Babies

They are ewey, gooey good.

I am surrounded by families and children. I think society is changing, and the young adult no longer values marriage and procreation. I look to my friends and I see constant marriages and babies. Updates consisting of "Ainsley has six teeth now", or "Josh is crawling", and "my wedding dress is lace". Seriously, who cares? Once you have a kid, life is finito. Over! There's no take backs. I guess in a way, I'd like to experience it also. People think because I'm gay that I cannot have a child. I hate limitations! I think when I hit my thirties and have more financial room; I will adopt a child or find a surrogate mother. Than I too can contribute to a society gone wrong and hopefully raise a kid that's pretty decent and well read.

The facade; the illusion we are living in isn't deteriorating; it's becoming more and more popular. I always though a marriage is a business agreement. It will help me buy a piece of real estate; someone else to plan the dinner party; someone who can share clothes. A marriage of love, something I thought I would have, but now, I guess I have grown far too cynical. I cannot settle for someone I am not totally into, I've had it once, and am still searching for it again. I have realized it doesn't come along very often...so I'd rather not entertain a loveless marriage.

Today I’m meh. I haven’t had a cigarette, projects are coming along, but at the same time I feel utterly disconnected. I don’t know what I’m feeling right now, nor do I want to explore it. I think one major issue is a person on my project who keeps ranting, “we cannot do it in time”. It’s annoying me. I hate hearing the word can’t, and negativity doesn’t motivate me. Luckily she will be away this weekend so we can all prove this chick wrong. Jesus, who wants to hear can’t!

Fish Plants

My father’s work ethic was incomparable to anyone elses. He would be adamant about my sister and I being self-sufficient people and to stop milking the teat we call father.

By the time I was 13 years old I was both working at the local fish plant doing job shadowing and moonlighting as a bus boy for my father's restaurant. Any night there could be something different and it wasn’t something I looked forward to initially, but I knew dad was proud. I could be butchering crab, working on the sorting lines, packaging, or if worse came to worse clean up.

Now, I must say this wasn’t the place you’d want to work for the rest of your life. The fish plant was full of uneducated; chain smoking, hardcore Newfoundlanders who would never leave the rock – not even this small town for that matter.

It was a living for sure. And, it was pretty good money and we had breaks every hour for 15 minutes. It was at the fish plant where I started smoking, where I learned the ins and outs of life, and where I promised myself I would try has hard as possible in life to get a white color job. Lord knows, this wasn’t the place life was happening. This was the place where people give up and become complacent.

When we had to work mornings, my sister would usually throw a fit. Start crying, complaining that her feet hurt; sometimes her stomach. It got to the point where we realized it wasn’t a physical ailment that affected my year older sister; she just didn’t love the job!

I have witnessed many a fight between my sister and dad in the wee hours of the morning, nothing but screaming and tears, and finally my father either giving up or becoming enraged and sending her off to the fish pits anyway. Once you get there, and start up the monotony, it really wasn’t that bad. I just didn’t think she was really into working for a living.

I had a rubber suit, which was my uncle Larry’s at some point and all the standard gear. My family and I were so cheap I decided to use the hand-me-downs instead of investing in my future at the plant. Mind you the rubber suit didn’t fend off water as well as the standard green ones you could buy at the plant, and also it was bright yellow. If you could imagine, a faggot in a yellow rubber suit, trying to fit into society really stood out at the plant. I didn’t mind though, I mean I always did want to stand out, so when I blinded people with the brilliance of my rubber clothes, it was just one more notch on the belt of being unique. To quote my mother: "fuck 'em all".

“My sonny boy, get out while you can, this isn’t a place for a young go getter like yourself”, an older man who I befriended at the plant would tell me. He would grip my arm so hard to drive the point across. Some knew you see that there was more out there. Some had regrets, and dreams, and longings – but they settle into the same role as anyone else because how can you escape? It’s too late for some.

“When I was your age, my son, I was up on the mainland making a great living. There was tons of beer and women. Those were the times”, he would eye me in such a direct and focused way, and I would be taken aback. It’s rare to find such an awareness in someone so ‘small town’. He just wanted to get me out, wanted me to think about where I was, I can’t hold him against that. It’s like a prison you see, a prison that you can’t escape from. There isn’t a time limit in this place, or 10 year sentence. It’s the rest of your life, unless you plan, scheme, and are brave enough to do something about it.

The best part about the plant was getting off work. My friends and I would rush home, shower up, and head out the local bar. Now, the smell of fish and crab doesn’t wash off. Sometimes it could stay on your skin before a couple of days. This film or layer of fish stench…my father always called it the smell of money, but it certainly didn’t help in picking up a nice girl at the bar. Although that wasn’t necessarily a bad smell after all, I referred to it as the smell of someone indifferent to the opposite sex.

I came from a well off family, yet I was one of the local plant workers, and I enjoyed not depending on my father's handouts, because I know he would only use it against me in the future. There was no giving, it was something that was brought up time and time again - you owe me son. Fuck that, I'd sooner shave a yack.

We’d all head out to the Cozy Corner, the only club in the area. It had one pool table which was in need of an extreme makeover, the standard gamblers who played video lotto in the corner (sometimes I wondered if they ever left), some round tables which were not stable, and a variety of card and dart players. This was my life until I was old enough to leave and explore the world. This was the cubby hole of existence where I accepted it because I had no idea what was out there.

I became a great card player – 500’s, 120’s, cribbage, and at the same time could play any game for a beer, and almost always win – provided my partner was of average intelligence. The local’s enjoyed my company too, unknown as to what I really was, I was accept as being a under intelligent, beer swiveling, card playing monkey – much like the rest of ‘em. If they ever found out I could think, they may have left me for someone else. I had to play down every part of my existence. Nobody likes a smart ass.

“Yes bye, the beer is some good tonight”, Lee would say. My best friend, although I can’t believe people could buy into the dialect. I didn’t talk like that. Why are they doing it? I never did understand how people can just adopt a dialect so against the rules of grammar. He was a strapping young man, tall, blond, good looking…sigh. How did I ever make it out of there alive?

“There are a nice bit of women around tonight, aye bye?”. Need I say more?

My Cousin Jill

My cousin Jill, who is a Jehovah's Witness and has been quoted saying “I loves the bible, it’s my life” - was bit in the face by my aunt’s dog this weekend. I talked to her last night, and she seems fine. Personally, I never did trust that dog.

He always seemed a bit touchy, and even myself – a dog person – couldn’t handle his intensity. He is a husky named Shadow with intense blue eyes - much like my own eyes. Those eyes have actually helped me out a lot when meeting guys, but in the poor dog’s case, it's an argument to help incriminate him. They are not sexy eyes on a dog, but the eyes of a killer.

