Pain in the

LEG. Ugh!!!

Oh my dog, you guys. This bitch has NOT been doin' so fly. Last Thursday Mom came home to find my ass on three (sexy) legs. Mom was like, "Stella what happened to your foot oh I have to go take care of the lump I'll be back." A million years later she be back to check on me. She was all pretending to be a doctor and I was like, You not Becca! What you think you gonna learn from squeezing on my haunches like you squeeze your pants over your front butt (the scale might say you 5 pounds from your pre-pregnancy weight but Stella says your body disagree). 

Make-it-stop-Mom asked better-but-still-annoying-Dad, Was she like this when you got home? And Dad: Did not know. Like, he seriously had been so lump-obsessed he did not notice that when he come home and open the bedroom door it were only Tweedle Dumbald and Tweedle Dumbster who come runnin' out.

Baby-spitup-is-the-new-deoderant-mom-n-dad 'cluded that it weren't broken. ("We'd be able to tell if it were broken, right?" Yeah. Right?" "Yeah...You don't think it's broken do you?"). So Mom gave me some peanut butter with a hard thing in it and was like, Let's see how she be tomorrow. But when tomorrow came this cool-ass mutt was still hurtin' like Chester's face hurt my soul.

So martyr Mom took my ass to da vet. The vet was like, It's a sprain. And then he STABBED ME IN THE NECK. And when I took it like Dad takes Mom's shit, the vet be like, "She takes shots well." And I was like, Damn straight. What kinda chola I be if I couldn't take a hit now n then?

Anyways, I still feel a ways from "aight" but I think the sausage with hard things Mom been giving me been helpin' a little and after a few days off my game I even been able to lay the smack down and tell off a few of the punk-ass neighborhood dogs who think it OK to walk past my window. (It not.)

As for what happened to cause this effed up sitch-uation... Yo, Stella ain't a narc. But let's just say, sometimes evil things come in cuddly block-head packages. With feet that pretend to be legs.

I COULD be any louder

Every body know that if you live in my house and you a dog and maybe if you a cat too, your day gots to start with a little ass kickin. The loving-but-firm booty whipping is as simple as Chester. You simply walk out into the hall and I tackle your ass. This is how it's been since the beginning of time (like, when me n mom lived in Hollywood just us and life was less complicated and also smarter). Back then there wasn't nobody to tackle so I would jump on mom and she would laugh because her own poor life decisions hadn't drained the fun out of her yet.

But now suddenly large-and-in-charge mom and large-but-not-in-charge dad be hatin' on my routine. They be like, "Really, Stella?" and "Oh my God could you be any louder." I'm like, umm, first of alls, Yes, really, chins-to-China Mom, and also, Wow, actually I could be so much louder SEE CHECK THIS OUT I AM TALKING TO THAT NEIGHBOR POOCH WHO BE FRONTIN' ALL DAY AND OWWWWW MOM DON'T PULL ME BY MY COLLAR I'M GONNA CALL CESAR MILAN AND HE WILL SSSSSHHH YO ASS, JEEZ.

I just feel like milksupply mom gotta axe herself, Is this really worth da stress it is clearly causin' her to yell at the one being in her life who make the least amount of mess for her? (Think.About.It) I'm just releasin' a little steam in the morning by reminding the redheaded stumpchildren they suck butthole and not in a delicious way.