Y’all, let’s just say that I’m annoyed enough to be, well, snarky. It doesn’t happen all that often, but I am having no success in censoring myself today. This post is a total mixed bag, so here goes:
Sports Illustrated, have you lost your everlovin’ mind? First you feature a model in a burkini (please.)
then you’re doing a morbidly obese model.
I do not subscribe to the Health At Every Size movement, y’all. You may say you’re healthy, but I can tell, from looking at you, that your cholesterol sucks. And I’d be willing to bet that your blood sugar and blood pressure does, too. If nothing else, morbidly obese people live fewer years. (I confess to having lost lots of weight in the past six months – so I know all about bio markers. I’ve recently had to stop one blood pressure medication and ease up on one because I have lost weight and my BP is so much better than it was. My blood sugar is now almost normal and I’ll get my cholesterol tested in the next month.)
The Health at Every Size (HAES) movement annoys the hell out of me. It’s a pro-fat movement. I recently watched a video where the guy made the best point: separate aesthetics from health. You may say that you think fat is beautiful. That’s great. But fat isn’t healthy. Had to agree with him.
Stanley, the Silly, Special, Sensitive, Scheming, Scornful (and yes, I had to look up words that start with S) Saboteur is still kicking my butt. I changed his food. He’s changed our routine. I changed his bowl. He refuses to eat. I reinstated the bowl. He decided he might have a nibble or two. The rain falls. The pee doesn’t. He’s winning.
This morning, for example, when he refused to go outside because the sun was behind a cloud and the patio was wet (and he also refused to go outside last night before bed because it had rained), I lost it. Picture me stomping around the kitchen (and I mean a bare footed cavewoman stomp) saying in a very loud voice, “I will not have this. I will not do this. You will not do this.” Times about 50. I managed to calm myself down, then took him (on his leash) into the office with me to work. He consented to go outside after the sun came out, the patio dried up, and there was no rain in the forecast.
Two sites if you’re concerned about your dog’s weight (which is why I switched Stanley’s food):
How much should your dog weigh?: https://dogheiro.com/calorie-chart-weight/
How many calories are in your dog’s food: https://www.kurgo.com/dog-calorie-calculator
My problem wasn’t calculating Stanley’s food, however. It was figuring out the treats I give him during the day. I couldn’t find the calorie count for the Oravet Dental Hygiene Chews (which are great for preventing tartar, especially if your dog is resistant to having his teeth brushed, like Stanley). I had to call the company. The 24-50 pound treats run 81 calories and the 10-24 pound version is 47 calories. (It takes him about 4 minutes to eat one of these things, by the way. They’re not a chewing type treat.)
Last night my ceiling fan died in the master bedroom. It was rather spectacular. I turned it off because I noticed that the air from the fan was drying out my eyes, but I woke in the middle of the night hot. So, I went to turn on the fan’s wall switch. It made this really loud pop and sparks flew. It’s directly over my bed so the first thought was, “Holy crap, it’s going to fall on my bed. We’ll have a giant fire and I’ll have to grab Stanley and beat it out of here in flagrante whatever.”
No fire, but Stanley was infuriated with said fan because when I get up HE gets up. He started barking at the fan and didn’t quit for 15 minutes. By that time I didn’t care how hot I was I just wanted a little peace and quiet.
My email has been acting wonky for the past month. I had about 200 messages and now I have 1320. Hello? I am going to be plowing through these, so if you sent me anything and didn’t get a reply there might be a reason for it.
Okay, my snark is done. I’m now off to schedule an electrician to replace the ceiling fan, the trash people to help me clean up the garage, and maybe hire a mobile padded cell for either Stanley or me. The jury’s still out as to who will be the patient.