Got to sing on this lovely ditty with Folk Thief. It’s free for you to download! Just one click, and it’s all yours… Get happy! xo

A Valentine’s Day Song For You!

VALENTINE’S DAY is upon us, so I made a shiny new music video in celebration of this, my favorite of all days!! It’s the Post Apocalyptic Valentine Song. I’ve always been a fan of Valentine’s Day, for the cute cards we handed out as children, the heart shaped cookies, the puppies and kittens, bleeding hearts, and the whole colour scheme in general!

And, remember… Romance, schmomance! True love comes from within. You don’t need a ‘significant other’ to enjoy Feb. 14th, you just need a song in your heart, a bounce in your step, and a twinkle in your eye… Oh, and cookies! Also, you should pet a dog… (A cat will do if that’s all you can find). Teehehe!! ♥ Oh! And, please wear pink and red. (Together)! Happy Valentine’s Day, everybody!

This little video features dead things, a little bit of me, and a singing dog. I hope you like it!!

And To All, A Good Night…

My youngest nephew found a nice bit of solace under the dinner table. Next year if I don’t get that hundred year old pickled pony fetus, I’m going to wish to be this little, and this smart…
I had hoped to hide away from the world this Christmas, but my mother insisted I come out for Christmas Eve dinner, and the big family Santa gift exchange/extravaganza. I decided to take the opportunity to let Santa know what I was wishing for, and I’m glad I did, because now I know my extra good behaviour did not go unnoticed. Also, you can hear Mrs. Claus telling my mother that I don’t look my age. Mrs. Claus is totally underrated, and is my new favorite.

Merry Christmas to all!

Blue Death Wish

I went for a nice long run and thought to myself, ‘if I had to die today (by drowning), the water is the exact shade of blue I’d wish for, for my impending death.’

A Breakfast Drama

Runny oatmeal threatens to ruin the day, as a tired old hairdresser (played by Kelly Haigh) is tempted to return home to go back to bed.

New Favorite Drink !

A couple of years ago I started drinking iced nonfat lattes, and being that I do not understand the concept of moderation, I was drinking three or four a day. (That is A LOT of shots of espresso ). My hands would often shake, my heart would race, and I got little bursts of adrenaline, ( like what happens when someone almost runs their car into yours). It constantly felt as though the world was just inches away from ending, and I was beginning to think that I had a panic disorder, which I was somehow managing to manage… Though, the lattes were like miracle juice. Being as wired as I was, I accomplished so much.

A few weeks ago, as I drank my iced latte, I got an unquenchable thirst like never before. No matter how many sips I took, my mouth continued to feel dry. (I know caffeine dehydrates you, but this was ridiculous ), so I asked my assistant to please be a lamb, and fetch me an iced green tea lemonade. She accidentally ordered me an iced green tea latte instead. (She did know to get it nonfat, and unsweetened), and what happened next was this: I almost cried when I found I only had a few sips left. This drink was so magnificent, I could not bear to run out. I needed a new one before my previous one was finished. I drank three or four in a row, and when I got home, my stomach hurt so badly, I could hardly breathe. I got out of my car and let out a little burp, which brought forth a powerful spray of ( still ice cold ) milky green liquid with such force I could have put out a small fire. I stood for a moment, a little shocked, as tiny green droplets trickled down the sides of my hair. I learned a thing or two that day, and will likely never do that again, but since I have stopped drinking the lattes, switching instead to these green tea lattes, I feel like this: NOTHING is a problem. If you are late for your appointment, or look at me the wrong way, I no longer want to rip out your heart. In fact, I will more likely try to give you a hug. I don’t even feel like painting people with their heads cut off any more. Instead, I’d like to paint them with beautiful flowers growing from their eye sockets and mouths. It’s like magical zen juice ! I also no longer get those nasty adrenaline bursts, my hands have stopped shaking, and I don’t get those terrifying heart flutters at bedtime… I am a much happier human.

I read up on this stuff (matcha green tea powder), and ‘they’ say that monks drink it all day long, and that it is SO rich in antioxidants, my children’s children will likely benefit from the cancer fighting goodness. ( Except that I don’t have children, and I’m just surmising)… Also, it helps burn calories and speeds up your metabolism, which I’m going to say is a nice side effect, if you don’t have mean clients and friends who tease you about having a non-existent backside. I will be buying new jeans shortly.

