One Woman's Quest for a Bodybugg

Well, if the weird title didn't catch your eye, the story of my quest may keep your attention.  Because, as usual, it's full of hijinx, starring our ridiculous heroine Kristyn.  What is she the hero of?  That part I'm not sure.. maybe hijinx..

So what the hell is a bodybugg?  If anyone watches the Biggest Loser, they already know!  It's that armband you see strapped to all the contestants (though I think they switched technology this season) that estimates the number of calories burned each day - the same thing you used to see on the Jenny Craig Metabolic Max Commericals.  It's the neatest little device!  When I was on my quest to lose weight before my wedding (a shockingly unique concept, I realize) I downed Biggest Loser episodes like a replacement for my beloved cookies.  After hearing Jillian and Bob say enough times "did you reach your burn?" (referencing the contestant's bodybuggs which were linked to watches they wore to show ongoing calorie output) I decided I must get in on this technology.  Research proved that there was science behind it - it measures moisture, temperature, heat flux, movement, and has something in it called an accelerometer (yes!) and in scientific studies it had been proven to estimate calories burned within 90% accuracy, as it also knows a bunch of stuff about you like your height, weight, age, etc.  If you're not on the Biggest Loser and can't afford the watch technology (though I think it also will output to fancier smartphones) then at the end of the day you just plug it into a computer and it tells you the (hopefully) happy news - you burned 2500 calories today - that equals another 1/4" off your butt! :)  Further research proved that it was only affordably available in the states - the cheapest one I could grab in ONLY Toronto was about $400 - ahh!  At the U.S. Costco website I found it was on sale for an incredible $129.  With a week off in the middle of March last year, determined to have a Biggest Loser Week (where I too would exercise 6 hrs a day and eat 1200 calories.. thereby dropping at least 5 lbs.. ah.. hahahahaha... let my laughter be the report on how that went!), I needed a bodybugg!  I became obsessed.  Where was the closest Costco if I crossed over in NY - no, the gas price would blow my margins.. hmmm... then wait.. a visit was planned to see Jeff's mom in Watford, near Sarnia.. perfect!  We could go early, I could pop across the border at the Bluewater Bridge, hoof it over to Costco (in some Michigan town which I swear was called Shelbyville..), and be back in time for dinner that night, bodybugg in hand!  I packed a decoy gym bag which I could stash in it.. I was ready!

Apparently an innocent looking blonde lady sitting all by herself in the huge Saturday border line up was a bit suspicious looking.  I noticed the border guards staring at me.  They had a drug-sniffing dog with them, which was an adorable German Shepherd that I couldn't help smiling at - cute doggy!!!  That was the last straw.  Next thing I knew they were knocking on my window.  "Ma'am... what's your purpose of going to the states today?"  Ok so I'm a terrible liar.. so I went MOST of the truth.. "just grabbing a bite and doing a little shopping" (both true).  "Alone?" "Well.. my fiance is with the in-laws and we have dinner plans with them.. didn't want to... you know.. spend 6 hours with the in-laws.." (mostly untrue..).  The border guard's face was stoic.  "Ma'am, can you open your trunk please.  And put the car in PARK."  Eep.  Next thing I know the cute doggy is in my trunk, sniffing around.  And the border guard began 21 questions: "Where are you from?" "Why are you going to the states again?" "How long are you staying?" "Do you have any prescription medication in the car?" (awkward answer: "uhh.. birth control..." followed by him awkwardly blushing.. I never know how to answer this and am constantly asked at the border, esp up in Minnesota when I cross for work.. am I supposed to lie to the consistently male guards!?!?) "Where is your fiance from?" (answer: "Watford, which I'm sure you, like most of the world has never heard of") "Are you meeting anyone on the other side of the border?" "What do you do for a living?" "Are you carrying any tobacco, alcohol, or recreational drugs in the car?" .. honestly.. this just went on FOREVER.  Finally my trunk shut, the guy gave me an approving "thanks, you can go" and I was off.  My awkward honesty never fails at getting me out of sticky spots!  Plus the fact that I wasn't doing anything wrong yet.. actually being innocent helps.

Ok.  I'm across. Time to get on the highway.  Woohoo!  Immediately a car passes me, loaded to the brim with a rickety jenga tower worth of furniture - in the open back of a pick up truck.  I remember the huge brown armchair, wobbling in the wind, very clearly.  I immediately moved into the right lane and let this speedy makeshift moving truck maniac past me.  Bungee cords and tarps are out of the question in Michigan!  Get me away from this guy.  10 minutes later I'm driving along doing about 100 km/hr in the left lane, presumably singing and chuckling about my drug dog incident, when the guy in front of me brakes wildly and swerves into the right lane.  Now, coming up quickly to the front of my car is.. you guessed it.. one large, stationary brown chair, sitting in the middle of the highway!  AHHH!!  Check my right blind spot - not clear.. AHHH!!!  Chair getting closer.. my brakes are squealing.  Luckily blind spot man speeds up enough to clear a space behind him so I can quickly get over without horrendously cutting anyone off.  The car behind me sees the chair a moment late and ends up squealing off the road into the grassy shoulder on the left.  HOLY SH*T.  A moment later, I pass the pulled over truck o' idiots and unleashed a barrage of what, to them, must have looked like the climax of a silent movie with lots of motioning and mouth moving but no noise coming out (my window was up).  There were middle fingers, a flurry of four letter words spouting from my lips and an enraged, demon-like look in my eyes.  It was two 20 something girls who actually did look horrified and regretful.  Lesson learned for them for next time: bungee cords are your friend when moving.

