Why I Am A Reverse Old Person

So, ever since I started this job, I have become what my friend Molly calls "A Reverse Old Person." What she means by this is I keep the exact opposite schedule of an older person. Normally, your (stereo-)typical old person wakes early in the morning, has breakfast by 8, lunch at 11:30, dinner at 5, in bed by 9.

My schedule is as follows: Wake when the furry alarm clock decides it is the right time. Futz around the house for a few hours cause I can't have breakfast immediately after he does or he will begin to think he is in charge of this pack and we just can't have that!

So breakfast usually somewhere between 10:30 and 11:30. That makes lunch sometime in the 2:30-3:30 region. Which leaves dinner the coveted time slot of 9ish, maybe 9:30. Maybe 10. And on nights when I have a party, dinner can be anywhere from 10-2AM, depending on when I get home. Can't do a party on a full stomach. (Check back for a later blog someday when I decide to explore why that's the case.) And bed around midnight.

But it's not just the food that makes my schedule seem weird. It's my work habits. Take today for example. Below follows my schedule:

8:30- Awoken by furry alarm clock. Let him out and go back to bed.
8:45- Give up hope of ever going back to bed and head to computer.
8:46- Commence to read EOnline, check out schedule for meetings the next day, and do general nothingness on the computer.
10:30- Breakfast
11:30- Trainer
12:30- PR deliveries in Matthews
2:30- Lunch
3:30- Go hang out at Molly's for a few hours just cuz
5:30- Return home. Begin work.

And NOW, it is 8:44PM and I just finished working. Going to go eat dinner. So I am forced to wonder why it is that I spent the entire day messing around and only got down to work in the evening. It wouldn't be so bizarre except this day is quite typical. Regular meals and a regular work schedule very rarely make an appearance in my life. They are most certainly the exception, not the rule.

In typing this, I was hoping to gain some perspective as to why I live my life in this fashion. I have come up blank. Not that it bothers me, in fact I think this is the best schedule I have ever had in my entire adult life. (Especially the going back to bed part) It's just odd.

Thoughts? Those of you who read this blog know me well. I'd be curious to hear your opinions.

And of course this blog begs the question-- when I am an ACTUAL old person, will my schedule change? Or will I have the schedule of an Old Reverse Old Person? And if that's the case, what will I do with myself when my lame-o friends all go to bed at 9?

These are deep thoughts. They make my head hurt. Enjoy.

THIS IS THE GREATEST THING EVER!!!!!

Found this on my friend Jeff's blog tonight. I have so much love for this video, I could weep from it.



And now for nostalgia's sake...

A Conversation Between Boston the Happy-Go-Lucky Cocker Spaniel and Richie the crochety Jewish Corgi

So, what follows is an actual transcript between my dog, RichieCunningham Spitz and my friends Ryann and Scott's dog, Boston Fairweather.

Boston: Hi! HeyRichie! Hi! Hi! Richiehey. Hi!

Richie: (Yawn) (Roll onto side)

Boston: Richie, hey Richie! Hi! I'mBostonandmymomanddadareryann andscottandtheyknowyourMomSheri. Doyou knowmymomanddadRyannandScott? IknowyourmomSheriandshepetsmeandstuffandIlike it! Doyoulikeitwhenshepetsyou? KaraandLucaspetmetooandIlikethattoo! DotheypetyoucausetheypetmeandIlikeit! Doyoulikefood? Ilikefoodlotsandlotsandwhenmymomanddad andkaraandlucasgivemefoodittastessogoodandiloveit.

Richie: (Yawn again) (Snore)

Boston: RichieheyRichie! Areyousleeping? Iliketosleeptoo. Ilikefoodandsleepalot. AndwhenKaraandLucaspetmeandmymomanddadtoo!

Richie: (Crack an eye open) Oy. Kid, would you mind not hitting me in the head with your tail? You could put someone's eye out.

Boston: OkayRichieI'msorryIjustlikemeetingnewdogssomuchandyouaresoniceand
Ijustget excited. DoyouevergetexcitedcauseIdo! EspeciallywhenmymomanddadcomehomeandKara andLucascomeoverandsometimesIcometotheirhouse
andthat'sreallyfunsoIgetexcited.