Now, to top this all off, my good friend Jennifer has told me with this new discovery of mine, that my personality has improved by a good ten percent. I thought that number seemed rather low, but alas, I have come to the conclusion that maybe there was just not much room for improvement. <— positive thinking from the goodness of matcha ! Anyway, to all my lovely friends who have been bringing me iced nonfat lattes, I say this: Thank you for always generously remembering my special drink, but now it’s time to learn all over again! Times are a changin’, so take note ! Iced, nonfat, non-sweet green tea latte from Starbucks is the order of the day ! Go ahead and get one for yourself as well, (and you can even present me with the bill, as I’m good for it). After all, if it’s good enough for me and the monks… ( As maybe, just maybe, your personality could use some improving as well … Or not)… Food for thought. Tea for thought … Tea for TWO ! PS. The world may actually be inches away from ending, but I no longer feel like it is, and that, my friends, is a gift. ~Happy Monday! xo, Kelly.

New Life…

On a recent run, I came across a starter kit for a whole new life…

New Paintings at Ayden Gallery in Vancouver

Here’s one of my new pieces. It’s called ‘Happiness’. I didn’t have a chance to get it properly scanned. (Here’s an iPhone image). But, feel free to visit the Ayden Gallery in person to check it out! (It’s in a big glossy frame I painted white. I used spray paint, and got enough of it in my hair to require a bit of a trim)! ha! I never said I was bright. I only ever said I was an excellent dancer.
Happy Autumn!

Stalker Anthem?

I got a ukulele and learned how to play it. (Somewhat). It was my goal to learn a few songs before my birthday, and I did it! I never said I mastered it, I’m a hairdresser, Jim, not a doctor! Anyway, I recorded this old Porter/Dolly song. If you’re feeling brave enough, take a listen! It’s a little experimental… I hope you like it! :)

(The link below will take you to it).


Georgia Straight’s BEST of Vancouver…

This year, my whole Christmas shopping budget will be spent on Mike Usinger of the Georgia Straight, because he’s my new favorite person. THANK YOU to Mike and the Georgia Straight for including me in the annual ‘Best of Vancouver’ edition!

After answering the interview questions, the lovely and talented photographer Rebecca Blissett contacted me to set up the photo shoot for this article. I brushed and curled my hair on the day, unaware that the other musicians and I would be right out in the dirt at the Hastings Race Track. Rebecca had a couple of the fellas get down on their knees to play race horse. I was relieved that she didn’t try to have me ride any of them, as I was not wearing proper riding attire. One of the fellas had been injured, (hit by a car), so his pals were asking him what he was going to do for work. He said he’d have to figure out something he could do with only one hand, and mentioned that he might have to start offering five dollar hand jobs. I asked if he had change for a twenty. (Didn’t get as big a laugh as you might think)! Tough crowd. ( I’m like a dirty old man, living in a dirty old woman’s body)!

Please follow the link below!


I Do What I Can…

Yesterday at work, a client said, ‘I’m so tired, I wish I would die in my sleep.’ I looked her in the eye and said, ‘You don’t need to say any more. I understand.’ I finished washing her hair, laid a towel over her face, and pressed down hard. She struggled and yelled, ‘What the fuck!’ I told her it’d be a lot easier if she just gave in. She laughed so hard, I had to point out the fact I’d given her back the will to go on… Obviously, and easily worth an extra $50 on top of her haircut.

Doing good feels good!

This Was a Good Summer…

I made a silly little video from my first of TWO Californian adventures this summer. It was my mom’s 60th birthday, and she wanted to go on a family vacation. (She was thinking Paris, but got suckered into going to Disneyland with my middle brother and nephews instead). My mother insisted I come along, and I said I would, as long as I did NOT have to take part in anything to do with theme parks, children, or sunshine. I enjoyed some quality family time, caught up with dear friends, took a cab ride with a religious cab driver who told me how to get to heaven, and I even got to go sing with Skip Heller and his Trio in Pasadena. It wasn’t Paris, but it sure was fun!

What’s In a Name…

I was washing the colour out of my mom’s hair when a lady poked her head into my shop, asking if I could possibly cut her bangs. For the briefest moment I considered sending her to the salon next door. I was in the middle of a conversation with my mother, who was telling me how much I sucked at shampooing. My assistant Jennifer is far better, I know this. My mom said, “You’ll never be Jennifer, but you could be A Jennifer.” (My mom also has a thing for Jennifer Aniston, and was telling me I should dress more like her). I said, “If you wanted a Jennifer, you should have named me Jennifer.” Then my mom said it wasn’t too late, telling me I should change my name. I said, “Well, why’d you name me Kelly?” She said, “Because I used to like that name.” “You don’t like it any more?” I asked. She scrunched up her nose and said, ‘Nah, you kinda ruined it for me.’ We laughed. I rolled my eyes and looked at the lady who’d come in. I told her, “I’m actually closed right now for family hair day, but you’re welcome to come in and wait, unless my mom is scaring you.” The stranger laughed and said, “Are you kidding me? I love your relationship.”

She came in and looked around at all my things and said she loved my taxidermy creatures. She told me she cut her own hair, and that she normally felt uncomfortable coming into salons, but she felt right at home in my shop. She said she might have some hummingbirds for me. I looked more closely at this stranger. She was in her 60’s, and had long black hair that was pulled back into a clip, with thick side swept bangs. She had tattoos everywhere. A total character.

