Shelter, Give Them Shelter From The Coming Storm

We weren't allowed to bathe Wolfgang for two weeks after his surgery. For normal people this wouldn't be a big deal but for crazy people like me it was an issue. My dogs have weekly baths. I know this is excessive but it's not actually a germ thing. It's a filth thing. My dogs are constantly dirty. The dog park we go to most often is covered in pea gravel. It's directly across from a construction site. The dogs come home covered in dust. The other dog park we frequently go to is in the woods and is constantly muddy. One of Stella's favourite things to do is to roll in the mud. Also, because of Stella's chewing habits, Wolfgang is always covered in saliva to some degree. Add some urine to the mix (Wolfgang squats to pee. I have no idea why. I have no idea how to make him lift his leg. So he squats. And pees all over his front legs. And sometimes his beard, if he bends his head down to take a look. Which he often does. I love my dogs.) So. Weekly baths. Don't judge me.

By the time his stitches came out and the cone came off, Wolfgang was one smelly puppy. As soon as we got home from the vet, into the bath he went.

Why do you hate me?

Oh the shame.

Wolfgang doesn't mind the bath too much (it involves cookies!) but he hates getting out of the bath. I don't know if it's because he's cold or if he's searching for his lost dignity ("no more pictures, lady!") but he always tries to burrow into whatever is near, whether it's the couch, or Shawn's clothes, or the bedsheets.

puppy bum!

puppy burrito!

Once he was dry and combed, he looked very handsome. A bit scruffy perhaps (I can't bring myself to get him groomed - I love the curls!) but still handsome.

Stella thought so too. Please note the adorableness of Stella sitting on the arm of the chair. (I love her.)

And if that wasn't cute enough, she then balanced on the arm of the chair to get at Wolfgang. She is nothing if not committed.

Why am I showing you picture after picture of adorable puppies? In the hopes that you'll head over to Who's Your Dachshund and donate to their cause. Today is the last day and they have about $350 to go to reach their goal of raising $2,000 for animal shelters. I just made my donation; it wasn't a large one but every penny helps. So if you're feeling spendy, go check it out. The puppies thank you.

Just Beat It Beat It Beat It Beat It No One Wants To Be Defeated - Take 4

Wednesday Ramblings by Hillary

This is the recipe I used to make the brownies in Monday's post.

I should note that the photo I used is not representative of the true size of the brownies. I probably got about 60 brownies out of the 9"x13" pan; they were so rich that you could really only eat a small piece at a time or you'd feel ill.

* * * * *

April's beets squeaked in just under the wire.


I took three beets, two sweet potatoes, one rutabaga, one red onion; peeled them and chopped them, tossed them in olive oil, added some minced garlic and salt and pepper and then roasted them for about an hour.

I didn't hate these beets, mainly because I chopped them so small that each mouthful contained other vegetables.

Let the record show that I still do not love beets, I just seem to have found a non-vomitous form.

* * * * *

To assuage my guilt over complaining about the Mexican wedding, I made the bride and groom some Smarties cookies. Because really, what else can you do when your wedding is cancelled, besides eat sugar and chocolate?

The good news is that the wedding is potentially back on, if the travel agency can find a resort in Cuba or the Dominican Republic that can accommodate the group. We'll know in the next few days. I am feeling very fretty about not knowing where we're going (because how can I make a plan if I don't know where we'll be?) but I'm trying to relax. I'm trying to quiet the Type A part of my personality (the, uh, main part of my personality) and focus on the fact that this is about the bride and groom and their happiness.

* * * * *

Chicago is my new boyfriend, after knocking Calgary out of the playoffs. I'll have to break up with Chicago tomorrow when game 1 of the Vancouver/Chicago series starts but for now we're quite happy with each other.

* * * * *

There is some crazy stuff going on at work that I can't write about but it's taking up all my mental energy. Hence the crappy rambling post. Sorry peeps, I'll try harder next time.

Happy Hump Day!

Put On Your Dancing Shoes You Sexy Little Swine

Hey remember that time I was all whiny and annoying about having to go on a fabulous trip to Mexico?

