11/29/07 Disapproving Rabbits

Antique Mommy mentioned Disapproving Rabbits the other day, and since I am a simpleton with no notion of what's hip now (as evidenced by my continued use of the word "hip"), I had no clue what she was talking about. So I clicked on the link, and sure enough, there were disapproving rabbits everywhere. (Who knew that they were so dour?) If you haven't seen them, I highly recommend it. I also recommend the original Disapproving Rabbits page (which apparently before they got famous enough to warrant their own website). Definitely good for a chuckle.

11/27/07 Breaking News

Ladies and Gentlemen, WE HAVE POO!
If you've been following along at home, (and really, who wouldn't be?) you know that we've been battling Dixon's anti-poo policy for about three weeks now. Well, let me just tell you that last night, all of our efforts (plus a horse-sized dose of laxative) resulted in a successful poo! I've never been so excited to see poo in my life.

I know all this poo talk seems a little gross trivial, but chronic constipation can cause major problems in cats (or anybody for that matter), eventually requiring major surgery. The fact that he went on his own again is a huge deal. Now, let's just hope that he's back to doing it on a regular basis...

11/26/07 Thanksgiving

Welcome back everyone. Or, if you stayed home over the holidays, then welcome me back, because this year was Thanksgiving with Tony's family, which meant that I got to participate in all the travel insanity to a little place called O'Hare airport. Along with everyone else in the known universe. And maybe some of the unknown universe, cause that grown woman shuffling through the airport in Elmo slippers? Yeah.

Actually, it wasn't that bad (the travel, not the slippers. The slippers really were that bad). It was probably only 95% of the known universe, so the lines did occasionally move (but only when I would set my bag down to dig for something, at which point the line would suddenly surge forward, leaving me scrambling to retrieve my personal belongings from all around me. You know how it goes).

The plan was to fly into O'Hare, take the subway to Union Station, and then take the Amtrak to Tony's grandmother's house for Thanksgiving. Very "planes, trains and automobiles" of us. The plane part worked out. It actually landed a little early. We caught the subway okay (and for free due to a ticket machine glitch!), and were high-fiving ourselves on our transportation suave. Unfortunately, we ran out of luck there because we unwittingly climbed onto the subway train of a granny driver. (It may have been grandpa-driver also...I didn't actually get to see him/her). Either way, the subway that is supposed to go 55 miles per hour really only went about 15. Not so good when you're on a tight schedule to catch another train. We missed our Amtrak, so we got back on the subway going in the other direction and headed back to O'Hare where we caught...a bus! (We ran the full gamut of possible transportation, but nothing could stop us from our turkey/stuffing/mashed potato destiny!)

Speaking of, we need to take a moment to pay homage to Tony's Grandma and the fabulous food she makes, because it really is just that good. I love her. I've started heavily campaigning to get her to move down to Knoxville with us. She makes the BEST! SUGAR! COOKIES! EVER! If I can get her sugar cookies in the same meal as Aunt Missy's broccoli casserole and Aunt Suzie's "My Favorite Cake" and Granny's mashed potatoes, I think that it might just be the answer to world peace.

After stuffing ourselves at Grandma's, we headed back to Tony's parent's house, where we all sat around in a turkey-induced coma. Well, I did anyway. Tony's mom and sister were up at the crack of dawn the next day, battling for door-buster deals, and we went out for Old Chicago pizza and a Peoria Rivermen vs Chicago Wolves minor league hockey game. For Saturday, we were back in Chicago, where we ate at Potbelly's, (most likely the best sandwich place in all of Chicagoland), a trip through the Field museum, a trolley ride around the city, and a brief trek to Nordstrom's.

All and all a fun trip, although it's good to be home again. This morning, I sprung the inmate (Dixon) from the clink (the Vet's boarding house) where he'd been doing a nickel (5 days) for his crime (refusing to poop). I'm not sure if he's seen the error of his ways or not, but he's sure happy to be home.

Thanks to Ashley for watching Mason and the fish, and doing general house-sitting while we were gone, and thanks to Aunt Missy for the fabulous broccoli casserole (the BEST part of the Thanksgiving meal) that was waiting for me in the fridge when we got home.

All things to be thankful for.

11/24/07 Your Loy-al-ty Means A Vic-tor-y So Fight! Vols! Fight!

OH. MY. GOODNESS. Have you ever seen a game like this? I'm really surprised that the suspense didn't cause more people to have coronaries right there in front of their TV screen.

The question now is, will LSU be all down and depressed because they lost their shot at the National Champs, or will they be fighting twice as hard because they have something to prove?

We'll find out next weekend in Atlanta.