I talked to her last night; she must be in shock because she isn't too torn up about the incident. She has three bite marks on her face, 15 stitches, and an outlook that is wonderful and grand. She said “don’t worry I’m still beautiful”, giggling away. She had a habit of looking at the bright side of life. I never could relate, I mean hell, I'm an optimistic person, but this is even too much for me. I told her she’s still in shock, this is insane, and my aunt and family must be held accountable. I mean, this is a pretty devastating event, how can she be this positive? That’s Jill though, Mrs. Optimistic, Mrs. Happy…

We had some funny times together when I was a young kid. She was a very excited person, and well, fuck she still is. It was about 2:30 in the morning Newfoundland time and she was still up chatting away last night. She told me that she doesn’t need much sleep, and she’s too energetic. Jill even went to the doctor about it, but he tells her that some people don’t need that much sleep. Maybe God has given her this abundance of energy, who knows.

I can say is it is abnormal if you look at it from my stand point. A thirty year old Jehovah’s Witness, who stays up until 2:30 in the morning chatting online, than only to wake up again at eight bursting with the same amount of energy she has had since even since I could remember. The lord does work in mysterious ways for sure.

I remember her as being the most infuriatingly cheery person I have ever met thus far in my life. My sister and I were very laid back and cynical kids, even as preteens we weren’t that energetic, nor we’re we that happy. We were comparable to the families on the Simpson’s or Arrested Development – where the families would lie around and do nothing, and bitch and moan if they had to get up to switch the television. We would wave our hands for service, and trying our best not to expend too much energy. To be with Jill was quite different than what we were accustomed too. Whether it'd be screaming with joy in Wal-Mart when a lipstick sale was on (God awful colors too); talking a mile a minute about how great life was with God; or some other ridiculous thing. She didn't know when to stop.

Fruit diets, Oprah hair, bible studies, exciting arguments - this was Jill in a nut shell. As kids we would make fun of how happy she was. It wasn't infectious but it was certainly made me happy when I could laugh at her with my friends behind her back. It was one of the few times my sister and other first cousins would have a great laugh – at poor Jill’s expense – piling together to make impressions, role play, or bring up the latest stories that most everyone had not heard. My cousin Nancy had the most fantastic impression, Jesus I need to phone her and ask her about it. I'm grinning just thinking about it. Even after 10 years, it's still fucking hilarious.

I remember once, I was about 9 years old and driving from Grand Falls to Gander, and there was a forest fire. The highway was covered in smoke, and traffic was slowly moving on the trans-Canada highway. There was a lone man on the highway with a handful of puppies. They were black labs and they were crying due to the fact their mother wasn’t around.

My father allowed us to take one – we already had one black lab, so it would be cool to get a friend for Reno. We brought the dog back to Aunt Charity’s and Jill’s home. Charity wasn’t too happy about the situation, but being religious excuses her from being tactful and non-willing. It’s great how easily it was to walk over these guys. Bible thumpers are such push overs.

Jill was very excited to see the dog. Her main mission was to build a doll house like no other to house this nameless pup. She ran around grabbing pieces of cardboard, panties she would cut into curtains, various objects for the living and dining areas. We were excited at first also…a home for the puppy, but as it turns out Jill’s agenda changed. This was now a doll house, and not a home for the black lab. She stayed up until late building this creation and it got to the point where things were going so well, kids could not participate anymore.

It’s not like we wanted to help, to be honest we were kind of tired and bored after an hour of watching our cousin go overboard in her bouts of enthusiasm. I just wanted to watch TV. We left her to her own devices and proceeded to hang out with the rest the family and shutting the door so that we didn't have to see her working on this ridiculous doll house.

As my sister and I flopped around on the couch and watched TV for a couple of hours, a door bursts open with a smiling, reactive, and big haired 13 year old girl just beaming with excitement. Is it normal for a 13 year old girl to build doll houses using panties, crayons, and cardboard? I don’t know. But regardless, it was completed! We would all get to view this stunning creation, including my parents and aunt.

As I went into the room, sized up the house, it was fairly impressive. I mean, there were two stories, windows, walls, different rooms, and lots of colorful curtains and fabrics in pink and flowery patterns – and at the same time I found it unsettling because it was her underwear at some point. We all congratulated her.

My main thought was to wreck the wonderful situation we were experiencing. I mean come on people, it’s a fucking doll house, and do we really give two shits? I get the puppy and bring him over to view the creation. I’m grinning from ear to ear, knowing full well she didn’t want this mutt anywhere near it. I let him go and he proceeds to race toward the house. Tail wagging, and with a speed that could only be compared to my cousins same exuberance. The pup crashes into the doll house, walls tumble, panties fly all over the place, and I hear my cousin Jill screaming in the background. I lose focus, but am only concentrating on the pups enjoyment, and how settled he is in his new home.

Jill started to cry and threw some insults my way, explaining that I was an evil kid and I ruined her creation. She put so much work into this doll house, how could I? I merely looked at her – without changing my emotional state – and asked, wasn’t this for the dog anyway? Her eyes drew together, and she scorned me silently with all the words her religion taught her she couldn’t use, and one phrase popped out of her lips, “You fucker”. She stormed off, being chased by her mother who would not “spare the rod” tonight.

My dad has a look on his face; I think it is sheer concentration. He was trying not to laugh. At the same time he was quite impressed how I could mess up such a trivial situation, I think he was proud of me. You see, we shared the same type of humor. We enjoyed it when happiness could be crushed. Especially when it was of a false, religious nature. He was proud of his boy, and I too went to bed that night with a smile. It was a glorious day indeed, praise be with us all.

We were reminiscing last night about all these funny times we spent together. I haven’t talked to her in four years, and we are just starting to mend the relationship. I thought because of her upbringing, she would be one of the first people to disown me, and condemn me for my actions. But as it turns out, she is one of the most accepting and beautiful people…

I really shouldn’t have dismissed so many people after I came out. I mean, I had no idea what type of reaction she would have, and once again I was wrong. It just goes to show, you never know who's going to be on your side, when your life changes in a dramatic and harsh way. I spent many night hating these people before I even gave them the chance to hate me. It's not the right away to go about living life, if I am claiming to be well adjusted and put together...one more thing to work on Charlie.

I’m happy that the bonds I had as a Newfoundlander are emerging again. She would always ask me:

"So, Charlie do you have a girlfriend yet? You need a girlfriend", wish a greasy grin on her face. I would always suspect she knew and she was ridiculing me. It wasn't the case, I mean she was oblivious, but for me that was my defense mechanism.