Back on my merry way, I navigated to where I needed to be. Shelbyville (?) Costco was PACKED!  I started panicking in the electronics section - where was the BUGG!?  I'd even called in advance to make sure they had some in stock that morning.  AH! Found it.  Line up was, no joke, 20 people.  At each cash.  WTF was going on in Shelbyville.  Lucky for me it wasn't a run on bodybuggs.  I paid with my credit card, bought some granola bars as a decoy (I really do love the reduced sugar peanut butter chip Chewy bars they only sell in the states - a Cedar Point staple!) on a separate bill, ate my extra greasy McDonalds, ditched the packaging on my bugg, stuck it in the gym bag, and headed back on my way across the border.

I usually love the Canadian border, epecially in Sarnia.  Too bad this guy was a bit grumpy.  I guess I was feeling "what else could go wrong" and had a bit of trouble convincing him I'd crossed the border for lunch, shopping and come back with only a jumbo-sized pack of granola bars.  But after only a minute (nothing compared to my morning..), I was free to go.

Status update on the bugg: it's an amazing tool!  It was the angel on my shoulder during that Biggest Loser Week, pushing me to go harder and faster on the treadmill, or bang out a few extra reps - because I'd have to answer to THE BUGG that night.  It was a great learning experience to see which of my regular exercises were calorie torchers (treadmill sprints - pictured below @ 8:45 p.m.; elliptical at medium resistance) and which were a bit weaker (rowing machine, power yoga).  I lost a total of only 1.5 lbs that week, but more importantly had a ton of fun with my week off, being active outdoors and at the gym.  Love the Bugg!  My free year-long subscription to the online service is about to run out, but truth be told I don't use it that much anymore.  I mostly just know that walking around while at work can double the amount of calories my stationary ass usually burns during the winter months; to hop on the elliptical for 40 mins if I had a free day that lasted a week; and to not expect much from power yoga except stretching and mindful breathing!!



I called this screen cap "what Jeff did to me" when I used his personal training prowess to force me through some treadmill sprints at 10 mph! I sent it to my dad, who replied, "don't let him kill you".

 I'm sure the technology has come down in price since last year, so definitely a fun tool for anyone looking to be more mindful about calories in/calories out (the scientific equation that equals weight loss :)). I lost 16 lbs last year, much thanks to my little friend to opening my eyes to efficient exercises!  I just hope you don't have to go through what I did to get it! ;)  Border tip: bring a friend and don't smile at the doggy.  Highway tip: listen to your gut to avoid certain vehicles (and don't FORGET you're avoiding them when a good song comes on the radio...).

Wondering How I'm Still Alive

I am, once again, waiting desperately for spring. Spring is the time when field biologists get to shine once again.  Early morning birding! Evening frog call surveys! Vegetation community classification (="sweet wetland!" = "this forest is very dense, I am stuck in it!" = "what the heck kind of tree is THAT?"), the ultimate gruelling educational, trying, satisfying approach to making sense of the natural world. Hikes.. what I do for fun, I'm getting paid for?  Playing with super high tech GPS equipment to navigate around, and using my compass when that fails, making me feel like a fairly awesome old timey explorer.  I eagerly await spring plants on their journey out of the ground.  I nibble at wild raspberries in the heat of summer.  I always get to eat lunch at THE most beautiful places in the world.  Yes.. spring and summer as a field biologist is FUN!  It keeps me going.  But oh my goodness.. it is rife with trouble.  Hijinx?! ME!?  But of course!  Thought I would share a few of my fave anecdotes from my 7+ years in the field of conservation biology.

- This past summer I got to survey the interior of an amazing island property in the middle of nowhere.  Only problem is, this island is 5,000 acres, of the toughest terrain I've ever walked.  Trying to make it 1 km inland, my coworker declared: 20 minutes, tops!  2 hours later we finally hit an inland lake, our destination, and looked at each other in fear.  Trying to pick our way out, spruce and fir trees bitch slapped us across the knees, the arms, the face.  Their stabby limbs which grow from ground to crown and point out at sharp angles from the bark were like thousands of angry intertwined knives, pointed straight at me for days on end.  The whole team did an impressive job of each taking a branch in the eye at some key moment on the journey.  Sometimes a branch would slyly hook its curled brown finger under a loop on your backpack, causing you to reel backwards into its waiting, pointy arms when you tried to move forward. The moss covered interior of the moist coastal environment was a maze of green carpet that felt like walking on a cloud. Sometimes, a moss covered fallen tree was the perfect balance beam.  Sometimes, it was  "non-tree", eaten away by moisture and natural decomposition processes.  There is nothing weirder than suddenly finding yourself up to your knee in a tree stump.


Moss carpet

 Just moving around these thick conifer forests was a workout - I likened it to my hardest 40 minute workout tape.. times 6.. times three days...  My legs came out looking like this:


Ewwww.....