Our trip has been cancelled and I am officially the biggest arsehole for complaining about it in the first place.

We were due to leave in eleven days. The bride and groom found out eleven days before their wedding that it has been cancelled for reasons beyond their control. I guess I should just be glad that they don't read my blog.

I'll just go hang my head in shame now.

I Got My Swim Trunks And My Flippie Floppies

When our two car payments and two insurance payments are combined, Shawn and I spend more monthly on our vehicles than on our mortgage. And that's not even considering the cost of parking or gasoline. At this rate we will never get out of our condo and into a real house.

Our plan is to sell Shawn's car and trade mine in for one we can compromise on (Shawn needs speed and power, I need a hatchback for easy puppy transportation.) We spent Saturday morning at a dealership getting my car appraised.

I am not a fan of car dealerships. I do not love cars the way Shawn does so I end up spending a lot of energy trying to tune him out while he drools over all the shiny new cars. Car dealerships smell funny. They have bad coffee. Car salespeople scare me a little (I think it's the combination of manipulation and desperation they exude.) This dealership was no exception.

At one point during the shenanigans, I excused myself to go to the bathroom. I take two steps into the room and realize that I am standing in a puddle of dirty pee water. Someone had done something horrific to the toilet and caused a massive overflow. The floor was completely covered in water and there was toilet paper and other debris floating in it. And I was standing in it. IN FLIP FLOPS.

I hauled ass to the front desk to tell someone and the woman there says, nonchalantly, "Oh yeah, I know. Just go upstairs and use the employee bathroom." And then my head melted because seriously? You know? You know that there is a major flooding situation in the bathroom and you couldn't be arsed to, you know, put a fucking sign on the door? So people don't go in - IN FLIP FLOPS - and get dirty pee water on their feet? ON THEIR BARE FEET?

So my car dealership experience didn't start off too well.

Fast forward to us sitting down with a salesman and having him tell me how "amazing" it is that "so many woman are driving stick shifts nowadays." Now, he was an older guy (probably my dad's generation) who didn't seem like he was trying to be a dick. I think he was just trying to include me in the conversation because up to that point he and Shawn had been having a spirited discussion about the future of GM while I sat stewing about the dirty pee water on my feet and how I was going to have to throw out my favourite pair of flip flops and probably sterilize my feet in boiling water and that was really going to hurt a lot and wow this coffee tastes like mud. So. The salesman tells me it's amazing and Shawn shoots me a look (the "don't say anything Hillary, it's not worth it" look) and I bite my tongue and don't say something like "it sure is amazing! Did you know I can vote now, too?" and spend the rest of our time there stewing about dirty pee water and chauvinistic salesmen.

Here's the thing: if he had told me it was impressive that more and more women are now driving stick shifts I would probably find it a bit condescending but not outright offensive. But to call it amazing? The miracle of life = amazing. The Vancouver Canucks sweeping the St. Louis Blues in four straight games = amazing.

These brownies I made last week = amazing.

Women mastering the stick shift? Not amazing. Kind of cool, if you ask me. I definitely feel like a bit of a badass because I know how to drive stick. But I don't feel like it's my greatest accomplishment.

Shawn says I'm too sensitive. There is a slight possibility that he's correct; I mean, this did happen two days ago and I'm still pissed about it. I just find it really insulting that this man felt justified in basically congratulating me for being able to drive my car. Asshole. Needless to say, he will not be selling us a car (and not just because my car was appraised at over $10,000 less than what I paid for it fourteen months ago ... eep!)

When You Said Tulips I Knew That You're Mine

I don't spend a lot of one-on-one time with my mom. We see each other often enough (2 parents + 4 kids + 4 significant others = a whole lot of birthdays to celebrate, on top of all the other mandatory dinners like Easter and Thanksgiving) but we don't really spend quality time together. So I invited her to go to the Tulip Festival with me because a: she's always really wanted to go and b: going to the States means buying American candy. Oh and I guess I should include c: I get to be the best daughter for a weekend.