The dark haired lady came in and joined our conversation. She agreed that many of us get names that don’t suit us. I said, ‘Yes, like my brother Jeff, (who was sitting on my couch with his son). He’s obviously much more of a Steven.’ The lady said, ‘No, he’s more of a Max,’ then she sat in my chair for me to cut her bangs. It just took a minute, and when I was finished, she did not leave. She sat down in the comfy chair behind me while I started cutting my mother’s hair. She said, ‘You two look like sisters.’ My mom got all excited and said thanks. The lady said, ‘Well, don’t get too excited, I’m a senior citizen. I don’t see that well!’

We got on the subject of marriage. The lady said she’d been married once in the sixties. Briefly. My mom said, ‘WOW, no one was getting married back then. That was the time of free love!’ The dark haired lady with the tattoos said, ‘Ever hear of ‘Strawberry Acid?’ We all laughed. She said she was on one hell of a crazy acid trip when she got married, and the marriage lasted five whole months, but she never did it again.

She and my mom got to talking about soap operas. (The Young and the Restless, in particular), and how handsome Victor Newman was. The dark haired lady said, “It’s not fair how men grow into their character, and us women have to fight it. What do you want to bet if I win the lottery, I’m spending it all on plastic surgery. I’ll get a full body lift!” Then she said she’d treat my mom as well. (My mom had just been complaining about the lines around her mouth). The lady said, “See my eyebrows? I drew them on this morning, and they’re way too high. When we’re young, we see old ladies with their make up all askew, big blotches of rouge on their cheeks, wonky eyebrows, and lipstick outside of the lines. We think they’re crazy! They’re not crazy, they just can’t see! And, when they DO see, they just don’t care. I drew my eyebrows on this morning, because that was how I felt, and now I see I have them too high and I just don’t give a shit. I’m a jackass. I always was a jackass, and I’ll always be a jackass. That’s the way it is. I don’t give a shit.”

Then, the dark haired lady got up to leave. She said she’d be back, and told me I was now her girl. I will be the one to look after her hair. I asked her name, and she told me it was Holly. She said she’d had a lot of names in her life, but Holly was her original one. She looked at my brother Jeff, and his son, Connor, and said, ‘I’ll be seeing ya, Max and Sam!’ Then she was gone. She left the shop, and left us all feeling all a little brighter, and a little better off for having let a beautiful stranger in.

Fun Georgia Straight article…

I don’t drink, but I keep promising myself that one day I’ll start… Mike Usinger asked a few questions of some Vancouver musicians. I was lucky enough to be among them, (not that I can be of much help when it comes to usable knowledge of summertime fun). Though, having said that, being a shut-in has other advantages. We’ll get to those another time. In the meantime, click the link below to read about summertime soundtracks, and favorite cocktail recipes to beat the heat!

The Secret Joys of Hairdressing…

In case you ever wondered what it’s like to be a hairdresser, here’s how a typical day looks…

My first client arrived 15 minutes early. Normally this is a no-no, but today I had just enough of my iced latte to put on a grin and get a head start on the day. (Given the unlikelihood of brushing through my own tangled ponytail, any distraction was welcome). My client sat in the chair, and we both looked at each other. She said, ‘I know, it still looks pretty good.’ I said, ‘Yeah, it still looks pretty good. I have a good mind to throw you out of here for taking up a valuable appointment time.’ She said that because she wasn’t in town very often, she thought she’d better take advantage and get a trim anyway. (Unneeded as it might be). I must remind myself to add a special tax for that type of thing. Taking away appointment slots from people who actually need haircuts should be punishable. Something minor, but enough to make folks think twice.

My next client (let’s call her Lori) was a handful. I was telling her the story about how I once invited a dirty kid to sleep over (when I was 8), and ended up being spanked for it. My mother has a horrific fear of bedbugs, and the dirty girl lived in a home worse than the homes you see on ‘Hoarders’. So my dad spanked me to make sure I understood the severity of the situation. (I suppose that’s why I have it in mind to give clients gentle reminders (such as punishment taxes). There is always a lesson to be taught/learned…

Lori said, ‘Did you just hear yourself, you little serial killer! You just said you invited IT to sleep over.’ I must have just been tired, because I know that dirty girl was a person. I don’t refer to anyone as an ‘it’. To be clear: Her name was Nancy, and I never handed her lotion, nor did I instruct her to rub the lotion on ‘its’ skin. Lori said she figured I’d end up in prison one day. I told her that was an awful thing to say and that she should take it back, but she wouldn’t. She said I’d become someone’s bitch. (How would this be something new… ‘Kelly, I need a haircut, Kelly, the water’s too hot, now it’s too cold, open the blinds, close your windows, is it really Bob Dylan Day again today, can we change the music?’… Isn’t that someone’s bitch enough?) Then I told her no matter what I went down for THIS would be my statement to the court:

‘Your honor, I know that nobody likes a rat, but I did not perpetrate this crime on my own. I had an accomplice.’ I told Lori that’s when I’d finger her… The look on her face led me to believe I needed to be MORE clear: Finger pointing, not crotch fingering. It’s hard work dealing with perverts. You need a clear mind, or you might find your mouth has written cheques your body won’t want to cash.

