Hella Stella

Milan's photo vernissage was crazy fun! Congrats to him for all the hard work.

I played a couple of quick songs with Brian, who just happened to walk in a few minutes before my mini-set. For something we didn't have planned in the least, it was most excellent.

Astronaut Love Triangle was every bit as awesome as they promised to be. Manny Blue signed my chest after the show!! I want a matching pair. Aggie? You there? Get out the sharpie...

(photo stolen from Milan)

Completely random thoughts have been popping into my head all day.

"What would it take for me to not work at an office job? Realistically, how soon could I do this? What sort of savings would I need? What's my backup plan? I NEED A BACKUP PLAN."

"A licky boom-boom down. I don't get it either."

"My BH eats his food in sections: olives, pasta, salad. I eat my food all together: olivespastasalad. Fascinating."

"If I ever met Paul McCartney, I would tell him that Ram is one of the greatest albums ever made."

"Why does Meg Ryan look the same age now as she did when she made French Kiss? Didn't that movie come out years and years ago? ... I want to watch French Kiss immediately."


I am currently trying to calm my brain by cuddling with Morty on the couch. It's working. A bit.

Today was Accidental Parental Visiting Day. Both sets of parents came over unannounced, which was cool but embarrassing because there were so, so many dishes. Both the mothers tried (on separate occasions) to do chin-ups at the chin-up bar. Emphasis on tried. My BH is still the only person I know who can do chin-ups without making it look like a near death experience.

My mom asked me why I magically grew boobs and I illustrated the wonders of my padded bra by smacking myself in the chest. "See? I can't feel a thing!" I exclaimed. "And when I'm cold, nobody knows!"

"Magical!" said my mom.

*break while I watch Morty eat in his sleep*

I don't think this post is going anywhere, but I will leave you with this thought: Today, as I was watching the news, I felt suddenly panicked. Completely disheatened, cynical, and downright angry. I'm having trouble watching the news lately, and that's coming from a news junkie. I just can't find anything I want to hear about. I want to get me some earplugs and go for a long walk.

Anyone else feeling that way? And is it just me, or is this election (Canada) the most boring thing on earth?

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.

When you've been sick for a month and have spent half your weekend inhaling paint fumes in the name of a Brighter Whiter Kitchen, you don't turn down an invitation to Le Nordik Spa. In fact, when you do get the offer, you run screaming out the door yelling things like "God yes, take me now! NOW!!!"

And so, yesterday, I crated my enormous puppy, stripped off my paint-splattered pajamas, and hopped in the car with some of my girls. Off to Chelsea! To the land of smooth skin and salt water baths! To the land of the beloved steam room! To the land of chocolate fondue and port! To the land of ginormous implants that boggle the mind!

We weren't disappointed. It was just what I needed, and it was so pleasant that we stayed approximately three hours longer than I expected. Oh yes.

Some notes:

- I have yet to meet someone that loves the steam room the way I love the steam room. I probably spent a total of an hour and a half in there. Of course, I paid for it later with a migraine like a kick in the head because I didn't drink enough water afterwards. Dumb. Not a mistake I'll make again.

- What is the point of getting gigantic fake tits if they look, well, ridiculous? One woman was getting snickered at everywhere she went because her boobs looked positively comical. Like, helium balloon comical. I wanted to go slap them around a bit to see how they'd move, but I figured that would get awkward pretty quickly.

- Spa music is so non-committal. One minute you're floating around a major key, and then you slip into the minor.... Back up to the major, over into the minor..... Happy, depressed, happy, depressed. Pick a damn mood, wooden flute!

- I keep forgetting that I don't like saunas. It's weird, because I love heat, but I honestly can't breathe in a sauna. Not to mention the fact that I managed to burn the bottoms of my feet in there and had to walk very gingerly for the rest of my stay. Steam room all the way.

- The chocolate fondue at the spa is amazing. I would eat that shit on a rubber boot.

My skin is all glowy and silky smooth today, and I am already planning my next escape to the Nordik. I highly recommend a spa day to any of you about to paint your kitchen NEON GREEN. It'll take a load off of your mind.

It's finally reached the point where I have trouble picking Morty up. I used to be able to carry him around with one hand. Now he feels like a giant sack of wriggly potatoes. Potatoes with gas. But still so cute!

Several good things happened this weekend.

