Image credit: Wung, Flickr

Just yesterday I posted about the fresh and welcome feeling of seeing homeless individuals roundly and unanimously defended in the comments section of a news article, for a change.  Then I read this news item from Augusta, Georgia.

…Aaaaaaaaaand we’re back to square one.

Early Thursday morning, a 37-year-old homeless woman in Augusta was raped, sodomized, and robbed of $120 by an armed assailant pressing a gun to her head.  The woman was finally able to pull a knife from her pants and cut the rapist on the face, upon which he fled and the victim went to the hospital.  The article also mentioned briefly (I can’t imagine why though, as it seems completely unrelated to the crime committed) that the woman had consumed an unknown amount of alcohol prior to the rape.

And then the comments started rolling in.  Let’s take a look, shall we?

“Hmmmm, A Drunk Homeless Woman with $120. Yeeah Right”  ~spdermn78

“Just because she is homeless doesn’t mean that she can’t turn tricks…..or dealing……”  ~fishman960

“And here silly ole me was sitting here trying to figure out if it was rape or theft of services.”  ~MarshCroaked

“Does seem kind of odd for a “homeless” person to be carrying that kind of cash on them.”  ~Emerydan

“Emerydan, a woman with that kind of cash in that neighborhood at that time of night who had a sip or three doesn’t surprise me at all. Did she perhaps escape from Harrisburg?”  ~MarshCroaked

“Sounds like prostitution was involved in this somehow.”  ~Emerydan

“Somehow the thought of sodomy on a homeless woman seems, how should I put it, nasty.”  ~Jake

“YUCK. Jake, you got it right, buddy.”  ~ustabe

“Yep, the the incident likely involved prostitution. Did it involve rape, etc????”  ~KSL

Wow.  Just… wow.  This woman was VICTIMIZED.  She was fucking raped and sodomized, and had what was likely all the money she has in the world taken from her. And these MONSTERS who probably call themselves fine, upstanding Augusta citizens are re-victimizing her all over again – public flogging by humiliation.  They jump to some huge conclusions and arrogantly generalize and stereotype this poor VICTIM by immediately drudging up prostitution, drug use, and implications of that good old standby chestnut, “she deserved it, she was asking for it”.

1)  You have NO idea how that woman EARNED her $120.  It is not unusual for a homeless person to have some money on them – many have jobs, or panhandle, or collect benefits – so what?!  (It’s not as if she can afford housing with $120, at any rate.)  It is none of your business HOW she earned that money, and it has absolutely no bearing on the fact that she was RAPED and ROBBED.

2)  The article does not say whether or not the woman was drunk.  Again, even if she were, if has absolutely no bearing on the fact that she was RAPED and ROBBED.

3)  Where the FUCK do you get off, implying that this woman is dirty and nasty, rather than the ANIMAL who violated her?!

To be perfectly frank, I don’t care if this woman was drunk as a skunk, fucking every man in sight for cash, and passing out cocaine like it was candy (and for the record, the article states nothing of the sort – these sick citizens just imposed their own twisted, warped conclusions/fantasies stemming from their own disgusting prejudices onto this poor woman).  Her occupation, state of sobriety, etc. are all complete nonissues here.

I don’t care if she was walking down a back alley at 3 a.m. stark naked.  NOBODY asks to be raped.  NOBODY deserves to be raped.  This woman is a VICTIM.  I am completely horrified at the mob mentality of these bastards ripping a victim to shreds.  As a society, we’re supposed to be beyond this “the woman is asking for it” bullshit.  We’re supposed to have evolved to the point where we empathize with victims of heinous crimes, treat them with respect and dignity.  Clearly, at least in Augusta, some of the rabble is still stuck in the Dark Ages.

I noticed a minority of commenters echoing my sentiments of disgust, and that gives me a small amount of hope.  To the rest, whom I have quoted above:  shame on you!  How DARE you insult this poor woman you don’t even know?  How DARE you cast aspersions on her character; insinuate that she somehow deserved, invited, or played any role whatsoever in the crime, the terrible violation that was committed upon her?  You know absolutely nothing about what it means to be not just a homeless person, but a homeless woman.  You know absolutely nothing about what it means to be vulnerable and brutalized beyond belief.  If there is such a thing as karma in this world, one day you will, and you’ll look back on this moment and weep for the injustice you have perpetuated.

Bastards.

Photo credit: WWJ/Rom Dewey

With apologies to Stephen Colbert:

Let’s start off with the awesome news.  A tip of my hat to Cass Community Social Services, who opened a green gym in Detroit this week, the first of its kind, for the exclusive use of the city’s homeless individuals.