I told my mom I would pick her up at nine so we could get to the border before it got too busy. At five to nine, I was sitting at my parents' kitchen table, drinking coffee with my dad. After some truly magnificent faffing, which included two - TWO! - trips to the bank (the first to get cash and another after she realized the branch was open Saturday morning and she could get her American money out of her safety deposit box, if only we could head back to the house for a quick second so she could grab the safety deposit box key), we managed to leave for the border by ten. We got onto the highway, turned on the traffic report, and found out that there was a minimum two hour wait at the three nearest border crossings.

So. No tulips.

Instead, we went back to my place and grabbed Stella (Wolfgang had to sit this one out due to his man bits not being fully healed) and drove up to Buntzen Lake.

It's only an hour outside of Vancouver but it feels like you're in another world.

Everything is so green and alive.

The air smells so fresh.

There's a fabulous off-leash dog park on the beach that is fenced in on three sides, with the fence extending into the water so the dogs can swim.

Stella is not much of a swimmer.

She does, however, like to sniff out all the smelly beachy smells.

And then, you know, roll in them.

That right there? Is a picture of pure puppy bliss.

It wasn't the day we had planned but my mom and I had a really nice time. It's interesting to spend time with my mom when she's not mothering her flock. She's a lot more ... relaxed.

Victory 'Til The Storm Is Gone

A few things:

My Vancouver Canucks swept the St. Louis Blues last night. It was epic (no really, it was - the Canucks have never swept a team before, in franchise history.) The game got a bit dicey after St. Louis managed to tie it up, but Burrows (officially my new favourite player) got the winning goal with 19 seconds left in the first overtime. The city went wild. My head is hurty today. The end. Now we've got a week or so to rest up before the second round of playoffs begin.

* * * * *

To everyone who commented on my 30 Day Shred nonsense yesterday: Thank you for not laughing at me. I don't know what I was thinking. Level 2? Come on now. I was fine yesterday morning but by the time I got home from work, my arm, chest, and back muscles were a tight little ball of hatred. I didn't even do Level 1 last night. Tonight I am going to do Level 1 again and just amp up the cardio a bit by doing my jumping jacks and whatnot while holding my cans of beans (thanks to whoever suggested that. I'd go back and find out who you are and link to you but I can't. See: hurty head.)

* * * * *

Wolfgang peed on Stella's head last night. Intentionally. He actually propped his leg up on her back so that he could get some stability and better aim. And peed on her head (and in her water bowl, as she was having a drink of water at the time.) I don't really know why he did it. They had been wrestling. They both ran to get some water. Stella got there first and wouldn't let Wolfgang have a drink (they each have a water dish and both dishes always have water in them. It doesn't matter though. The water dish they want is the one that the other dog is drinking out of. Every time.) So he peed on her. And that's pretty much all I can say about that.

And that's all I've got. How are you doing this fine Wednesday morning?

You're Just A Poor Misguided Fool Who Thinks They Know What I Should Do

I'm thinking of starting a new series called Misguided Mondays, where I check in Tuesday morning and write about all the stupid shite I did the day before.

Monday's are consistently difficult for me (I know, right? I'm so original.) Work is particularly rough because my boss has worked all weekend (every weekend) with no support so there is always a million deadlines thrown at me as soon as I walk through the door Monday morning. By the time I leave in the evening, my brain is always fried. So of course I come home and do something stupid, like that time I decided to be spontaneous and get my hair cut. And decided that I needed bangs (after not having bangs for ... oh fifteen years or so.)

Onward. Yesterday I had a shitty day (quelle surprise!) On top of work nonsense, I had a really stupid bickery fight with Shawn ... via text message. And I just happen to be feeling bloated and sensitive this week. So. What do I do when I get home? I decide that I should probably start pulling out my summer clothes to prepare for Mexico. Summer clothes that include my bikinis. Bikinis that have not been worn since last summer. Last summer when I was skinny from wedding stress.

And then, because I am the smartest lady ever, I TRIED THE BIKINIS ON. While feeling bloated and stabby. And then I died. The end.

