St. Laurent: The Boulevard of Screams

This morning, on my 56th birthday, I woke up literally draped in love.
On one side, the man who has put up with me for nearly a decade. On the other, the two dogs, Gordie, the old pug and Finnigan the apprentice.
I felt, in a way, like I was part of a love sandwich.
Finnie is part kangaroo and his first order of the day is to box me in the face. Then the second part of him, the alligator part, bites whatever part of me which is exposed. (Note to self, must sign up for obedience classes.)
We had an interesting Canada Day yesterday. I got to spend most of my evening watching the yahoos over in the apartment building set off fireworks into St. Laurent Boulevard, terrifying drivers and spooking the bright eyed crew making their way to Parliament Hill. We also watched a drug deal going down when a black Nissan Ultima pulled up to the building; a crew of serious-looking guardsmen got out of the car and surrounded it while their boss dropped off whatever and shook down whomever.

How delightful
God, I love living on St. Laurent, the Boulevard of Screams.
Makes me feel like I'm in the middle of a real life Fubar movie.
Eventually, I got fed up and called 9-1-1 while Scott took photographs we will be emailing to Crime Stoppers today.

Interactive neighborhood watch; you gotta love it.
Today, we will be cleaning up the abode, making salads and other delights for a gathering of family and friends.
I'm hoping the dirt bags next door don't ruin everything with their blasting metal music and their displays of crack-fueled dancing.
Otherwise, somebody might get hurt.

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