Detroit unemployment is at an all-time high – about 29% – and has 18,000 homeless people.  One of the great things about this gym is that it’s eco-friendly and serves several different purposes.  For one thing, many people often forget that homeless does not necessarily equal “starving”.  Instead, many homeless people gain a ton of weight due to living on cheap, crappy food (*raises hand* I’ve experienced this – homelessness has not been kind to my waistline, people!  I’m desperately working on getting healthy and slimming down a bit!)  The gym provides an outlet for homeless individuals to get the exercise they need, thereby increasing the odds of preventing obesity and other health issues that plague the homeless.

The article also mentions that as the workout machines are used, they produce energy that is then redirected into the building’s power grid.  Homeless gym bunnies, while getting into shape, can in a single exercise class generate enough electricity to light 36 homes for a month.

The gym also creates Detroit jobs, and employs homeless men and women, many of whom have mental disabilities and may not otherwise be able to find a legitimate job.

Besides that, you probably already know that gyms are great for homeless people who need to shower – keeping clean is a big concern – as well as just maybe having somewhere to go on a cold day and keep warm.  A homeless gym provides a way to keep occupied and focused for a period of time, relieves much of the boredom of being homeless, and perhaps even provides a little feeling of luxury that many homeless shelters are lacking.  Never underestimate the little luxuries.  They can be what makes homelessness bearable.

So kudos to Cass Community Social Services for their work in creating jobs and workout options for homeless men and women, and for helping the environment while you’re at it!

* * * * *

Photo Credit: Worcester News

And now, the dreaded wag of my finger. And I bet you can guess which finger I’m wagging at these self-righteous NIMBY’s (Eff you, ya pompous arseholes!)

I’m actually in England right now, and have found the English to be amazing people, and have noticed that their government has, in many areas including their handling of homelessness, significant advantages over our own (*braces for the “traitor!!!!!” comments* – Come on, guys, you know I love America and all!)

Still, it only takes a few rotten eggs to screw things up.  Or in this case, for 100+ rotten eggs to screw things up for seven homeless youth.

So this bunch of douchebags on one street in Worcester have decided to protest because the city council just approved a seven-bedroom home to be used to house homeless individuals from the age of 16-25 years old.  The council assured residents that “Nobody who has trouble with drugs, alcohol or a record of bad behaviour will be part of the project. That kind of person is dealt with at intensely supported accomodation, places like the YMCA, and in other parts of the county.”

Did this appease the harpies of Cannon Street, Worcester?

Nope.

In fact, they’ve gone on and on about the “underhanded” project, which is still in its very early stages, and even posed for a photo in the Worcester News, displaying their little children as though they were in need of protection from homeless youth.  Take a look at the photo.  I think this Rachel Needham bitch must be the ringleader, as she’s in the foreground.

I think the comments on this article can say far more than I can on this case, actually.  Usually, I am saddened to see homeless bashing and stereotyping in the comments section of any news article on homelessness that I read.  I was heartened, though, to see that the comments on the Worcester News article were uniformly against these NIMBY dimwits and squarely in the corner of the homeless kids.  God, I love the English:

“Surely if this house is for the homeless they won’t be homeless anymore, so the home won’t be a home for the homeless. It sounds very much like the many homes around the city which have been converted to house students. NIMBYs come to mind. I await the residents (and others) of Cannon Street to open fire at me”

“You can always tell when people are angry because they have their arms folded in the photo. Nothing but a load of Nimbys”

“Anyone could have bought that house and rented it to young people as a private landlord – why should there be any consultation? There but for the grace of God could go any of us in this present economic climate. And I would guess that if you’ve been homeless once then you won’t want to do anything to repeat the experience. What a bunch of selfish and arrogant so-and-so’s they are”

“These are the kind of people who will put money in an envelope for Shelter or Help the Homeless charities, but given a chance to help 7 real people, they turn their backs. Some of them probably even call themselves Christians. Look at the children in that photograph, displayed as though they need to be protected from these heinous homeless young people. Truth be told, one of those children (or even more) could end up homeless and in need of help by the time they are in their teens”

“I absolutley agree it’s to support independent living so not necessarily homeless people living there, you don’t get consulted about any one else who moves in or out so why should they now? How arrogant that these people have stereotyped every single homeless person. As it’s been said before it can happen to any one maybe they should remember that!”

“It would break your heart to hear some of the stories as to why they are homeless! Mostly family breakdowns, which is incredibly sad… the kids need love and support not prejudice and small mindedness!”

I repeat:  I love the English!  They’re even adorable when they’re telling off a bunch of hypocritical arseclowns.