My spirit, if I could photograph THAT in my hotel room, would probably have looked similar.  But when this is where you get to eat lunch, and what you get to boat around, and how you're spending your Tuesday afternoon, you sort of just shut up about it and take it all in.





Shoreline View

- Also this past year I had the pleasure (?) of surveying a property that was entirely wetland habitat.  But not so much that you could just say "it's a wetland, see ya!" - there were swamps.  Marshes.  Open water pools. Fens. Occasional pockets of upland forest, just to dry off your feet.  At one point in this 100 acre wetland I found myself knee keep in an alder swamp (a tall shrub that tends to grow in thickets - so picture that dense forest I described, but covered in standing water and with thinner branches growing even more tightly together).  I was holding on to branches above my head, and feeling my feet sink deeper in deeper as they hopelessly searched for a branch or root to hold on to.  My backpack full of electronic field gear moved closer and closer to the water... my coworker tried to point out places to stand, but if I let go of my hands, tightly clutching other alder branches above my head, I would surely fall backwards, and my rubber boots were sinking swiftly and deeply into muck that didn't seem to have a bottom.  We managed to find our way out of the thicket, only to enter an open marsh.. which my coworker decided to explore.. and began sinking.. pack of electronic equipment sinking closer and closer to the surface of the water.. she took a step forward and was up to her hip.  Why was her instinct to take ANOTHER step forward.  I performed some sort of fireman rescue, hooking my feet into sturdy branches on dry land and we got her out of there.  This went on for about 2 days.  I love wetlands.. don't let anyone tell you differently... ................

- One summer I was tasked with taking a super high up, government head honcho lady out on an inspection of a property.  She wanted to experience "a day in the field".  Back in 2009 before I carried my emergency satellite messenger which sends check in/check out messages and can contact police and local rescue groups with the push of a button; before I had an electronic GPS; and on a day I didn't bring a compass... I followed maps.  Rough hand drawn trail marked out on a map of a 200 acre property.. got it!!!  We started on a jaunt that would take about 1 hour.  2 hours later we were wandering hopelessly around the backwoods, dense, isolated forest of this property and the head honcho, I think, perhaps, was starting to lose faith in me.  I could make out a building in the distance - could it be... were we back at the house?  No way.. we were way too far north.. that much I knew.  We came upon a house buried in the MIDDLE OF THE WOODS, that a shirtless man made his way out of and squinted at us: "can I help you?".  We gingerly explained our situation.. he eyed us up warily and explained just how far off course we were.  Not wanting to end up in a Gretel and Gretel situation, we hightailed it out of there, backtracked the way we'd came and made it (the LONG way) back to the front of the property.  Sure am glad that dude wasn't in a murder-y kind of mood that day.. would have been tough to explain to the feds... (the federal government that is...)  GULP

- In 2008 I finally learned how to hop fences.  After doing it wrong for the LAST TIME.  I never got the concept of putting my foot down on the other side of the fence equal height to where the first foot was on the starting side of the fence.  I always wanted to "go big or go home" and stretch that leading foot onto the ground.  On my way to watch a prescribed burn, with a total stranger who I'd met 5 minutes before, we realized we'd have to hop a fence to get to where we needed to go.  I boldly led!  This story ends with me dangling by my leg upside down, my calf hooked on the top of the fence.  I swear I haven't done that since.. I swear!



Fence Dangling Was Worth it..



- 2011 was the year of ticks.  I came home from one field visit literally crawling in hundreds of deer ticks (oh yep, the ones that carry Lyme disease).  I'd somehow walked into a NEST of them on a property on Georgian Bay and no amount of flicking and picking would get them off my field clothes!!!  Also that summer, in northwestern Ontario, a local resident picked one off my neck ("oh Kristyn, you had a wood tick on you.. watch out").  I went back to my hotel that night with a sinking feeling.  Tick searches involve stripping down naked in front of a mirror (or a loving partner.. and hopefully not ever a coworker) and inspecting every inch of yourself for dark spots that look out of the ordinary.  Wood (or dog) ticks are a little easier to spot, they're about half the size of your pinky fingernail.  Very very easy to see when you peek behind your ear and find one buried half under your skin, sucking your blood. AUGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Yes - that was my reaction.  In my thin-walled hotel.  No one even came to see if the girl who was being murdered was ok.  I managed to remove my attacker after several attempts (he was IN THERE!) with a sharp flick of my fingernail.  I learned another lesson there - don't put ticks in the garbage can.  FLUSH THEM.  I was revisited by my ear-loving friend and several of his brothers for the remainder of my stay in that place.  My apologies to whoever checked in next......



End of Day in Deer Tick Country





Lunch in Wood Tick Country



- Conducting research for my master's project in 2006 was SO COOL.  I was alone in the field, left to my own devices, my own boss, and I was going to SAVE this forest!!!  Of course I had to put one of my experimental plots on a hill with a 75 degree slope.  It was a balancing act and calf workout not for the faint of heart.  And at least three times I ended up losing my footing and tumbling down that hill head over feet, like a cartoon character, winding up at the bottom with the wind knocked out of me.  As I said I was alone, with only ME to laugh at me.  But don't worry.. I did. And so did my roommate Jay when I'd make it home at night.. and for several years afterwards.



