It Could Be Warm You See, A Statue Next To Me

Multiple times a day, every day, Stella does her business on the steps of the courthouse. We live close enough that she can make it to the steps even when she's about to burst, but far enough away that she's not pooping in her territory. I'm a fan of the courthouse because there are a few garbage cans for easy poop disposal (I'm sure the courthouse employees who have to walk through the stinky poop smell on their way to work looove me.)

The courthouse steps lead down into a courtyard-type square. In the middle of this square is a large statue of a judge. It's life-size and on a pedestal, so I'd say this statue is 8 feet tall. We walk by it at least 3 times daily, and have done so for the last 6 months.

This morning was like every other morning. When Stella was done, we walked down the steps to the garbage can and continued through the square. Out of nowhere, Stella completely freaks out. She's barking like mad, her hackles go up, she straining at the leash - and I have no idea what's going on. There were no people nearby, there were no crows taunting her, nothing had happened to startle her. It was the statue. Stella was losing it over the statue. I wish I'd had the video camera with me - it was that funny.

There's A Big Black Crow And It's Callin' You Home

Stella really wants to catch a crow. I'm not sure what she would do if she ever caught one but I'm pretty sure it would involve some dismemberment. Stella is cute and all but if you piss her off, she'll eat your face. Crows piss her off. Tonight she almost dislocated my shoulder when she took off after one. Her leash is the bane of her existence. It's the one thing standing between her and victory.

Lately, on our walks, Stella has taken to picking up feathers in her mouth. I think it's the consolation prize. She can't have a crow but she can pretend she just polished one off. Oops Stel, you just missed a bit there; you've got a bit of feather stuck to your lip. And she'll blush and brush it away and lament the fact that crows are so difficult to eat without making a mess. Anyway, she spots a feather and snaps it up and I then have to pry her jaws open to get it out. I've gotten very good at extracting feathers from her maw with little to no squeamishness. This is progress. I'm not a fan of germs and bird feathers are definitely something I'd classify as germ-ridden.

So tonight we're walking home from the dog park and she nabs a feather. This is routine by now so I bend down and grab it out of her mouth. Except that when I touch it, it feels a bit weird. A bit more solid than your average feather. So I take a closer look and realize that it's a feather WITH A BIT OF WING STILL ATTACHED. Some poor crow met his (or her) untimely demise and all that was left was this bit of wing with one lonely feather attached. That I'm now holding in my hand. It felt like slow motion as I drop the pile o'germs and utter "effing eff!" louder than I should have in a public park.

Things that have been washed / bathed / laundered / disinfected with rubbing alcohol since I got home:

- my hands (eleventy million times ... in hot enough water that they are now bright red and sore)

- Stella (because she had DEAD BIRD BITS IN HER MOUTH)

- my hoodie (because I had to touch it to get my keys out of the pocket and my hands were contaminated with DEAD BIRD BITS)

- my keys (I interrupted Shawn's band practice to enquire as to whether or not my key fobs would continue to work after being submerged in water. (It was a fancy practice too, at a real rehearsal studio and everything.) After ascertaining that I hadn't already submerged them in water, that I was asking if I could submerge them in water, he told me to stop being a nutbar and hung up on me. Musicians - moody bitches, right?) (My keys got the rub-down with rubbing alcohol.)

- my door knob

Would it be strange of me to go disinfect the buttons in the elevator? I'm not going to lie, there's a good possibility that I will be disinfecting my keyboard with rubbing alcohol once I finish typing. Right after I wash my hands again.

Yeah, Seems Like Ages But There's That Smile

Head over here and check out Stella smiling with her eyes.

If Only I Could Breathe What You Breathe

Your comments yesterday? Hilarious! Combining kick-boxing with sex? Ceremonial solid-tie burning? Love it. Thank you for the laugh (which, as it turns out, greatly contributed to the relieving of my tension.)

