Hella Stella

Morty had a nightmare last night.

I know this because he started whimpering and howling sometime around 3 am. When we looked in his crate, he was passed out, scrunched up all funny because he had been kicking his toys around. My BH brought him onto the bed, and he promptly fell asleep on my face (he later migrated to my neck, chest, head again, pillow, feet, and went back up to my head for good measure). I didn't sleep that well. I had a whimpering dog on my head. Obvs.

As hellish as moving is, I'm starting to get a bit excited. I'm looking forward to living in a new neighbourhood. I'm looking forward to the neighbours I'm going to have. And considering how heavy Morty is getting, I'm looking forward to not having a long staircase to carry him down every time he needs to pee (he isn't supposed to go up and down stairs much yet in an effort to save his hips from dysplasia). Last night, I stopped into Staples and got coloured cue cards to label my moving boxes. Nothing gets me going like a label or two. Or fifteen. Besides, these cue cards are NEON. I'm going to move like it's 1986!

I had my final drum lesson last night. In a few short months, I've learned a crapload about hand foot coordination and latin rhythm. I can play coherently; badly, but coherently. This makes me happy. However, my money does not stretch far enough to cover another block of lessons, so I'm going to quit before I'm broke. My next challenge? Getting me some inexpensive drum sequencing software to make bizarre banjo dance music. YES.

In a few days we'll be at my cousin's open bar wedding in The Tang. This side of my family really knows how to party, and I'm secretly hoping that my communist aunt shows up (partly because I want to see her, and partly because she is insanely offensive entertaining whilst inebriated). It's going to be one hell of a wedding.

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A-Channel reported last night that the Rasputin's fire was an act of arson. Are they fucking serious?