The only word that I can think to describe Haiti right now is………

Actually, I can’t think of one. It’s a nightmare being played on every channel in vivid colour and images that break your heart. There are people and planes and boats from around the world trying to flood the area and creating a logjam of aid banging at the door to get in and help.

I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be the sour chick here that dwells only on the past but the US response to Haiti immediately slams my conscious mind straight back to Katrina and the scene in New Orleans after the levees broke.

Jan 12th the quake hit and today- Jan 14- three (of the eleven scheduled) US airplanes have already arrived.

“You will not be forsaken. You will not be forgotten.”

-President Obama to the people of Haiti.

Katrina made first US landfall on August 25th and we all remember these horrific images of the people stranded without food or water and begging desperately for help at the Superdome or the Convention center until the were finally rescued on September 4.

What is my point? I don’t really know. Maybe when stuff like this happens it reminds me how much I fucking hate Bush? Wait a sec- don’t some of the scenes that we see everyday on the news from his un-winable war bare some striking similarities to what we’re seeing from Haiti? Oh, I mean except that one was a natural disaster and one is a man-made sideshow of death.

We’ll run to help the poor and innocent here, we’ll drop bombs and “accidentally” kill countless poor and innocent there, enny meeny, miny moe. It can make a person dizzy.

Haiti is a country already crippled by political turmoil, poverty and a lack of fundamental necessities like access to food, water, shelter and even basic medical care and mother nature just kicked them in the teeth. I hope that whatever god or thing or thought gives those people strength and hope is there for them now.

I’m sitting here on a chaise lounge with a laptop while drinking a steaming coffee and relaxing after having put my lovely godson Gray to bed, and watching these images of Haiti make me feel like a spoiled selfish bitch.

This has got to be one of the most iconic images that still stands today. Or at least it did until this morning when a couple of jackasses fucking stole it!

Seriously? What the fuck were you thinking? What do you intend to do with it? It isn’t some flashing amber street sign that teenagers use to favor stealing for their bedrooms. This is a rather enormous iron sign standing at the gates of a death camp! I can tell you from personal experience that standing under that sign is a feeling like no other that I’ve ever had before. It’s as though the very ground under that sign weeps.

And someone fucking took it. I just can’t fathom the reason why anyone would do that. It’s like spitting on the grave of millions.

It’s no secret that I follow Matt Good’s blog or that I adore his music and take weird stalkerish pictures of him in his front yard. I read this post on his site about an hour ago and am still shaking my head at the fuckery of it.

Back when I lived in Vancouver and later when I lived in Toronto for a few years I was a bit of a concert junkie and have seen literally hundreds of terrific live acts in all shapes and sizes. I am not a particularly star struck person or groupie type but have often, whether through friends or work, had the opportunity to meet or chat or sit down for a beer with many different singers/bands/performers. It’s just kind of one of those things… Sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn’t. I for paid my ticket and I saw the concert, anything over and above that is just a happy chance.

I have seen Matt Good perform live about a half a dozen times and have always thoroughly enjoyed myself. The fact that he sits on his tour bus after nearly every show and shakes hands, signs merch and poses for photos has always amazed me as he has a rather unlucky knack for catching every bug or flu that happens to be currently making the rounds. Given the fact that my ticket price didn’t include a “meet & greet” I sure as shit don’t feel as though I have the right as a fan to demand one. It’s not just the situation of fans being pissed at Matt for not signing stuff after the show because it’s everywhere. It’s the chick ahead of you at a buffet that just piled 12lbs of prawns onto her plate because godforfuckingbid she not “get her share.“  and it’s the guy that demands a million free extras added to his service because he is after all a “Goddamn paying customer!” Where the fuck does this over inflated sense of entitlement come from?

If a bartender promos you a round of drinks just for the hell of it are you the type of person who is pleasantly surprised and says thank you? Or are you the type that if he doesn’t slide you a freebie you somehow feel ripped off??? I’m confused as to when this whole thought process of it being your right to demand more than you paid for became so socially acceptable. I honestly just don’t fucking get it. How much is enough? And honestly, how fucking exhausting must it be to be one of those people that spend their day making sure they get what they (haven’t) paid for?