Lori did say something nice. She said I picked up the most hideous pieces of taxidermy she’d ever seen, but she thought it was nice that I gave them all a home and dressed them in the loveliest of bows. She said that I was the Angelina Jolie of dead things… “I WILL SAVE THEM ALL!!!”

Enter the next client. We’ll call her ‘Genie’. Half way into her appointment, her girlfriend showed up with a chicken schwarma. I’m not sure if that’s how you spell ‘schwarma’, and I’m also not sure why it’s not just called a wrap… She laid her head back at the sink with a mouthful of the schwarma when it was time to wash her colour off. I said, ‘Please don’t choke on your chicken. It’s too early in the day for me to be giving out the ‘hind-lick maneuver’. (It gets a laugh every time)… *Note to self: Work on some new material.

Then, back at my chair, I finished Genie’s haircut. She said, ‘You’re looking quite pleased with yourself.’ I asked if she’d rather come on one of my ‘do the minimum required – who gives a shit’ days. She said she (in fact) would NOT like to come on one of those days. I did a mock voice of the asshole version of myself (not to be confused with real me). I said, ‘Too bad you didn’t come yesterday when I gave a shit, and did some of my best work… On my beaver!’ I picked up the clippers and gave a little giggle. Her eyes lit up and she said, ‘Why am I picturing you with a lightning bolt?’ I said, ‘Maybe because you’re a lesbian in real life, and I just play one on TV?’ For ‘even Steven’, I tried to say what shape I imagined she would have shaved into her beaver, but I was too lazy to give it any further thought. (I’m not even that interested in my own situation, if we’re being honest).

Then came ‘Scott’. His wife had emailed me asking if they could both come in. I said I only had room for one, but that I doubted she needed it done this soon anyway… She replied, saying, ‘I always need IT done…’ I mentioned this to Scott, in an effort to make sure he was keeping up his end of the bargain at home. (When I say, ‘his end’, I guess I mean ‘her end’). Either way, it needed to be said. (As I promised her I would). *Note to self: Implement ‘Piece of Ass Tax’ for helping people get more action at home, (or wherever they go).

Next was ‘Andre’. He told me that he’s always feared he’d end up on my wall. I suddenly understood why he always calls at the last minute, begging to be fit in between other people’s appointments. He has carefully constructed a method of making sure he’s never alone with me in my shop. We talked about his ex-wife’s bird. I told him I’d love to keep a nice live pet in my shop for my clients’ amusement. (The way some dentists have fish. My dentist always brings his dog to the office, and I bring Frances, but she just wants to rip everyone’s face off)…

I suggested to Andre that instead of ending up on my wall, maybe I could keep him in a corner as the shop pet, and that way he wouldn’t have to die. (I figured this might put his mind at ease). At this point, my favorite German girl was waiting her turn on my couch. She was nodding her head YES.

“See??” I said. ‘We have a taker! Someone already wants to pet you!’

…Not a ‘Pet Shop Boy’, but a ‘Shop Pet Boy’! ….I think it’s a great idea!

(This is the same girl, FYI, who says you have to masturbate in the morning for a clear indication on how your day is going to go).

Andre left and came back saying he forgot his coffee… (An old, cold, half empty cup… There are two coffee shops downstairs). Obviously he came back for a second look at my German girl… Maybe I made a love connection today. I don’t know… But I do know this:

…I love my job.

Living the Movie of My Life…

Last year I teased my nephew by telling him that his only gift from me (on his fifteenth birthday) would be this following piece of advice: I said, ‘You gotta live your life like you’re starring in the MOVIE of your life, because no one else really gives a shit. You need to make the BEST, most happy, fun, and funniest movie you’d ever want to see. You’re far more likely to regret the things you don’t do than you are to regret things you DO do. You can apologize for your actions, but you can’t get a do-over on your in-actions.’ (I also tucked a hundred dollar bill into his card). He told me my advice was worth far more. (Suck up that he is).

This past Christmas, my mother got me an iPhone. She assured me that all the coolest kids had one. She didn’t care so much about me being cool as she did about being the kind of mother who would stand in line, sign all the necessary contractual obligations and paper work to set up such a gadget. I was fairly adamant to NOT have one. I didn’t see the point. But now that I have an iPhone, the super 8 app, and an idea of living (and now making) my own life’s (unabashedly unapologetic) movie, (one clip at a time), there is no stopping me.