I would reply, "No Jill, I don't have a girlfriend, I like variety...I don't want the same chick every night", with a look of defiance and mistrust. She would carefully weight the situation, and dismiss my words only to say, "Well, everyone needs a girlfriend, they'll think you’re weird if you don't have one".

Now, after coming out, she's starting to ask me the same question again, "Charlie, do you have a boyfriend yet?", hehe, now I can take it with a grain of salt, it's not about outing me anymore, or paranoia. I happily respond, "No, most men are pigs", and she agrees.

I need my family more than ever.

Leadership

A leader has courage. A leader is a person who rules or guides or inspires others. A leader is someone that is honest, and sincere.

I'm in a leadership boot camp at work. It's a program set up in the Software Department to help grow people into leadership roles. This program is over a month long and I have been taking part of the past 2 weeks or so. I am very grateful right now and inspired. I have a team of five other people, and Taner, who is managing this course. Guest speaker's are brought in. Discussions that take us out of our comfort zone is something we have to deal with on a day to day basis. Effective communication, self-assessments, interacting with peers, dealing with conflict, and so on. There are so many things occurring right now.

All I can say is WOW. I'm spending about 10 to 11 hours a day at work now. When I leave it's usually dark, and I have very little time for other after work activities. But, right now I don't care. I'm taking part in something which is changing me, and it's something I really enjoy. Some of the skills we are learning, I'm actually applying. My confidence is growing, and I just feel better overall. It's making me think about the future and what I really want in my career and life.

Taner is a great teacher. My work mates, are now much more. They are peers that I see in a different light, and I'm learning that none of use are really that different when you look at the basic characteristics of a person. And, I'm getting surprised constantly!

I'll keep you posted.

Still raining

So I always tell him the same thing. "Calm the fuck down, you're over thinking things", attempting eye contact and making sure the point has been brought across. I don't really think my words mean anything. I mean I hear myself speaking, I see people listening, but how much do they really hear? I wonder, what percentage of information is taken in by the recipient of a conversation in the run of the day?

I'm listening to Martha Wainwright yet again. I find her haunting. Her ballads just take you on this trip into her life. I can only imagine some of the scenario's and feel like I'm apart of the trip. "Dude, I mean it, look around you, take it in...Life man, it's far too short to worry about who likes who. I look around and no longer care, you know?”


There's this kid named Ross, and he was in great emotional turmoil because he's being rejected. "It's a part of life. People never really get or find what they want. I always see the situation where one guy is into the other, and rejection. Or, the opposite situation occurs. Or, they both hit it off, but it turns into a stale romance". I guess the whole point I'm trying to make is that, its life dude.

I'm Blabbering on. I could go into a limitless conversation about this, but really what's the point. People perceive life in so many different ways. I mean, I see it differently...I don't carry an ego, I don't have expectations, and when I go out I just want to have a good time. I no longer care about the rest. I'm 27 fucking years old. I've lived a pretty full and interesting life, so if Johnny doesn't like me at the bar, it's a fleeting glimpse into something that never really could be in the first place. Johnny's just not that into you. See where I'm going with this?

Martha once again is singing about being far away. Anyway, as beautiful as her story is...it's not really what I want to hear right now. I don't want to be reminded of loss, or struggle, or pain...I see it around me. Maybe I even experience it at times, God forbid. But I just wish that the turmoil’s in the people I see around me could disappear. They could let go of all these fucking insecurities and guards built up. I blame the community. I'm mad at the community for screwing so many of us up.

The Perishers: The Weekend

You don't know me.
But I'm sitting next to you.
Every morning, on the bus or on the tube.
You look tired, would it help to hear me say:
"don't you worry, Friday's not that far away"!

On the weekends, we try to get our share.
Of excitment, and of fresh air.
Trying to forget, who we're gonna be.
When the alarm rings on Monday morning.

If in the evening, all you do is watch TV.
Cause your too tired of anything else, you're just like me.
Just remember, as you struggle through the day.
Relief awaits you, Fridays not that far away.

Didn't it rain

So it is. Just like you said it would be. Life goes easy on me, most of the time. And, so it is. The shorter story. No love, no glory. No hero in her sky. I can't take my eyes off of you.

My sister is a very complex person. One minute she's happy and content in life, and the next instant she's clawing her way up a mountainous pathway and gaining little. When we were younger we were best friends. We lived in a small town, and we had a great disconnect from our neighbors for a number of reasons. One being we were better off financially. Another, we weren't outgoing children. And, the third and most important reason: we actually liked each other. She was older and bigger, and settled into the role of protector when I was a small kid.

Later, when we approached the teenage years of life, we were now competing against each other in the same school. We had different friends who sometimes overlapped, different perspectives, drives, and insights. I was the confident kid, and at this point because schooling was more difficult for her, because of self-image issues, and a lack of general charm...she resented me. One on one, in social situations we were best friends. We'd share laughs, sometimes even hang out in the same group, but it was fleeting. When we were home I would repeatedly see my sister trying to gain the affection of my parents by making me out to be the "asshole".

"Mom, Dad, all Charlie does is smoke drugs; I think he has a drug problem". She would say this with a tone of love and concern, while eying me menacingly and with pure malice in mind. They would look at me - I think I was 12 at the time - and I would just laugh. "Well Lisa, if I were a drug addict, why were you smoking marijuana with me last night?” Her eyes would widen, she would burst into tears, and call me a bastard. Storming off to her room was a normal response to her attacks. I on the other hand would than challenge my parents. "It's not as if either of you grew up in a Christian background", they didn't have the record to back up punishing me. They're stratedy was learn from you mistakes.

She always wanted to tell on me. Every thing I did was under the watch of her and her friends. Whether it'd be burning some rubber using dad's car at school, or doing something unsavory on the weekends for kicks. It was always a treat to see what her next character assassination would be. Yet, I remember so many times when I caught her say breaking into my parent’s house to have a party, or cheating on her boyfriends, doing LSD, and the list goes on. We weren't that different, but than again I had my parent’s favoritism, she did not.

After university she left for Alberta with her boyfriend who was four years younger, yet nobody could call her on that or she would take the skin off your back. She had a delicate but ineffective relationship and moved home about a year later. Now, we’re striving to become adults. She doesn’t have any friends left, so I invite her to hang with us. Things go well, and I comment on how well we are getting along, it’s really working out. And my best friend seemed to have taken to her also.

I have to explain something. The minute my sister has life issues, she tend to get angry and project. Once again, now in our twenties the endless loop repeats itself. “Mom, Dad, its Charlie, I really think he has a drug problem.” And, I respond the same way. Why can't she figure out that I could just as easy out her also?