Richie: Kid, you gotta calm down. How will you ever get to be alpha dog in your house if you're so eager?

Boston: RichieIdon'tknowwhatyoumeanRichie. WhatdoyoumeanRichie?

Richie: (Roll back onto belly and tuck one foot under with one foot behind) Listen, kid, let me tell you something. The most important thing for a dog is to make sure you are in charge in your house. You hear me? You have to be large and in charge.

Boston: IhearyouRichieandthat'sreallyinteresting. MymomanddadandKaraandLucas aregoingtoreallywanttohearthistoocausetheywillreallybeinterested.

Richie: No, kid, you're not listening. You have to be in charge of your Mom and Dad and Kara and Lucas. You have to refuse to do what is asked of you unless food is involved. You have to let them know when you are angry by peeing on the floor. You know?

Boston: SometimesIpeeonthefloorcauseIgetexciteddoyou?

Richie: No. I pee on the floor cause my Mom makes me mad. The important thing about that is you must wait until she is watching and look her right in the eye while you do it. Do you lift your leg to pee? It's important to lift your leg next to some nice piece of furniture and look her in the eye to make sure she knows you are doing it cause you are unhappy.

Boston: I'magirlIdon'tliftmylegbutIcantryRichiecauseitsoundsfun.

Richie: Great. So you go home and let your Mom and Dad know that they have to do what you say or you will pee on their hard wood floors. They HATE it when you pee on their floors.

Boston: GeeRichieIcan'twaittogohomeandbealfalfadog!

Richie: Alpha dog, kid. Alpha. Not Alfalfa. But I'm glad you get the point. Now, if you don't mind, I gotta get some sleep before I make my Mom give me dinner. See, since I am alpha, I say when the meals are. I let my Mom think it's her idea, but really what I do is poke her in the leg while she's working over and over with my nose until she realizes she wants to give me dinner.

Boston: IlovedinnerandIlikewhenmymomanddadgivemedinneralotandIwishitwasalwaystimefor dinnerRichie. Don'tyoualwayswishitwastimefordinnerRichie? CauseIdoandIlovedinnertime.

Richie: Yes kid. I love dinner time. And it's coming up soon, so why don't you go find that Mom and Dad of yours and see if you can make it come any sooner. Remember, you are in charge! You're the puppetmaster. They are just there to buy the food and pick up the poop.

Boston: ByeRichieBye! IhadfuntalkingtoyouRichiebyebye!

Richie: Oy. Kids. (Yawn. Roll onto side. Snore)

Another Journey into the Strangeness That Is My Mind

So I'm laying on the couch yesterday evening (BIG SHOCKER!!!) and watching the time tick by on the clock. It's 5:30. Then it's 5:31, followed immediately by 5:32. (I am a GENIUS at predicting the passage of time. A GENIUS!) Why was I watching the minutes tick by, you ask? Because I had a party last night at 7:00 and I had to be there at 6:30.

Must arrive at 6:30 and will have a 15 min drive. So leave the house at 6:15. And 30 minutes to take a shower and get dressed and ready. So must get in shower by 5:45. And each moment that passes draws me closer to the "showering" moment. And now we see the games I play in my head which make me late to almost everywhere I go.

5:32, I'm watching a TV show and realize that by the time the next commercial comes on, it will be time to shower. So there you go. The commercial comes. But now, it's only 5:37. Well, that gives me a little bit of time to watch the next segment. The next segment comes on around 5:38. 'Seven minutes,' I think to myself. 'That's probably how long this segment is anyway. And even if it's a bit longer, I don't really have to leave the house until like five after six, cause it's not really 15 minutes to get there.'

5:43 and the segment ends. But there are still two minutes left and besides, I don't really have to leave the house until 10 after, cause it won't take more than 5 minutes to get there anyway.

5:46 and the show ends. And it's not that I WANT to start another show. But I still have four minutes until I have to shower. So I'll just see what's on my tivo, just for a sec. Cause I remember now that I told her I wasn't going to be at her apartment until 6:45 anyway and I was just leaving myself extra time by planning on 6:30. So I'll just get in the shower right at 6 and be there with time to spare. And I wanted to watch that rerun of Gilmore Girls anyway. So I'll just watch up to the opening credits.

