and she spread them neatly on the examination table.  Each card had a different rodent on it.

“Pick one”, she ordered, and I suddenly realized what she was asking me to do.  She wanted me to pick the culprit out of a line up.

“This one”, I muttered, obediently pointing to the third card.

“That’s a groundhog”,  she said matter-of-factly, doing an admirable job of staying professional and not laughing hysterically at me, although I could tell she sort of wanted to.

Fortunately, Jade was fine, and although she avoided the spot in our yard where she had met her match for a while, was none the worse for the wear.  I, however, am still humiliated.  But at least now I know what a groundhog looks like. 

http://debamlen.com/2009/06/30/all-hostile-yard-rodents-turn-to-the-right/

Shay from "The Biggest Loser."

I know I’m almost a week late with this one, but, you know I’m slow!! Okay – VENTING time!! Who watches “The Biggest Loser?” Last week, those selfish people voted off the largest PERSON to ever be on the show. They voted off the person who’s life is most threatened by obesity and needed to be there for the medical and physical support. The girl they kept on, Amanda, was HALF Shay’s size. HALF!!! I’m sweating from anger… and the fact that it’s 100 degrees in here, but mostly, from ANGER!

HOWEVER, Shay is what my blog is about. Women who fall and rebound with grace, dignity and humor. She was 476lbs when she started the show, they sent her home at 376lbs and she lost an additional 38 lbs in a little over a month. She now weighs 338lbs! She told everyone to suck it. She was hopeless.. but she fought through it and LOOK AT HER NOW!! She has so much more to go though, which is why I get so pissed when I think about it!! Click on her name below and watch her video. We can always bounce, my lovely ladies! YES WE CAN! President Obama – I did not steal that from you.. you stole it from my journal entry from 1995. I am so brilliant that President Obama had his people read through my journal for speech inspiration. There are cures to diseases in that journal and also confessions about having an ongoing crush on Mark Hamill. What is wrong with me? WATCH SHAY!!

Shay

I heard the Blog Angels singing when I read this story. Seriously – Christmas came early for me. Tiffany, if your girlfriend is mad at you for this, then she has issues beyond you and was just looking for a reason to be upset. Tell Naomi Campbell over there to suck it up. I’m surprised she’s not wearing a neck-brace!  Get that Queen of Drama a tiara!

Ladies, enjoy Tiffany’s story .. it’s a gem. Girl, you’re not alone if you hit your friend with a car, ON ACCIDENT!!

I think I’m writing this as therapy. I can laugh about it, but I’m still feeling awful because my good friend is not talking to me. We both live in the city (Chicago) and when I drop her off, I usually do it quickly at the curb because of heavy traffic as well as parked cars on either side of the street. I can’t idle or park. She has to jump out quickly so I don’t hold up traffic. Last week, I was dropping her off and thought she was going towards the back of the car. I immediately looked to make sure I could pull-out quickly in front of the on-coming car. Well, as I moved forward a little while looking out the side window, I suddenly felt something and heard a scream. I stopped immediately and jumped out of the car to find my friend on the ground. My girlfriend had walked in front of the car instead of behind! I hit her with my car! It happened in a matter of seconds and although I just nudged forward, the impact still knocked her over and sprained her wrist. She was a little over-dramatic by laying on the ground, screaming that she broke her arm and stopping traffic. Anyhow, I called her fiance and he ran downstairs. Both of them yelled at me saying I could’ve killed her and my irresponsibility went too far. What?? Yes, I take full responsibility for not checking in front of me, but she knew what direction I was moving in and I was going slow enough that she could’ve hit the top of my car to get my attention! There was no way I could’ve killed her!! Give me a break! I’ve sent flowers, cards and even money to pay for the doctor’s visit. She won’t respond. When I knocked on her door, her fiance answered and said she wasn’t ready to speak to me yet. It’s a crazy situation.

