Etiquette at the gym (a.k.a. farts-a-plenty)

I've recently started a new workout program that has me doing cardio intervals three times a week. I prefer to use the elliptical machine at the local YMCA because it's low impact, and I hate running. I could write a missive about how dumb I think running is, but at least you get somewhere. I recognize that the elliptical machine is dumber, as you are fake running without actually getting anywhere--so I'll leave that one alone so that I don't get angry glares from people who get a runner's high (which I'm convinced isn't real, but an El Dorado-esque motivational tool--but again, I'll leave that be).

Anyways, I missed going to the gym this morning because Addie slept poorly last night, so I went this afternoon after I got home from work. I don't know if you've ever done intervals, but they're pretty intense. They get your heart rate up, and I definitely start sucking wind toward the end of the minute-long "on" periods that I do. Well, you know what makes intervals harder? When someone farts nearby. Don't get me wrong--sometimes it happens, and I'm willing to forgive the occasional mishap. But these were terrible, I-can't-breathe, sentient farts--it's like they were trying to punish me for having a sense of smell. I mean, there I am, trying my best to huff and puff through my workout, when all of the sudden it's like I'm trying to breathe through a surgical mask that's been hanging out in Addie's diaper pail. It was that bad.

What stinks (awesome pun alert!), is that it's impossible to know who's taking care of business--so to speak. And what's worse, people could be assuming it's you. For instance, I noticed the woman on the machine next to me start to glance around her shortly after the first "incident." The problem is, was it a "I can't believe the guy next to me is farting" look, or was it "I hope nobody knows that it's me that's farting right now" look? You know that look because we've all been there--looking around to see if we've gotten away with the crime. Thankfully, I finished up my workout shortly thereafter, so I didn't have to keep fake-running through a cloud of ick. I guess the advantage of running would be that I could have run away; so that's one in your column running--just don't count me as a convert

The Dentist

No, Addie's not quite ready to go to her first dentist appointment yet. Today was Anna's and my turn to have our gums stabbed repeatedly...er, I mean, have our teeth cleaned. We've started scheduling our dentist appointments back-to-back as it allows us both to get our appointments out of the way, while the other keeps Addie in the lobby. Normally, you would think this post would be about Addie's lobby freakout; however, she was great today. We brought plenty of toys, which kept her happily occupied. I'm glad that I was able to distract her, because the dentist had the Disney Channel playing on their "kids area" TV.

I don't know if you've watched the Disney Channel lately, but when did Disney go from light-hearted cartoons to targeting pre-teens with soap opera facsimilies that are somehow dumber and more poorly acted (and that's saying something)? I don't really think Addie cares much about what's on TV right now, and for that I'm glad. Anna and I walked in toward the end of an episode of some show (although it might have been a movie) where some girl was apparently trying to be queen of some sort of dance, or something. Nothing too far afield there--that could practically be Teen Wolf. But here's where things get weird, that same girl trying to be queen or whatnot, was apparently being advised by herself, as a separate character--meaning there were two of her on the screen at once. Therefore, I am led to believe that this poor girl is either a) mentally ill or b) pursued by a devious doppelganger who is making constant mischief in her life. Why would I want to subject my child to such horrors? Why can't we just watch Sleeping Beauty or The Rescuers?

Fortunately, I didn't have too much time to think about why that Disney show ended with the girl--now doppelganger-free--dropping a host of "Save the Whales" flyers on her fellow dance goers (it really was that weird...if I saw this late at night I would have sworn I dreamed it) because I got called back for my appointment. And who doesn't love a good dentist appointment? Seriously, does anyone not absoultely hate going to the dentist--does anyone leave the office thinking, "now that was refreshing?" Because there I am, laying on a chair while my hygenist is--as far as I can tell--trying to drill for oil in my gums, all the while asking me the most unrelated, random questions possible. It was like she had a Wheel of Fortune wheel in her head that had a subject of conversation on each slice...."Internet security," to "rural Montgomery," to "my mother won't take her medicine" all in the span of two minutes, with me being unable to reply as I'm face deep in dental instruments.

At least my appointment came out clean. No cavities, and not another appointment for six months. And if you're anything like me, as soon as you leave the dentist with a clean bill of health it's like you got a stay of execution from the Governor. So, now I don't need to brush for at least three months....I'm kidding, I probably won't go for more than two weeks.