The (beautiful) plot of terror



- Working as an undergrad research assistant on a master's project in 2005 was a summer of awesome experience.  It was the year of the roses.  Literally, I was working with a few species of roses, and trust me when I say every rose has its thorn... After a particularly gruelling week of desexing and tying tiny labels onto roses, up to my elbows in prickly bushes, but "manning up" and going with it, I looked like I cut myself recreationally.  Under flourescent lights, the cuts up and down my forearms were nearly glowing in contrast to my pale skin.  My friend Jay ditched me in the liquor store "ah! Kristyn, I can't look at you! You're disgusting!" The cashier took one look at my arms and gasped.  I ducked my head, took my money and my four pack of Keiths (that's how we rolled that year) and my emotional cutter arms to the bar, where it was a little dimmer at least.

- In 2010, while walking into a site to apply pesticides to a population of invasive Dog-strangling Vine, I noticed a big steaming pile of black bear poop.  Uh oh.  It was bear cub season as well = angry moms.  But the DSV had to die.  So I sprayed.  At one point I heard a distinct low growling noise.  My coworker was a few hundreds meters away from me, outside of the forest I was working in, so I was essentially alone.  I couldn't see anything, but my survival instincts kicked in.  What are your survival instincts?  Mine, apparently, are to sing at the top of my lungs.  I had Drake's "Find Your Love" in my head... so out it come.  "I BETTER FIND YOUR LOVE... I BETTER FIND YOUR HEART...." <-- in a shaky, terror-voice.  I saw another pile o' poop on my way out that day, but decided the bears had been sufficiently terrified with my singing to stay away.  Let's hope that keeps happening!

So what was I saying about looking forward to field season..........? Let's hope I come out alive again in 2012!

My Week With Ziggy

It's taken me nearly 2 months to recover to the point where I feel like I can write about My Week With Ziggy (sorry about this, Mom :P). Ziggy is my parents' German Short-haired Pointer, who is now a year old but still entirely an insane puppy (apparently they stay puppies for life.. oh ... fun!).  He is basically the most adorable dog in the world, but I'm pretty sure he's had it in for me since day 1.

Day 1

Whether he was chewing on my neck (or hands, or clothes, or toes), scratching my legs into a hives factory or trying to drink out of my water glass, Ziggy has been a tiny devil through and through.  Of course, puppies are made to be sooooo cute so you can never stay mad at them for long.  And sleepy Ziggy with his long wonderful silky ears is just about the cutest, snuggliest thing that exists.  When my mom asked if Jeff and I could puppysit while she and my dad jetted off to Cuba for a week I said sure.  I dogsit my coworker Laura's dog pretty frequently and like the excuse to get outside walking (what I look forward to most when we get a dog - our dog-adoption date is now pushed back to approximately 2017 if anyone's wondering :P).  So, armed with an extra large crate, treats, toys, food and a leash, we were ready for Our Week with Ziggy.  Sunday started off great!  Walking Ziggy through the forest was truly lovely - he found two other GSPs (what these guys are called in the dog slang world.. which may only consist of my mom) to play with, and the three dogs flew through the forest.



Hike at Starky's Hill (note airborne GSP just to my left)

 I remember walking Rusty-the-puppy and how good it felt when he ran and really tired himself out - you knew he'd sleep great later!  Ziggy probably covered at least 15 kms on that 4 km hike.  Jeff and I crated him that afternoon, went out shopping for fireplace tiles, came home and let him out of his crate.  Or, he exploded out of his crate.  Apparently the 1+ hour hike through the forest had done nothing to quell his energy.  This was an omen of things to come.

Then Ziggy started crying.  If at any time he was not being petted, cuddled, played with, or laying on top of you on the couch he was crying.  If you left him alone in the backyard, he was crying.  If you were out of his sight he was crying.  This became slightly difficult.  I worked from home that Monday to ease his apparent abandonment issues.  Ziggy also worked that day.. and admirable effort of standing beside my desk, staring at me, and crying.  I said to Jeff at the end of the day "I don't know what to do.  I can't make him stop crying."  Jeff let Ziggy lay on his lap on the couch for three hours that night just to keep him happy and quiet.  I began to feel a small pit of dread form in my stomach for what this week had in store for us.

Ziggy does not walk well on a leash.  My mom said "he's great off leash!  just take him where he can be offleash! *quiet voice* not so good on leash".  I'm surrounded by country roads, subdivisions, more roads and major roads.  There was to be no offleash.  But this crying dog needed to expend energy.  I got into the habit of driving him to different walking trails all over Guelph just so he could be offleash and run like his maniacal self.  Ziggy and I were most in tune during those walks, enjoying the last bits of fall outdoors and getting our exercise on.  He would of course cry for the entire car ride there; a cry which rose to a loud cresendo as he sensed we were nearing our destination (or when he was wrong and we were just at a stop sign).  He'd cry as we neared home, so I'd let him out of the car into the garage.  He'd cry in the garage to go into the house.  I'd let him in the house where he would stare at me and cry.  At one point I said "I just took you for an hour walk!  What do you want from me?!"  His reply?  A long low cry.  ZIGGY!!!!!

Tuesday I crated him and went to work.  At lunch we played an intense game of keepaway in the backyard.  I was exhausted after 20 minutes.  Ziggy was barely out of breath. 