* * * * *

By the way, yes, I’m going to be trying to blog more – daily if possible!  I used to be so good about it; then life ‘n stuff just started to snowball and I slowed down a bit.  I’m back on it though, I swear!

My gawd.  Seriously, it is so fantastic to have ex-JW moles and spies to pass on news to me about my family.

Oh, Brittany.  Brittany, Brittany, Brittany.  Although you may not believe it, I love you so.  Truly.  Yet, your hypocritical, opportunistic, haughty, Pharisaical, smugly superior ramblings never fail to brighten my life and provide the highlight of my day.

Yes, Brittany and Mom, I know you still check up on me via the blog, as well as watching my TV appearances and devouring news articles about me.  Which is flattering, really, but must I remind you that this is an “apostate” website, via your own terminology?  Don’t you know that someone could report Brittany Karp and Tina Karp to your “elders” at the Los Alamitos, CA and Flagstaff, AZ congregations of Jehovah’s Witnesses and they could hold a “judicial committee” (kangaroo court) to wield their self-imposed, non-existent power over you and “disfellowship” you for repeatedly disobeying “Society” edicts against apostate material?

But enough of the silliness.  The real news here is that my sister and mother, having skimmed the recent post about my New Year’s exploits, have apparently “read between the lines” and decided that I am clearly involved in…

*pause for dramatic effect*

“substance abuse!!!” (**omgwtfSATANISM!!!!!**)

……………

o.O

……..BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Seriously, a couple years ago, something like this still would have stung, but now I’m able to find it absolutely hilarious.

You see, Jehovah’s Witnesses desperately need to believe that “apostates” like myself are suffering.  That the “world” outside the safe, comforting haven of the bOrg will shred them to bits and spit them out.  That they will “reap what they sow”, if you will.

The most likely explanation for me spending a night in a snowy climate?  Probably that I went to Scotland to surprise Matt for the holidays, and that, backfiring on my brilliant plan, he simply wasn’t home on New Year’s Eve… so I went to stay at the local train station awaiting his return.  And, in fact, that’s the truth of it.

Never mind, though, that subzero temperatures cause hypothermia (which I’ve already mentioned that I had caught), which in turn causes hallucination and eventual passing out.  No, clearly I’m too far down Satan’s road, and my hallucinations and passing out were caused by *gasp* ACID!!!!!  And that’s not even the least of my problems.  In fact, when I’m not toking up or imbibing cocaine like candy, I’m conjuring up demons on my very own Ouija board… nothing like a little late-night demonic possession to spice up my life before ARMAGEDDON dooms me forever and the crows pick out my rotting eyeballs.

…In reality, I’ve never taken a drug in my life, unless you count Tylenol.  And the occasional sip of Smirnoff, but hey, my mom’s been giving me that since I was about 14 (go JWs and their overwhelmingly prevalent abuse of the one Biblically sanctioned drug, especially by repressed Witness housewives!  It’s just like the ’50s all over again! Hooray!)

Meanwhile, as far as alcohol goes, I can count exactly twice in my life I’ve been even mildly drunk, and that was more of a social thing, because here’s a little secret:  alcohol, and anything else mind-altering, just doesn’t really do it for me.  I’ve always been much happier without needing to resort to anything that changes or dulls my perception or personality.  I (shocking spoiler alert ahead!) like who I am and don’t feel any need to forget that.

“Oh, yeah, right!” the JWs sniff.  ”That’s just what a disgusting, God-defying, little drug addict WOULD say!”

…Er, sure?  But seriously, no.  Never done drugs.  For all my faults, I was never interested.

Premarital sex?  Oh, hell, yeah.  Absolutely.  Not sorry, either.  Guilty as charged.  Go ahead and smite me, Jehovah, and I’ll go down with a smile on my face – because it felt FANTASTIC.

But drugs, nope.

Overall, it doesn’t matter though, does it?  It is important for a Jehovah’s Witness to *know* the horrors that inevitably befall those eeeeeeeevil apostates.  Because that’s how the Watchtower Society keeps the rank-and-file in line.  This could happen to you.  Satan could overtake you easily, without you even realizing it, and then you’ll become one of THEM, will have committed the one unpardonable sin of LEAVING.  Surely a specially torturous death awaits the apostates who have knowingly declared war upon God. It’s the JW equivalent of the boogeyman.

Actual JW literature artwork of apostates destroyed at Armageddon. I like to think that I'm the one holding her innocent daughter, who will doubtless be destroyed as well by the "fair and just" god Jehovah. Along with random cats, apparently.

