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