11/21/07 The Poo Saga Continues

Oh ya'll, I'm not having the best of days today. Dixon went back to the vet yesterday and cost me another $200, which brings our grand non-pooing total to right around $600. That is some crazy expensive poop. Merry Christmas annoyingly-cheerful vet people. By contrast, all of my friends and family members will now be receiving half empty tubes of Laxatone and opened (but not eaten) cans of pumpkin for Christmas.

I can take the cost. It hurts my little frugal soul, but I can take it, because it's Dixon and he needs this. What I'm having a little more trouble with is getting up 2 and a half hours before I normally get up each morning in order to shove five (FIVE!) pills down a very uncooperative kitty's throat. I value my sleep. I need it. And I'm not a morning person on the best of occasions. But to hold the tornado of teeth and claws and fur and foamy Cujo drool while Tony tries unsuccessfully to pry open Dixon's little jaws and stuff a little pill down his little throat, only to have Dixon hack it back up again, slimy and disintegrating, onto the carpet? It's not my favorite way to start the morning.

Pilling the cat was bad enough, but today's straw that broke the camel's back was when I was leaving the house for work this morning and stepped in dog doo. With my good work shoes. And then got in my car. And spread it all over my floor mat before I realized what happened.

For the record, I do not own a dog. The offending party responsible for this poop belongs to a neighbor, who allows him to roam freely around the neighborhood, digging up people's flowers and peppering my lawn in little doggie land mines. I HATE this dog. I especially hate him now that I have to clean his poop off of my good work shoes and out of my car.

And no, the irony that I've just spent $600 and two weeks trying to get my animal to poop while Annoying Neighborhood Yappy Dog just left me a shoeful was not lost on me.

11/19/07 Dixon's Poo Problem

My kitty cat is sick. Poor little Dixon will be so embarrassed when he finds out that I'm sharing this with the internet world, but I'm his mother, so embarrassment is what I do. Plus, I'm hoping someone out there has gone through a similar situation, and can give me some advice. (Caution: if you're like Tony's family, and the mere mention of bodily functions -even in felines- sends you recoiling back in horror, then let this also serve as fair warning: we're talking about poo today).

Here's the thing: He's constipated. We noticed two weeks ago that Dixon was trying to go to the potty and...well, couldn't. Completely stopped up. So Tony made an appointment with a vet, and they gave him an enema. And as usually happens with enemas, Dixon's eyes got really big, and he rocketed around the room until he exploded. Several times. And we patted ourselves on the backs for being the good kitty parents that we are, and relieving Dixon's suffering, even if it did involve a hose up the rear. Unfortunately, Dixon immediately got stopped up again. So, two days later, we took him to another vet. (This had nothing to do with the enema...we've been shopping around for a good one, and that last guy, while effective, was also kind of a jerk). New vet was much more thorough. X-rays were taken, and sure enough, the kitty is chock-full of poo. Exams of his colon, pelvis, and erm...hind end were done in great agonizing detail. All normal. Blood work was done. Normal. Urine tests were done. Normal. Hormone, thyroid, and a billion other tests were all done. Normal, normal, normal. Basically, there is NO PHYSICAL REASON why Dixon doesn't poo. He just won't. (To be fair, I also tried this route when I was a child and decided that poo was over-rated and I just wouldn't do it anymore. My result was the same as Dixon's. So just in case this was a battle of kitty wills, I sat him down and explained that all things HAVE to poo, even if they don't want to). No dice.

Yes, we've tried laxative. It's a fabulous tube of stuff called Laxatone, and we have it in chicken AND tuna flavor. I'm told cats loooooove this stuff. Will devour it right out of the tube (much the same way I do with cookie dough). Not Dixon. He doesn't really care for the taste. We've been hiding it in his food to get him to eat it. That cat has enough laxatone in him to clean out an entire city, but still no poo.
The vet also gave us a high fiber, low calorie wet canned food. The thinking is that the high fiber plus the extra moisture in the food would help move things along. And, unlike laxatone, I'm told cats loooooove this stuff. Yeah, except for Dixon. He wants his crunchy dry food, not the wet mushy stuff. We've been suffering through his disapproving glares every time he sees the stuff in the food bowl. Plan B involves smearing it on his crunchy food like pate on crackers and feeding it to him one. crunchy. at. a. time. It gets very old.
We've also tried mineral spirits. It's colorless, tasteless and odorless, so cats loooooove this stuff. (Oh, if I had a quarter for every time I've heard that one...) As you probably guessed, Dixon does not care for it. It also gets mixed into the crunchy food, although this tends to make them mushy and unappealing. Even so, he's managed to eat enough that his insides should be slicker than a presidential candidate on election day (and equally full of poo), so this should be doing the trick. Sadly, nothing. (Have you ever seen the Scrubs musical episode where they sing "Everything comes down to poo"? It's my new theme song).
The vet also gave us some medicine, which is supposed to take care of any bowel inflammation that may be going on. It's in pill form, but the pill dissolves in water, so we figured we could just syringe the medicine water into Dixon's mouth (he doesn't do pills very well). Are you seeing a pattern here yet? Can you guess what happens next? Let's just say that Dixon is not a fan of the squirting of the medicine water into the mouth. We managed to get one squirt in. Dixon showed his displeasure by drooling and foaming at the mouth like Cujo. I'm serious! Drool blobs all over the floor and enough foam to put any rabid dog to shame. Then he ran upstairs to drool and foam under the bed where we couldn't reach him. Unfortunately, there was no pooing to go along with the drooling and foaming. Subsequently, the pill was mashed up and sprinkled in Dixon's food.
We've gotten a little desperate at this point. Dixon is on to the fact that we've slipped all matter of things into his food, so he's not eating very much anymore. He completely distrusts anything that Tony gives him, which means it's fallen to me to spoon feed Dixon. Even this has had dwindling success. We went out and purchased one of those kitty drinking fountains that vets swear will make cats want to drink more. We tried to exercise him vigorously, because according to Pet MD, that stimulates the 'ol bowels. I even gave him a bowl of warm milk, because hey, that works for me. No poo. Not even a teeny weenie bit.