The truth is that lately my life is, with the odd exception, pretty mundane and pleasant about 98% of the time.  I don’t practice “demonism” (see, that would require me to actually believe in demons or in Satan, or in any kind of spirit realm whatsoever, which I don’t), I don’t do drugs, and I practice monogamy in a loving relationship.  I haven’t the slightest interest in declaring “war” on a God that I don’t believe in, although I sure wouldn’t mind seeing the Governing Body™ of the Jehovah’s Witnesses, the puppet masters if you will, crumble (they’re the ones I dislike, not the regular rank-and-file who, for the most part, are regular people simply believing what they’re told… not the brightest bunch, and usually blind to their own hypocrisy and doctrine/reasoning flaws, but for the most part friendly, amiable people).  But it’s not something I’m going out of my way to care about one way or the other.  I just want to live my life happily and be a good person.

But none of that will stop a dedicated Jehovah’s Witness from recoiling at the sight of me, once they know I’m an “apostate”.

Never going to happen. Boooooo.

You see, “apostates” are even worse than someone who is “disfellowshipped”, or excommunicated, from the Jehovah’s Witness cult.  An “apostate” is somebody who “had the Truth™ and turned away from Jehovah anyway”.  ”Apostates” ostensibly *know* that Jehovah is “the One True God™” and is going to destroy the wicked at ARMAGEDDON, and that only the Jehovah’s Witnesses will be left to frolic in a beautiful paradise earth with pandas and lions (and, I hoped as a child, gorillas and killer whales…because they’re awesome!)

So, “apostates” randomly decide that even though they *know* the Truth™, they are going to join Satan and smear Jehovah’s name with lies, etc. etc.  Why exactly do they do this?  Because they’re possessed by the Devil, apparently.  Possessed and scary and liars.  How do the JWs know that they’re lying, if they refuse to listen to anything they have to say?  Because the Watchtower Society tells them so.

More JW artwork of "God's Glorious Day of Judgment"

Er, riiiiight.

I stopped counting the number of times I was told, as an angsty kid in my teens/early 20s… “but you *knoooooow* it’s the Truth™!!!!!”

Eventually, I stopped saying “yes, I know” and would only sit there silently, allowing the speaker to infer that I agreed with them.  Because you know what?  I didn’t know that.  I haven’t known that for a long time.  In fact, I’ve become increasingly positive that it’s not the Truth™, and once I figured out that the Paradise earth where I could have a pet orca was complete B.S., it was pretty pointless to continue the charade.  I’m happy no longer wasting my life on it.

More JW armageddon porn. Note the child holding her doll and the puppy plummeting into the abyss. Apparently, they too are dangerous apostates (a"pup"states?) that Jehovah must destroy, in order to cleanse the Earth of all wickedness.

You’ll never find a Witness out there that believes that, though, or at least not one that will admit it to themselves.  Jehovah’s Witnesses are masters of hearing and believing only what they want to, only what they’re told to.  ”Independent thought” is considered a Satanic trait, clearly stated as such (and often) in Watchtower literature.  Jehovah’s Witnesses are counselled to be like meek (read: dumb) sheep – following exactly where they are led without really knowing why.

To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure whether my family keeps checking up on me because there’s still a sliver of them that loves me (although they are counselled by the Watchtower Society to “abhor” and “loathe” me for my “wickedness”), or because they’re hoping for the entertainment value of what they consider to be an inevitable trainwreck. Although, I think back on all of the times that my mother called me “Satan’s daughter” or told me, as she was beating me, that I should be grateful I wasn’t an ancient Hebrew because “then the Bible would have allowed me to stone you to death”… and I suspect it’s the latter. Again; used to be painful, now just hilarious to me.  They say that living well is the best revenge.  If I were interested in revenge (I’m not), I suppose I could say that I’ve achieved it.

* * * * *

But yeah, the overall point is that in their eyes, I am a deeply unhappy person bent on an irreversible path of self-destruction.  I still *know* that the Jehovah’s Witnesses have the One True Religion™, and any statements to the contrary are merely “lies”.  I *know* that Jehovah is going to destroy me, so I have taken up a personal attack against him, along with my “father” Satan.

So of course, in the great leap of logical fallacy that defines JW thinking, this also means that I am on drugs.  Because I’m unequivocally stating that I’ve never done drugs… and everybody knows that apostates only speak outright lies.