Such a ridiculous way to make a point really. A ridiculous way to gain approval. Regardless, I did smoke marijuana, she did also. I am a university graduate with a great job and I am living in the best place in Canada. I don’t think marijuana prevented me from getting here.

She’s struggling right now in her life. She had a child with my best friend, when I went away to school. He’s a bum, she’s on social services, and her life is pretty messed up. I’m taking the hand off approach. “Lisa, I’ve tried all my life to help you, give you advice, and you never listened to me!”, and when I say this my tone is very unforgiving. I have learnt you can’t help people who refused to help themselves. She is a prime example. I feel bad, I want to fix her problems, but I can’t. I should phone her this weekend though, it’s been months.

It’s amazing when I look back how diverse our lives become. How different from the little kid with the overprotective sister has become.

Song: Ohia - Didn't It Rain

no matter how dark the storm gets overhead
they say someone's watching from the calm at the edge
what about us when we're down here in it
we gotta watch our own backs

Vast

I'll never find someone quite like you again.

Martha Wainwright : “Far Away”

In some lovely way I hear your call
Whatever happened to them all?
Whatever happened to us all?

I know that we've never met before
But that was then, and now I need you more
Is someone here keeping the score?
Is there only dying at your door?
Taking me down off this cross
Lay me down, down, down in the dust
Whoa, love, take my hand across the crowd
I have been digging underground
What'er remains is yet to be found
I have no children
I have no husband
I have no reason
To be alive
Oh, give me one

Green grass blades are all on fire
I own the crack that's in the wind
From your window I see bars and the birds
They sing and they sing and they sing and they sing
And the dogs
They bark and they bark and they bark and they bark and they bark

Ah...

Whatever happened to them all?
Whatever happened to us all?

Annie had two young baby boys
And Jimi went crazy, crazy, crazy late last fall
Ah....

A fucking speeding ticket

I think life is a series of strange, interconnected coincidences. I was driving to work today, after hearing that Canada now has a conservative minority government. A government that will strive to provide as many extreme social policies that infringe on our Canadian rights. We now have a government that is a firm believer in church and state, and will stop at nothing to change our social systems to suit their beliefs. A government that isn’t Canadian! We are embarking down a new and unforseen political existance here in Canada; where the majority is apathetic. I'm wondering how I fit into it all? Does it even matter? Even the strongest political minds give up; lose hope, because I do not have an alternative.

This morning I’m cruising at about 103 KMs on the Pat Bay Highway, which is normal cruising speed for me, if not a little faster. I’m making good pace as usual, and I see him out of the corner of my eye. A fucking cop and his sights are set on me. I get pulled over, and immediately I think of past situations where I have used politeness and charm to get myself off the hook. In one situation, I used having to use the washroom as a scapegoat, and it worked! One other time, my buddy's father was friends with the officer; another time my youth saved me. This time, it has been so long, I lack the sense to even think coherently about a possible escape, so lets try sheer intelligence and wit.

He approaches my car – after I delicately pull the seat belt over me (oops) - and I start with a joke right away. “I’m sorry sir, I would have noticed you earlier but I was making some good progress, all eyes on the road, that’s me” with a grin that is so me. He’s smiling and I can tell this is a cop who has a good sense of humor. He’s a burley man, with some chunk to his step. I always thought RCMP officers have a mandate to keep in shape…I can assure you; I could run circles around this dude. I have a feeling that this isn't an asshole cop. He's a nice guy, he wants me to learn a lesson, and maybe giving me a warning may just accomplish this!

I hand him an expired insurance form, I can’t find the most updated copy and a license with the wrong address. “Sorry officer, this is the first time I have had to get his information out in about eight years!” looking him directly in the eye hoping that he would please let me off with this atrocity. I try to make my hands shake a little as I pass him my information. Hopefully he will take pity; could possibly work to my advantage. “Sir, look how nervous I am, my hands are shaking” and I hand him the information staring him directly in the eyes. He dismisses me and heads back to his cop car. If I could cry, I seriously would have at that time. I don’t possess that talent – my aunt could cry on a dime. She would flash him a beautiful smile, read the situation, and elegantly burst out in tears if she felt it wasn’t going her way. Women have it easy at times; beauty and emotion are powerful tools when getting what you want.

Now I play the waiting game. Was I charming enough? Did I plant enough seeds into this monkey’s head to get off? Damn, I hate the suspense. It’s like buying a lottery ticket, having 80 percent of it scratched and having a slight tinge of hope that this could be the one. Oh my, I found my updated insurance information - a pang of excitement, this could be the bargaining criteria I need. I'm waving it out the window in a feeble attempt to gain some sort of edge over this situation. After realizing that he may think I'm crazy - waving papers and such - I digress back into my state of shame and self-loathing.

Well he’s taking his damn time. Jesus, are they doing a credit check? I’m waiting in my fucking car, so that the MAN, the fucking MAN can give me a ticket…when I look around and see other vehicles going well over 103. This highway is like the Daytona raceway, and little ole me gets pulled over instead of Johnny who’s driving from Langford with his latest taxidermy victim…why me? Personally, now that the conservatives are in power, I’m sure this is because I’m gay. I have stickers on my car, he must have seen it. Come to think of it, when we were talking I could have swore he was stroking his nightstick. He wants to bash me I just know it. Harper is already extending his hate on the rest of the general population.

He comes back and passes me a ticket. “Well, I took it down to a hundred KMs so that you won’t have to pay an absurd amount of money”. I’m looking at him in disbelief and really want to relay my disappointment in my new friend Officer Dickhead. Ok well, the ticket is written, what’s done is done, I can now rant at this fucking scumbag. “Officer, you pulled me over, I’m not sure if you are looking around at all, but there are tons of drivers who pass me going well over a hundred. Yet, you pull me over!” He looks at me with a little bit of shock. This delicate young man is voicing opinions. He only replies “I’m sorry sir I’m just doing my job”.

“Where else in Canada does a highway have a speed limit of 80 KMs, it’s ridiculous?” I almost shout. I feel my blood pressure rising, I am getting worked up. He is on edge now, knowing that if this continues it will only get worse. “I don’t make the law; this is something you’ll have to take up with the province. His demeanor hasn’t changed, but I see considering that nightstick again! I keep ranting and I bring up the elections, and I bring up the lack of proper social codes in Canada. He wants to get away, and manages to interrupt by saying, “If you pay this ticket in less than 30 days, you will save yourself 25 dollars”. Christ thanks a fucking lot; you’re a saint I swear. How could I have ever thought you were out to get me? He prepares to walk away and wishes me a good day. I stick my head out the window and I yell “WHATEVER!”, grumbling pig under my breath; start up my car and peel off.