I got an email from my cousin yesterday. She reminded me to take deep, cleansing breaths. Normally I would scoff at someone telling me to take deep, cleansing breaths, but my cousin is a smart lady who has got her shit together. Clearly the deep, cleansing breaths are working out for her. So yesterday's tension-relieving routine went a little something like this:

- write a whiny post about how stressed I am
- laugh at all the comments
- drink gin
- shop
- exercise with Stella
- cuddle my puppy
- eat ice cream
- go to bed early

all while taking deep, cleansing breaths. And it worked to a certain degree. I still feel a bit stressed about the wedding and all the family drama that goes along with it. I am still drained of energy because of some work-related shite. However, instead of focusing on the crap and letting it take over, I am trying to concentrate on the good. In less than 6 weeks I will be married to Shawn. My family and friends will all be together, partying with us, celebrating with us, having a kick-ass time (uh, hopefully.) I will try to be glass half-full instead of my usual glass half-empty.

And I'm So Tense, Never Tenser Could All Go A Bit Frank Spencer

I've been feeling a bit tense lately and seem to be getting into petty arguments with, um, everyone I speak to (like the "discussion" I had with the grocery clerk about the difference between Bits & Bites and Ritz Bits. In my defense, they're two completely different snack foods (with two different prices) and if you're going to take the lazy route and scan one twice instead of individually scanning each package, you don't scan the more expensive one. Am I right? I'm right!)

So, uhh, I'm tense. I decided that I'd try to cut caffeine out of my diet for a week, to see if it made any difference. Yesterday was the first day of the experiment. It was also the last day. I'm sitting here with a giant coffee in front of me and everything is right with the world. Don't judge me.

I need to come up with a different tension-relieving plan. I've tried all the usual suspects and so far gin is the only thing that's come close to working. Relying on gin to relieve stress seems like a really bad plan so I've got to come up with something else. Suggestions welcome.

Your Life Is Marked By Numbers And Symbols

And the winner is ...

stripes! Shawn conceded defeat this morning. That's right, Shawn is a solid kind of guy while I am Miss Stripey McStriperson.

The other winner is...

Ben! (and I only counted his vote once, even though he presented a valid argument for having 4 votes.)

I took all the comments and entered them into a list randomizer. I tried to put a picture of it here but I couldn't figure out how. Don't judge me - it's Monday and my brain hasn't kicked into gear yet. This is the week I've decided to cut back on my caffeine intake. It's not pretty. I've been at work for 2 hours and this post is the most productive thing I've done all day.

So thanks to everyone who played along. I hadn't even considered the merits of the solid ties because I was too busy hating them. I hate them less, now that you've pointed out that they aren't total crap (I really thought that everyone would be all "solids are ugly!") I didn't pick up on the formal / non formal aspect of the solids vs the stripes.

So Ben, if you're not concerned about me stalking you, email me your address and I'll send you the Bitchin' Summer 2008 Road Trippin' Soundtrack.

ninjahills at gmail dot com

Can't You Feel The Blood Rush, Baby Tied Up Too Tight!

Right, so clearly I've figured out the equation to successful blogging:

ask for advice + offer free stuff = break your comments record

Thank you for all your comments! They've been very enlightening. I'm surprised at how divided everyone is - I honestly thought that everyone would choose one (my preference, obviously) over the other. I'm still not revealing my preference - I'll leave it for a few more days so I can get more unbiased opinions.

Without counting the people who commented on both solids and stripes, I've got 7 voting solids and 6 voting stripes. However, I opened this up to my family as well, which changes things drastically. Stripes are the popular choice among my family and Shawn's family - we've got 7 for stripes and only 2 for solids. Stripes have taken a strong lead and that's all I'll say about that so I don't inadvertently give away which tie I'm voting for.

I Don't Want To Be A Bad Woman And I Can't Stand To See You Be A Bad Man

-15 As a 1930s wife, I am Very Poor (Failure) Take the test!

So, uh, does Shawn need to know this before he marries me?

And Draw One More Comic Tragedy

Right, so I googled the cheese/cocaine thing and found out that Turtle was wrong (maybe I should do my research before blindly posting random facts, though the random fact did come from someone with a Masters Degree.) Cheese has naturally-occurring opiates in it, not cocaine. Still though, cheese is addictive.

