It Seems Like All This Life Was Just A Dream Stella Blue Stella Blue

Naming our puppy was not an easy task. S (understandably) didn't want to have to use an overly-girly name in public, as it's damaging enough to his ego to have a cutesy small dog and not a ferocious-looking boxer. (We actually did consider a boxer (for about 30 seconds) before realizing that our condo is tiny and a boxer would eat it. Considering how much damage Stella has managed to do in 2 weeks, we have decided it was a wise choice.)

So we instigated veto power. S and I are both really stubborn and we've both been known to wait the other out and wear them down until getting our own way. This was not going to be a situation where that would happen. The veto is absolute. Once the veto has been issued, there is no further discussion. End of story. This is how my darling puppy avoided the misfortune of being named Buick. Yes, like the car. And yes, S was serious.

Names that I suggested that were struck down by the veto:
Finley
Penny
Ginger

S went in a completely different direction. His front runner was Pippen. Apparently it's a Lord of the Rings reference (nod and smile.) His friend has 2 dogs named Frodo and Sam and S really wanted to name our puppy Pippen so they could all hang out "in the Shire!" I know what you're thinking - S must be really cute in order for me to put up with his nerdiness.

He is. In fact, he is a stone cold fox.

Stella almost ended up being named Horatio Caine. That got vetoed after we realized that it might be difficult to train her to remove her doggy sunglasses after delivering a cheesy one-liner.

We were driving home after a long day and it came to me as we passed a bar. Stella - like the beer. It's sufficiently girly to appease me and it's the name of a beer so S feels manly enough to use it in public.

Unfortunately, Stella has been so rotten lately she's answering to f*ckface more than her real name.

PS - Stella would also appreciate it if you could spell her name with 2 L's.

Ice Ice Baby

Winter? I do not love it.
I hate being cold. I am not a fan of snow.
Vancouver is not a happy place to be right now, for someone who does not love the snow.
It is also not a happy place for clumsy people. People who might slip and fall on all that lovely snow and ice. People like me.
On my way to work yesterday morning (stupid Monday!) I fell on a patch of ice. I broke my fall with my arm (which, as it turns out, was not the best plan.) Long (boring) story short, I've injured my medial epicondyle (fancy doctor-speak for "bent your elbow the wrong way,") sprained my wrist and have a pinched ulnar nerve. What does all that mean? In short, my arm hurts real bad. My right arm. Rock.
I can deal with the pain (because, hello, painkillers!) it's just the inconvenience that's driving me crazy. I can barely use my right arm. I am typing this using only my left arm. It's taken me about 20 minutes. Also, the whole ulnar nerve thing sucks. The ulnar nerve is the thing that tingles when you hit your funny bone. Basically, since yesterday morning, it has felt like I've continuously been hitting my funny bone. My fingers won't stop tingling. I am not a happy camper.
I'm going to go drink hot chocolate and feel sorry for myself now.

Tip Our Glasses To No Direction

When I was a kid, I didn't dream of being a doctor or a ballerina. I had no aspirations to be a fire fighter or a lawyer or an astronaut. No, I wanted to be an accountant when I grew up. Exciting, right? No, I'm not going to cure cancer or fight the injustices of the world - I'm going to crunch me some numbers. My dad is an accountant, so clearly this was all his fault. I'd like to think that my desire to be an accountant was just me being a daddy's girl, but that would be a lie. I really was that much of a nerd.

Not that accountants are nerdy. I'm just saying that when you're six years old you should dream big.

Last year I took some accounting courses for work. Accounting courses are evil. This may not apply to everyone, but for someone who is a little bit more Type A than she'd like to admit, accounting courses make you crazy. The thing is, there's no reason why you can't get 100% - either you're right or you're wrong. So I tried to get 100%. I succeeded on a few assignments but mostly I just succeeded in making myself crazy. At one point, S threatened to leave me if I didn't stop obsessing about debits and credits.

I'm doing a degree (in what, I don't know) through correspondence, which means that it will probably take me about, oh 15 years to finish. After the accounting debacle of last year, I decided to take some English courses. I figured that the reason I didn't enjoy accounting is that I'm too creative. Accounting was stifling my creative drive. Unfortunately, it turns out that I am not creative. I'm doing a poetry course right now (not by choice, I'd like to point out) and it is making me crazier than the accounting. Poetry makes me frustrated. Symbolism and imagery are the bane of my existence.

If I manage to get through this course, I don't know what to do next. Go back to the courses where there is a right answer and there is a wrong answer and you are 1 or the other? Or stay with the courses that require an inordinate amount of bs to do well?

Shame, Shame, Shame On You Babe

Not only have I become someone who talks about her puppy nonstop, I have also become someone who plays dress-up with her pet.

*sigh*

I'm not proud.

Please note the brow, furrowed in shame.


However, I am proud of Turtle and her mad crocheting skills. That's what crazy aunties are for - making us ugly sweaters that we don't want to wear.

Destroy This City of Delusion

I have become one of those people.