Yours in sisterly agape love, Sister Shiny Happy Friendly Neighborhood Apostate (and her demonic alter ego, Sasha HellaFierce)

Image credit: Los Angeles Times

A few months ago, the Los Angeles Times covered the story of a 97-year-old woman, Bessie Mae Berger, living out of an SUV with her two sons after losing their home in Palm Springs.  Although Bessie qualified for housing, somehow her sons (at 60 and 62!) were “too young” to qualify as well (there’s California logic for you), and she refused to be separated from them.

As I have well learned from experience, there’s nothing like a bit of publicity to get the help you need.  Upon the release of the Times’ article, public outrage, donations, and support spurred the state to ramp up their efforts to assist the family.  A nonprofit organization, the Integrated Recovery Network, finally managed to locate temporary housing for all three people.

Bessie Mae passed away yesterday of a stroke and a heart attack.  However, she went on her terms – she lived her final months in a home, not a car, with her two beloved sons by her side.  And she brought increased attention to the growing epidemic of elderly homeless individuals in the U.S.

Rest in peace, Bessie Mae Berger.  Your struggle was not in vain.

Image credit: Suzanne de Chillo/The New York Times

Hi all,

I haven’t had as much internet access as usual, and I’ve also been laying low for the holidays.  I did want to pop my head in and post though, so that nobody worries.

I also wanted to blog about an article published recently in the New York Times:

A Clothing Clearance Where More Than Just the Prices Have Been Slashed

The article focuses on a rather horrifying practice of H&M and (come on, you knew it was coming!) Wal-Mart.

In the dead of New York winter; a third of the city poor and/or homeless; perfectly good unsold clothing is being tossed into the store’s trash dumpsters.  Which actually might not be all that bad if a homeless person could rummage through the dumpsters and make use of what they found.

Except… H&M and Wal-mart have been slashing the clothing with razors and punching holes through them with machines, so as to render them unusable.  Meanwhile, other large chains such as Target have been donating their surplus stock to Goodwill and other charities or homeless centers for years.

Wow.  Talk about a waste.  Talk about complete disregard for human LIFE.

I’m currently in a very rural area receiving a large amount of snow – several feet within the past couple of days, in fact.  At this time, I’m not going to talk about why I’m here… let’s just say that I always manage to get myself into SOME sort of predicament, right?

On New Year’s, I somehow managed to find myself out in the snow, wearing every item of clothing in my suitcase – 12 layers, to be exact, along with four pairs of socks and snow boots.  I looked like a roly-poly Violet Beauregard, post-blueberry-gum.

Yet, I still managed, in the time that I stayed out in the elements, to contract for myself rather quickly a lovely case of hypothermia, and endured some not-so-lovely hallucinations in the process, before I managed to get the hell back inside (thanks to the kindness of the police and of some fantastic people).

At this time, I don’t want to talk more about why this whole experience happened (I’m fine).  The point is that I can’t imagine how a homeless person survives full-time in this kind of weather.  I simply can’t. And, to be frank, many don’t.  Stories about homeless individuals found frozen are as common as stories about homeless people beat up and set on fire (that is to say, VERY common).

I can’t imagine being a homeless, freezing New York woman rummaging through a dumpster and excitedly pulling out a pair of gloves, only to find that the fingertips have been cut out.  I don’t want to imagine how hopeless I would feel at that moment.

Seriously, H&M, there’s a charity collection point right around the corner from your Manhattan store.  And Wal-Mart, I know there’s no love lost between us, but there’s no excuse for you, either.  Have a little humanity.  Do the right thing.  It’s no skin off your ass.  In fact, it just may improve your public image quite a bit (and gawd, we all know you need it).

Well, I’m going to be kind of busy over the next couple of days, so I thought I’d pop in now to wish all of my friends and readers a joyous winter-esque holiday season (whatever you celebrate).

This will be my first time really celebrating the holidays.  I was tentative in previous years, even after I had stopped thinking of myself as a Jehovah’s Witness, because the programming to feel uneasy about such things still sort of lurked there.  I just couldn’t bring myself to throw myself into it yet.  Even having settled into agnostic territory, there was still that nagging voice saying “but if there is a god and an Armageddon, he will roast me with lightning bolts for celebrating something with pagan origins”.

After several years of therapy, deprogramming, and wading in gently to test the waters, I think this is a good year to throw caution to the wind.  For starters, I have a loved one to celebrate with this year.  Matt LOVES Christmas, even though he’s not religious – in fact, the UK is responsible for the Church of England, ab0ut the biggest NON-event of a religion ever.  And Christmas and the holidays have, for many, become completely secular anyhow.  So I see about as much problem with “pagan origins” as I do with wearing a wedding ring (because surprise, surprise!  Those have “pagan origins”, too!  In fact, you’re pretty hard pressed not to find ANY tradition, however venerable, that is not based at least in part in pagan roots).  I’m not required to celebrate for the sake of religion – I’m more than happy just to take advantage of the general feeling of that little bit of extra love and sharing in the air.