While walking my lovely rovers yesterday I came upon this house a few blocks from my own. I know it isn’t the greatest picture in the world but take a good long look at it.

It isn’t the fact that it’s November 17th and the Halloween shit is still all over the windows, door and front lawn. No, it isn’t that. That bugs me a little, but nothing really photo worthy. It IS however the fact that it is November 17th and the Halloween shit is still all over the windows, door and front lawn AND their rather large and fully decorated Christmas tree is in the front fucking window peeking out from behind the creepy drapes.

Seriously.

Yes- I know it would have been a better shot had they put the tree lights on. No such luck, and really, I could only stalk the front yard for so long until someone called the cops the dogs got bored.

Oddly enough, right down from that little mind numbing decorating sense was this. I love the way the Christmas lights twinkle off the plastic Halloween ghosts in the tree.

What the fuck and how…..??? You know what?, forget it. I don’t even know what to say. There’s a pain behind my left eye right now.

Do you ever feel like you’re smashing your head against one of these?

I’ve gained a few pound of late- I will admit it. Nothing major, mind you. It’s not like I now have to buy two airline seats or shop at a tarp store for clothing, but I’m not my usual trim self. It’s not really my fault- I blame Keith. Alexander Keith’s India Pale Ale to be precise.

So the other night Steve and I are in the front yard with the dogs and I am sitting on the single step at the front of the yard. I start doing sit up/crunch things with the extra room that the step allows and I’m thinking “Holy crap! This works great!”

Me- “I think I want one of those step thingies for Christmas so that I can do these inside in the winter. This is a totally kick ass ab workout!”

Steve- “Christmas? You don’t want one before that?”

Yeah. I’m pretty sure he just called me fat.

6am and my city smells like it’s sitting next to a campfire.

I think it’s fairly apparent by how much I obsess over Maggi and now my  shivering little mess of a rescue dog Lucy, that I am a dog person. I just am. I don’t dislike cats- I am just a dog person. A few years back I wanted to get Maggi a companion but didn’t feel like -time wise- I was in a position to get another dog so I got her a cat. The beautiful Naysa. A jet black purring machine and I’ve grown to love that little bastard. She sleeps in the curve of my elbow at night.

And now she has to go.

Before you call me all manner of dirty vile names, she is going around the corner to a coworker who loves cats as I do dogs so I have no worry that she will be very loved and very happy. Naysa can be happy anywhere that there is love and food. Basically, anywhere that Lucy the sad little dog isn’t.

Lucy has been with us for two months and is finally realizing that she is home, gets fed everyday, no longer has to live in a cage and is loved. She is learning to play and not jump 15ft at every noise and while Lucy is learning all of this, Naysa is learning to hate her. I think Naysa finally realized that Lucy is staying and she has decided that she’s not having any of that. She has begun hissing at her at every opportunity, she has chased the rather terrified little dog out of the living room a few times and she waited until I was in the room and then deliberately went over and pissed on Lucy’s dog bed. TWICE.

Last night was the deal breaker for me. Naysa does this thing where she’ll lay on the couch beside you and stretch out her arm to touch you. It’s sweet. I was sitting on the couch swilling wine contemplating life with Maggi asleep on one side and Lucy asleep on the other. Naysa jumps into my lap and I begin to give her a good love up. She lays down and stretches out her little arm to touch Lucy’s back leg and I think “aawwwww. Maybe it will be alright.” In a flash Naysa pulled the leg toward her while lunging forward. She sunk her sharp little teeth into Lucy’s flank deep enough to draw blood. Poor little Lucy, terrified and screaming, bolted out of the room in such a panic that she ran into the wall. Hard.

Better days.

Despite the fact that it is nessasary and that I am- at my very core- a dog person, I have to admit that I’m gonna miss that little bastard. A lot actually. But I know Naysa, so I know exactaly where this is heading. Remember the story about how I got Warren killed?