Soooo. Tony's out purchasing a can of pumpkin now, since websites have suggested that it is a good source of fiber and (get this) cats loooooove it. I don't put any stock in anything that cats looooove, so any other ideas on how to unclog the kitty are more than welcome. Hey, we'll even take ideas that have unclogged dogs, humans, birds, turtles, and I-75. We have to find something soon, or else Dixon gets another friendly visit from Mr. Enema...And everybody knows that cats looooooove that.

11/16/07 Learning To Go With The Flow

Somebody asked me last night what I would do with my evenings once I graduated from school. Without being in class for 6 hours a week, the hours between 5pm and bedtime would suddenly be brimming with opportunity. Since I've still got another semester and mini-term to go, I can honestly say that I hadn't really thought about it. My head ran through several options, like "Get into a regular exercise program" or "Write the next great American novel" or "Volunteer for a good cause" or "Learn a second language".

My head thought all of that, but my mouth said:

Belly dancing.

Okay, so it might surprise you that the first thing I plan to do after getting my MBA is to become a belly dancer. Not professionally, mind you. Just for fun.

A couple of years ago, the gym I belonged to held a belly dancing class, and I thought it might be a good way to learn how to move with grace and control. (Ya'll aren't going to believe this, but sometimes I can be a little clumsy. I have a tendency to smash into walls and stuff. You're shocked, I know).

I signed on for a couple of months with the beginning belly dancing class. My instructor was a willowy woman with a 70's flower-child voice and belly dance garb. I'm pretty sure her name was Moonbeam. It was like I Dream of Genie meets magic mushrooms.

I watched the instructor talk about learning to isolate each muscle group, and control movement so that only the set of muscles that you were working on moved. (Belly dancing is a crazy good workout for your core muscles). She took us through a few simple steps and then turned on the music so that we could "flow" with it.

("Flowing" by the way, is not as easy as it looks. The idea is to move in a smooth, liquid-like manner. My instructor can move like she has no bones. I move like a bad version of Mr. Roboto).

I would have thought that after a lifetime of being together, my limbs and I would have come to a basic understanding. I would instruct them to move in a graceful, fluid manner, and they would do it.

Or not.

The dance teacher oozed across the floor with serpentine movements. I followed suit by staggering across the floor like a inebriated rhino.

To her credit, the teacher didn't laugh, but she didn't look thrilled either. She did manage to keep extolling misty encouragement though.

"Flow with the music. FEEL the music. Your arm is floating along with the sound. Flooooow-ing aloooooong. Floooooowing...Flow...no, it doesn't jerk, it flows. Flo-you know, maybe we should try something else".

Apparently, I don't flow. I get bogged down in concrete and drown. That would have been discouraging, except that I was having a blast! I've never been so horribly bad at something, yet enjoy it so much. (Obviously, American Idol contestants labor under the same feeling).

For a few months there, I did my belly dancing class every week. In between classes, I practiced at home, and in supermarkets, and in the car on my way to work. (Trying to belly dance while strapped to a car seat hindered some of my movement, but I think it actually improved it aesthetically...something to try during the next class).

Sadly, just as I was moving from looking like someone having a seizure to someone just stumbling in after an all night bender, school started again, and it was on the same night as the dance class. So I had to choose between an MBA or being a Shikira backup dancer, and I hear Shikira's costumes have a tendency to chafe.

BUT! As soon as I finish my curriculum and they stamp Ed-u-ma-cated on my forehead, I'm shimmy-ing my way back into belly dancing classes...because no one "flows" like an inebriated Mr. Roboto with an MBA.

