Brandice Says

Breaking: “Shit Feast Causes Puke Apocalypse in Northeast Ohio Home”

What did I do? WELL LET ME TELL YOU.

Jim went to the store, and I was reading a book, cozy in my bed, oblivious to the fact that my little dingo (aka tiny rescue dog aka my own personal shadow, Baxter) had disappeared inexplicably.

Where had he gone?

Well, before I tell you that, you’ll need to know that my demonic feline, Pepe, had chosen to become miffed about some unknown circumstance in her put-upon life and had also chosen to shit on the floor in the hallway in a big, regal pile. A REGAL PILE.

Did I mention that Baxter has a sick fascination with eating disgusting things, and his favorite of those things is cat feces, full of rich and delicious cat food that he is forbidden to eat? Oh, well he does. No big deal, because we keep the litterbox and the cat food hidden from his little dingo eyes… until the cat decides to give him a snack, which is what Baxter interprets the cat’s bowel-related temper tantrums to be… tiny little piles of delicious heaven upon which dingos are meant to snack. NOMZ, RIGHT?

So, just as I am catching a whiff of the delightful smell of my demonic feline’s hallway present, I see Baxter hop clumsily onto the bed, wearing a mournful look on his face. I look at my little dingo and just as I’m about to ask him what’s wrong (because that’s always helpful to do with nonverbal animals), he begins to convulse in a suspiciously pre-vomit-like manner.

I react quickly, trying to urge him off the bed onto the much more cleanable hardwood floor, so he is unfortunately scooting down the edge of the bed AS HE BEGINS TO VOMIT a long, large pile of what looks like marshmallow fluff mixed with rotted ground beef.

The sounds I emitted and the look of horror on my face as he set both of his front paws in the digusting vomit train that was still ATTACHED TO HIS MOUTH are not for the faint of heart, so it’s probably good that Jim wasn’t home and no cameras were present.

Here is where I really began to handle things like a pro, guys, so you’re going to want to get out a notebook and a pen and copy down this list of things to do when your dog eats your cat’s shit and then pukes it all over your bed. It’s important that you do it in this order, or it won’t come out right:

1. Be sure to stand and wail helplessly with your arms alternately pointing at the dog’s feet and then the vomit train and then the feet again.

2. Pick your dog’s paw up so that they aren’t on the bed any long, then realize that there is no safe to put said paws and then put them on a CLEAN area on the sheets and then start wailing about that as the dog jumps of the bed, streaking the marshamallow fluff behind him in his wake.

3. Pull yourself together and then run to find your dog. You will find him in his crate, having recently vomited again. He will be standing in one new pile of puke while eating the third pile of the night. Don’t be surprised if you start to make terrible wailing noises again as you somehow scare the poor dog out into the yard, where you can be sure he won’t get into anymore trouble and will totally puke on the grass now. (This is totally NOT what will happen.)

4. Get a serving spoon and a tupperware container with which to pick up all the puke and dispose of it, and then gather the original pile of beef fluff in your container. Continue to wail helplessly through this process. Do not be surprised if you begin to gag and retch as you wail. Remember how the only thing that truly grosses you out to the point of retching is vomit? Oh, you forgot? Well, you’ll remember right about now.

5. Get a big ol’ whiff of your tupperware container as you are dumping the vomit into the toilet to flush it from your memory and realize that DOG-VOMITED CAT FECES IS THE GROSSEST SMELL YOU HAVE EVER SMELLED IN YOUR ENTIRE LIFE.

6. Vomit on top of the mess already in the toilet and then dry heave as you frantically flush all of it away to avoid a never-ending cycle of smells-vomit-seeing-vomit-smells-dry-heaving. This is the part where it’s good to start thinking about crying and laughing simultaneously, because that part is coming up soon.

7. Check the crate, but decide to leave that alone for now since the sight of more vomit has you wretching again.

8. Go out to check on the little dingo and pray that he has ceased vomiting, because HOW COULD HE HAVE ANY MORE VOMIT IN HIM ANYWAY? Discover that he opted not to remain in the grass and is puking all over your deck glider and trying to eat it before you find him.

9. This is the part where you begin to wail and cry and laugh all at the same time, because you won’t be able to determine if you’re having the funniest night ever or the worst night of your entire pet-owning life. Be sure to call your husband frantically right at this moment and ask him when he’s going to be coming home because “there is a puke apocalypse in the house” and you are “slightly hysterical.” He will barely understand what you’re saying so he won’t make fun of you for saying “puke apocalypse” later. You hope. (You’ll be wrong.)

10. Get the hose out and hose the puke off of the dog and the glider and the deck from several feet away, because it’s all that you can handle doing anymore, at least until your husband comes home and can calm everyone down.

I’m not putting “find little puke paw prints all over your house afterward” on the list because I want that part to be a surprise, LIKE IT WAS FOR ME.

So, anyway, that’s what I did this evening. No big deal. Just another day in the Schnabel household… cat shit, dog vomit, people vomit, cry-laughing, apocalyptic phone calls and discovering I’m not that great in vomit-related crises.

A million thanks to this little weirdo:

Why I Will Never Be Donating to Komen Foundation Again

Komen Foundation Now Says It Will Continue Grants to Planned Parenthood (NPR):

The Susan G. Komen Foundation just announced it will be providing grants to Planned Parenthood for that organization to use in basic screening and educating women about breast cancer.

In the statement from CEO Nancy Brinker, Komen also says “we want to apologize to the American public for recent decisions that cast doubt upon our commitment to our mission of saving women’s lives.”

