Blessed Blogger

I don’t bungee jump, skydive or surf with sharks. Hell, I consider watching lightening from the patio an extreme sport. The point is, I’m a chicken and I know it. I intend to feel very bad about that when I’m the last one alive on the planet because the rest of you perished boxing bears or racing cars over volcanoes or whatever the next insane fad is that comes along. I realize that I’m missing out on a lot and I’ll probably die in some really boring fashion, like in my own bed when I’m 90, but I guess I’ll just have to live with that. Live being the key word.

I think we’ve established my chickenhood so what could be so marvelously ludicrously fantabulastic that I would venture into what I like to think of as God’s Fly Paper, a movie theatre? What would make me brave the filth, the unimaginable smells, and the indefinable mystery scum that holds you in its grip like quick sand? Sweet Serenity.

If you don’t know what Serenity is then I’m afraid I’m going to have to put you out of your misery old yeller style. To NOT have seen Firefly and thus lust in a most unhealthy way after its movie sequel Serenity is tragic in the most heart breaking way and no one should have to live with that kind of suffering.

So, if you always wanted to meet me to praise/condemn/spit on/propose to me you can find me at the local theatre this Friday about 6ish. If you enjoy science fiction, comedy, dramas or westerns I highly recommend you go see the movie. If you don’t you’ll miss out on possibly the best movie of all time AND baby chickens the world over will spontaneously combust and litter the world with chicken nuggets. Do you want that on your conscience? I didn’t think so.

Most days around here are boring and routine. They start the same way, end the same way and generally things don’t deviate much from the norm. We get up at 7:30 am, eat breakfast and Sean gets ready for work while I pack him a lunch. He goes off to the base and I clean up the house and sometimes do some cooking. I play with the cats, watch an hour of TV or read for an hour and then I get online to work on my art or writing etc. When Sean gets home around 5 or 6 we make dinner and watch TV or play a game. At 11:30 we go to bed and that’s pretty much it. It sounds terribly dull but we like it that way, it’s fulfilling for us and it provides a sense of security and familiarity.

This morning Sean woke me up at 7am with the following sentence, “One of the cats ate a dishwashing tablet and another one is stuck in the wall.” Mind you, I’m not a morning person. It takes me a good hour to fully wake up, but this morning I flew out of bed like it was on fire and proceeded to react hysterically. Normally I’m great in an emergency but when it comes to your own babies (yes, they’re my babies) all rational thought flees your brain.

So we determine which cat is in the wall, or to be more accurate, the ceiling. It seems there is some kind of ventilation duct in the wash room that starts a few inches from the floor and goes straight up into the ceiling. How our half grown kittens could fit in there, let alone climb straight up the wall is beyond me but that is exactly what it did. So we spent the next hour calling to him, inside, outside, from every room in the house, because he wasn’t making any noise. Finally we heard him crying and lured him back to the wash room but couldn’t convince him to climb back down. If I’d had it my way there’d be a big hole in the wall where I wanted to beat it in with a hammer, climb inside and pull him out. Sean however suggested that the landlord might not be overjoyed at our renovation and instead removed the heating grate from the ceiling. After another thirty minutes of calling (he’d run off because of the loud noises) and bribing with gooshy food we finally dragged him out of the ceiling (under protest) at which point I finally burst into tears.

The whole thing is funny I guess if you’re on the outside and it’s not happening to you but the idea of one of my kittens getting stuck up there, or worse, getting outside through the roof (because you know, this place is sealed up like a drum…) is pretty much the same for me as having my child stuck down a well. I really felt that someone should have put on a benefit concert. And all that calling at the ceiling, our neighbors must think we’re nuts! The whole time I felt like that mom in Poltergeist calling “Carol Anne! Carol Anne!”

After we got Malcolm (normally one of the more level headed cats) out of the ceiling and got most of the dust off him Sean went out to Home Depot and bought some bricks which we slid under the vent so that this would never ever happen again. We never did figure out which cat (though I suspect Neo) ate the dish washer tablet but the fact that the kitchen floor was attractively covered in cat saliva and that we only use organic dish washer tablets (mostly made of citric acid) we figure the mystery cat will be fine. We’re keeping lots of fresh water out and watching them carefully though.

As Sean was leaving for work he casually mentioned that at least one black widow had taken up residence INSIDE the car. This combined with our recently broken air-conditioner means that it will be a long while before I set foot inside the thing. Just leaving the house is an ordeal because event the front door and the whole front of the house is literally covered in spiders. As an animal rights activist and someone who believes in the preciousness of life I don’t kill bugs unless they are dangerous or physically on me. Most of the time I’ll catch them in a jar or some tissue paper and put them outside. Seeing as how I have a severe phobia of bugs I think that’s pretty generous of me. So, that is why I don’t just kill the spiders. But I think I’m going to have to make an exception and declare war on anything living in my garage. I mean, I don’t play in their ant hills or filch food from their webs so they should stay out of my house don’t you think?

Good luck and blessings, Prana

What can I even say about a national tragedy on the scale of Katrina? What can I say that won’t sound half hearted and lame? That hasn’t already been said?

The truth is I didn’t know about anything that was going on until Sean got back and by then it had all spiraled into a vortex of chaos and insanity. I don’t watch the news, if that’s what you can call it, and I skip most commercials with our recording device. I don’t even read a whole lot of news online because I find most American news suppliers to be fake.

But when I found out what had happened I watched, listened to and read every news program, article and video I could find. And then I cried. And cried. We both have family and friends in Lousiana, Florida and Texas who, though affected by this are safe and sound. But hearing the stories, not of the hurricane itself, but of all the horrible things that happened afterwards because of the greed and sheer evilness of human beings made me literally want to vomit.

The hurricane was terrible and I’m sure people were hurt and certainly it was a catalyst for all that came after. But the real tragedy here comes from our government being unprepared, not fixing the levies in LA because of greed and the gangs, junkies and vultures who stole, murdered and raped women and children. When I even think about leaving my PETS behind I feel nauseus, can you even imagine geting seperated from a child?!

Say what you will, but our government has to answer for this. They take our money and say they don’t have enough for schools and health care and the really important things because it’s so bloody important to give it all to the government for our so called defense. They promise us that we’re so much safer, so very ready in case of an attack or an emergency, they assure us they’ve been hard at work. And then they fail miserably and have nothing but excuses. I’m a kind and loving person, a non-violent person who can keep a calm head even in an emergency. But this whole thing makes me angry to the point violence. You look those crying babies in the face while they talk about seeing their friends raped in the bathroom of the dome or having to step over rotting corpses and tell me you aren’t angry! You listen to the mothers cry and plead for someone to find their children and tell me that this shit isn’t about class! I defy anyone to tell me that this travesty didn’t occur because these people are poor. And I will show a blind ignorant fool. Aaagh! I’m so mad and lost and helpless I just want to scream!!!

If it were up to me we’d pack a bag and go down there to help in person but we can’t and the guilt from that is going to give me an ulcer. Of course we’ll donate money and of course we’ll pray but at the end of the day what you really want to do is hug those babies and tell them they haven’t been forgotten and abandoned. That help is coming and someone loves them.

I just…..I don’t even know what the hell to say. Pray people, Pray. Becuase it’s getting harder and harder to tell that this is America. Good luck and blessings, Prana