I talk about my puppy and nothing else. I think about my puppy and nothing else. I can't even think of anything else to write about. I could write about how I've stopped doing my coursework - because my puppy is so cute. I could write about how I don't sleep anymore - because my puppy is so needy. I could write about how our condo is disgusting - because my puppy is a pee machine. Other than that? I got nothing.

During a 4am pee break this weekend, I was thinking about how having a puppy is like having a baby. Ok, so people who actually have babies are rolling their eyes and thinking "lady, you don't even know!" right now. Fair enough. I don't even know. If I ever have kids, I will look back at this and laugh at how naive I was, but for right now I feel as sleep-deprived as someone with a real baby. I shouldn't complain; Stella is getting better about sleeping through the night. Poor thing has a bladder infection right now so it's actually quite an accomplishment for her to hold it for 7 hours.

I can't believe I've resorted to writing about my puppy's pee habits. I am disgusted by how boring I've become. To make up for it, here are some pictures to show why I keep the pee machine around:

Stella and Her Baby

Stella Being a Monster

I Am Slowly Going Crazy, 1-2-3-4-5-6-Switch

S and I are both dog people. He has had various dogs at both of his parents' houses his whole life while I have had my 1 true love - Toby - since I was about 14 years old. Toby is not my dog - he's the family dog, so he lives at my parents' house. When we finally stopped renting, and bought a condo in a pet friendly building, we decided that a puppy was a necessity. We knew it would be a lot of work but we were focusing more on the daily (calorie burning!) walks and the love and affection our perfectly-trained angel would bestow on us. We weren't thinking so much about the whining or crying or chewing or peeing or pooping. Our puppy? Lives to poop. She is a poop machine. We live on the 4th floor so it's not possible to catch her mid-poop and get her outside to finish. This means that our lovely new condo has become one big litter box. It's not so bad - she's pretty good about going on the training pads and she's always supervised when she's out of her crate so it's not like we've come across any unexpected "surprises." The thing is, I hate germs. I really Really hate germs. This whole "pooping on the floor" aspect of dog ownership has really brought out the Crazy in me. Our condo smells like a chip shop because of the amount of vinegar I have used to clean up Stella's messes. I've washed my hands so many times in the last week that they are actually cracking from being so dry. I have chapped hands. This is bringing out even more Crazy because the chappiness is allowing more germs to get into the cracks on my hands. So, you know, I have to wash them again. I am reassuring myself that I would probably be a lot less crazy if I wasn't so sleep deprived. Having a puppy means that you don't get to have a full night's sleep anymore. Would have been nice if someone had told us that before we got her. I can never have kids if I'm this sleep deprived from having a puppy. If she's whining, I can't sleep because it's so heartbreaking. If she's not whining, I can't sleep because she's not whining! Why isn't she whining? Maybe she's dead! Must wake up Stella to make sure she's alive! And then she's whining again. It's a vicious cycle.

It's a good thing she's so cute.

You Make Me Happy When Skies Are Grey

Rain Rain Go Away

An Open Letter to Umbrella Users in Vancouver

Hello fellow Vancouverite. Isn't this rain horrible? Isn't it cold and wet and dreary outside? Don't you just want to stay inside and read a book? Me too. I don't want to have to go outside to get to work but, just like you, I have to venture out into the storm. So let's try to make this easier on each other, shall we? It's bad enough that I have to go to work on this grey Monday morning. I don't want to add umbrella-rage to my list of grievances.

So here are a few suggestions to make our commutes a bit less heinous:

The Golfer
Are you planning to get a round in at lunch? Are you holding the umbrella for a family of 8? Will you melt if touched by a single drop of rain? No? Then leave the golf umbrella at home. If your umbrella is wider than you are tall, you should not be carrying that umbrella downtown.

The Dry Space Hog
Normally I am a stickler for the "walk to the right" rule. Getting places downtown would be so much quicker if people would just walk to the freaking right. There is an exception to this rule, however, that exception being the "dry space" rule. If it's raining out and you're lucky enough to have remembered your umbrella, do not walk to the extreme right if this means you are walking under a canopy. Walking under canopies or building ledges is reserved for people without umbrellas. If you have an umbrella, you are fortunate to have your very own, portable dry space. Walking under a canopy when you are already dry is a bit redundant, not to mention selfish.

The Aggressor
Maybe instead of barreling down the sidewalk like you're the only person important enough to use it, you could try to be a bit more considerate of others. Umbrellas have pointy ends. If you get a pointy end in the face because someone is too rude to tilt their umbrella away from you when you pass, it hurts (and sometimes bleeds.) Umbrellas are big (see The Golfer.) Sidewalks are narrow. A little tilt of the wrist and 2 people can pass each other without bloodshed.

The Oblivious Opener
You exit a building, step out into the flow of foot traffic, realize it's raining, and ... stop. Right smack dab in the middle of the crush of people who are trying to get where they're going. Perhaps instead of doing your fumbling in the middle of the sidewalk, you could open your umbrella in a less crowded area.

If everyone could be a little more umbrella conscious, I'm sure that we can keep umbrella-rage incidents to a minimum.

Love,
Hillary

Let Me Hear Your Body Talk

I went to the gym last night. I am so svelte this morning. I feel skinnier already.