I hate tickets. I hate cops. I was always a renegade. I think laws are created to control and take advantage of the meek who never question what sort of state they are living in. We are living in a conservative government now, I’m sure next time I get pulled over, they will notice I’m gay and finger print me, just to enter me into the homosexual offenders registry. Soon, they will pack us all up and give us our own island/utopia so that we can sin outside of the Canadian establishment. There’s no place in Canada for homosexual speeders now. I’m moving to Europe – most places don’t even have speed limits in Europe.

I'm still going to speed, you know. One ticket will not stop the excitement and pleasure I get from having a heavy foot. Zipping from lane to lane, in an attempt to save just a minute or two of mine, and knowing full well it really doesn't make a difference. What can I say, I'm a sucker for punishment.

-- The sky was full, with a grey winter light. And, each freezing degree made it's target that night. The pulse of the snow, was the pulse of twilight. 7:45....The sky will sing tonight.

Your reflection, my reaction

MY FIRST MEMORY OF MY CHILDHOOD would have to be a grade kindergarten class. Sometimes I wonder if it was even a memory. My mother always commented on the fact that I had a highly extraordinary imagination when it came to playing with myself. Nonetheless, I will go over the memory, even though it maybe a dream or fantasy of sorts. I was four years old, in the middle of the classroom, looking around. All I see are unhappy kids crying and looking around at these other kids with dread. At that moment, my only thoughts are of pride – I am a kid who isn’t afraid; I am on a higher spiritual plane than these children. I’m not sad, I don’t miss my family, and I am a self-sufficient individual. Ok, maybe these we not the exact thoughts of the four years old, but I assure you that is the emotional response I remember having. I am sitting in the center of the universe, and all the chaos around me is meaningless, because I am settled and aware; what is happening around me doesn’t affect me, it just helps me to come into my own, and be a much more self-actualizing person.

Memories are a funny thing really. In my case, I have forgotten just about everything in relation to my childhood, unless I write it like I’m doing now, or unless something triggers a response to remember such details. If I were to even to describe the first 11 years of my life, the first words I would use are: bland, conventional, different, scary, and insightful. I only remember insignificant things, like getting a 100 on a math test in grade 2, playing piano for the other kids in front of the whole class of Mrs. Buttler in grade 4, watching an overweight girl pee in gym class because the teacher wouldn't let her use the washroom...funny what we remember. Sometimes I wonder if I should bother even holding on to these memories.

I remember having at least two girlfriends/play dates that first year in school. One I met in the sandbox during a lunch hour. Her name was Vicki, and she had strawberry blond hair, pale skin, and eyes that contained intelligence and awareness. It was refreshing because in this instance I was surrounded by a lot of empty shells. Grade Kindergarten was a strange class indeed.

Yes, it’s true; we had a sandbox in our kindergarten class. I was never a sculpture, and creatively I cannot visualize any particular piece of art or concept unless I have something to base it on. So, my stints in the sandbox were to merely escape the other children. They were mindless drones. Any chance of talking about something remotely uncommon would only reinforce the fact that I am not a four year old. I am four years old going on forty.

“Ok kids, it’s arts and crafts time”, Mrs. Churchill would say. She was more like a turtle when I think back. Mrs. Churchill would be a firm advocate of wearing fall colors all year round. Her neck would disappear into her limitless collection of turtle neck shirts, which masked whatever shape she had. And her skirts would show off these things she called legs. Now, I cannot comment on whether or not her legs were attractive to the opposite sex. To me, they were legs covered in white or brown stockings, that is all. She looked and acted more like a librarian than a teacher.

She was a fabulous person though, a meek, smiley, happy, and enthusiastic person. Even during our art classes – we had nothing but cheap paints due to small community school budgets – I would become enticed to paint when I saw the happiness in her face. I would always think that OK, I have to pretend to enjoy this, because I don’t want to disrupt her bliss. I didn’t want to upset a person who gave me nothing but happiness. Who wanted nothing more than to show others how to become a young adult, who was a good Christian that undoubtedly loved the world that she choose to live in. Even though it’s a small town, even though her husband sometimes went months without working, she was normal and unaffected by the stresses in life. Maybe it was because she did find God. Or maybe she was really good at hiding in the shadow of her God. All I really know is she was a memory of strength, a memory of acceptance and confidence. She left a lasting impression.

Painting…so dull sigh. I am wondering what I should be when I grow up? I know one thing; I’m an alien to the rest of these kids. We don’t relate. I mean, my interests are different, I don’t follow pop culture; not a big fan of he-man or hockey. I’m sorry for your little lives, and no my mom doesn’t buy me that many toys! I don’t even understand how to play with these things…what are you doing? God, they just giggle about nothing, it’s very humiliating to see them like this - my peers are idiots. Jesus, they ask the teacher to help them in the bathroom!!! Ok, maybe I was kind of removed. IT doesn’t matter anymore now. Puzzles are much more fun, and yes I know it’s a singular activity, but look at the accomplishment. You have to spend a great deal of time connecting this puzzle, that results some artistic photograph that gives me some minute glimpse into a world so beyond what I’m accustomed too. I can’t even make crashing sounds OK. I really don’t know how. I will stick to puzzles.

Later on in life – in grade 8 my first girlfriend turned out to be Mrs. Churchill’s daughter. Granted it was strange to arrive at her house, and see the joy in her face when she saw me with her daughter. “Oh it’s Charlie; it just seems like yesterday when you were in my class, oh look how you’ve grown up into quite the man”. I guess she approves. Too bad she doesn’t know her daughters going to be a big dike, ha-ha. My first girlfriend turns out to be a lesbian. Kind of ironic isn’t it? Or maybe that is what I subconsciously looked for, someone as disinterested in sex with the opposite sex as I was turning out to be. It’s bad enough with the same sex, let along having to stretch it even future into another entirely different set of complexity.

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Come here, oh my star is fading, and I swerved out of control. If I, I waited and waited, when I will get out of this hole?

Time, pushing you down, pushing you all around.

-- Coldplay

A classic move

SUNDAY MORNINGS ARE AWESOME. Usually I wake and open up the curtains to review the Victoria Art Gallery, with myself in the front window in some white underwear. Sunday mornings I am usually drastically tired and hung over.

I have a pretty sexy apartment. Although, my impression of it is a lot different than other people's perspective. It's clean and tidy, and things are in order. I have a few pieces of original art work, it makes me happy...art is a dying passion. I so wish that more people would drop some money into the creative arts business - it's a reflection of their personality.