Or is there…

My mother will likely confiscate my phone after seeing how I have been spending my time, (while I fall behind at work, and on my commission paintings). Oh boy! “Starring in the movie of your life” was meant to be a figurative thing… But, hey! I blame technology.

Egg Murder from kelly haigh on Vimeo.

Veggie Dogs and Pigeons from kelly haigh on Vimeo.

Sleeping Dogs from kelly haigh on Vimeo.

The Georgia Straight interview (with Mike Usinger)…

A big thank you to Mike for such kind words… It was an awful fun day doing this little interview. You can read it in this week’s edition of the Georgia Straight…


There’s even a little video, and preview of the squid song I’ve been working on! (I sure do have a crooked little face, my God! I kinda come off looking tough, like a side-mouth talking convict). Not the worst thing, I guess! :)

Stage Fright at the Railway Club!

I haven’t performed live for at least six years, so when my friend Dave Hadgkiss asked me to come sing at his Folk Thief “Love, Heartache and Oblivion” CD release party, I was terribly reluctant. (In my old band, Ashley Park, I got to hide behind my Fender Rhodes electric piano. I only ever had to sing live once). But, Dave lured me in with the promise of having super guest star Carolyn Mark open the show… How could I say no to that? I couldn’t. Besides, he was kind enough to let me sing on his record, so I figured I owed him.

I suffered greatly in the days leading up to the show. I had butterflies like you wouldn’t believe, and not the garden type variety. These suckers had fangs that felt like little staplers going off in my gut, and no amount of Tums could help the stomach upset and anxiety heartburn that I felt. The night before the show, I laid awake trying to figure out a few words for when it came time to get up on that stage.

Here’s what I was GOING to say:
“I’m terrified of microphones. My grandmother lost her teeth on one of these things! No, wait! Did I just say she lost her teeth on a microphone? My mistake! It wasn’t a microphone, it was a cow. She was milking a cow when it kicked her and knocked her teeth out, so I guess there’s actually nothing to be afraid of up here after all!” …It would be perfect! The crowd would laugh and cheer, and we’d sing our little hearts out.

When the show began, I sat in the audience, anxiously waiting for Dave to invite me up. I was a bit shaky, but Carolyn stood beside me, telling me I was gonna be great. Once I finally made it up on stage…

THIS is what I said:

“I’m afraid of microphones.”

The lights on the stage at the Railway club are blinding, so thankfully I couldn’t see all the ‘what the fuck’ faces in the audience… Dave started playing, and I joined in. As soon as I opened my mouth, the butterflies miraculously stopped biting. (Dirty little sons of bitches that they are). I did, however, proceed to do some strange dance moves, an obscene hand gesture, and then I told the story of when I had last been applauded for anything…

(Back when I was about five or six, I was trying to get up on a carousel pony, but I noticed a cute boy sitting on the horse behind me, and I didn’t want to swing my leg up and over because he’d see my panties. I was half draped over the horse when the carousel started spinning and I panicked. My face went red and I cried until I suddenly got up the gumption to swing my leg up over the horse anyway, and when I finally did, the people standing around all clapped and cheered… A small victory for a small girl). The applause at the Railway Club felt strangely similar…

Here is a video of us playing. It has terrible sound, and Dave’s dad filmed it from a crouching position, so I hope you enjoy this stretched version of us, and the incredible view up into our nostrils! (Lucky for Dave I don’t have final approval of any footage/photographs containing my likeness, or this would never have seen the light of day)! Teeheheee!!!

(Dave left me hanging with the ‘oooh’s, and I sound like a coyote in heat, but other than that, I think it went pretty well).
I hope you enjoy this song. It’s called ‘Broken Record’. Also, please enjoy ‘Before I Met You’, which I did on my own record… Filmed by my little brother on his iPhone! (How much do we love iPhones)? TOO much.

Before I Met You ~ Kelly Haigh sings with Folk Thief from kelly haigh on Vimeo.

Stranger Danger…


“To all interested campers (which included a list of Haigh siblings),
I’m sending this from Mom’s email with the included reservation and additional info (see attachment) that I retyped from some papers we received in the mail.

Excited at the prospect of a break,

“Am I still invited, even though none of you have ever met me??? Because this is the best offer/invitation I’ve had in a long while!

PS… I could REALLY use a break, so this email comes as wonderful news… (Just browsing over the particulars, I’m glad it mentions that ash firewood is still illegal. I’ll be sure to leave mine back at home)… I wouldn’t want to be transferring in any pests onto state land, (other than my own sweet self).

Kelly Haigh. (Though, probably not the Kelly Haigh you were thinking of)… ”


“Hi Kelly (my nemesis, apparently 😉
Sorry to disappoint you, but I am going to accept the camping invitation from my family. Ha ha, you’ll miss out though!!”