Walking him on leash was an adventure in itself.  I kept thinking rollerblades would have been ideal.  Ziggy and Jeff ran a couple of times together in the morning.  Jeff ran while Ziggy gracefully cantered, a light jog for him, no more.  The Tuesday night with the freezing rain was a slippery adventure, half walk/half dog-skiing.  Our hair, coats and thighs were coated with solid ice when we got home.  Ziggy was fine!  Warm as anything, and just shook off a bit of water.  Then looked at up me.  And cried.

Tuesday after work I FINALLY, FINALLY got Ziggy to go into the backyard by himself and amuse himself with the various smells from the farm behind us (cows, chickens, mice, cats, etc.) and the wonders of our backyard (.....).  After 20 minutes of no crying, I started to feel worried.  I tiptoed up to our bedroom window which overlooks the backyard and gently pulled up the blind.  His superhero senses heard me, and he looked up - right into my eyes - and I looked at him - right into his mouth - where the tail of a mouse was hanging out.  Oh dear god.  I raced downstairs, threw on my boots and rushed into the backyard screaming "drop it! drop it!". Personally I didn't want to see what "mouse" looked like coming out Ziggy's other end.  Ziggy of course thought it was time for another game of keepaway, so another 10 minutes ensued of this (only this time I wasn't saying "I'm gonna getcha ya little fella!", but "I'm going to f*&!*ing kill you, you crazy moron!" - nice soundtrack for our backyard neighbour Farmer Joe to hear!).  I finally lured him to the top of the deck with a cookie and got him to drop the poor, dead... chewed (I'm sorry).. creature.  Which I then got to pick up with a plastic bag and dispose of. *shudder*

Wednesday at lunch Ziggy miraculously stayed outside for 20 minutes while I ate my lunch in peace without a long licking tongue propelling towards me with every bite.  Very nice!  Good Ziggy!

Wednesday after work, Ziggy and I were walking along the Speed River trail in the north end of Guelph when I noticed he wasn't looping back to me like he usually did every 30 seconds.  Rounding a corner I saw him ahead of me, mowing down on a pile of food and garbage.  I ran towards him, yelling no - once again, full eye contact while he continued to eat popcorn, orange peels, and to my horror, a plastic bottle cap.  I actually got him to drop it for a second, but he picked it up again and as I reached into his gross mouth to grab it.. gulp.. it was gone.  I put in calls to my vet friends, friends of vets, boyfriends of vets and received some advice about "waiting it out", or "inducing vomiting" (sounds like a fun afterschool activity).  After googling for awhile about "intestinal blockages" and reading a few horror stories from pet owners, I decided I just couldn't live with it if this stupid bottle cap got stuck and ended up costing money in surgery, or worse putting his crying life in danger. It was time for a trip to the vet's for some barium-induced vomiting - fun.   Ziggy terrorized the vet's office, jumping on the counter, on the receptionist, on the vet, on me, on a chair, on a child and worst of all on a bereaved couple just leaving the room where their dog had obviously just been put down. I was embarassed and of course, crying (Ziggy-style) because I felt bad for having not been there to get him away from the bottle cap in time, bad for what he was going to have to go through, and in terror of the bill that was surely to follow.

The vet and his assistant took Ziggy away and brought him back within about 10 minutes.  The assistant said "he's .. umm.. wiggly.  Has he been exercised today?" "Yes, we just got back from an hour hike where he ran full speed for 3x the distance I went." "Oh.  Wow...".  Yes.  I know. Thanks.  The vet then told me Ziggy threw up a full three times - a lot, he was surprised.  With the bottle cap emerged some other interesting items, including what looked like an entire bag of carrots, banana peels, something resembling seaweed and a melange of other rotten fruits and vegetables.  Oh no.  An ominous voice in my head said: "THE COMPOSTER". Which I then repeated to the vet: "THE COMPOSTER". The dog got into the backyard composter when he was being "miraculously well behaved" in the backyard at lunch.  How does one even break into a locked composter?!?!  The vet said, helpfully, "he probably would have thrown up anyways today with all that in his stomach".  Then presented me with a bill for a $250 worth of medically induced barf.  Awesome.

Ziggy took me for a few more walks, did some more crying (to the point where Jeff and I just started crying back at him to alleviate our tiredness of listening to it - he just looked at us like we were bat sh*t crazy.. as anyone would have done I imagine, then went back to crying), and sometimes would fall asleep on the couch and be a perfect, content, sleepy angel.  Sometimes I would be so tired of the deafening squeals that I'd pull him onto the couch in my lap and pet him and say things in a soothing voice like "shut up" "yes" "aren't you nice when you're quiet" "you're driving Kristyn crazy".  Every single day that week I got an average of 5 hours of sleep at night, because I had to take over some morning walks and Ziggy tends to make grunting noises in his sleep, hence the nickname "Ziggy the Piggy", waking me up hourly. I was extremely tense all week, and stressing about not sleeping, which was leading to less sleep. I would sit at my desk like a zombie in the morning at 7:30 a.m., prompting sympathetic looks from my coworker John who I NEVER beat into the office (but did every day THAT week!), then roll home, try to nap (just 20 mins.. please just 20 mins!) to a cacophony of crying and then just give up and ask Ziggy helplessly "what do you WANT from me!?".  (answer: more crying).  I also caught him tearing a chew toy to shreds and found him chewing on the tiny plastic squeaker.  Which I promptly grabbed out of his jaw and threw in the bathroom garbage and closed the bathroom door because, really, one could go broke on vet barf bills (though, quick shout out to my parents who footed the bill for the vet and gave us a generous gift for looking after him all week!).

