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.

The Band Is Back Together Allergic And In The News

This is what Stella looks like today:

This is what Stella looked like at 10pm on Friday night:

(Please excuse the crappy picture quality; I took the picture with my phone to text to Shawn to convince him that I wasn't exaggerating, Stella really was swollen like a mothereffer.)

Friday evening I took Stella to get her annual vaccinations. We had plans to go out afterwards but I decided to stay home because Stel was acting a bit lethargic. I was hanging out with the pups when Stella started acting really strangely - madly scratching her face and dragging herself along the carpet on her back and groaning. In the matter of a few minutes, her face swelled up to the point where she could barely open one of her eyes.

I called Shawn and he was frustratingly calm. He told me to wait it out (!) or give Stella one of his allergy pills. Then I did some swearing and texted him the photo of Stella's poor swollen face. He got the phone number of the 24-hour vet from his mom and told me to meet him there. Because I am a grownup, I called my Dad and asked him to drive me to the vet so I didn't crash the car.

I snapped this photo right before the (awesome! lovely!) emergency vet gave Stel the antihistamine shots. She couldn't get her eyes open and she was gasping when she breathed.

One hour and two hundred dollars later, we were home.

I know that Stella is just a dog but she's my dog. I don't have babies or anyone relying on me for survival. Stella is my responsibility and I felt like I fucked it up. It was a horrible, helpless feeling, one that I hope to never feel again. I'm fairly certain that Stella is trying to send me to an early grave and I'm pretty sure that she is going to succeed.