Of course, celebrating “with” my loved one this year is perhaps a misstatement.  Matt is still in Scotland and we are unable to fly him out at present, until we receive the advance for the Girl’s Guide to Homelessness book, which is still pending.  So he is tending to family matters there and I remain in California.  Still, I like to think that we will manage to pull together via phone or internet and convey our warmth and love to one other as best we are able… from an ocean away.  If you read this, I love you baby.  Even if we can’t be in the same country for Christmas this year, know that one way or another, I’ll be right there with you.

Love, joy, and happiness to all my readers!  I dedicate this song by Vienna Teng, which transcends all religion, no matter how you categorize yourself, and gets right to the core of what the season is all about:

My friend Jon in Ireland (aka “Beat on the Street” on various homeless forums) posted this on my Facebook today.  If you are wondering what the heck homelessness has to do with golf, here’s your chance to find out.

There is a fair amount of the standard salty George Carlin language in the clip, so if that offends you, you probably shouldn’t watch.

I have to agree with him on golf, though (and I just know somebody will skewer me for this) – but golf is THE most boring game on the planet.  I NEVER got the point of it.  Same as baseball, which is supposed to be the great American sport.  Like golf, I can’t watch baseball.  It’s like death by tranquilizer.

Give me basketball any day.  There’s a game that makes me want to jump through the TV and land in the middle of all the action.  THAT should be “America’s sport” (OK, let the flamings commence).

This article really, really scares me… because the homeless people involved are in a nearly identical situation to me.  The landlord who lets all of us stay here is a kind, hardworking man.  For very low rent, far lower than we could find anywhere else, we have a series of trailers/garages/sheds to stay in.

Yet, let’s be honest, things aren’t up to code.  If anybody ever cared enough to make it difficult for him, he’d be in the same bind as 66-year-old Dan de Vaul, the San Luis Obispo man who was just sentenced to 90 days in jail for “safety violations” on his ranch property, where he allowed homeless people to stay in his barn and trailers, in exchange for maintaining a clean and sober lifestyle.  De Vaul provided free counseling and dental visits for the residents, and he also gave them opportunities to work and maintain an income during their stay, as they transitioned back into mainstream society and located jobs and apartments.  You can read more about de Vaul’s registered nonprofit, Sunny Acres, at its website.

De Vaul was offered a choice between probation and jail.  He chose the jail time, because the terms of his probation would have required him to evict the 30 homeless people residing on his ranch, and his conscience would not allow him to do that.  He had the integrity to put the welfare of those 30 people above his own, baldly stating to the media “I’m proud to go to jail for housing the homeless”.

The day following de Vaul’s conviction, he was bailed out of jail on appeal… the $500 bail bond was paid by one of the jurors who convicted him, Mary Partin.  She claimed to have been pressured to convict de Vaul, although she believed in his innocence.  Jury misconduct is the basis of de Vaul’s appeal.

The whole case makes me feel ill, frankly.  SLO is a few hours north of me and has a real problem with a shortage of housing for homeless individuals.  I have at least two personal friends in the area who have been homeless at one point (Michael of SLOHomeless and Rev. Cynthia over at Homeless Tales).  Yet, neighbors and police persisted in bringing charges upon a man who was doing so much good for others.  Apparently sleeping rough on a curb or bench is less of a safety issue than sleeping in a converted barn that doesn’t meet code.

The results of de Vaul’s appeal remain to be seen.  However, the whole case got me thinking about my own circumstances.  From the photos on de Vaul’s website, Sunny Acres looks a bit ramshackle, yes.  But then, so does the property where I’m staying.  And yet, it’s something.  It’s a far preferable alternative to sleeping rough (or yes, even camping out in a Walmart parking lot without utilities hookups).  It’s also, for many, a distinct notch above staying in a shelter, for many reasons.  The safety and privacy of my current circumstances far rivals any shelter I could find in the area.  And none of us have to wander the streets during the day, before being admitted at night.  We all have our own little area and niche.  We are less limited as to the amount of personal belongings we are able to retain.  We even have access to water, electricity, and the internet.

I will be leaving relatively soon, I know that.  I am here pending the receipt of the advance money for my book, and then Matt and I would like to get an apartment for ourselves and Fezzik, and scrupulously use the rest of the funds to work our way toward our ultimate goal:  a house.