“Don’t be so sure, ‘OTHER Kelly Haigh’… You MAY be in for one heck of a big camping surprise! (Have you seen the Highlander)? There can be only one…

I’m going to go ahead and propose a duel at dawn on the first night of the trip. I wouldn’t normally suggest such a thing, but being as you sent me back this taunting email, with the ‘ha ha, you’ll miss out’ part, you’ve left me with no other choice. May the best KH win, then go on to enjoy a relaxing REST of the camping trip… (For at that point, it will have been especially well earned).
Mom always did like you best…”

It is this: ALWAYS double check your contact list before sending off big camping trip invitations. You don’t know what fresh hell you could be welcoming into your world. I have a penchant for blood, old surgical tools, and am the proud new owner of an Atlas of the Human Body (which has many diagrams from the 1800’s, depicting surgical procedures. Do I see a movie here? Yes I do. (In my mind’s eye). It is a horror/comedy, (hormedy)? though it likely wouldn’t do well in theatres…

On the upside, I now have this family’s home address and emails in my possession, and I won’t be afraid to use them, should I ever find myself alone for the holidays…

Knock, knock…
Mom? Dad? It’s meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee….

Pantless? Great Caesar & Bearded Papas!!!

Image (left) by Ray Caesar…
If you asked me why I love Ray Caesar so very much, I COULD tell you it’s because of his razor sharp wit, or his immeasurable talents, or even the wealth of inspiration that he provides. I could even tell you it’s because he is one of the kindest humans on the planet, and he once told me to never stop painting or making music. Advice I took to heart in a big way. These are all reasons I love Ray, to be sure, but I will share with you the BIGGEST reason I adore this man…

One time (a few years ago), I told Ray that Terry and I had been bickering quite a bit. Battle of the wills, power struggles galore. It wasn’t pretty, and I wasn’t very happy. That was when Ray told me that the best thing a person could do was to sit down with their partner, pants down, face to face, and hash it out. How angry can you get with someone whose genitals are exposed. How much can you get up on your high horses while your own pants are down… It all made perfect sense. (Ok. He didn’t necessarily say genitals needed to be exposed, but I can’t remember for sure, either way)…

Terry and I never had any of these pant-less discussions, but what I did take from Ray’s advice was this: Argue with me, and you are immediately pant-less, genitalia hanging out for the whole world to see (in my mind’s eye). I told you you won’t suit bangs, and you still want them? Bam! You’re pantless. You’re telling me that table is reserved? Pantless. Oh no! That sweater doesn’t come in blue? The hell you say! ALL of you… Pant-less!

Now, this may not have been the point, or the desired effects of Ray’s kind advice, but it’s the end result FOR ME. So, not only can I thank Ray for the secret glimpse into the private world of the private parts of strangers, I can also blame him for making me think of it… One must be careful not to plant seeds in dirty minds. (See? Not my fault)! Thanks, Ray! Disagree with me, I get my own private peep show, no quarter required! (Winning)! <---- (Forgive me, I couldn't resist). Side note: When Ray and his lovely wife Jane visited a few months back, Jane introduced me to one more thing I didn't need to know about. (I have a bit of an addictive personality). She took us for Beard Papas. Sweet bastard in hell! Cream puffs that even come in CARAMEL, oh boy!!! There's a chance Terry will say no and try to argue with me, so I might try one of those pant-less summit meetings at this particular juncture. See if there's any way he'll go fetch me one of those Beard Papas right about now....

A Fable, (not for the faint of heart)…

…NOT based on true events. If I were having sex in the woods, I would not be writing about having sex in the woods. I’d be out having MORE sex in the woods… Though, maybe I shouldn’t ‘write that out loud’… (Do I need to say I’m kidding here)?

It’s called:


They walked hand in hand, except for when she stopped to snap photos with her new camera. They’d come to this place many times before, but had never taken the time to explore the forest trails. Their initial interest in the island had been the surfing, but nowadays, it was much more a place of rest. Besides, it was January, and much too cold to get in the water. They weren’t 20 any more. The wind along the beach was cold and brisk, while the gaping mouth of the pathway seemed to be beckoning them in…

Around every bend, there were new marvels to photograph, and behold. There were twists and turns, and ancient mossy wooden planks set above deep puddles. The path itself felt like sponge beneath their feet. The sun lit up the sides of trees, which curved and swayed as though they were dancing, their mile high trunks reaching for the heavens. The wind died down in the thick of the trees, becoming a mild breeze, gently caressing their icy cheeks, whispering the deepest of secrets into their ears. Secrets so deep, they were unaware they were being told…

“Do you want to know what I think we should do when we get back home?” He asked. She smiled and nodded. She did not know. “I think we should get a puppy.” He told her. He’d been wanting a dog for years now, but with both their busy schedules, she’d been against the idea. She didn’t think it would be fair. “With this new job of mine,” he began, “I’ll be around a lot more, and for the times I’m not around, I’d just feel better with a dog at the house. It’s for safety. Your safety,” he said, smiling at the very transparency of his lame attempt at this little con job. They both knew they lived in one of the safest neighborhoods in the city.