Anyway, my last post got me thinking about Father's Day dinner again. I don't think I accurately described Westy's comic genius. The cocaine / farmer thing was pretty funny, but funnier still was when my mom spilled her herbal tea and Westy declared "party foul" and told her she had to shotgun a beer. Or when we were talking about how I'm not opening any wedding presents until after the wedding just in case we don't end up getting married (I was being facetious; I'm not opening any wedding presents until after the wedding because I don't have the time or energy to deal with the opening of the presents and subsequent writing of the thank you cards) and Westy said I could just not tell Shawn about them (because he thought I wasn't opening presents because I didn't want to have to split them with Shawn if we don't get married, not because I'd have to return them to the gift-giver.) I think that's one of those "you had to be there" moments because man, I just butchered that anecdote and ruined all the funny bits.

Anyway, the point of this post is that my little brother kicks ass (and not just because he made snarky comments about the flippant comment makers to make me laugh.)

Sneak Up On You Like Saki

A few nights ago I'm sitting on the couch, eating chips (don't judge me - I was really tired and too lazy to make dinner so I had chips for dinner), and Stella is lounging along the top of the couch, like a cat. She hangs out there often (I think she likes it because it makes her feel taller.) So I'm zoning out in front of the tv and I notice Stella start to belly-crawl her way over to me. She crawls all the way up to me and rests her head on my shoulder. When Stella is in trouble, or she wants a treat or a cuddle (basically whenever she is trying to manipulate us) she gives us The Eyes.

The Eyes. You try to say no to this face! It can't be done.

So I'm sitting on the couch, Stella's head is resting on my shoulder and she's looking up at me with the eyes. My heart melts at the cuteness as I decide I've got the most darling little puppy, who obviously missed me enormously while I was on holiday.

And then, like a cobra striking, her head darts out and she steals the chip that's on its way to my mouth.

My puppy rocks.

Lazy Dreamer You Never Want To Rise

Right, so I've been home for a week. Maybe it's time to actually write about Mexico, hmm?

The week before we left was absolute madness. I needed to finish up a few things at work and for some reason I felt the need to clean the entire condo for Turtle (who was staying at our place to take care of Stella and who would not have cared at all if it wasn't spotless.) I was also trying to write down every single Stella-related thing I could think of, which resulted in a 6-page instructional document for Turtle (ps - sorry, lady!) She's used to my craziness though, so she didn't mind. I hope.

We left Monday morning. Shawn and I were a bit prickly with each other because we had to get up early to make the flight. Shawn is the type of person who sees nothing wrong with showing up at the airport 30 minutes before the flight is scheduled to leave. It makes me batty. So I may have told a little white lie about what time the flight was leaving, which I am not apologizing for because by the time we made it to the airport (we forgot to factor in Monday morning rush hour) and got checked in, we only had 20 minutes to grab a coffee and some magazines before boarding. It made things a bit tense though, when Shawn realized that he could have slept longer. He turned sweet again after we boarded and the complimentary champagne was brought out.

The resort was gorgeous. The buildings were well-maintained, the grounds were beautiful (the entire resort is a giant botanical garden) and everything was so clean.

front entrance

Shawn was so disappointed because there was never any water in this fountain

We stayed in the Royal Suites portion of the resort because we are such Fancy People (erm, or maybe because we received a complimentary upgrade.) This meant that we had separate check-in service, a lobby bar, a private pool for Fancy People only, a private beach, a private restaurant and 24-hour room-service. It also meant that we didn't have to mingle with the common folk. Ha, I kid. It meant we didn't have to stand in any line-ups. The resort was only about half full, and the Royal Suites were even emptier. We didn't see a single person on our floor the entire week we were there. It was a bit odd, to be at a large resort and have so few people there, but it was also beneficial because it meant that we didn't wait for anything. The buffet could get a bit hectic at times but it was never unmanageable. There were no lines at the bars. The pools were never full. There was always a wide selection of beach chairs to choose from. I'm not sure why the resort was so empty. It might have something to do with Hurricane Season starting the week we were there. I don't know.

