Next Time You Point A Finger I'll Point You To The Mirror

May has been an effing asshole of a month (sorry - I saw MacGruber on Friday and am now referring to everything as an effing asshole of something. This will never get old.)

It started with my mom's surgery, then we were all a little blindsided by my mom not doing so well after surgery (she's totally fine now), then I had my 2-night sleep study which was much more difficult than I anticipated (I get my results next week!), then it was Shawn's birthday (which doesn't count as a bad thing, it was just slightly stressful due to non-bloggable events), then Shawn went away for 4 days and left me alone with the monster puppies, then work kind of kicked my ass and left me reeling, and then I cut part of my fingertip off.

I'm ready for May to be over, is what I'm saying.

So. My finger. I didn't cut the fingertip off, it was more the meaty part - the fingerprint part - and I didn't slice the whole thing off, it was attached by a flap of skin, but it was disturbing and gruesome and I'm blaming in on Turtle because she is the one who taught me how to sharpen my knives.

Shawn was unreachable in the studio all day so I did what any mature, self-respecting 28-year old would do; I called my mom. I called my mom and I cried and I hyperventilated and I threw up a little and then I taped my finger back together, ate a popsicle, and went to bed.

So yes, I am ready for June.

In This House No One Goes To Sleep For Days It's Like We're Working On A Mountainside Trying Not To Slide Into The Ocean

Oh look! Another photo of my dog!

In this picture Stella is trying to use the power of her mind to get Shawn's hamburger into her belly.

It only kind of worked a little. (Dear Shawn, the dogs beg because you feed them when they do cute shit like rest their heads on your knees while you eat. Seriously. Stop it. Love Hillary)

Oh hey, so I guess I don't really need to point this out but I'm still punchy. Like, really punchy. Like perhaps I should actually do some punching so that I stop shooting lasers out of my eyes and speaking in my bitey voice. I had big plans to become a runner last night so I could run out my stress, but then it rained and got all windy so I ate some ice cream instead. It seemed like a good plan at the time.

My new plan is to banish my bad mood with a long weekend of selfishness. Shawn is going on a boys'-only-road- trip from Friday morning until Monday afternoon and I am really looking forward to having some alone time. I love my husband and I love spending time with him blah blah blah I am going to sleep diagonally across the bed and eat ice cream for dinner without his judgey eyes. This weekend will include a lot of mac & cheese and puppy cuddles and Law & Order reruns and I don't even care that every single person I know (including my parents, who never go anywhere) is heading out of town for the long weekend. I am going to staycation my ass off (because I am a douche who says "staycation" punch punch punch.)

The More You Ignore Me The Closer I Get You're Wasting Your Time

On Monday I contacted a seller on etsy to ask a question about colour options. The listing said that other colours were available but I wanted to confirm that the specific colour I wanted was available and also to know approximately how long it would take to prepare the item if I wanted the optional colour. (Sorry to be all vague; I'm not interested in calling out this particular seller, I just want to know what you would do in my situation.) So. On Monday I sent the email (through etsy.) I haven't heard back from the seller. I know it's only been two days but the seller updated her shop yesterday with a whole slew of new items so I know that she has signed into her account and has likely seen my email. My question is this: Do I re-send my email or do I give up trying to contact her? I really like the item she is selling and I haven't been able to find something similar. I could look for a different item from a different seller that could serve the purpose but this particular item really makes my heart happy. However, I have a hard time supporting people who appear to not give a shit. Maybe I'm being harsh but I feel like etsy is a place to support artists and buy handmade and if this lady can't be bothered to reply to a simple email, maybe I should spend my money elsewhere. What would you do in this situation?

We'll Order Water Torture Sauce And Economics

Dear Issue that is Making me Wobbly,

Please sort yourself out. You're making me twitchy and unpleasant to live with. I don't think Shawn can handle another incident like last night when that jar of alfredo sauce shattered and I had a complete meltdown.

Sincerely,
The One Rocking Back and Forth and Crying

* * * * *

Dear Grocery Bag that I Dropped on the Concrete Ground of the Parkade

Why did you have to be the bag that I shoved my wallet and blackberry into to free up hand space so I could carry more groceries? Why did you also have to be the bag containing the aforementioned jar of alfredo sauce? Were you jealous because the other grocery bags were full to the brim of lovely tasty groceries and you were the last bag I packed so you only got to carry a few random items? I hope you like your new home ... the garbage. I don't care how reusable you are, jerkface.

Regards,
The One Who May Have Been a Tad Aggressive as She Threw You Out

* * * * *

Dear Stella,

Alfredo sauce is not for puppies!

Love,
The One Who Doesn't Want to Clean Up Your Alfredo Vomit

* * * * *

Dearest Blackberry,

Thank you for working again after I dismantled you and cleaned alfredo sauce out of your every crevice with a q-tip. Now if you could just stop smelling like alfredo sauce we could go back to being friends.

Love,
The One Who Gags Every Time She Answers a Call

I'm On The Karma Payment Plan

So I have strep throat again.

It's been a whopping five weeks since the last time I had strep throat.

Today the doctor said I have to start thinking about getting my tonsils removed. Right. I'm sure my boss will be really enthusiastic about me requesting six weeks off work. Have any of you had your tonsils removed? Did it really take six weeks to recover? That seems a bit ... extensive.

So clearly this is karma. I blame everyone who commented on yesterday's post and told me to forget helping my sister move and make better plans. Just kidding. (About the blaming part; I'm totally serious about the karma part.) Though now I have a really good excuse for not helping with the move.