Friday afternoon it was time to bid farewell to our furry friend.  I took a half day from work and took him for one last walk on that gorgeously sunny afternoon before we headed back to Stouffville to greet my parents who were arriving home that day.  I let him off leash on the conservation trails down the street from us so he would be tired for the car ride (ha.. ha ha).  When we neared the retention pond where the mallards hang out, Ziggy took one look at them and decided for the first time in his life he was going to go swimming, and catch me a duck.  For the first time all week he listened to my screams of "ZIGGY! NOOOOO!!" and actually came out of the water before reaching the terrified, squawking ducks, perhaps because he remembered he doesn't swim, or perhaps due to the exact pitch of my voice (exasperation meets desperation meets terror meets duck lover).  He was back on the leash for the rest of that walk home. 

Then I loaded up the car (while he cried/screamed, certain I was going to abandon him too); put his favourite toys in the backseat and headed out down Highway 24 en route to my parents'.  Ziggy decided to cap off our last bit of time together that week by crying at a higher, more intense, more insistent pitch than I'd heard for the entire week.  I pulled over twice to make sure he hadn't caught his ear in the window (why else would he be crying that loudly!?), or lost a toy.. or a limb.. what could be wrong?!  Nothing was wrong.  Ziggy just wanted to cry.  Loud music drowned out the crying to some degree.  I did some experiments with classical music, rock music, loud music, quiet music.  Conclusion: no effect.  My mom texted their plane had landed.  Not having been able to contact them all week I immediately called and asked if this crying was normal. Her answer: "oh my goodness, is that ZIGGY making that noise?!"  She told me he should stop.  45 minutes later on Highway 9 he hadn't stopped.  10 minutes later I began to sob.  Uncontrollable tears of the overtired brain who was in the throes of noise-torture (that must be a thing).1.5 hours later we were at my parents' place.. that was quite the car ride.

I spent that night at my parents..........Ziggy didn't cry once.  My parents' barely believed my stories - "Ziggy doesn't cry!".  I asked my dad the next morning "what's wrong with Ziggy? he's so quiet" and he answered "umm.. this is just what he's like."  I kept looking suspiciously at Ziggy who would only wag his tail and gaze with a goofy doggy grin back at me.. but I swear there was a glint in his eye...

In our drafty bathroom at the office that I sit across from, the wind whistles through a certain vent making a high pitched screaming noise.  For 3 weeks after taking Ziggy home, I cringed whenever I heard this noise and found myself looking around for a certain freckled, grunting, mouse-eating, compost-loving, mischevious little dog.  Oh Ziggy.....

Ireland - The First 12 Hours

I'm excited!  My first "I was just going about my day, when.." post (working title).  This one features protagonist Kristyn and her poor new husband Jeff, who is now going to be exposed to a life of "the most outrageous things that happen."  As a side note, my best friend Dawn is wary about me posting these tales, these "I was just going about my day, when..." tales, but I'm already convinced that these posts will get a laugh or two and make it all worth it!  Honestly what is the point of a day when you don't burst out giggling at some point!

So let me set the scene.  It's September 30 and I have not had a good nights sleep in several nights.  My wedding is tomorrow.  I need about 8 hours of sleep to function normally, and I'm averaging about 5-6/night.  And my wedding is TOMORROW.  The world's most hectic day involves setting up the venue for dinner, prepping my house for rehearsal dinner & caterers, holding rehearsal outdoors in sideways rain (it was that windy), hosting about 30 ppl at my house for food, drinks, speeches and presents, all the while trying to make sure I've remembered all the "little details" (and relaying them to my wedding coordinator while my mom simultaneously yells at me for not remembering if I gave our officiant proper directions to our house several weeks ago - thanks mom!).  After a day like this you think I'd sleep like a baby - um not so much.  The night before MY wedding I was on the phone with Jeff at 2 in the morning going "I am feeling nervous.  No, not about YOU, of course not. There are too many PEOPLE involved in this, and something is going to go WRONG!!!" (My name's Kristyn, and I'm a Control Freak).  I got up at 6 a.m. for my hair appt. (that's another whole separate story involving a crazy bridezilla - not me! I was pretty sane! - who got double booked at my hair salon), wondering if I can't function on a regular day on 4 hours of sleep, how the heck am I going to get through THIS day?!  Jeff is tired from a night of dodging drinks (best husband ever as my only request was "please don't be hungover at our wedding") with his party animal groomsmen.  However, adrenaline, love and excitement sure can carry you through a wedding day - it was a breeze! Not to mention the happiest day of my life. :) At about 5:30 p.m. I went "holy CRAP I'm tired", but didn't notice it again.  Honestly.  Not until about 3 a.m., when we went to bed (we may have opened our presents that night.. I can't confirm or deny.. ;)).  When we happened to stir at 7 a.m. that morning, we kept trying to force ourselves back to sleep. However, faced with a day of post-wedding tasks (don't discount those, soon to be brides - there is an annoying lot to do the day after your wedding!!) including finishing packing and leaving for the honeymoon, we were not succesful.  One crazy day later, our friend Viv came to take us to the airport around 4 p.m.. Once in TO we found out our flight to London had been delayed about an hour.  Naturally concerned about making our connection to Dublin, I asked the lady at Pearson if we'd be ok.  "Plenty of time!", she cheerfully replied.  Heathrow was big, but we just had to get from Terminal 1 to 5 (or 5 to 1.. I think I've blocked it all out) in an hour.  Armed with this knowledge, we grabbed a bite, and kept promising each other the best sleep of our lives on the sleeper flight over to London.  HA.  HAHAHAHAHA.  No.  I took a sleeping pill which actually made me have restless leg syndrome (WTF!) so I couldn't sleep for the first hour.  Thank goodness we had an extra seat between us so I could put my feet on Jeff's lap, and maybe scored an hour or two of broken sleep.  Let's just say when it was 4 a.m. our time after essentially a light nap, and it was bright and shiny over the British Isles, life was very very confusing.

