Hella Stella

Today is one of those days. One of those GOOD days. I woke up and the sun was shining. No small bulldogs (I'm looking at you, Frida) woke me up at 4am to have explosive poo in the yard. Breakfast was yummy. I got part of my energy rebate in the mail. Did I mention the weather?

Also, last night fulfilled my longstanding craving for good Ethiopian food, as my BH and I went to a birthday dinner at Horn of Africa. Damn, I could eat there every night.

AND THEN? I got a phone call that my bed frame is ready, and will be delivered next week. No more sleeping on the floor, albeit on a giant fucking mattress.

PLUS?? Frida's reacting so well to her steroids that her itching and swelling has decreased by about 90%. That's pretty astounding.

AND???? Apparently CBC Radio played one of my songs this morning. I love you, CBC.

THEN???? My stove finally sold on Craigslist. Thank fuck.

So all in all, today is going pretty well. I'll enjoy it while I can to store up energy for those bad days.


For those of you who like stories where I embarrass myself, or for those of you who wonder why I say I have a potty mouth, I bring you: A conversation from last night.

Friend 1 is wearing a shirt featuring a fat cat wearing a dunce cap.

Friend 2: Is that a dumb cat?

Friend 1: Or a cat that misbehaved?

Friend 3: Or a cat who bugged the teacher?

Me, after deciding that the dunce cap looked more like a party hat: I THINK IT'S A PUSSY WHO LIKES TO PARTY!

*crickets*

Keep in mind that I had never met some of the people at the table. When somebody finally responded, they cleared their throat, and said, "Well, at least that's legal now."

Hope you are all having a lovely autumn day too.

4 am yesterday morning, I smelled it. The distinct and unmistakable smell of poo.

I sat up in bed, trying to determine if I was imagining things.

"Babe?" I said, poking my BH in the shoulder. "I smell poo."

"Mmmraaaagh..." he responded.

"No really, it smells like poo in here."

"Poo. Mrrraaaagh...." he said, clearly still asleep.

I began to doubt my nose, and plus I was tired. My head hit the pillow. I was out like a light.

7 am, I woke with a start. Now the stench was stronger. There was no mistaking it - there was poo somewhere in the apartment.

By some miracle, Morty was sleeping in his crate that night, even though he usually sleeps with us on weekends. I ran to his crate in the front room. I flicked on the light.

My poor little dude. Let's just say that Morty ate something disagreeable, and reacted by having explosive poo all over his crate. It had leaked out onto the floor, pooling by the piano. He looked miserable.

"Jesus," I said. "BABE! THERE IS EXPLOSIVE POO EVERYWHERE. I NEED YOUR HELP."

I threw on a few coats over my pajamas and took Morty outside while my BH put on his heavy duty rubber gloves. When I came back in, poor Morty was plonked down in the bath and I washed the little dude off.

We were scrubbing the floor for at least an hour before we were satisfied it was all gone. Morty sat in the bedroom and looked depressed.

Happy Sunday!


***

Having such a rough start to the morning was unfortunately a sign of things to come. The rest of the day was awful.

My BH was in a foul mood, most likely because he spent a couple hours elbow-deep in crap when he should have been sleeping. To stay out of his hair, I did everything I could to fill my time. Shoveling my walkway. And my neighbour's walkway. And my other neighbour's walkway. And the sidewalk. And then our parking spot, back porch and steps.

I managed to pull a groin muscle in the process. My socks were full of snow. Things could only get better.

Then I did laundry. Swept. Dishes. Took Morty out a few times. Went to Raw Sugar. Rented Mama Mia.

***

Amazingly, the day ended well. My little sister is in town for the holidays, and she came by with my parents to visit.

They all love Morty. No really, they LOVE Morty. Sometimes they call to ask how he's doing and don't bother to check in with me. We all spent a long time cooing over him, even though he was still feeling a bit under the weather.

I also noticed something. Don't you think my dad and Morty look kinda... Well... Similar?

Dudes, I am embarrassed to admit this, but I'm going to go ahead and say it.

The day my mouth thingy cleared up, my wisdom tooth on the other side of my mouth started coming in. And it's tearing up the gum. And it's.... Infected.

I'm going to see the dentist tomorrow. Not happy. Not happy at all. The Gods are conspiring to make sure I can't sample my own Christmas baking and that I have to gargle salt water eleventy times a day. LAME.

Moving on.

Jo was sweet enough to invite Morty and I over for some clementine consumption last night. Morty walked in her front door, checked Shy Dog's food dish for goodies, and crapped in her hallway. Awkward! He hasn't crapped in someone's house for months and months! But he looked so sad after that I knew he just misjudged the power of his own little bowels. Aw, poor guy.

My BH joined the party after I cleaned up the poo and we all had a grand time. Especially Morty who clearly thinks Shy Dog is foxy. If you catch my drift.

Since I hope to one day chew with both sides of my mouth again, I am planning out some Christmas cooking. So far I'm going to make mincemeat (without the meat, obvs), pie of all kinds, roasted garlic on everything (except the mincemeat, obvs) and braised cabbage. It's exciting! I love food!

Here's hoping the dentist doesn't yank out my tooth. That would seriously impede my holiday weight gain plans.