In related news, last night I started the 30 Day Shred and wow, I am a bit hurty today. Also? I kind of find Jillian Michaels really annoying. If I hear "abs like these don't come for free!" one more time, I will likely throw a can of beans at the tv (I'm using beans instead of weights. Not because I don't own weights but because the weights I own (the 5lb weights ... I'm so ashamed) are too heavy.) Apparently I am a weakling. I could only manage to do two push-ups. Two girly push-ups. I rocked the cardio and the abs but anything to do with arms kicked my ass. I'm fairly certain that everyone is doing the shred because I hear about it all the time, so I'm hoping someone can answer this for me: should I move up to the level 2 workout even though my arms are crap? Last night I definitely had a workout, my heart rate was up during the cardio and I was a red, sweaty mess, but I felt like I could have pushed much harder. As far as abs are concerned, I didn't have to stop during the workout last night but I was definitely working as hard as I could. So should I stick with level 1 or move up to level 2?

I Have Been Ungrateful I've Been Unwise Restless From The Cradle Now I Realize It's So Hard To See The Rainbow Through Glasses Dark As These

Shawn and I didn't go on a honeymoon after our wedding last summer. There were a few contributing factors: we had a few out-of-town guests who we wanted to spend time with after the wedding (most notably, Shawn's dad and one of his oldest friends); close friends of ours were married four days after us and we wanted to attend their wedding; and after going to Mexico for Shawn's 30th birthday in May, we didn't have enough vacation time remaining to be able to go on the awesome Ireland/England honeymoon trip we dreamed of. The plan was that we would take our honeymoon in the spring of 2009. Which would be now.

Our Ireland /England honeymoon has been delayed yet again, most likely until mid-2010. I'm trying very hard not to be disappointed but I can't help it. I haven't been back to England since May 2007 and I miss it. I miss my friends. I miss London. I miss sitting in the pub all afternoon. I miss Jaffa Cakes and Twiglets and baked beans done right.

I'm trying hard to quiet my discontent. Our trip has been delayed because we're going to Mexico for Shawn's friends' wedding. I should be flattered that we've been asked to join them. I should be excited to spend a week in the sun with a great group of people. I shouldn't feel sad or, even worse, resentful. Don't get me wrong, I am happy and grateful that our financial situation is stable enough that we're able to take any holiday at all. I'm just feeling a bit blue because I feel like our honeymoon will never happen. I'm afraid that life will continue to get in the way.

In three weeks I will be laying in the sun. I won't have anything to worry about (besides the daily puppy fretting I am sure to do.) I know I am going to have a good time. I just wish I didn't sound like I am trying to convince myself.

Yesterday It Hit Me That I Do All The Little Things That You Do Except The Same Little Things That You Do Are Annoying

Friday Faff: Don't You Wish You Were Married to Me? Edition

Shawn, retelling a joke from Southpark*: Do you like fishsticks?

Hillary: I don't know.

Shawn: What?

Hillary: I've never eaten a fishstick.

Shawn: For the sake of the joke, assume that you've eaten a fishstick, ok? So do you like fishsticks?

Hillary: I don't know! What are fishsticks like?

Shawn: They're like ... fishsticks.

Hillary: Like fish & chips?

Shawn: No, more like chicken strips.

Hillary: Dude that does not help at all. There is a huge spectrum of chicken strips. Are we talking fastfood-style nuggets? Or restaurant-style tenders?

At which point Shawn's head melts a little until we come to the conclusion that fishsticks are not deep-fried like fish & chips, but breaded and baked like quality-restaurant-style chicken tenders.

Shawn: Sooo.... do you like fishsticks?

Hillary: I don't know. Are they served with tartar sauce or ketchup?

Shawn: I hate you.

* I know, right? Southpark. Gah. I stopped liking Southpark right around the time I stopped mixing $8 half-mickeys of Alberta Pure Vodka with cream soda Slurpees (read: grade 12.)

PS: The joke was really lame. Something to do with being a gay fish if you like fishsticks in your mouth.

* * * * *

Hillary: Why is your face all scratchy?

Shawn: It's my playoff beard!

Hillary: I do not accept that.

Shawn: But if I shave, the Canucks will lose!