Tiffany, I once forgot to put on the emergency break and my car started rolling on top of me when I opened the trunk, but I did that myself. I guess you can say that I ran over myself. Now…that’s embarrassing.

I’m laughing FOR YOU right now. Let her sulk in her cave of pity. You’re too good for that nonsense and so is your car!

This is the best picture I could get discretely. He’s coming back from one of his bathroom trips. He loves the Milkshake song.

Yesterday, I was in Peoria, IL for work. In between appointments, I went to Starbucks to get some work done.  There was this tall, big guy, about 6’4″ / 250lbs sitting adjacent to me at another table. He kept getting up to go to the bathroom. He would start talking to himself, say “oh no,” under his breath, then rush to the bathroom. While he was gone the first time, his phone rang. HIS RING TONE WAS THE MILKSHAKE SONG! First off, that song haunts me (http://girlyourenotalone.com/2009/06/05/my-milkshake-brings-my-feet-to-my-mouth/). Second, I didn’t not see that ring tone coming from a huge, gym-short wearing guy that pretty much proclaimed he’s about to light-up the public bathroom before hitting a dead sprint.  His phone rang like 5 times. Each time, interrupting my steady work-flow. The Barista at Starbucks finally said, “Your milkshake is blowing-up over there, huh?” Priceless.

This story is from a fellow blogger, Charmaine, http://randalswife.blogspot.com/

If you’re a mom, you will totally relate and laugh.  If you’re childless like me, you will still snort wine out your nose with laughter…. then wonder if you could handle kids…

Picture, if you will… I am at Wal-Mart with my two boys, 4 year old Israel and nearly 1 year old Elijah. Elijah is buckled in the cart because I really don’t need a head trauma right now and Israel is running up and down the aisles because this is Wal-Mart and I’m running low on shame. About halfway through shopping Israel tells me he has to go “poo-poo on the potty.” So I take him to the back of the store and he tells me he doesn’t have to go anymore. After checking and asking a couple of times, I determine he really doesn’t have to go anymore and I finish shopping. As I’m standing in line, Israel starts again, “Mama, I have to go poo-poo on the potty.”

To which I reply, “Ok, we’re checking out right now and then I’m going to pay for our groceries and then we’ll go to the bathroom. Can you hold it for a little while?”

Israel, “Ok.”

Well, this happens a couple of more times and I finally point out the bathroom and tell him that it’s right there and we are almost done. After I pay for the groceries we are going to run over there together and go potty. He walks up the the front and says, “That bathroom right there?”

“Yup, that’s the one,” I answer as I hear the cashier gasp. I turn around and discover Elijah Houdini has escaped the buckle and is standing up now. So while I’m bucking him back in, the cashier points out that Israel is running to the bathrooms. I turn around just in time to see him run into the men’s room.

Great. What am I supposed to do? Please don’t judge me. I just stayed with Elijah and the cart and kept my eye on the bathrooms and hoped that the cashier would be fast enough that I could get over before the inevitable happened. She wasn’t. As I’m wrestling with Elijah, I hear a sweet mom voice saying, “Where’s your mommy?”

Please, don’t let it be me. I turn around to see my 4 year-old son standing outside the bathrooms with his pants around his ankles asking for someone to wipe his bottom. Pants around ankles. Luckily the little guy is pretty well-endowed, but I really don’t want to encourage exhibitionism.

Words cannot describe how I felt though.

So I turn around to the cashier who was a very sweet older lady and seemed to understand the situation. Luckily there was no one in line behind me so I just left the cart, my purse, and my baby to run and get Israel. I took him into the women’s room and wiped him and told him to wash his hands and come back out – I had to go get everything else.

It was a walk of shame going back out of the bathroom, past the mom with 3 young girls who was asking who Israel’s mommy was, past the young couple sitting outside the bathrooms and past all the other random people at Super Wal-Mart on a Saturday and back to the cashier and my other son and waiting groceries.

I made it out with both sons and all my groceries, but all my pride was left behind.