Hella Stella

What a weekend.

I showed up to brunch on Saturday mildly hungover. It wasn't my intention, especially since I hadn't had that much to drink the night before. My mistake was ordering very sugary martinis, which always make me feel like ass the next day. Oh, but they are yummy.

Regardless, I had the nicest time. It was lovely to meet some of the folks behind the words, find out what connections we have in common, and hear about Milan's knowledge of oily tools and mushroom foraging. When the conversation turned to the subject of bras, I weighed my options: Should I mention that I am wearing my Magical Padded Pushup Bra? Would that add anything to the debate? By the time I decided to go for it, we had changed topics to "survival fat." No boob talk for me. Probably wise. I was trying to be on my best behaviour, after all. It would be contradictory for me to start gesturing enthusiastically to my chest.

I *may* have started a discussion about Morty's balls, but it was only to say that they are slightly less adorable now that they are, uh, getting large. They haven't reached the point of being "scary dog balls," they are just "bigger." He still can't reach them with his mouth (although he tries), which is probably good considering that a lot of children live in the area. I cut the conversation short because of that whole best behaviour thing. It's new for me, obvs. It takes real dedication not to be offensive.

After reading David's review of Ju Xian Yuan, my BH and I decided to have an impromptu date night to try out the food there. It. Was. So. Delicious. The table next to us recommended the salt and pepper tofu when we were finishing up, so I'll have to order that one next time. Next time, like, tonight? No I can't afford it and yes I'm still considering it.

Haha, sorry. A commercial just popped up on the screen featuring a woman talking about her long distance plan, and she is patting a dog that is clearly fake. This dog could not get any faker, but there she is, patting it and talking about her long distance. Creepy!

The Montreal gig is this coming weekend and I am totally unprepared. Every time I take out my instruments to practice a bit, Morty goes ballistic. I haven't decided how to deal with it yet. I am close to smothering my banjo in chopped liver. Ew, I take that back. It sounded funny in my head until I pictured it and gagged.

I have no way to end this post smoothly, so I will say this: Woo hoo! Another federal election! I am so super psyched to go through this process again!

Cough. Cough.