I always get so nervous about inviting people over. It’s a mirror into your soul really. During this initial apartment viewing - where people go from room to room and internally critique or admire you humble abode - you are on guard. “Ok ok, I cleaned a little, but I assure you I'm usually more clean (anal?)”, or “Hey, I just moved here six months ago so it’s a work in progress - gawd I love it so much”, and “I know the kitchen is small, but look at the view it's awesome”, and so on. I love it though. I just want some feedback. I’d like to hand out some comment sheets where people could score you on being hip, cultured, the lack or abundance of personality, it's cleanliness, and such things.


It was fun though, and I realize I do have a good space for entertaining. Once I bring more people into my life that mesh well together, I will start using my space to have company…but I’m so goddamn scared. That perfectionist in me - he’s so hard to let loose. The Capricorn in me will forever ride my ass. Maybe I’ll just buy a pile of coke and keep snorting up when I entertain. It will take the edge of and allow me to be the social butterfly I can be without worry.

After I've gained my bearings after waking in the morning, I proceed to the computer to put on some folk music. Today, I played some Innocence Mission, Kate Bush, The Perishers, and whatever else was picked up on random which I head for the kitchen.

I'm not a brunch person. I'd prefer to make my own breakfast on the weekends - unless of course I have company and I don't feel like impressing anyone. I usually have an espresso drink of some sort - a latte or cappuccino, some eggs, toast, yogurt, hopefully some fruit but it depends on whether or not I picked up groceries. A good breakfast is essential for the start of the day.

Today I'm heading to Goldstream national park to hike Mount Finlayson. I'm really hung over too so it should be an arduous journey but of immense reward. I got home at around 5 in the morning after having my friends Jill and Jacob over to my place. We were rocking it! At the end of the night Jacob and I head to Justin’s place for some drinks with some other guys. It was fun, but there was an obnoxious straight guy talking about pop culture – television shows, Alf trivia, etc so I kind of got peeved and started up a conversation about multi variable calculus, vectors, matrices, and it seemed to have shut the whole room up.

When we leave the party at around 5ish, I noticed that Jacob is standing at the door without his shoes. Hmmm, ok I understand he idolizes me, and has a new years resolution to be more fun, but the humorous part is that this is a very “classic move” for me. No worries, glad he had fun, but the subtle movements, the gracefulness associated with being a modern age gay – not to be confused with meterosexuals or trannies – is to introduce some tact into one's life; seperation from the things we detest in the gay world... He’s learning though, and it was funny, and I’m sure I will hear about it today.

I’m glad he’s making strides. You can really see a difference Jake! I really must say it has grown into a friendship and I'm glad! I'm glad that I'm not walking as alone in this life anymore.

-- I will find a center in you, I will chew it up and leave

My Grandfather's a Drunk

MY GRANDFATHER, WHOSE NAME I SHARE, was one of the first millionaires in our little small fishing community. In the late 70's mind you that was a big accomplishment. He owned a large club that was big enough to host weddings, movie screenings, and large dances; a restaurant; a hotel/motel; and another restaurant besides. I remember getting off the school bus at the age of 7 or 8 and having this intense desire to explore his castle. He lived across the road from us so it wasn't much of a trip, and thinking back I don't ever remember my mother noticing my absence after the school bus would roll by....Interesting.

My grandfather was a raging alcoholic. I think half of his life was an intentional blur. I'm not even sure if he knew who I was, only that I would show up and pick through his things. He had a cat named Brutus, which wasn't taken care of that well. Soon after caring for this damn cat, I realized why Brutus wasn't well taken care of, Brutus wasn't a people person at all. When I would place the open tins of cat food into his bowl, he would claw and bite up and down my arm. Which leads me to believe either people pestered Brutus, or the cat itself was pure evil.

The most interesting place in my grandfather's castle would have to be the restaurant area. He had nets all over the ceiling and in these nets you would find crab pots, massive jigs, plastic lobster and crab. It was a very tacky thing to see. But at the same time it was different and it did add some character. One thing I should say about my grandfather is the fact he did always go all out, and he wasn't cheap when it came to the business or investing in the business. My father on the other hand bought one of his restaurants - an eight year olds advice on the matter was never taken into consideration - but did poorly due to the fact he wouldn't invest money into the pit.

His living area I remember had a very cool jukebox, right in the living room. I haven't seen one like it since, and I was fascinated with it. It even had a disco ball somewhere in the mix of this mechanical design. One bedroom, my aunts, was kept as is, because her life was flighty and God knows when she would be back again. It was as if she still lived there...and maybe she did come to think of it, but she was never around. The other room was my uncle Gary's, who was deceased when I was just a wee lad. It now housed an exercise bike, and that is all. The entire place smelled of smoke, there was tacky wall paper, pictures of long lost relatives, brown carpets, and the living space itself seemed like a musty old bar with lots of light.

I would appear around 4:00, the prime business time if you ask me, when people in the city rush out for cocktails, I'm assuming - but in a town of less than 5000 the place was usually empty. On occasion, I would catch my grandfather shaving or something, he would always look over and notice me, then mumble something under his breath like "fucking kid", I would never catch what he was saying most of the time.

Our relationship wasn't in very good standing if you ask me. Sometimes, when he was too drunk, and passed out behind the bar, I would serve beers (I was seven or eight remember) and work the cash. People though it was adorable and even if they wanted a more complicated drink, they would take pity on me and simplify the whole process - and the fact that Newfoundlander's can drink anything helps - ask Grandpa. I would walk home with a big bag full of tips at times, but my father would always have this stern look on his face, and guilt me into sharing it with my sister. "You're poor sister should get some of that, it wouldn't be nice to keep it all for yourself". But she didn't work for it!!! Story of her life, to get everything handed to her with little to no work done. She's still doing it now, but that is another story.

Something is shaking in here

THERE WAS AN EARTHQUAKE IN VICTORIA this weekend...well closer to Sidney but it was an earthquake nonetheless. Four in the morning my friend and I were up shooting shit, and there ya go, the building shook. I immediately looked over at Jacob and I'm sure the color had drained from his face entirely. I'm curious, why do people get so freaked out over this? It's a natural occurrence and to me it's an exciting experience.

I remember the first time I witnessed an earthquake. I was new to Victoria and had just started work with my current company. A fresh newbie, sitting in a cubicle at the time - it was a nice cubicle mind you with a dome right above me. I have an office now, it's spacious and I can call people whenever I want...even my parents at the odd time. So yes, my first earthquake was very awesome.

I was in the office - it was noisy as usual and I even think this guy Rob was loud - that guy sometimes, sometimes I want to smack him. God, he really doesn't know how annoying he really is. The building shakes - it actually sounds more like a transport truck, like when I was growing up in that pathetic little fishing village - trucks carrying loads of crab or fish would pound through our communities at a break neck speed. It was insane, they didn't even make any considerations that kids maybe on the streets playing. I think they were powered by money and time, not gasoline. Some of the truck drivers were very hot though...it reminds me of some really good porn I have watched.