11/15/07 Don't Hate Me Because I'm American

There's an interesting article on Slate today about how other countries view Americans, and further, asks the question "What can we as Americans do to get other countries to like us?" (Sadly, it's no secret that the rest of the world thinks we're shallow and pushy and close-minded). The article goes on to say that through the Internet and Satellite TV, many countries can watch our movies and TV shows, but at the same time, they don't really understand real American culture. For example, South American students watch MTV's My Super Sweet 16 and think that every American teenager gets an expensive new car when they turn 16. (Ohhh, they only wish!)

The article suggests that other countries would like us more if they actually got to meet real live Americans in person. It cites stories of visitors being shocked to learn that we aren't all wildly wealthy and shameless partiers (well, outside of Hollywood anyway), we actually have a pretty strong family and work ethic, and most of the country has religious values. They're surprised that there are more than just blond Caucasians in America, and that we don't always agree with the official government stance on world policy. To fix our image, the article suggests that we should do more Peace Corps, foreign exchange students and Fulbright scholarships to get Americans out in the world, not only to see but to be seen.

I'm all for that. If I've learned anything from my business classes, it's that the World really is Flat, and it is a global marketplace. It's high time that Americans get back out and interact in it.

I'm also hoping that the proliferations of your genuine American run-of-the-mill blog, such as...oh, I don't know...this one, which focuses on the mundane day to day stuff, will help show international visitors (I know you're out there! I see your little dots on the map on the side bar!) that American life isn't quite so...bizarre. I eat, I sleep, I work, I hang out with my family. I'm not really as bad as my TV makes me look.

I guess the moral of the story is, if you're American, please please behave yourselves, because you're representing all of us. And if you're not American, don't judge us by our Paris Hiltons or Donald Trumps. We're not really all shallow know-it-alls obsessed with war...we just play one on tv.

11/14/07 More Insomnia-Induced Silliness

Tony doesn’t usually snore. Only every now and then, when he’s rolled into the exact position where his nose is in direct line with Jupiter’s second moon, or if he has a cold (which luckily is not that often). It’s one of those little blessings that God bestowed upon us when he put us together. “For it is written, Behold! There will be happiness and contentment in the house of Quirk, for this man will not make noises with his nose/throat while he sleeps, and this woman will not have to smother him with his own pillow”. Usually. Like I said, sometimes the planets align (does Jupiter have a second moon? I’m not sure now) and then Tony does a pretty good impression of a jet airplane taking off. I get to play the part of captive audience, because unlike Mr. Asleep-before-his-head-hit-the-pillow, it takes me about an hour or so to drift off each night. That gives me plenty of time to catalogue the snores. Lately though, I’ve noticed a change in the general snoring repertoire. Instead of jet airplane, Tony has recently switched to what I can only describe as “really excited elephant trumpeting noise”. You know that noise that elephants make? Yeah. Tony does a really good impression of that. Only, his trunk-trumpeting sounds really excited. And kinda breathless. Like, elephants having…relations. (Stay with me here. I’ve had a lot of time to lay here and think about this). If you were to turn on an episode of Wild Kingdom and then walk out of the room so that you could only hear the sound, then I would imagine that that thing that the elephants are busily doing right now sounds pretty close to what Tony’s new snore sounds like. Which really begs the question…just what exactly is going on in that boy’s sinus cavities? And how much would Wild Kingdom pay for permission to find out?

11/13/07 Rock On With My Bad Self!

Ya’ll, I just need to take a moment here to brag:

I had my really big marketing presentation tonight, and I must admit that I really rocked the Kasbah. I mean, nailed that sucker big time. Dr. Professor-man was totally impressed. It’s like, I was in the marketing presentation ZONE! I could say no wrong! My slides were organized and informative, my facts were detailed but not boring, and my voice didn’t even crack like a pre-teen boy’s! Dr. Professor-man had been blasting annihilating critiquing the presentations all night, so I was a little worried about what he’d say about mine. (Okay, I admit it…my financial analysis was a little weak, and anything beyond superficial questioning would have made it abundantly clear that rocks have a better grasp on my cash flow analysis, but in this case the ol’ “Fake it til you make it” worked out for me, because he didn’t question any of my random excel sheets. God bless you, Yahoo Finance!). True, I worked for two weeks on this presentation, and can tell you more random facts about Caterpillar and the Philippines Infrastructure than just about anybody, but to nail the presentation, flat out? Sw-eeeeeeeet! I took a victory lap or two around the classroom while Dr. Professor-man sang the praises of my MOST AWESOME use of blatantly-stolen-from-the-website photos to illustrate my points. Whooooo-hoooo!

Okay, I’m done. I just needed a moment to share my victory. I’m better now.

(This moment of modesty has been brought to you by the letter A, as in, my presentation is soooo getting an A!)