Hillary: FINE! Then I'll just grow my own playoff beard ...

Shawn:?

Hillary: ON MY LEGS!

* * * * *

Happy Friday, peeps! If you're so inclined, Lemon Gloria could use some positive thoughts, and, if it's not too insensitive to include this in the same sentence, the Canucks could use some juju for game 2 tonight.

I Think You're Stubborn 'Cept You're Always Softening

Wolfgang is not the only puppy suffering with the cone situation.

The easy access to Wolfgang's ears that Stella once enjoyed has disappeared.

She's not one to let a simple obstacle defeat her.

If only Wolfgang would stop squirming, she'd be able to get the right angle.

You call it stubborn. Stella calls it determined.

This is pretty much my favourite picture. Ever. 

For your viewing pleasure: Puppy Shenanigans. 

Stella Tells Wolfgang Who's Boss from Hillary W on Vimeo.

Yes, I do realize that I talk to my puppies like they are really stupid babies. I wish that I didn't but it's a habit I haven't been able to break. 

Just after I pressed stop, Wolfgang jumped from the couch onto Stel's chair all ninja-style and stole the bone. And then I said some bad words because I just missed recording it. Sorry dudes, I'll do better next time.

Like A Boss

At 1:28 this afternoon I was tagged by Mermanda to post a photo of myself, right that very second. Except that this morning I took my camera out of my bag (I always carry my little camera in case we are invaded by aliens or pirates and I need to document it) to make room for more snacks (true story.) I promised that I would take a photo as soon as I walked through the door (because Mermanda is bossy and scares me a little.) I also (stupidly) promised not to put any makeup on or brush my hair. 

So here I am, in all my end-of-the-day-where-are-my-pyjamas?-please-may-I-have-some-gin? glory. Wolfgang joined me because he's a ham. 

I'm tagging:

Alice

Marie

Elle Bee

Sharon

Bing

PS: Mermanda isn't bossy and she doesn't scare me. I lied.

How Come I Still Can't Open This Letter

Dear Vancouver Canucks,

Congratulations on winning the Northwest Division title! It was a pleasant surprise after you missed last year's playoffs (by only three points! that's only one win and one tie!) due to losing seven of the last nine games of the season. Let's make this year count, okay? It's difficult to be a Canucks fan sometimes. You're not the most consistent team; this season there were high highs (fighting for the last few wins of the season to steal the division title from Calgary by two measly points, heck yes!) and low lows (let's not talk about January's dismal record.) So, Vancouver Canucks, playoffs start tonight. Please, PLEASE, don't fuck this up.

Love,
Hillary

PS: Please don't play tonight like you played last week when Colorado was in town. I was booing the Colorado bench in this shot but as it turns out, I could have been booing your lazy performance.


The game sucked but we had the bitchingest (it's a word) seats ever, thanks to a friend who couldn't use her tickets. We were in the second row, right beside the bench, and the only thing that could have made it cooler was if the Canucks had managed to win.

* * * * *

Dear Next Door Neighbour Whom (Who?) I Rarely See and Who Intimidates The Shite Out of Me,

This morning as I got out of the elevator and said "have a good done", what I really meant to say was "have a good day." But you were saying "have a good day" so I switched to "have a good one" mid-sentence. And came out with "have a good done." I'm sorry. I will try to be less creepy next time.

Respectfully - and awkwardly! - yours,
Hillary

* * * * *

Dear 3carnations,

The Snack Taxis arrived yesterday. Thank you! Stella has already claimed the small one for her dog biscuits (the majority of the ziploc bags we use are for holding peanut butter treats to bribe the puppies with when we're out in public.) I've claimed the big one for healthy snacks to take to work with me. And by "healthy snacks" I mean "pretzels and chocolate chips" (what? it's kind of like trail mix.)

Thanks again,
Hillary

* * * * *

Dear Trish,

The plan was to finish making these last year when Fraser was born. Clearly that did not pan out.

I am really happy that I was able to complete these and very ashamed that it took me so long. The reason I took a break from sewing was because Stella was such a rambunctious pup and having needles around seemed like a bad idea. We got Stella over a year ago. I am lame.