Ok lets stay focused here.

My brain tells me it's a transport truck - although that would be an absurd notion if you look at our proximity to the road. After about 10 minutes - and realizing there are no people left in the building, I rush outside to be greeted by 200 or so people. My smile brightened and I realized I wasn't in Kansas anymore. My boss approaches me with a big grin on his face. I know he was thinking, stupid Newfie doesn't even know what an earthquake is...well, he was right, but after that experience, I'll never forgot again.

Earthquakes are awesome, sexy, inspiring, and powerful. On the east coast all we get are icebergs, fish shortages, fights with Irishmen, and major hangovers...with a blurred representation what had occurred the night before. I guess the big one will hit at some point - luckily I live in a wooden apartment building - I hear they are safer :). My friend was saying that these little quakes are actually healthy for the tectonic systems below is...It's like releasing a little tension, letting off a little steam. Let's just hope the big one spares me...I mean it would be cool to see a lot of our infrastructure damaged - maybe I could take advantage of other peoples misfortune. The property rates could slide, I can be in there writing a check or two, picking up the pieces with one thing in mind - absolute gain!

Big news, two of my workmates - on a team of four mind you - are leaving. I am the soul survivor, they better give me a fucking raise or I will bail ship. I have to keep this team going now, there is a great deal of pressure. What's new?

Postcards from the Edge

... that's it, I've quit. This time I've really quit. I'm not smoking anymore. If someone came up and offered me a cigerette I wouldn't do it. I doubt that anyone will offer it to me, though. No one offers cigerettes anymore. It used to be a way that people got friendly, sharing a few hoots, but now everyone hoards their cigerettes.

My first party without a cigerette. Interesting. I mean, when I was a little kid I always went to birthday parties straight, but that was a while ago.

I wonder if anyone here even has any cigerettes. That guy Dean looks like he might, he usually has some. I loathe that guy, but he always has the best brand.

No, I promised myself I would not smoke any cigerettes, because that last time was such a nightmare and... but it was fun in the beginning. Sometimes it's fun. I don't know, Freud did it, so how bad could it be?

But this is new to me. I'm totally on a health kick. I have not had any cigerettes in 10 days. I don't even like it anymore. I never really did like it, I just did it 'cause it was around. And I don't think I was really heavy into it, not like Dean over there. Dean is really really into cigerettes. I would say he's got a problem. He can't stop. Well, sometimes he stops for a while, but he can't stay stopped. I really think I can. I think I have willpower, I just haven't used it in a while.

I've been inspired by Carrie Fischer's Postcards from the Edge. It's such a funny, great, little book dealing with addiction. And I can totally relate since I am in that same head space right now.

There's a song in my head

It's Friday, I'm listening to Martha Wainwright...this life, right now, is snoring, haha. Musically she is a lyrical genius. Anyway, I am drinking a Cappuccino thanks to my espresso machine and just relaxing. The picture above is of the Redwood forests I visited while down in California. My friend Rico is standing next to the tree...can you see him?

My work life

It's been a week. Gawd, I feel kind of free of this addiction. I'm taking St. John's Wort as of today to relieve anxiety and stress. I guess it's ok, but it has given me a serious head rush. It's kind of like being stoned or something. Maybe I should stay away from it, I don't feel relaxed, I feel flushed.

Work is busy today. I've finally gotten back into it after sitting here like a zombie for a week. I have so much to do now...codelines, software management, server maintenance, dll creations, and I have to do some coding in VB for a tracker bug we have. Seems like there are template file updating problems, software build numbers are placed in the template handle, and I need to write some code to remove it. Oh and on top of that, I'm updating our revision control system Perforce...first I'm brining it to a new server, than updating the application to 2005, than testing our python scripts and code, along with our build system infrastructure, than write some code that will mirror the server making it insync with the old box, etc etc...it's a weeks work. Why me? I don't know, maybe because I will get it done.

So yeah...that's the way I talk at work everyday. I'm a nerd, it's true. And, although that previous paragraph makes complete sense to me, I'm sure your all like what? And, even if I explained the whole process, which would take a day or two, I'm sure you would still find it difficult to grasp.

It's been six days

I have to write. It's this fucking addiction that makes me write. This fucking addiction that has owned my mind and body for 15 years. Yes, I am mad. It's been six days of being clean and sober, and I can tell you it's not a very gratifying experience. It feels awlful, my body is tired and aches, my head throbs...everything pisses me off. I just want to lock myself in a room and away from people.

On the bright side of things, it's been six fucking days. I'm very pleased and I know that this time, I can do it. It won't own me anymore. I can't let it own me anymore. I feel healthy, I'm more active (is that even possible?), and I can taste food, smell, and not have to worry about buying my next pack of cigerettes.

Life is good. Please send positive thoughts my way. I'm going to beat it. I swear.

John Henry Don't Say a Word

I haven't been smoking since Thursday - a herbal remedy. The only issue I have is the fact it brings me down - after a while of not smoking - I am down. Hence, the past entry...recapping my life, a life so different and unbelievable when I look at when I am right now. I could tell you so many shocking things...but is it appropriate? I think there are boundaries we are put up, and make sure that very few people get past those boundaries, for if you share too much, you maybe judged - only because they don't know you enough to accept it.

I think I am finally done with it though. I just don't feel like I want to go through the quitting phase of things again. It's so painful, and although I haven't tried heroin I hear it's just as hard to quit as nicotine...or the opposite I suppose.

My mother phoned me tonight. Our relationship is better...now it's my father who is non-existent, but we all move on anyway, don't we? She was talking about my speech impediment I had as a child. Some sort of freakish, incomprehensible, lack of pronounciation that only a few people (my sister, next door neighbor) could understand. My father who worked away a lot would have to ask my sister what I said...which I found to be quite hurtful.


Anyway, she wanted to know if it impacted my life in anyway. I had to think...well yes, but well...Jesus what a fucking question. Yes and No. No regrets Mom, I mean what the fuck? Who thinks about things like that? I lost the impediment around puberty and was accepted finally by society...it wasn't that bad. Once I could blend it. I wasn't segregated anymore. Isn't that the way society works? Unless you fit into some sort of social group your out...right? Survival of the fittest. It just made me appreciate things a little more, and I cannot tolerate people who condemn others. It made me a good people watcher and extremely distrustful of strange men...is that a bad thing?

I dunno.

"be kind, for everyone is fighting a great battle."