Even though I only lasted for 10 minutes on the stationary bike. And had a bit of an unfortunate incident with the treadmill which resulted in me staying on it for maybe 30 seconds. I'm very clumsy. Clumsy people should not use treadmills. There should be a warning on the treadmill: "If you are clumsy and you use this treadmill you will die." Then clumsy people (like me) wouldn't even attempt to use the them. I also did free-weights, which felt good at the time but does not feel good today. I can't lift my arms above my shoulders. It hurts to type.

It feels good to be sticking to my New Years' Resolutions though. I watched a new tv show this weekend called Bulging Brides. It made me realize just how much I don't want to be, erm .... bulgy. So hopefully it will motivate me to keep going to the gym. The gym in our building is fully operational now so I don't have any excuses.

So clearly my resolution to stop procrastinating isn't going so well (I watched Bulging Brides instead of doing homework.) This week will be the week that I become efficient. I will complete my assignment and I will motor through the next module. Unless there's a new episode of Bulging Brides to watch.

I have kept my resolution to wear mascara to work (this isn't much of an accomplishment, seeing as it's pretty much the easiest resolution. Ever.) I've only missed the last few days because I exfoliated my eye again. *sigh*

Been Dazed And Confused For So Long It's Not True

I just downed my super! healthy! microgreens capsules with a Coke. It wasn't even Diet Coke - it was full-fat. I think I'm beginning to see why I can't lose weight.

FYI, when you take microgreens caspules with anything fizzy, it makes you burp. Microgreens burps taste like ass.

Also, it just took me about ten minutes to take one shot of the microgreens caspules because I cannot figure out how to use my new camera. More specifically, I cannot figure out how to use my new zoom lens. The point of the zoom lens is so you don't have to physically move to get the picture in focus, right? I was inching forward and backwards, trying to focus on the microgreens caspules. It didn't help that I started off without the plate, so I was trying to focus on microgreen capsules that are pretty much the same colour as my granite countertops.

It has been a long day.

We'll Get The Chocolate Cake And The Sunrise And The Sunset

I got a bitchin' kitchen scale for Christmas so I am finally able to make the yummy recipes from the Nigella book I got for my birthday.

I started with the Chocolate Guinness Cake.

Hee, I just googled it so I could link to the recipe and I came up with a bunch of sites that have already converted it from weight measurement to cups. So I guess my kitchen scale is all for naught. *sigh*

So my New Years' Resolution to eat less crap is going really well, can't you tell? Though this is homemade crap, so that's got to be less evil than, say, the 3 pieces of cheese pizza smothered in ranch dressing I downed for dinner last night or the entire bowl of guacamole I ate for dinner tonight. I'm not proud.

Viva Las Vegas, Where the Neon Signs Flash Your Name - part 2

Spending Christmas in Vegas, we didn't want to have a traditional Christmas Eve. We wanted to do something unique so, seeing as S is more creative than I am, he made the plans. We started with dinner:

Appetizing, right? Did I mention that we weren't given eating utensils? Our dining companions included:

S bought us tickets to the Tournament of Kings. It's a dinner show where you sit in a specific country's section and cheer on your king while eating your "feast" (with your hands.) Such a romantic guy, my S is. This will not become a Christmas Eve tradition.

After the tournament we were a bit thirsty so we bought a giant daiquiri. An $18 daiquiri to be exact. Is it sad that we kept the boot? I don't know what to do with it - it's sitting on top of the fridge right now.

That was Vegas. We ate a lot, we drank a lot, we had a lot of fun. I can't wait to go back.

Feel No Shame For What You Are, Feel It As A Waterfall

My Happy New Year post is a day late. I've already broken my resolution to stop procrastinating. Fabulous. I blame this entirely on S, who (at 10pm on New Year's Eve) decided that we should get out of our pyjamas, tear ourselves away from the fireplace, and head downtown for some New Year's Eve festivities. Not that I wasn't a willing participant, it's just that it's so much easier to blame a raging hangover on someone else, rather than take responsibility for one's own actions. New Year's Eve was fun and boozy and included everything New Year's Eve should (good friends, loud music, copious amounts of gin, glitter! tiaras! top hats! oh my!)

Which brings us to New Year's Day. A day for resolutions. I am not so good at resolutions, having very little will power and not a modicum of self-discipline. I have had very little success with New Year's resolutions in the past but this year will be different (*sigh* where have I heard this before? Oh yeah, last year. Crap.) This year I will wear mascara every work day because that is what grown-ups do. I will lose 10 pounds, not by dieting (because of the no will power + no self-discipline problem) but by eating less crap. My sweet tooth is out of control; 2008 will be the year that I conquer it. Not quite sure how I'll manage that but I'm thinking that a too-small wedding dress will help to motivate me. As for the less shallow resolutions, this year I resolve to be more patient, less moody and try to be more of an optimist. I have serious doubts about my ability to be more optimistic, but hey - go big or go home.

And now I will try to redeem my procrastination resolution and crack open a textbook. I am supposed to write an exam this month for a course I started last fall. I'm on module 2 of 10. Here's hoping that my course extension comes through.