Now that they're finished, I hope to mail them to you before your sons go off to university. Knowing my track record, it does not look hopeful.

Shamefully yours,
Hillary

* * * * *

Dear Wolfgang,

I know that you hate wearing the cone. I get it. I would hate wearing the cone. It's just one more week though buddy, and then you can take it off. In the meantime, if you could stop biting me every time I came near you, I would really appreciate it. I have little bruises all over my legs from where the cone hits me every time you go in for the kill.

I still love you, just a little less right now.

From,
The One Who Feeds You So You Better Shape Up or Ship Out
(and I officially just turned into my dad with that statement)

This TV Haze Sucks Me Through I Watch The World From The Inside

Living with someone who works in the audio video field is both awesome and frustrating. Awesome because you get to have a lot of fancy toys and all the latest gadgets. Frustrating if you're like me (technophobic) and don't know how to work all the fancy toys and latest gadgets.

Enter the Harmony 1000:

This is our remote control. It controls all the fancy shite in our home. It makes me happy.

First let me say that this is not a complaint. I'd be a special kind of asshole if I was all "oooohh poor me and all my fancy toys."

However.

For someone who just doesn't get electronics, something as simple as watching tv in our home is massively difficult. In order to watch tv, you need the tv remote, the receiver remote and the PVR remote. But that's not all. Both the tv and the receiver need to be on specific input settings. So that's 3 remotes and 2 input settings that you need to have to watch tv. And don't even get me started on what's required to watch a movie on the projector or plug an ipod into the speaker system.

Harmony (we're on a first name basis) took care of all that. With the touch of one button (well, the touch of one icon on the touch screen), the tv, receiver, and PVR would all turn on and switch to the correct input. It was glorious. We've had universal remotes before but none as proficient as Harmony. Harmony was the first to work in the bedroom while all the components are in another room (through a concrete wall!) It has something to do with the IR Extender (don't ask me what that is - I just had to text Shawn to find out what it was even called.)

Anyway.

Harmony was my boyfriend. I loved Harmony. I trusted Harmony. Harmony let me down. Harmony stopped working last week and it has thrown me completely off kilter. Gone are the days of watching tv in the bedroom and changing channels with ease (you call it lazy, I call it highly efficient tv watching.) Now I need to turn the tv on manually (horror!) and use the PVR remote control. But that's not all! The PVR remote needs to be pointed at the PVR, which is in the living room. So I have to turn the PVR on in the living room and bring up the guide. Then I run into the bedroom to see what's on. Then I run back to the living room to scroll through the guide, trying to remember how many lines down the show I wanted to watch was. Then I run back into the bedroom to make sure the right channel is highlighted. Then I run back into the living room to press enter. It makes me laugh every time. It becomes even more hilarious if I'm trying to set my recordings (like yesterday - Big Bang Theory, How I Met Your Mother, Two and a Half Men, Rules of Engagement, CSI Miami, Castle, and House. Don't judge me - Monday is good tv night.) I ran back and forth between the bedroom and the living room approximately 8 million times. (First person to tell me I should just watch tv in the living room gets a punch in the ear. I tried to watch tv in the living room but after 15 minutes of scrolling through inputs and pushing random buttons on the receiver and getting nothing but fuzz, I called Shawn and he told me that he had disconnected the tv from the PVR to attach it to the projector or some such nonsense.)

I'm choosing to believe that the universe is just bringing more laughter (and exercise!) into my life, and not telling me that I need to watch less tv. That's just crazy talk. If the universe wanted me to watch less tv, why would there be so much good tv on? (First person to dispute my definition of "good tv" is grounded from watching House for 2 weeks.)