“Safety, huh! How badly do you want that dog?” She asked and leaned her body into his, and stared into his eyes. She slid her hand down the back of his jeans, and the coldness of her fingers on the warm skin of his ass made him flinch. He smiled and kissed her, and told her he wanted a dog more than anything else in the whole wide world. He sounded like a young boy from one of those old Disney movies. “Even more than you want me?” She asked.

“I want nothing more than I want you,” he said, tugging on the strings of her jogging pants. He gently pushed her against a tree, and made love to her. When they were finished, she reconnected the strings at her waistband. She turned to him and said, “Do you know what I think? I mean, if it’s meant to be for our safety,” she teased, “then I propose we get ten giant porcupines instead of one slobbering dog. I will walk them on leashes, and I will feed and love them, and no one will dare come near us or our home. I want ten giant porcupines more than anything else in this whole wide world!” She giggled. She was giddy.

“You’re a regular wise guy!” He said, smiling, zipping his pants back up. She brought her camera up to her eye, and snapped a photo.

“Then it’s settled,” she said. “Sealed with a kiss!”

“If someone told you what we just did was called ‘kissing’, they were lying to you,” he said, and grabbed her ass. He pressed his lips to hers. “Now, this is a kiss!” They both laughed, and made their way back out onto the beach, and back to the cabin.

Later that night, the couple cooked dinner together. It took two people to prepare a meal in that little kitchen. The dishes were always put back in the same place and manner, but from visit to visit, the hiding spots for the cooking utensils had always changed. One never knew where to find things. When they finished eating, he poured himself a glass of wine, and sat in the rocking chair beside the fire. She spread out on the couch, and got comfy with a book. Just as she began to drift off, she was startled by an awful sound. She looked and saw her husband on the floor, writhing in pain. The sounds he made were almost not human. He clutched at his lower abdomen, and growled. “It hurts! It hurts so fucking bad!” She leapt up, and crouched near his head, feeling the sweat on his brow. He let out another scream, and told her it felt like the lower half of his body was on fire.

“It’s okay! You’re okay! You have to let me see!” She said, trying to take down his pants. He tried to fight her, begging her to leave him alone, but he was too weak with pain to fight. He’d experienced unpleasant symptoms in his penis back in university, but nothing that couldn’t be cured with a round of antibiotics. This was nothing like that. This pain was unfathomable. His wife gently peeled down his briefs, exposing a red and swollen penis. It looked almost inflated, yet it was not hard. Not like it had been back in the woods a few hours earlier. He moaned and whimpered, clutching her hand. She ran her hand back through his hair. She was almost as terrified and helpless as he was. “I don’t know what to do! We have to get you to a hospital!” They both knew that the nearest hospital was hours away. He continued to writhe in pain on the floor for a minute or more, and she could see movement in his swollen member. The man lost consciousness, as the swelling became greater. The pain was intolerable. Clear liquid spurt forth from the tiny opening of his cock, and he yelled out, eyes rolling into the back of his head. The tiny hole became bigger, stretching wider, and wider until finally she could see something pressing its way out. It appeared to be the width of a golf ball, then it shot out in an instant, and laid in the flickering light of the fire. She picked up the fleshly little mass, and looked closer. It looked like some kind of fetus with its wet, wrinkled skin, and tightly shut eyes. Its tiny mouth began to gasp for its first breaths of air. The man sat up. The pain was gone, though he was somewhat in shock. He opened his hands, and she placed the newborn pup into his palms. She suddenly thought back to their conversation in the forest trails and recalled her husband’s words and wishes, and then recalled those of her own. She fell to the floor, terrified of what she knew was to come. Her screams carried out across the ocean waves, where they could be heard for miles and miles…


~Kelly Haigh.

Jew Wanna Hear a True Story?

I got an advance copy of Geoff Berner’s new album, (being as well connected as I obviously am). ha! I slid the disc into my car stereo as I drove home from wherever it was I had been. (I can’t recall where I’d been, to be honest, because, quite frankly, listening to this music, I had been transported to a whole other world). I had been sucked into a movie that was deep, dark, ridiculous, and beautiful. The album is a sountrack to a secret movie that will play in your mind’s eye. My chest felt funny, and my heart began to pound. I wasn’t sure if I was listening to something of great importance and significance, or if I simply had the bass setting jacked up far too high…

I pulled into my driveway, ejected the disc and placed it back into its sleeve. I needed to investigate this matter further.