--------------------------------------------------------------
Songs: Ohia

Never look back cause I know what I lost;
lost a little time, lost some friends of mine.
Maybe some of them things might have turned out ok,
Can't save everything, can't save everything
--------------------------------------------------------------

How do you plan to take back the fisheries?

"Snap out of it, enjoy life, have a good time. Why do you sleep in until 12 in the day and get up and just mope around? What's wrong with you anyway?" this haggard and worn fat man would always ask me repeatedly. If you really want to know who that voice was and still is...that voice that put me where I am today, it's my father. He was a good man, just a little rough on the lazy. But you know what, the guilt he placed on my my entire childhood had paid off. I am free of it now aren't I? It's a great motivation to no longer hear:

"Why don't you like hockey bye? If you don't play sports your going to turn out to be a girlie man, a faggot!". He would say this with such an intensity every time I would hear the speeches of manhood, my stomach would cringe. Somewhere deep down inside I have a repressed memory of the birds and the bee's speech also, which was in my opinion delivered far too late in life. I think maybe at times he wasn't seeing enough action on my part so he may have thought I was missing some important information.

I stopped even thinking about the consequences of such questions. As a kid, I was quite good at repressing everything that could even attempt to make me think outside of the very narrow world I had created for myself. I swear it was only to survive. It was only to make it a few more years before I could escape. It was a scary feeling, to know that I could tell my mind I wasn't gay, and actually believe it. My first time consisted of just picking anyone, drinking heavily and letting go of all the guards (the mental guards) that I setup in my own inside world. At the end of it, I did realize that, yes I am a "girlie man", and next time I will pick a guy I actually want to be with...fuck what was I thinking?

My parents were typical Newfoundlanders. Sad to a fault, too dumb to know any better, and the most pronounced accents I could possibly hear throughout my life of travels. I on the other hand didn't buy into it. Newfies that ate the most unhealthy foods you could imagine (salt and butter galore), with bad taste, who bought over sized clothes, and who serioulsy impacted the life of a gay man who wanted nothing but to be trendy. It was a tough life I assure you, lol. Wasn't that bad actually...thinking back...wasn't that bad at all.

My mother would always ask me: "Why don't you have an accent bye? What's wrong with ya?" she would always question most everything, older and well lived, but innocent and depending on her only son (at the time mind you) for most of the answers to lives unanswered questions.

It's not that I was denying who I was, or for that matter my culture. I just really wanted to be able to speak coherently and I was a very bad conformist. I recognized the slang, and the way it caught on with the general public, but I could never bring myself to speak like that - being an outsider and all. In someways, I look back at my small community and the pour souls that lived there, and have to shake my head in disgust. Why me? I don't think a sheep could be any blacker!

I always equated feeling out of place with being above average in terms of intelligence. The smarter a person is, the more alienated he must be in these towns full of uneducated and sexist/bigotted/hatefilled fishermen. Mind you, it's not everyone, but the smart ones always leave, they can't handle it. There are no outlets for people that can think, for people who are accepting, for people that are more liberal. The remainder of the outputs are filled with people who are either not going to Toronto for work, fishing and/or on EI. They are a mix of badly breed genes and a poor taste for cultural nuisances.

My life...it only gets better.

where i am paralyzed by the emptiness

A recap of my holiday vacation

I went to Vancouver for 11 days. Hmmm, it turned out to be a pretty awesome time and I have so many stories, some of which will take far too long to explain. First and foremost, I'm kinda dating someone over there, so my first night was spent with Tyler. He's a great guy, we mend well together, but in terms of a future, I think we are both hesitant to continue onward. We are not cowards, I just think there is a lack of general spark I expect to have when I am with someone.

The days were nice, although it rained every single day, I managed to do a lot of interesting activities. I got a temporary membership to Denman fitness, where I met a nice guy and lived out a gym fantasy. I biked around the city - and Stanley Park - with the ground ripe with rain and dirt flicking up onto my backpack and face. I explored gastown, yaletown, downtown...the west end (which is soooo absurdly gay). There was also some unfinished business with a guy named Chad, we met up Xmas Eve and went to a house party which was kind of uppity, but the food, coke :), and movie (auntie mame - a classic) was just what I needed on my birthday. One of the highlights was the Picasso exhibit at the Vancouver Art gallery. It was mostly sketchings but the Weeping Woman was on display and a few other pieces. I have reason to believe that Picasso's introduction of cubism, and his own fine blend of modern surrealism was highly overrated. I think he lacked .... luster. I'm just pissed had to pay 16 bucks to see sketches.

I have a lot of friends in Vancouver, gawd, every night was a party of a meeting of sorts. I love it, and I was a total social butterfly on the weekend. I must say it's the only time I get a lot of attention, and really it helps me see myself in a different light. Sometimes after a month in Victoria you start questioning whether or not you exist!

New years.

I went to a house party with my friend Jacob. I was in the West End but had a mixed crowd - st8, gay, male, female, cat, everything really. It was definitely a great time, and I met some really interesting people. We leave the party after new years, and I dropped a hit of E, and proceed to "the world". I drop Jacob off at a club and encounter my Ex on the street with one of his friends. It was awesome and they walked me down to Granville. The world was absurd, packed, lots of hot guys but they are so stoned it's sad really. I flirted, fooled around but in the end was upset with the whole scene. I was touched by people who didn't understand boundaries, stared at by people who should know they aren't in my league, and rejected by men who find the scene as trashy as I do (although I played into it...).

I walk home alone. As I hit the West End (New Year's morning), I see fire trucks. The power is out due to a tarp flying off of a condo that was wrapped due to improper building codes. As I approach a local Starbucks (they are everywhere), from a distance I feel a friendly energy. As I approach it's intensified because I catch sight of these piercing blue eyes and incredible smile. Right away a spark! So we make eye contact and smile. I am so interested as I walk by I look behind my shoulder and he is still looking at me. I repeat this act two or three more times, and I notice he is getting up. My heart jumps, and I slow my walk because I know he wants to catch up. As I near the intersection he is by my side and I turn to him. He says hello, asks about my new years, etc etc, and asks me if I'd like to go back to his place and hang out. I say yes.

A complete stranger but at the same time I find this enticing. As we get back to his place, there is someone lurking in the dark. It's his EX, lol. I say hi, and hop in the shower and clean up. When I get back out they are both sitting on the couch waiting for me. Regardless, after some time...and after I entertain the notion of being with both - the ex leaves us be. I get to know Greg over the next two days. He's a great guy. I feel a great deal for him already. He is a poet, a great writer, an artist, and a special soul who has been through a lot, and who keeps going with such a strength that I can only admire him more.

That was my New Years, or at least the best part of my New Years. Meeting an unexpected stranger who will stay play a part in my life. I will keep you posted.