Controversy erupted Tuesday when there was word that the foundation would no longer be giving Planned Parenthood the grants, which recently totaled more than $600,000 a year. Critics accused Koman of caving to pressure from groups that oppose abortion. Komen at first said it was acting because a member of congress is investigating whether Planned Parenthood has used public money to provide abortions, then said it was acting to make more efficient use of its money.

The Shots blog has been following this story, and has more.

I will never donate a dime to Komen Foundation again.

I am someone who went several years without health insurance (during and after undergrad), so I have received birth control, my first of many subsequent breast exams, sex education, instruction on self-exams, yearly pelvics, the morning after pill, and most importantly, one very crucial referral (since they don’t perform them in my area) to a safe place to have my 2002 abortion… all from my local Planned Parenthood. 

This is exactly the type of fiasco right-wing ass clowns hoped to generate by going on a witch hunt to find mis-use of Planned Parenthood funding. Cast yet-unfounded doubt on an organization that has done more for women’s health than any other organization (in my opinion) and put politic pressure where there should be NONE.

Someone made the joke to me recently that we should thank Komen for the money that was raised during this period of outrage and backlash, but I’m not in the habit of thanking a women’s health organization for putting anything other than women’s health FIRST.

I don’t care that Komen Foundation has caved to a new kind of politic pressure (the backlash of the outraged left wing, myself included). My eyes are open and the money I’ve given to Komen will be redirected to other charities.

Anyone who’d like to pat me on the head any further and chalk my response up to my silly liberal ways can henceforth go fuck themselves. I owe a good deal of where I am as a healthy woman to Planned Parenthood.

Thoughts on Impending Death in Georgia

Weight Loss : A Fickle Bitch

Here’s the thing about weight loss: the closer you get to achieving your final goal, the harder that shit gets. 

Last week, when I weighed in, I was .2 lbs from my goal weight. ONE FIFTH of a pound. While I always try to keep in mind that weight fluctuates and I can’t get too excited about maybe having a milestone the next week… I mean, I was .2 lbs away!

I looked at the .2 lbs I needed to lose, and even though I had a wedding to attend this past weekend, I buckled the hell down and I worked the plan HARD. I spent ZERO weekly splurge points from the day of my weigh-in to the wedding on Saturday. I PRE-tracked and accounted for every point I would consume at the wedding and then vigorously tracked every single thing I put in my mouth that night… every drink, every mouthful, EVERYTHING.

On Sunday, after the wedding, I still had more than 10 splurge points left for the week, ate a few as a treat on Sunday and eagerly looked forward hopefully being rewarded for excellent behavior in a really tempting environment. I felt good today when I went to my weigh-in, no PMSing or cycle-related weight gain possibilities on the horizon, nothing I had consciously done that would impede my losing that measly little fifth of a pound this week, so I could FINALLY hit my goal weight and start my maintenance journey.

Well… I gained .2 lbs. 

WeightWatchers, I understand this happens sometimes and I understand that I need to stick with it (and I have been, for a year and a half, through many weeks like this) and I understand that bodies are mysterious things and shit happens, but seriously…

Fuck you.

What a slap in the face during an already stressful week. Work has been maddeningly relentless and stressful for about a week now and I MISSED my lunch hour today to drive through two sections of road constructions to get my weigh-in done even though I was given a short break in the midst of an all-day work training.

I have fantasies of buying a cake, but I won’t. I’d like to just tell WeightWatchers to shove its scale up its ass, but of course I won’t. In the long run, the program has been a life saver. In the long run, this is a blip. In the long run, not hitting goal this week is no biggie, especially since I’m still a mere .4 lbs away from my goal, but still.

Fucking hell.

It’s weeks like this, where I’ve done the right things and even gone above and beyond to be successful only to GAIN weight (no matter how small a gain), that I really just want to bang my head against a wall. 

It took me 7 months to lose the first 50 pounds. It’s taking me a year to lose the other 30. The closer you get to the pot of gold, the longer the rainbow gets, people. AND IT SUCKS.

Venting complete. Sticking with it. Upward and onward, but with a bit of grumbling.

Is this my iPad?

I am highly confuzzled.

1. When did I download the Bible?
2. What in the world are the LIVE EVENTS? Is someone making a live comeback soon?
3. There is TWITTER INTEGRATION?
4. When did I download the Bible? Seriously, someone tell me.

Dear People Who Honk Angrily at Runners,

Here are some reasons that you can shove your honking up your butt:

1. Everyone has a right to the road and there is plenty of room for me on it. I wear bright clothing and if you would quit trying to do eight things while driving, you would see me a mile away.
2. I run toward traffic (left side) because it’s SAFER for ME. If I’m about to be hit by a car, I’d rather see it coming and have a chance to react, rather than being struck from behind with no warning. Same concept applies to being abducted by some creepo with a windowless van.
3. Yes, I can see that the sidewalk is now mostly clear of snow and ice, but it is also a very unforgiving surface compared to the road and can result in more injury, both from the impact with a much harder surface and from cracks, dips, and curbs that can cause stumbling. Sidewalks are great, but not for injury-free running.
4. Has it occurred to you that honking suddenly at a runner might greatly increase the likelihood that said runner could be startled and much more likely to unintentionally stumble directly into your path? You could very likely cause the accident yourself by blaring your horn at me while I’m running in proximity to your car.
5. My final point is an openly elitist one: People who honk at road runners simply don’t understand runners, don’t grasp the above concepts I’ve previously mentioned, probably could use some outdoor cardio themselves, and are thereby not even remotely qualified to honk at me about anything.

Go find someone else more willing to be the target of your misplaced road rage.

Thank you very much.

Sincerely,

Brandice, a proud and unapologetic left-side-of-the-road runner