Sweet Thing Sipping On A Blueberry Wine

My favourite kind of Sunday starts with blueberry pancakes topped with blueberry-raspberry sauce, whipped cream, and a few (redundant) fresh blueberries.

My favourite kind of Sunday is easily downgraded to a stabity stab stab Sunday by going condo-shopping. That is all.

The Boat Engine Makes Noise

Yesterday I:

Got to work to find my office building's air conditioning unit had fried itself over the weekend. Our thermostat said it was 27 degrees (Celsius) in our office (Dear Americans, 27 degrees Celsius = 80 degrees Fahrenheit. Love Hillary.) I am constantly cold at work, so even during the summer months I dress like I'm going skiing. I layer like you've never seen anyone layer before. I'm fairly certain that yesterday was the first time my coworkers had seen my bare arms. The maintenance guy managed to get things working again after lunch but the air was still dead and warm and sticky when I left work last night.

Gave Wolfgang a bath and tried to comb all the snarls out of his coat. We were both extremely stressed and upset by the time I gave up. I decided to give him a treat to make up for it so I took him over to the treat cupboard. We keep all the puppy stuff together in one bin so I put the puppy shampoo and comb away while I was there. I guess I wasn't moving fast enough for Wolfgang though, because he looked me straight in the face and peed right in front of the treat cupboard. Needless to say, Wolfgang did not receive his post-bath treat.

This morning I:

Woke up three minutes before I usually leave for work.

Forgot my umbrella and was soaked to the bone by the time I got to my office.

Froze my ass off when I finally got to work because the property manager kept the air conditioning running full tilt all night. My thermostat said it was 16 degrees.

Stabby does not even begin to describe how I feel today.

To make myself feel better, I was looking through my holiday photos and I realized that I still haven't done a recap. I'm awesome like that. So here is a mini-recap. A one-day recap. Tuesday. The day of the Tropical Storm excursion.

This is me and Shawn on the bus, headed to the Tropical Storm. We look happy and relaxed but really, my head had just melted minutes before. We had been told to be in the lobby for 7:50 so we assumed the bus would be leaving at 8:00. We arrived at 7:53 just in time to watch the bus pull out of the resort. Luckily the concierge was a rockstar and managed to get the bus to come back and pick us up.

I have no idea what this is. It looks like a bunch of palm trees with no tops. I took the picture out the bus window as we drove past.

We all piled onto the sailboat and headed out to sea. It was a beautiful day, the crew was hilarious, the rum flowed freely and over half the sailboat occupants were people from our group. It made for an awesome excursion.

We headed up the coastline to get a look at all the different resorts. We ended up right outside of our resort, to get a closer look at the Astron Shipwreck.

From there we sailed out to a coral reef for some snorkeling. Anyone who knows me knows that I am not a fan of the ocean. I feel like we should leave the ocean alone and the ocean will leave us alone. You don't see any sharks coming up on land to mess with us so why tempt fate by heading into shark territory? It makes sense. Just go with it. Anyway, as I mentioned above, the rum was flowing freely. And so I snorkeled. I lasted for maybe five minutes before I hit some coral and convinced myself that I was about to be eaten by sharks (SHARKS SMELL BLOOD. Fact.) So I headed back to the boat and took pictures of Shawn and R.

Shawn is on the left and R is on the right. Sorry the photo sucks. I didn't want to risk dropping my DSLR in the ocean so I just took my little point and shoot camera on the boat.

After the snorkeling, we sailed to a beach with the world's largest inflatable water slide. How random is that? Random. Very random. It was all fun and games until someone (me. sigh.) lost their bikini bottoms.

After I collected my bikini bottoms (my dignity was nowhere to be found) we sailed onto a natural pool for some lunch and a floating bar. By this point, we had been in the sun for 6 hours. We had also been drinking for 6 hours. Lunch - warm (unintentionally warm) pasta salad, dried bread and unidentifiable luncheon meats - has never tasted so good. After that we sailed back to our starting point and piled back on the bus; drunk, sunburned and exhausted. For me, it was the most fun day of the trip. Definitely a day to remember (she says as she looks out her window at the Vancouver rain and shakes her fist.)

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!)

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?

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. 

Stab You From The City Spires

Last week, Mary left a comment on one of my pityriasis rosea posts, asking about my experience. When I tried to reply, I got the "noreply-comment@blogger.com" (hate HATE the noreply-comment) and her Blogger profile is unavailable.

So.

Mary, if you're reading this and would like to talk to me about pityriasis rosea, email me at ninjahills at gmail dot com.

In other "noreply-comment@blogger.com"/unavailable profile news, Tina took offence to my review of Chris Cornell's craptastic new album. I would just like to point out to Tina that I didn't judge it on just one song (hey remember that time that I said that I listened to the whole album?) I'm judging the album on the level of awesomeness that I've come to expect from Chris Cornell based on his previous work. It's disappointing when an artist you admire and respect sells out. If I had been able to email you, Tina, I would have asked how long you've been a Chris Cornell fan. For his newer fans, maybe this departure from his earlier work isn't as disappointing as it is for the fans who have been following him for years. Whatever, we're all allowed to have our own opinions and we're all allowed to voice them. Especially when we're voicing them on our own blogs and not hiding behind semi-anonymity.

Wow, so I'm not sure if this needs to be said or if it's painfully obvious, but I did not get enough sleep last night and I am feeling stabby today. Only ... 7 more hours until I can go home and put on my pyjamas.