I'll Wear Another Smile For You That Way You Know I'm Fine, And Having Fun With You

We're a sad bunch here at the house of the double L. I lost my voice midway through Tuesday, so my boss sent me home where I promptly died of a chest cold. I did nothing but sleep (and whine to Shawn, if I'm being totally honest) until today. Having five consecutive days off was like having a mini holiday, but instead of drinking too much gin and falling asleep fully clothed, I drank copious amounts of lemon tea and never managed to fully make it out of my pyjamas. I feel so out of the loop. Forget writing on my own blog, I couldn't even manage to read any blogs. This morning I went on the facebook and found out that a friend (not a real life friend, one of those friends who adds you on facebook but you never speak to but you still stalk their wall) gave birth on Wednesday. Wednesday! I have a lot of catching up to do. My Google Reader yelled at me this morning. We're not friends right now.

Wolfgang would like to point out that a chest cold is nothing compared to having your fun bits removed.

Wolfgang went in on Wednesday morning to be neutered. I made Shawn pick me up before heading to the vet Wednesday night so I could be there when we brought him home. When the vet tech carried him out I couldn't help but laugh; he had his front paws clasped tightly around the back of his neck, looking kind of like he was doing that pose they teach you to do in elementary school if there's an earthquake (I want to say "stop, drop and roll" but that's if you're on fire. Is there a saying for the earthquake one?)

Wolfgang continued to break my heart all night, like when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and started growling because he didn't recognize himself. Or when he would accidentally bump into something with his cone and he would freeze (this was only sad for the first little bit - then it got hilarious. Like when we put him in his crate and his cone touched the wall and he froze and didn't move, at all, for fifteen minutes.) Then there was the meltdown I had when I realized that they had shaved his leg (most noticeable in the first photo) for his IV. The poor little monkey had a rough first night.

However. He soon was back to his normal, asshole, self.

The cone was Stella's so it was a bit big but the vet said it would be fine. The vet was wrong. Of course Wolfgang chose to chew his way to freedom on Good Friday, which meant that the vet and the pet stores and every conceivable place to get a dog cone was closed. So we pulled out the electrical tape and the duct tape and managed to find a solution.

Wolfgang was not pleased.

And because I am still feeling gross and I'm at work and I have no brain power, I will stop babbling now and leave you with a picture of my hair. It's not a great photo. The bangs are doing something weird (they are always doing something weird. People with bangs: how do you manage?? How do you make the bangs stay in place??) and my hair was sort of half-curly half- slept on. So. Here you go:

Arrogant To Flaunt It Since We Fell In Love With A Bad Idea

I had just gotten over the aches and pains and gastrointestinal distress of last week's stomach flu when I felt a cold coming on. The aches and pains are back, paired with an unbearably sore throat and punishing cough. Not to be confused with my allergies, which are causing sinus pressure like you wouldn't believe and the itchiest of itchy eyes. I realize that this is all sounding very waaah poor fucking me and my stupid achy body but you know what? I am feeling very waaah poor fucking me and my stupid achy body. So, uh, sorry?

I dragged myself into work this morning because I was unsure if my deathly-ill coworker would make it in or not. My boss came in shortly after I did and he was in a mood so I tried to steer clear of him. My deathly-ill coworker followed soon after that, still deathly ill, and she was also in a mood. Fun times. I found out later that both moods were caused by my deathly-ill coworker trying to (legitimately) call in sick and being told that it didn't matter how sick she was, she was working today.  Work was tense, today. More tense than it usually is.

So today was rough, to say the least. Exacerbated by the fact that Shawn and I are a bit touchy right now (I know my monthiversary post is a little late this month but honestly, if I tried to write it right now it would look a little like this:

Dear Shawn,

Happy 8 Monthiversary! 

I kind of want to stab you in the ear right now.

Love Hillary)

So yes, Monday sucked. I was sick, I was tired, I was feeling a little blue, so what did I do? I got a fucking hair cut. 