A little cheerleader?

I was watching Addie this afternoon, and as we were sitting on the floor, playing with her Little People Noah's Ark, I had the TV news on in the background. Nothing unusual there, as Anna and I typically try to catch the local news. First, to stay informed, and second to be incredibly entertained for all of the wrong reasons. Local news in Montgomery is a study in nigh-continual, unintended hilarity. At least once every two weeks, our local news will devote an entire telecast to discussing how to prepare for severe weather. Not because there is severe weather in the area, but because there MAY be severe weather in the future. I don't mind prepping for the unforeseeable, but Montgomery news outlets revel in chicken-littleism to the highest degree--and there are only so many times you can be told not to stand near windows during a storm. And it's not just the weather that's great about the news--it's also the bungled headlines (my favorite is "Humane Skeleton Found"), anchors who believe their reading of health department scores will change the world, and frequent misuse of the term irony.

All that is awesome about the news aside, that's not what brings me to today's blog entry. While Addie and I were playing, I heard our local weatherman announce that he was on the road in Tallassee (a town shortly outside of Montgomery). So--intrigued by the weather being read from the sprawling metropolis of Tallassee, Alabama--I started watching the news. As soon as the weather was done, our local weatherman introduced the Tallassee High School cheerleaders, who did a cheer for the benefit of the viewing audience. As soon as those peppy teenagers started in with "Go...Big...Purple," clapping all the while, Addie turned to the TV, completely entranced. She stared at the cheerleaders, slack-jawed, completely hypnotized by the upbeat cheering on of the Tallassee Tigers (but, go big purple?...seriously?). "Uh oh," I thought. Perhaps I have a little cheerleader in the making.

As soon as the cheer was done--and the cheerleaders did their requisite wooing, jumping, clapping, and other general merry-making--Addie clapped for a second, lost interest in the news, and went back to playing. But I'm concerned the cheerleading seed has been planted. What's going to happen next? Will Addie become a cheerleader? Will the local news freak out about upcoming weather and interrupt every TV show I like to watch in order to describe a particularly menacing cloud? Will said weather freakouts be, in some way, ironic? Stayed tuned to future blog entries to find out.

Squirrel bits

Rather than try to explain away my multi-month absence from blogging, I thought I would just go about things like I've never been gone. It's kind of like the time between seasons of a television series. What was many months for you was only days for your favorite characters. It's the same--but different. So, last season on Blogsted...Paul had a six-month-old daughter. Now she's 13 months old. There, you're caught up.

So, today while I'm at work, I got a lovely picture message from Anna. She hasn't ever sent me a picture message before, so I was quite intrigued. Well, the picture that graced my Blackberry screen was that of a recently deceased squirrel laying on our front porch. Unfortunately (for the squirrel) it was only a head, tail, and feet. No legs--just feet. It appears that Fuzz, our most savvy, hunting-prone cat, perpetrated this crime against tree-dwelling rodents. Don't get me wrong--there is no love lost between myself and squirrels, but you have to feel bad for any animal that gets partially devoured by a house cat.

So, I'm looking at the picture in disgust, and then I try to reply to Anna. Well, the Blackberry that I mentioned above is new to me, as my previous phone recently died. Normally, with my Blackberry, I would press the track ball, roll to "Reply" and click the track ball again. However--and if you have a Blackberry, you will recognize this--I accidentally scrolled to "Forward" and pressed the button. The "Forward" button took me to my address book, and as I was flustered by my misunderstanding Blackberry functionality, I somehow forwared the picture of our newly dead rodent friend to Alabama Power (the first entry in my phonebook). I haven't heard yet what they thought of the picture...but Alabama Power has raised their rates recently, so I would imagine they've received worse.

Well, that's not quite the end of the story. I get home, and Anna informs me that she has left the dead squirrel for me to clean up. No big deal--I decided that I would take care of it after a few minutes. That was before I accidentally stepped in the recently thrown-up, partially digested squirrel parts that Fuzz had deposited on our foyer rug (at least I was wearing shoes). I wish Fuzz was smart enough to know that squirrel is rough on the digestive system. I also wish that the throw-up bug didn't spread to Addie, who just threw up in her bed tonight. At least Addie didn't throw up any squirrels.