First: I bought a fancy-ass padded push-up bra. It's the only real bra I own, since I have always been satisfied with my Zellers sports bras up until now. You know what's surprising? I really like this expensive boob contraption. It's comfortable and does fabulous things to my rack. I may have to go buy a second one. Imagine! My own collection of fancy push-up thingies! Who'd a thunk it?

I also got a lot of packing done. All my shirts and sweaters, minus the ones I want to wear to work. My hand towels and face cloths. My bathroom products, minus the ones I use regularly. Then I categorized all the boxes in the front room. They are grouped by eventual location (front room, bedroom, basement, kitchen etc.) and colour coded with labels. Now I know the contents of each box, as well as the room it belongs to. Most excellent.

(It was during this process that I discovered Morty's insane fear of packing tape...)

All the details about the piano purchase have been sorted out. We really own a piano. Ironically, I always hated piano lessons and failed miserably at learning the instrument each time I tried. Good thing I'm not a quitter. And good thing I have friends who can play it in case I decide to cut my losses and never touch it again. I've always got the banjo to fall back on.

I have a surprise planned for my BH tonight. I've been feeling all sorts of romantical, and I decided to take the plunge and get him a nice gift. Saturday, I got him fresh local flowers. Today? Wish I could say....

This Canada Day was a definite improvement over previous Canada Days... We literally just ate, drank and sat around until the local firecrackers stopped going off. I kept shouting "show me your tits!" to Andi, and as far as I remember, she never did.

Morty had a slightly less fun time, having unwisely provoked an older alpha dog which resulted in a bite or two on the noggin. Poor little man. He slept it off and seems to remember nothing. He also went miraculously boner-free for the whole day! Go Morty!! We have posted a few new videos to his Youtube channel, in case you feel like watching a fat puppy dancing to Paul Simon.

I've started to say no to new gigs. Is that weird? I think I want to take the summer off and change my focus. Moving, getting healthy and spending time with my BH and my pup are the only things I want to deal with lately. I haven't had the time or the mental space to write new songs. I just don't feel inspired. It would probably be a whole lot better to spend the summer recharging instead of playing the same old set over and over. There are a few fall shows I'm looking forward to, so I'll jump back in the game then.*

It's becoming more and more clear that I'm going to need to hire movers for the end of the month. Especially since this morning, when I discovered that we might be the new owners of a piano. The problem? Every moving company in Ottawa seems to be booked up. We thought we'd be able to do it ourselves, but now, as the expression goes, we are royally fucked. Fucked with a capital Fuck. That's how the expression goes, I'm sure of it.

Would I like a glass of panic with my stress? Ooooh, yes please!


*Watch this all fall apart the second someone offers me something really fun.

It occurred to me recently that my lack of a social life may be the reason behind my inability to talk about anything except Morty.

Granted, Westfest was a shining exception to the rule, as were my two very short rehearsals with the band and the occasional brunch. But otherwise? It's hard to make yourself go out when you've got an ever-expanding puppy missing you at home.

As such, I was pleased when I had the opportunity to go to the Highlander for their trivia night with some friends earlier this week. I'm not a rabid fan of trivia, but I don't mind it, and I quite enjoy drinking beer while I pretend to understand the questions being asked of me. I don't know what I was drinking, but it was a dark ale that tasted a bit like coffee. My pints disappeared quickly, which was odd, seeing as how I am a notoriously slow beer drinker.

I digress.

It didn't take long for me to realize that I a. was getting drunk quickly and b. am very bad at trivia. Andi appeared to be in the same boat, and we giggled our way through the first round, convinced that the time would come for us to shine through the trivia-induced cloud. We did shine, although not quite where we wanted to. Andi turned out to be a specialist in the "televangelist" category, while I strutted my stuff in "opera." Instead of wallowing in feelings of dorkiness, we ordered another pint. The night ended not long after I announced to Andi that I felt a sudden urge to buy a fancy push-up bra "so that my boobs can be right up around my face" (she nodded solemnly and said she would like one too).

If this is how I behave when I get to have a long-awaited "social outing," I don't really want to know what's going to happen when I reach the open bar at my cousin's wedding next month.

(Actually, this post is a little short on Morty content, so for all of you addicted to my chubby pup, I introduce: HIS VERY OWN YOUTUBE CHANNEL)