But the people that I have befriended here, will still be here.  Some of them have been here for several years, or have left and then come back.  I may no longer have to worry, but they do.  All it takes is some complete douchebag to report the good man who has spent years helping those with nowhere else to go, and then their lives (and his) are turned all topsy-turvy.

This realization worries and sickens me.

I posted this update over at Homeless Tales, Matt’s site, and wanted to repost here to fill everybody in on what’s been going on with the two of us (to make up for my somewhat vague update a couple of posts ago).

* * * * *

I will start out with Matt’s joyous news – Wednesday, October 28th, at 9:25 AM Scotland time (2:25 AM PST), Matt’s daughter was born via Cesarean section. Her name is Kelsey, after his grandmother, she weighed just about 6 lbs. even, has bright blue eyes, and undetermined (but darkish-seeming) hair. She’s absolutely gorgeous. I don’t think Matt wants to post photos/video of her online, understandably, but if you’re interested in seeing her, perhaps he can e-mail you privately. That’s his call, though, and she pretty much looks like… a baby.

(Since you’ve likely guessed by now that I wasn’t the one giving birth, I should probably head off any negative knee-jerk reactions at the pass, so: No, there was no infidelity involved; yes, there was protection being used; and no, there is no ill will on the part of any parties involved).

Matt and I found out about Kelsey’s impending arrival a couple of months into our relationship. For a girl who decided at about age 9 that she never wanted to have kids (I mean, look at the role model I had to go on!), it was something of a shock for me and a lot to take in, and Matt graciously gave me the option of backing out. But I love him so much, and I know I’ll love his daughter, so I stuck around, obviously. Now I’m nervously prepping for the responsibilities that come with being a stepmom, and eventually a full-time mother, since we will likely have children ourselves one day.

Life-altering event #2 came the day after Kelsey’s birth, when I received an offer for a book deal (thanks to my brilliant agent, Chris Schelling, who also represents the famed Augusten Burroughs)! Chris is clearly the most awesome evil genius ever; the preparing of the contract and such details takes a few weeks, but upon signing, I receive a decent advance. It won’t buy us a house or anything, but it will rent us an apartment and should also clear up my debts, opening the way for us to get a home loan, we hope! There’s also talk about potentially turning the story into movie-ness, which is kind of mind-blowing to me, so I’m just kind of trying to study up on the various options one day at a time and make sure Matt is involved in all decisions, since it’s his story, too!

So where do we go from here? Well, for now, I’m still in the trailer, waiting on contracts and such to be ironed out. But upon receipt of the advance, we are likely going to look into relocating to upstate NY – towards the small, tree-covered town where we’d like to settle permanently, when we have the means – and yet within a couple hours’ drive of the city, for when book promotions and such things start, which I get the feeling might be largely NYC-centric.

Matt and I would also like to get married, although we still need to bat around immigration red tape, and now with Kelsey thrown into the mix, options are further narrowed down, so that’s just one big wait-and-see game. I imagine once Matt flies back to CA, there will be lots of running around and spazzing out like decapitated chickens, trying to get things planned and settled. I’ve entered that phase already, truth be told, but not much I can do about it for several more weeks, so I’m probably just stressing myself unduly.

In case you can’t tell, I never in a million years imagined something like this would happen to us, and I’m sort of floored and flabbergasted and quasi-in-denial. I don’t feel like an author or the subject of a movie, or anything grand like that, which kind of makes me feel a little like a fraud. I’m still very much “just plain me”. I keep wondering whether they’ve just got the wrong person and haven’t realized it yet. Or I keep coming up with “what-if” scenarios and future disasters like “what if it all falls through and they change their mind before the contract is eked out?!?!?!” Which is unlikely, I know, but still, what can I say? I’m panicky and uncertain right now. A large portion of my life I’ve been told that I’m untalented, uninteresting, a disappointment to my family and to God, and ugly to boot; it’s still so hard for me to imagine or accept people being interested in me, much less enough to ask me to write an entire book about myself.

* * * * *

I can’t say it enough; I am so grateful to my readers, friends, and the Street Voices and Twitter communities for having my back for so long.  Things are finally really looking up and there’s no way that I would have gotten to this point without the online support network that I’ve been lucky enough to find, as well as the utter kindness and generosity of E. Jean Carroll, ELLE magazine, and the most fantabulous Chris Schelling.  Thank you all, guys.

*Note: This is not the neighbor's house next door. I lifted a random house image online for dramatic effect. No copyright infringement intended.

Ha!  Bet you are just sitting at your computer rubbing your hands in glee, having waited 8 months for THAT headline to one of my blog posts.