6:01 and I'm the middle of a segment, but I discipline myself in my head. (GET UP YOU LAZY SACK OF blah blah blah) So off goes the TV, and I stand with a heavy sigh.

Now here's the thing. I don't dislike doing parties. Quite the opposite in fact. I love them (except for the dragging stuff around part which stinks.) And I also do not, in any way shape or form, dislike showering. Once again, quite the opposite. I LOVE the shower. You would think I don't since I designate days of the week when I don't have to shower so I can "save my hair from drying out." And with the way I procrastinate when it's time to get into a darn shower, you would think I was the Wicked Witch of the West and worried about melting.

On the contrary, the only thing I am more reluctant to do than get into the shower to get ready to go somewhere is to get OUT of the shower. I stand there and count down in my head. 'Ok, I'm getting out in three seconds. One... two... three. No seriously, in three seconds I'm getting out. But I'll just make the water hotter for a second and then I am totally getting out in five seconds.' You see how this goes.

So I was standing in the shower last night, knowing that I am already running late and knowing how I hate to be late for parties, wondering why I am always so reluctant to get into the shower to get ready. After all, someone who loves it this much should be getting into the shower early in order to make extra time to stand in it. Alas, not I. Perhaps it's because I don't enjoy drying my hair. Or putting on makeup. Or getting dressed. Or even getting off the couch to begin with.

Whatever the reason, here I sit a day later. I did not dry my hair today so it is looking mighty stringy. And I have to make some deliveries to clients like some kind of sex toy delivering Santa Clause so people have them for V-Day. And I should shower, so I present myself in a professional context. And I am trying desperately to convince myself in my head that as soon as I finish writing this, I will disrobe and shower.

Who wants to place bets?

Someone please put an end to the awfulness

So, I'm occasionally overwhelmed with my need to see this strike end. I want my friends to be able to go back to work. I want my friends who still have their jobs to be able to keep them. I want to see the general economy of Los Angeles begin an upward trajectory. But mostly, I want Friday Night Lights back.

Selfish? Absolutely. Here's more selfish thoughts. I want the people who created that stupid lie detector test show to be thrown in prison and kept in solitary confinement so they can think about what they've done and how they are wrecking humanity. And then, I want the network execs who said, "Hey! What a great idea! Let's get some schmuck, hook him up to a lie detector and get him to confess that he molested children" to be forced to watch their show over and over, without being able to blink or look away, until their eyeballs bleed. Cause has anyone else imagined the pitch meeting where that one took place? Picture this...

INT. GIANT BOARDROOM-DAY

Our male executives in their conservative suits with the token tight-ass looking female are sitting around a giant conference table. Rather than looking depressed at the current state of the writers' strike, they are cheerful and buoyed at the idea of having an excuse to create nothing but cheap, crappy programming. The head of the network, JOE BLOWHARD, speaks.

JOE: Ok, people. The audience is hungry for new programming. And they are so hungry, that we air someone sitting in the middle of the room on a chair breathing and blinking during sweeps and as long as we add light cues and dramatic music, we'll win the night. Who has ideas?

EXEC #1: (Raising his hand) I like the chair idea! Let's explore that! And if we use public domain music, we don't have to pay for music licensing. And as long as the actor doesn't speak, we can pay him even less. This show could be cheaper than buying a local newspaper! Cheaper even than America's Funniest Home Videos!

JOE: Well, Exec #1, that was just a facetious example, so let's try to get beyond that one a bit. (Beat) But let's not take the idea off the table. Anyone else?

EXEC #2: How about if we get a bunch of idiots and hook them up to lie detectors and ask them if they've committed any crimes against the people they love? And we make the unknowing spouses and children and victims sit in front of them while they confess?

JOE: GENIUS! Will there be dramatic lighting and music cues?

EXEC #2: Of course!

JOE: We can just look for contestants on old episodes of the Jerry Springer show! I love it. But just in case it doesn't work, somebody start putting together a budget on the chair/breathing show. Meeting adjourned.

FADE TO BLACK

Bitter? You bet. Scared for the writers? 100%. Desperate to know how the Panthers are going to make it to state without Smash on FNL, abso-freakin'-lutely.