When I got into the house, I set Geoff’s album down on the counter. I was distracted by a little box that had arrived from the UK. The antique bird skin study I had ordered had arrived! It was wrapped in old newspaper, (which I will keep it in), but it also had a little red piece of paper wrapped around it. I removed the red strip and tossed it aside. It landed onto the Victory Party CD cover…

I suddenly noticed the red paper had some writing on it… It read: “BE ALERT TO THE RETURN OF THE JEWISH MESSIAH.” This gave me the chills.

What does it all mean? I don’t know, but I’ll be at Geoff’s CD release party tonight to find out for myself…

I could not be more proud of getting to create the previous album cover art for the very talented and dapper Mr. Geoff Berner. I’m a big fan of his work. (When I say ‘big fan’, I don’t necessarily mean in size, as I’ve been working out. I’m just saying ‘big’, to illustrate the amount I love what he does).

This album gets FIVE out of FIVE stars (of David).

Sweet Bastard…

I pulled up to the Starbuck’s drive-thru today to order my iced venti nonfat latte. I thought I’d also get a breakfast sandwich. I was starving. (Terry’s away, so I haven’t been eating much. It’s a shock to find out that groceries don’t magically appear, and dinner does not cook itself). My mother has said, ‘You don’t cook, you don’t clean. What good are you to any man?’ A few obscene hand gestures are all it takes to shut her up…

I spotted a photo on the Starbuck’s menu board. A new treat! A blob of cream cheese icing sandwiched between two glorious discs of red vevet cake! Oh my GOD. This is something I cannot say no to. However… Why in the name of all that is holy have they decided to call it a ‘Whoopie Pie’? I wanted one oh so dearly, but couldn’t bring myself to order one…

I pulled up to the window and sheepishly asked the girl, ‘Might I also add one of those new red velvet thingys?’ She shot me a challenging glance and asked, ‘One of which red velvet thingies?’
I said, ‘Please DO NOT make me say it! I can’t bring myself to say the name.’
She told me certain folks don’t understand why it’s so funny, and it just kills her. Then she leaned forward, looked me right in the eye, and asked in a really sexy voice, ‘So, do you want one?’

‘One what?’ I asked, returning her same challenging glance. She answered, speaking the words slowly and seductively… ‘A whoopie pie.’
‘Yes.’ I said. ‘I will have a whoopie pie, but now I feel dirty for asking…’

She handed over my goods, and I felt a little twinge of shame, as if I’d just asked this girl if I could pet her lady garden, or something of that magnitude…

Damn you, Starbuck’s, for coming up with the most horrifying and dirty name for the most tempting and delectable desert item on your menu.

What’s next, clitoris tarts? Because those would be ALMOST as bad to have to ask for…

But, still…

Interview for Vancouver’s Georgia Straight…

I had a little interview with (music editor) Mike Usinger from the Georgia Straight. We were to meet at my salon for our chat, and he asked me to bring along a guitar. I decided to also bring one of my stuffed dogs (as a stand in for Frances). I packed the little darling into my green train case, but didn’t have enough hands to also carry a purse, so I threw my ID, lipstick and some cash into the case with the dog.

Before Mike arrived, my neighbor (Kirsten the vegan) came over with a ziploc bag full of dried kale. For some reason she thought I might like it. (And I do). I had a great visit with Mike. He was so charming and swell. He’s the type of fellow who doesn’t have to say anything to make you laugh. He’s kinda got a bit of a Will Farrell thing going on. (If you ask me).

Leaving the parkade, I was a little frazzled, suddenly second guessing everything I’d said. I was hoping I hadn’t come across as a total tool. I handed over my parking stub, and foraged in my green case for some money. I pulled the bag of dried kale out of the way, then lifted up the dog to get at a twenty dollar bill. I turned to pay, and saw the look of complete and utter horror on the parking attendant’s face.

Words failed me, and I could offer nothing in the way of an explanation. I simply paid and left, thinking, ‘Just once I’d like to come off as being lovely.’

I pulled over to take this photo, to see if it looked as bad as I’d imagined…

“Canada’s coolest couple knows how to chill” [The Perlich Post]

The folks over at The Perlich Post recently wrote an article about me, check it out!

Welcome to my blog!

I’ll post something worthwhile as soon as I have something worthwhile to say.
Lucky thing I don’t get paid to think. I never said I was smart… I only ever said I was an excellent dancer. My first order of business will probably be to tell you what I learned about fertility clinics. Here are the top two things I learned from someone who works at one: There are fun masturbatory rooms, and there are such things as two, and even THREE headed sperms (Not as exciting as you might think, however. Multi-headed sperms do not make multi-headed children) Also, spending your lunch break in the masturbatory room is something that would be frowned upon. (I only asked out of curiosity).

Thanks for stopping by.