Natural disasters seem to be something of a recurring theme in my life the past week or so.  There was the flooding in Huntly, Matt’s town (oh, by the way, yes he did get in touch with me finally — his internet was down prior and he was unable to leave the house to text me due to heavy rain and gales.  True story:  men in Scotland don’t carry umbrellas.  Apparently not very manly or something.  It caused Matt no end of consternation here to know that an umbrella is a very unisex item, whipped out on the rare occasion that it even casually mists over in Southern California).

Then there was the fire in Pomona/Diamond Bar I drove through on the freeway on November 3rd — the hills were ablaze every 500 yards for several miles, leading me to think it was arson, but it turned out a malfunctioning truck caught fire and the occupants didn’t notice, so they kept driving, merrily sending out an occasional shower of sparks into the dry brush as they drove until finally some poor soul managed to flag them down.  You can see my hastily snapped (and not-at-all-dangerous, I swear!) camera phone photos by clicking the links above.

Then there was an hour ago, when I was unceremoniously awakened by the sound of a woman yelling.  It was Sheree, one of my neighbors in another trailer on the lot.  She was dragging a hose around and spraying down our trailers, calling to another woman on the lot to keep her doors and windows closed.  At 1:30 a.m.  Huh? Sleepily, I poked my head out of my door to find out what was going on.

“The house next door is on FIRE!!!!!” she cried.  “We need to water everything down so that sparks don’t catch us!”

The word “fire” galvanized me into (albeit clumsy) action; I threw a chunky, black, oversized Nightmare Before Christmas blanket around myself and ran outside.  My trailer is right next to the property line, and over the fence I could see, perhaps a hundred yards away or less, a building completely ablaze, engulfed in flames.  I would later find out that it was a large garage-type structure being used as storage, but I wasn’t sticking around to find out.  I didn’t want to be in my trailer if things went up in smoke (which, by the way, was acrid and filling the air, huge columns billowing up into the sky).

So, I ran out of there.

I wasn’t thinking particularly clearly, especially in my half-asleep state, so I left everything.  Purse, glasses, keys, cell phone, shoes… you name it.  You know, anything that could possibly actually be of any use to me whatsoever.  Good to know that I can handle a crisis situation rationally and intelligently, right?

I fled barefoot over the pebbly ground of the lot, tearing my feet up rather nicely.  I heard Sheree bellowing Sage’s name, trying to wake her up in her nearby guest house, but Sage wasn’t responding, so I darted to her gate, screaming my head off.

“FIRE!!!!!  FIIIIIRE!!!!!  SAAAAAGE, WAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUPOHMIGAWDFIIIIIIIIIRE!!!!!”

Fezzik and his buddy, Sage’s dog Piglet, streamed out the front door barking rabidly, raising the alarm at the wild-eyed intruder with the sleep-matted hair, before realizing Oh, hey!  It’s just you!  We totally love you!!!!!

Sage, unlike me, either sleeps clothed or is the fastest dresser you will ever meet, because within mere seconds she was out the door, fully alert, and in a tank top and shorts.  I, meanwhile, looked like Carrot Top in a black flannel tube dress.

Sage woke our landlord, who apparently fell out of bed in his panic and gave himself a charley horse in his leg (but at least he thought to throw on a robe), and we ran out into the street, where the fire trucks had already started to arrive (Sheree, ever the hero, called 911 — you rock, Sheree!)  The neighbor was out front, and she was surprisingly very calm.  Nobody slept in that building, thank goodness, but she told us that all of her Christmas stuff was in there and went up in flames.  Right now, it’s looking like arson.  Neighbors had reported a suspicious truck driving away from the scene quickly.

It was right about then, that I realized that I was very naked, standing in the middle of the street, amidst a bunch of firemen and police officers, with only a blanket to protect my modesty.  Everyone else, including the neighbors, was at least in some state of dress.  My fellow tenants noted my sudden discomfort and cracked jokes about me coming out to find myself a cute firefighter (sorry, Matt!  Hehe).

The firefighters managed to smother most of the fire within 30 minutes or so, and it was again safe to go back to our trailers, so I limped back inside, my feet hurting much more on the trip back, now that I was coming down from the adrenaline rush that came from fleeing fucking fire. But one of the power lines is now spouting big showers of sparks, so the lights in here are flickering every time it happens, which makes me think that we may lose electricity soon.  Not that it matters too much, because in about 3 hours I need to drive out to Irvine anyway (I picked up some temp work there this week).

Perhaps I’ll head to the local gas station and pick up a snack or something.  Now I’m all awake and I don’t know if it’s worth it trying to get back to sleep.  Blegh.