When I was younger, I loved me some Stephen King. Loved. Lots. Pages fell out of the books I read them so many times. And one of the stories he wrote that always creeped me out was a short story called The Long Walk. It was about a national competition that was televised (predates cable and the internet o'course.) All American citizens 18 and over were issued numbers and a lottery was drawn. The winning lottery numbers were forced to participate in a long walk. If at any time, they fell below walking four miles an hour, they were given three warnings. If they failed to speed back up to four MPH, they were shot and killed. They walked non-stop with no rests. They slept while they walked. I don't remember the details of the bathroom situation right now, but you get the point. The winner (aka the only one left alive) won one million dollars or something. (I may be a bit fuzzy on the prize details right now, but it was a lot of money in the 70s.)

Anyone else feel we are getting dangerously close to this kind of programming? Anyone else worried that a Stephen King story could become "reality TV?" Anyone else hopeful that the strike ending soon is a reality?

And yes friends. I am a television snob.

My Furry Alarm Clock

So I am a night person. And with my new job as a Pure Romance consultant, I often work until midnight, get home and eat dinner and don't wind up in bed until 1 or later. So I like to sleep in the mornings, because I am MOST DEFINITELY not a morning person.

Which is fine. To each their own, right? Problem is, my dog is apparently NOT a night, um, dog, but a morning dog. Which means that from the moment I come home, he stares at me seemingly without blinking. He appears to be mentally willing me to be ready to go to bed. When he eventually gives up and lays his head down, he keeps an ear cocked for any noise and if I even slightly shift on the couch, he bolts upright hopefully thinking that the time has come at last for bed. Stares at me for a while more with that weird no-blink thing and then sighs and lays his head back down. Now don't ask me why sleeping in the living room while I watch TV isn't as good to him as sleeping in the bedroom while I sleep, but apparently there is a big difference and the living room is capital "I" Inadequate!

Eventually, of course, I go to bed and he is most pleased to accompany me, little nub waggin furiously when he realizes the time has at last come. Within moments of the light going off, he is snoring lightly (or not so lightly sometimes) in the corner on his bed. Where he remains until light dawns. I have not been awake to be sure, but I feel pretty certain that as soon as light enters the room, he wakes up and starts to wait for me to wake up, so we can leave the bedroom and he can go sleep in a more appropriate location elsewhere in the house while he waits for breakfast. (Who here wants to be a dog and live this life? Show of hands?)

He must wait for a while before growing impatient enough to act. Usually about 7:30 he can wait no longer and takes things into his own hands. He doesn't bark, cause he's not a very chatty guy. He chooses instead the Chinese water torture version of waking me up. He starts to pace in a circle. Which would not be a problem if it weren't for the whole toenails-clicking-on-hard-wood-floors issue. So he paces and paces in a circle while the sound slowly seeps its way into my consciousness. Every once in a while he stops and does a full-body shake, giving me the sound of his tags jangling on his collar as an added incentive. And then it's back to the pacing, punctuated with occasional shaking and heavy sighs. Finally, the noise, which has entered my dreams and begun to pull me back to life, wakes me entirely. So I sit up to see what's going on and his butt PLANTS on the floor faster than lightening. Innocent face looking at me with a very 'Hey! You're up! How nice! I had no idea but I sure am pleased' expression on his face. Should I dare to lay back down and attempt to ignore him, he resumes pacing and the cycle begins anew.

Of course, I surrender and get up to let him out and give him breakfast. And as I begin my day, I inevitably begin my inner debate... should I buy him socks? Or should I get a carpet? Can I just cut his toenails completely off? Or perhaps I can create some new kind of snooze button for him. And so the day goes on, creeping toward the night when we will once again begin the battle of night person vs. morning dog. Life is cyclical.

Why Blog?

Good question. Don't really know the answer. I mean, for one thing, when my good friend Snellycat suggested it, I thought 'Why not? I'm arrogant enough to think that people care about my inner-most thoughts and random musings. Why not take some of the brilliance that is my mind and share it with the world?' The other thought that occurred to me is that this would be my chance to write that nationally syndicated column I always dreamed of writing. The one where the topic is pointless and the musings draw no conclusions, but I get to write. And so here we are.

Don't know what to tell you to expect from this experiment, other than sarcasm, but let's discover together.