Rude People

You might think this is going to be a riff on other people (which yes, we'll get there) but it's also about me. I was terribly, horribly rude to someone yesterday and the unsettling part is that the more I replay over in my mind what happened, the more convinced I am that I was in the right and had every reason to be uncivil.

Here's what happened. I had to take Olivia, my tabby, in for a checkup. Last week she was having some bleeding around her teeth and gums and the vet had us give her medicine for a week in the hopes that would take care of the infection and we wouldn't have to pull a tooth. So she was there just for a simple check-up.

We walk in to my normally serene vets office and there's chaos. Dogs in the back are howling, practically screaming. Two dogs in the front office are trying their hardest to break away from their leashes and greet everyone. When they can't, they pee on the floor instead. The phone is ringing, rooms are full, there's nowhere to sit, and my poor kitty is just huddling in her carrier, trying to disappear.

But fine, things happen. Dogs pee, I can live with that. I eventually find a little corner to sit down in and try to shield Olivia from the sight of the dogs across the room.

Then SHE arrives. An older woman with one of those trembling, high-pitched yappy dogs that barks at everything.

Before I continue I want to be clear that I don't blame the dog for anything. If owners don't take the time for training, the dogs can't be blamed. So I have no problem with the yappy dog, just with the way his owner handled things.

So we're sitting in this tiny cramped space and the second this dog spots another animal (and hello, it's a vets office so animals are coming in and out constantly) it goes insane. Supersonic high-pitched constant yapping for minutes on end. The receptionist was plugging her ears, trying to hear whoever was on the phone. I had my fingers in my ears. My poor cat was trembling.

And this idiot woman sat there and every few seconds said something brilliant like, "Now Charlie, hush." Two more minutes of ear-breaking yapping. "Hush now."

I finally turned to her and in the snidest tone possible with a dose of superiority thrown in yelled (so as to be heard over the dog), "Could you take your dog out of here?" She just gave me one of those blank stares like she couldn't imagine what I might be referring to and so I glared at her and said, "He's freaking my cat out."

And so she took the dog outside.

I STILL think I'm right. What sort of moron sits there and lets people suffer? And I'm not talking about a couple of barks. This was ear-shattering and nonstop. It just floors me that she had to be asked to do something about it. Maybe she's gone deaf with living with this animal. Who knows?

Really, I'm resentful that she put me in a position to be the bad guy. And yes I did have the option to just sit there and be polite and take it, but I'm like a mama bear when it comes to my cats. Do anything to try and harm them and I will take you down.

We got back from the vet's around 3:30 and we didn't see Olivia until this morning. She hid all night. Usually she'll hide for about 2 hours after a vets appointment and then decide the coast is clear. Blair thinks I'm turning into my mother, worrying so much about the cat's mental health, but here's another area I refuse to concede. The fact that she disappeared for over 12 hours indicates that she WAS freaked out by the whole day.

Mama bear. That's me.

If anyone has any opinions on whether you think I handled this situation properly, was rude for no cause, or had other options, I'd love to hear your feedback.

CarbFest 2005 - We Will Miss you

Carbfest 2005 has come to an end. South Beach has begun. I'm actually looking forward to some healthy eating. I had a final carb binge last night (a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich and chips) but today the health program has begun. I'm hoping to shed anywhere from 5-10 pounds and, of course, to keep it off.

So my scale this morning read 124. I wish. Our scale is at least 6 pounds under, maybe even eight. Plus, it has an annoying habit of reading different numbers even if you step on it three times in a row or, God forbid, move it to a different place on the floor. If I'm in the center of the bathroom, I weigh 130. If I place the scale behind the door, I weigh 124. Needless to say, I weigh myself behind the door.

But we'll just 124 simply as a base to see if anything happens. The hardest part for me, I think, will be forgoing my mochas. How can I be expected to drive into town and sit down and write anything without my happy steaming mocha by my side? Hot tea just isn't the same, but it will have to do, at least for a few weeks.

I am also (drumroll, please) going to actually eat chicken on this diet. Organic, free-range, I-can't-believe-I'm-paying-this-much-for-chicken chicken, but chicken. It's been 7-8 years since I've eaten chicken. But since I don't eat red meat, I'm running out of things to eat on this diet. I can only substitute a soy burger so many times before it gets boring. So I'll try the chicken and see how it goes. I'm not even looking forward to it. Not even sure I'll be able to eat it. We'll see.

A side note. I "discovered" the most fantastic cleaning tool yesterday. Mr. Clean's Magic Erase Bar. It truly is magical. This wondrous bar got rid of all the marks on our walls in about 3 minutes, saving me at least an hour's worth of touch-up paint time. Blair had brought a box of the bars home a month ago and we finally got around to trying them. I am a convert, ready now to push them on everyone I know. These bars simply kick ass.

Much to do today. Meeting with my illustrator, errands to run, articles to draft, and I'm teaching tonight. Then of course, the playoffs tonight. I'm actually interested in a sport. Imagine that. Go NC!

7-year-old boys

Yes, it's the post my best friend is dreading. Just came back from 3 days in Atlanta spent with her and her 7-year-old son, Max. Now it's time for the review.

Relax, Trish. It's not that bad. Max is actually (contrary to all my previously held beliefs about 7-year-old boys) a good kid. Part of this could be from fear though. Trisha told me that before she and Max flew to Atlanta to meet me she told him he better be good because "Aunt Dena doesn't like kids."

Nice.

So instead of nitpicking the week, I've instead decided to take the high road (or the slightly higher road) and post a list of the top 10 things I've learned about 7-year-old boys. I offer it here in the hopes of educating those who come after me.

Top 10 Things I've Learned About 7-Year-Old Boys
  1. Sitting still is not an option
  2. No price can be put on the entertainment value of an indoor hotel swimming pool
  3. Louder is better
  4. They like to pee with the door open and sometimes forget to flush
  5. Vegetables will only be eaten by negotiation
  6. "In your face!" is a favorite phrase. (Apparently it's the phrase and not the implication behind the phrase that's so fun, though. When I told Max to brush his teeth, the response was an enthusiastic, "Oh man, in my face!"
  7. Video games rule and I will never, under any circumstances, be able to beat a 7-year-old at even the most rudimentary of video games
  8. Anything involving tumbling, throwing, growling, jumping, or pushing is always fun
  9. They can be going a hundred miles an hour and suddenly, with no warning, be asleep
  10. When the mood strikes, they can eat enough in one sitting to feed a small Chinese city for a month

There were even, I'm willing to admit, some warm fuzzy moments. Like when we went out for a late dinner and Max, tired and a little whiny, leaned into me and rested his head on my shoulder for a brief nap. (melt, melt, melt).

There were also moments of sheer terror. Like when we were waiting to be seated at said restaurant and Trisha was in the ladies room. Out of the blue, Max turned to me and asked, "The Easter Bunny is real, right?"

Calm down. I'm not that much of an orge. I assured him said Bunny is most assuredly real and the friend who told him it wasn't is full of it and probably needs mental rest and rehabilitation. Seemed to do the trick.

Okay, fine. I still have a little work to do before I get this whole child thing down. But at least I'm trying.

- Aunt Dena