I have gone to the same stylist for years now. Since I started seeing him he's moved and I've moved and it's now a 45 minute drive (each way!) to get my hair done. Which means that I normally skip the in-between hair cuts and just get it done when I get my highlights done. Which, since becoming all frugal and shite, hasn't been since before the wedding. Yes, I've got 9-month old roots happening people and it is sex-ay. Every time I see this guy, Turtle tells me to be strong. Don't buckle. Don't get the most fucking expensive thing done to my hair and every time I go, I call her afterwards and cry because I drove a long fucking way and it took forever and he managed to talk me into the full head of highlights again (every time I go, he comments on how "mousy" my natural colour is) and I spent 200 fucking dollars. And it looks baaaad. So today I went to a shop nearby. A shop where you can't even make an appointment, you just go in and whoever is available cuts your hair. There is no complimentary coffee and no soothing soundtrack but what it lacks in ambiance it makes up for in frugality. I tipped 25% and my total was still only $20. Twenty dollars!

Anyway, not only did I decide that a haircut in my fragile state was a Great! Idea!, I also decided that today - TODAY - was the day for bangs. I have not had bangs since I was ten years old and I accidentally got my friend's round brush stuck in the front portion of my hair and had to cut it off. And that doesn't really count because it wasn't real bangs, just a large chunk of really short hair that stood straight up. Good lord, I just realized that I had a fucking mullet. Hmm. I'm going to have to try to find pictures of this. 

Right. So Bad Idea #1 was going to get a haircut when I was already pissed off and weepy. Bad Idea #2 was requesting bangs. Bad Idea #3 was eating two ice cream sandwiches for dinner but I'm not sorry about that one. Fuck. I'm going to go cuddle my puppies now. They don't care how stupid my hair looks. 

Wild Awesome Friends They Face A Plain Red Sober Wind And Know The Pain

I took this photo of Wolfgang a few days ago when we were having bizarrely strong wind. I love that his ears are plastered back and his tail hair is flowing in the breeze but what I love the most is his leg hair. I don't know if you can see it, or if the photo is too small, but his leg hair is swept back by the wind and it makes me giggle every time I look at it.

It was Wolfgang's first experience with really strong wind and he did not love it. He ran back inside shortly after I snapped the picture and sat by the window, waiting for it to end.


I don't know if it comes across in my writing or not but I kind of love my puppies. Just a little.

It makes me really happy when others love their pets as much as I love mine. It makes me even happier when people love animals that aren't theirs. Vulnerable animals, sick animals, animals who don't deserve the crappy situations they sometimes find themselves in.

The lovely peeps over at Who's Your Daschund? are raising money for various animal shelters across Canada, the US, and South Africa. I know that times are tough right now and money is tight, but every donation - however big or small - is appreciated. So dig deep, if you are able, and donate to this awesome cause.



Just look at these faces:

How can you resist?

What Kind Of Magic Spell To Use Slime And Snails Or Puppy Dogs' Tails

Last week was shite and then I came down with the flu. Normally this would make me very stabby; however, there was a fabulous Friday night in between the two events. It involved a great bunch of people, burgers on the BBQ, a Canucks game, and a tad too much alcohol. Which explains these photos:

Not crazy, just drunk.

And then I died the next day of what I thought was a really bad hangover but what I quickly realized was the flu.

While I still thought it was a hangover, I forced myself to get outside and enjoy the sunshine because who knows how long it will last? (oh ha ha, it lasted until today WHEN IT STARTED SNOWING!) We took the pups to my parents' house so they could run around in an actual yard (every time we get back from my parent's house, the pups run to our sliding glass door (which opens up onto a teeny tiny balcony) fully expecting a back yard to have appeared. The attitude we get from Stel when she realizes it hasn't happened yet is awesome.)

Please may we have some of this green stuff at our house?

My parents' dog, Toby, is extremely camera-shy (it's bizarre, when he sees a camera come out he hides in his dog house) but I managed to sneakily snap a few shots.

Toby is a german shepard black lab cross.

Stella has a giant crush on him.

I was sitting in a lawn chair, teasing the pups with treats, when I managed to take what are quite possibly my two favourite pictures of them, ever.

Intense focus.

I love this shot even though Stella's face is cut off. She's such a clown.

And that's all I've got (unless you'd like to hear more about vomit?) I've been a blog-reading slacker this week so I'm woefully behind on my Reader. I'm tempted to hit the magic "mark all as read" button but I've resisted so far. I'm not sure how long I'll last before the hundreds of unread posts drive me batshit crazy but I'll do my best.