Always a planner, I asked the flight attendant before we landed if we needed to fill out customs cards - nope, we were good.  Ok then!  So we get off the plane around 10:15 a.m. local time, with a flight leaving at 11:20 a.m..  Seems like we should be ok, right?  The next part is a bit of a blur.  There was the angry customs guy ("of course you need to fill out the customs card" "oh, sorry, we were told we didn't have to. we asked because we have a tight connection" "WELL YOU HAVE TO" <-- that's when I stopped speaking and just started writing); there was the train AND the bus to get from Terminal to Terminal (not like the 2 min ride at Pearson - this was a 15 minute journey); there was the fact that it was still 10:15 and we were making great time.  Wait, what?  How has no time passed?  Ohhhh because Jeff's watch stopped.  Excellent.  Excellent time for that to happen.  The clock on the bus read 10:45 and I thought "that isn't good".  Oh well.. I'm sure the line at security will be moving efficiently at this gigantic airport which probably has lots of staff.  Can we see where this is going?

So the 100 person line up at security is incredibly daunting.  I am in line, heart racing, staring at Jeff's watch (still 10:15), peering at the watch of the guy in front of me in line (10:50), trying not to worst-case-scenario it (OMG OMG FIRST DAY OF HONEYMOON STUCK IN AN AIRPORT).  This sleazy looking dude, many gold chains, and his skinny coiffed girlfriend start excusing themselves to the people in front of them, claiming they have a tight connection, can they please butt in front of everyone in line.  I said to Jeff "that's rude. we're not doing that. Just because he's some rich dude he thinks he can be a jerk like that".  5 minutes of not moving later, I heard myself politely saying "excuse me, we have a tight connection, is there any chance we can go in front of you?".  Shout out to anyone who was in line at Terminal whatever at Heathrow on the morning of Monday October 3 - you're all wonderful people.  Squeezing awkwardly to the front of the line, with our four giant pieces of carry-on luggage bumping the heads of children, we triumphantly reach the front of the line.  I fly through - ok - things are looking ok!  Turn around and OF COURSE Jeff has been pulled aside for a random wanding.  COME ON!!!  I say to him "I'm going to check the board" and pull a hard left.  Gate 81.  Gate 81. Searching.  Searching.  GATE 81!  "GATE CLOSING".  WHAT THE !*#$!!!!  I rush back to Jeff, who is, ironically, putting his watch back on (sigh) and yell "WE HAVE TO GO NOW!!!".  The couple who was just behind us in line who'd followed our embarassing plight to the front of the line and were also on this flight to Dublin caught wind of this and the four of us took off!!!!  I've never looked into the floor plan for Heathrow since, but I'm pretty sure the distance from that security terminal to Gate 81 was approximately 2 km (folks, I'm actually not exaggerating).  So picture running a 2 km race.  But you need to sprint, not jog.  And you're loaded down with a duffel bag and laptop case (or backpack and shoulder bag - take your pick, we had them all!). And there are A LOT OF SLOW PEOPLE in your way (including more children whose heads are level with your gear).  And you haven't slept properly in several nights including next to no sleep the night before.  And it's 5 in the morning in your mind (but oddly bright, sunny and late-morning looking outside :P).  And you have been drinking a LOT of champagne for about 3 days straight and haven't bothered to rehydrate because airplane washrooms scare the bejesus out of you.  As I SPRINTED through Heathrow airport, I tried to swallow and found I couldn't -  I'd now sweated out the last squeeze of liquid in my body doing this fantastic early morning race.  The snafu came when there was a tricky sign about which way, indeed, Gate 81 was.  Up the ramp!  Wrong! Down the ramp!  Go!!!  The rather portly Irish fellow running with us was labouring.  Jeff took the lead.  The cottonballs in my mouth made it impossible to talk.  With my last ounce of everything, I spat out "run Jeff RUN!!!!".  And my little Forrest Gump was gone.  This is why I love Jeff.  The three of us staggered around the corner a few minutes later to find him standing triumphantly, smiling, with the attendant at the godforsaken Gate 81.  We made the flight!!  What a scene we all made getting on the plane, panting, sweating, apologizing. Ridiculously, a guy actually got on 2 minutes later, looking cool and collected (no it wasn't the gold chain guy - I would have had to kill him at that point!).  People have since snarkily told me "of course you could have chilled out.  it's only bad when they start calling your name".  As someone who doesn't live in London, hasn't been to this airport, is trying to get to a different country entirely, and has no experience flying Aer Lingus, was that honestly a chance I was going to take?!  No.  When you see "GATE CLOSING", you go into full on caveman adrenaline-fuelled panic mode and your legs just MOVE.  Within minutes the plane was in the air.  1 hour flight with no drink service.. are you kidding me?  I didn't so much sleep as I did cool down and stare blankly into space thinking "wow, I'm thirsty". (these pics below are from the end of our Aer Lingus flight to Dublin - landed!  could two people LOOK more tired?  my cheeks are still pink from the sprint!!).

The luggage carousel was churning around merrily in the Dublin airport, people triumphantly claiming their bags as if they had won a prize (who doesn't feel that way, I totally get it), children yelling "mommy, there's ours!"; then the crowd began to peter out.  Oddly enough, left standing there were four people - myself, Jeff and the Irish couple we'd run our race with.  Interesting.  The baggage carousel churned to a halt.  Numbed with lack of sleep and a full 12 hour of flying and airport hijinx, I simply rose, and walked wordlessly to the service desk and began filling out forms to have our bags delivered to our hotel.  Obviously they just hadn't tried as hard as we had to make the flight.  Thinking to myself "this is quite the start to our honeymoon - what are the next 2 weeks going to have in store?", but staying positive, because hey I was married to Jeff, in Ireland, and off work for 2 weeks, I turned to see Jeff walking towards me.  Weighed down with our crazy amount of carry-on luggage - AND OUR TWO SUITCASES!  Overjoyed, I thanked the friendly Irish woman (almost redundant - there are no one friendlier than Irish people) and sprinted towards the nearest vending machine.  Inserting a few euros, I received and drank the most rewarding bottle of water in my life.  When we pulled away from the airport (driving on the left side of the road), it was like we drove away from any trouble, and proceeded to have the most amazing, peaceful, wonderful and joyful 2 weeks of our lives.  Honestly, that is hands down the best time we've had in the whole time we've been together!  Ireland was INCREDIBLE.

However... being me... I couldn't go the entire 2 weeks without getting into trouble.  Below, a couple of other "incidents".  I was just going about my day, when...

- On our first full day in Ireland, touring arund County Wicklow, Jeff was trying to make a right turn (they're the harder turn to make when driving on the left) up a hill, at a blind corner, still not used to shifting with his left hand, when a car pulled up super close behind him.  Jeff, the most confident driver I know, said "I wish that guy would back up.. I'm going to slide backwards into him because I can't see who's coming around this bend to make my turn."  Eager to be a good wife, I offered to go claim "stupid tourist" and ask the gentleman to back up until we had made our turn.  I hopped out of the car and jogged back along the pavement to go ask the guy to roll down his window.  Um, ya, he wasn't on the side of the car where he was supposed to be (or maybe that was my error, we'll never know ;)), so I had to make a quick 180 to run in FRONT of his car to get to the actual driver's window.  On the newly paved road which was quite smooth, shiny, and slippery, I completely bailed and fell forward, taking the brunt of the attack on my knee.  Already looking like a complete moron, I decided to power through and popped up like a jack in the box, grinning widely, and made it to the window and asked the guy could he move back as it was our first day driving here. He did.  I got back into the car (honestly I tried to get in the North American passenger side first before realizing Jeff was there.. this whole thing took me a few days..), Jeff successfully made the turn.  I had actually torn a giant hole in my jeans and my knee, and between the bruise and blood was feeling pretty sorry for myself and cried a few self pitying tears.  Regardless of how it ended, I still think about that eager, maniacally smiling "pop up" from the ground in front of this guy's car, and what he must have thought (and what that must have all looked like to him!), and I burst out laughing at myself.

- Jeff and I REALLY didn't want to spend several hours of our honeymoon in a laundromat, so around the 7th day started looking for hotels with laundry facilities while we were booking our rooms on Expedia.  Alas, we found one in Belfast!  Clean clothes, here I come!  We were so excited.  We popped the first load in, and Jeff went down to take care of switching it to the dryer later.  In hindsight, I should have overseen this step.  One of the ladies who attended my bachelorette had given me a gift of purple underwear covered in little purple sequins.  At home.. these would have been hung to dry.  In the hotel in Belfast they were put in the dryer.  When Jeff went to fetch things from the dryer later on, he was devestated to find that everything (all his clothes, all my clothes, the lint trap, the dryer) were covered in tiny purple sequins.  The glue had melted in the dryer and the majority of sequins had detached, then reattached and glued themselves onto our clothes.  I spent our first night in Belfast picking these tiny circles off all our clothes.  They really seemed to like Jeff's boxers!  We spent the rest of the trip strategically picking sequins off of each other, and to this day I still find the occassional sequin stuck in the sleeve of a sweatshirt.. and it makes me think fondly of Belfast. 



Picking purple sequins off our clothes (see pile on table - maybe 2% of the problem)