The private pool for Fancy People only

The eerily empty Main Pool

I get to marry this stud. Rawr!

This is what I wore to bed every night because Shawn had the air conditioner turned up so high

I don't have anything exciting to write about because it wasn't an exciting holiday. It was a chilled-out, relaxed, sloth-like holiday. We slept a lot. We ate and drank a lot. We sat by the pool and read and sunbathed and napped. We swam. We walked along the beach. Shawn humoured me and followed me around while I took a bazillion photos so I wouldn't get lost. It was perfect. Neither of us had ever been on a holiday where the objective was to relax and do nothing. We are do-ers. We were both concerned about our ability to do nothing and not get bored but it turns out we can do it, happily.

Baby You Can Do Magic

The Over-Thinker has tagged me to do a Why I Am Quirky list and I'm going to do it when I'm less brain-dead (promise!)

In the meantime, go gawk at Trish and Cory's gorgeous new baby.

I Took To The Stage With My Outrage In The Bad Old Days When You Were The "Make Me Mad" Guy

I have been pulled from my sloth-like existence by a story I just read on cbc.ca.

Stacey Fearnall is a waitress in Ontario who shaved her head to raise money for the charity Cops for Cancer ... and was fired for doing so. WTF? I cannot understand the logic behind this bonehead move.

This is wrong on so many different levels. First of all, she did this for charity. She raised $2,700 for cancer research. She was being completely unselfish and this is how she's rewarded? Oh, thanks for being selfless and generous and BRAVE (hello - she shaved her head) but, uh, you're fired!

Secondly, how can the owner justify firing someone because of how they look? That's not even legal. You can't fire someone for being ugly or being a certain gender or a certain race. You can fire people for being lazy or for stealing or for not doing their job correctly. Shaving her head doesn't not make her lazy or a thief or incompetent. Unless she signed a contract that implicitly stated that her employment was dependent on her having long hair, I don't understand how the owner can get away with firing her for not having long hair anymore.

Thirdly, this is a gender issue. If a man shaved his head, it would be acceptable. A waiter who shaved his head would not be fired for doing so. Stacey is being punished for shaving her head because she is a woman and a woman with a shaved head falls outside of society's norms. It's appalling.

Having a shaved head does not impede Stacey's job performance. In fact, I would argue that it improves it. How many times have you gone to a restaurant and found a hair in your food? It completely ruins the dining experience. Stacey has eliminated the problem completely! Not only that, but just think of how much faster she can do her job, now that she doesn't have long hair slowing her down (wind resistance!)

So, anyone residing in Owen Sound, Ontario, please show your support by boycotting Nathaniel's Restaurant. The owner (who doesn't even have the guts to address the media, instead releasing a statement saying it is an employer-employee matter and such matters are not to be dealt with in the public) should be ashamed of himself.

I Hold My Breath And Close My Eyes And I Wait For Paradise

Sorting through the bazillion photos I took, I did manage to find some alcohol-free ones. Maybe this weekend I'll manage to add some narrative to my photos. Or maybe I'll just continue posting photos because I'm lazy and braindead.

I Get Drunk In The Morning I Don't Look For Afternoons

This week has been really difficult. Since we got home from Mexico I've been struggling to make it through the day. Work is hard. Being at home is hard. Stella is being snotty. I am tired. I was sorting through some photos tonight and everything started to make sense.

Why this week has been a struggle:

and then my liver shrivelled up and died.

The end.

I'm So Tired My Mind Is On The Blink

I'm home. I'm tired. My brain is fried. Work is stupid busy. I have a bazillion photos to sort through. Every time I open Google Reader I want to cry and am becoming more and more tempted to hit the magic "mark all as read" button. One day I will write a coherent (and possibly interesting) post with accompanying photos. Today is not that day, my friends.

All I Want Is To Be Home

This is what I get to come home to: