Whoa, Musta Been Drunk

some things

2006-10-12T12:41:00.000-07:00

Some things I want to do before I die.
1) I want to see Lisa's magazine.
2) I want to be approached to star in a porno movie, and them turn them down, but walk away feeling fabulously sexy.
3) I want to finally finish 'The Davinci Code' for real, i have been reading this damn book for far too long.
4) I want to buy a new chair for my computer desk. One that doesn't fling you forward and into the lip of the desk if you lift one of your feet off of the floor.
5) I want to climb a mountain, but first I want to get over my fear of bears.
6) I want one day when I don't have gas.
7) I want Juliette Lewis to tell me I'm cool.
8) I want to travel to far away places with a backpack and sweat stains.
9) I want a dog named Stella.
10) I want to get married.
11) I want to start a band, and be the singer.
12) I want to write my electronic music CD and still have Faust scremaing 'cluck' in the song "Chicken".
13) I want to make a tonne of money and retire at 45.
14) I want to fly.
15) I want to live forever (as a vampire).
16) I want my friends to move here.
17) I want to buy a new car all for me.
18) I want to win a 10,000 dollar shopping spree at HMV.
19) I want to meet my neice.
20) I want to see what my son or daughter would look like, but only with the option of sending them back if I wanted to.
21) I want to go to one of those fancy enema shops in trendy cities and have my arse flushed with water that smells like watermelons.
22) I want to make a movie.
23) I want to write a zombie movie (again, and this time good).
24) I want to go for a walk through the perfect forest in autumn where the leaves are all kinds of colours, and not just yellow like they are in Calgary.
25) I want to get a promotion.
26) I want to love my job.
27) I want to go to a protest.
28) I want ignorant people to get kicked in the throats until they're not ignorant anymore.
29) I want to sing Gweneth Paltrow's part in the duet 'Cruisin'.
30) I want to frame my best pics and try to get them hung on a wall somewhere.
31) I want my dick to grow bigger, and then wear tight jeans for a day.
32) I want John for the rest of my life.
33) I want to create a better 'manwich' sandwich.
34) I want to buy a farm and have pigs that love me, and get all geeked when they see me coming (without the feed bag).
35) I want to take an art class in something I have never tried, like glass blowing or stained galss, or pottery.
36) I want to tell Oprah that she's a shithead, and needs to mind her P's and Q's, shut her damn mouth and never again comment on anything that anyone writes, cause she's no fucking lierary critic, she's just some lucky bitch who made it through the ropes and now has a show where she tries to make housewives cry between laundry and bon bon's.
37) This one is a secret.
38) I want to rent Dirty Dancing.
39) I want to get into 'Bollywood' and learn a dance or two.
40) I want to be Bonnie Tyler for Halloween.
41) I want to have a great body.
42) I want to die old and contented.
43) I want 'funk chunky' ice cream again, I had it once, and then never found it again. real bummer.
44) I want to burn the perfect cd.
45) I want to stop thinking about all of things I want and revert back to the attention span of a hamster, where I am happy and everything is new.

peace

Dear Friends

2006-07-18T20:38:00.000-07:00

I have been a bad man.
I have not written.
I have not called.
Following is a list of reasons that may help clarify some of the factors in my lack of attentiveness.
1. That's me at the top of a "ride" at the Calgary Stampede. It cost an additional 35 dollars to "ride" this contraption above and beyond the 12 bucks it cost me to walk through a turn-style and have some 14 year old with acne and chin pubes say HOWDY to me. The ride pictured here was a very, very long piece of metal with 2 chairs on each end. After getting belted in it would circle slowly to the top, where it came to a dead stop and loaded people on the exact opposite end. Once they were on the entire very, very long piece of metal would swing in a perfect circle, from ground to sky. The seats that you sat on also spun, right the fuck upside down.
I hated it.
Notice how my arms are not outstretched trying to add some more thrill to the ride, but rather clutching my chest and hoping the gravity doesn't force out the contents of my already terrified bowels.
The nausea wore off by the next morning. The emotional damage is still as apparent a full 2.5 weeks later.
Aside from trying to resocialize myself after the trauma, I have battled other perils that I feel are worthy of some explanation.
The 2006 Calgary Stampede just ended on Sunday.
We won a lot of free tickets.
Every thumb sucking dork with a side part and a wine tipped cigar was walking around in full cowboy gear.
It killed something.
And that something was 31 years of masterbatory fantasy so refined that I had it down to a fucking art.
Now I close my eyes to slip (and slide) off to la-la land and Bucky is coming at me with a crooked smile and a tattoo on his bicept that says 'Made in Canada'.
I'm still mourning that loss.
Also, I am a pet owner now.
Pictured here is one of my fish. He is a tropical Oscar.
He passed in the winter time. My boyfriend scooped him up and dropped his body into a plastic beer cup well we contemplated funeral arrangements. Unfortunately, the funeral planning was during dinner time, and I could not for the life of me manage to choke down my meal with the cold dead eyes of my beloved fish staring at me through the cup. So, I stomped my feet and whined and demanded that my boyfriend put the fish on the patio until I was done my Mac & Cheese.
He did.
And we forgot the fish there for a couple of days. He froze. Solid.
Adter that we found the blackest garbage bag we could find, in honour of the colour of loss, and we threw the icey casket in there, with some coffee grinds and a coffee crisp wrapper.
His brother made it through the winter. The living Oscar is now three times the size of that damn cup, and wants to be fed everytime I walk into the room.
I have begged my pooh pooh bear to just stop feeding it, but he feels guilty, and keeps dropping fish flakes in the tank.
I have contemplated throwing it on the floor one morning before work and pretending it jumped out of the tank while we were earning money for its 'TetraCichlid Jumbo Carnivore Sticks.'
I'd get caught, I always do.
Instead, I spend my nights trying to love the Oscar, whose name, subsequently, is Oscar. Funny, if you called your dog, 'Dog' people would know you didn't give a shit about the thing.
I am trying to become a responsible pet owner. But I just hate the damn thing.
Forgive me.
I am nothing more than a work in progress, and lately, it's taken up a whole shitload of my time.
I love you all.
Each
and
every
one.

Not my words, but a jolly good read (especially for Dan)

2006-06-03T14:05:00.000-07:00

http://www.heptune.com/farts.html

Miikka

2006-04-12T19:04:00.000-07:00

Today I took my boyfriend to the local hospital to get his arm x-rayed AGAIN. He broke it three and a half weeks ago, and has had to go in on a weekly basis to make sure that the bones have not shifted from the good position they were in.
It was a pretty uneventful trip. The bones are good.
When he was standing at the desk making his next appointment I had wandered down the hall a bit.
When I turned around there was this East Indian man who was standing behind his wife holding the arms of the wheelchair she was sitting in.
He had said something to me, that I didn't hear, and he was awaiting my response.
"Sorry, pardon me"
He repeated himself, but his accent was pretty thick and I didn't catch what he had said.
"Sorry, missed it again, what did you say?"
He repeated it again, and again it was above my head. That's where i started getting nervous. I hate it when people are asking you something, and you have to stumble over what they're saying and get them to keep repeating themselves.
I apologised, and then I admitted that I didn't understand.
This was his response..
"Miikka Kiprusoff, you are Miikka Kiprusoff, from the Calgary Flames."
I blushed, I have had many a fantasy about hockey players, but never that I myself was one.
"Oh no, not me, you've got the wrong guy."
He didn't believe me.
"Oh right, I knew it was you, my wife and I were looking at you in the waiting room and I wanted to come over and introduce myself, but my wife thought it would be rude."
I giggled a bit and told him I really wasn't the goalie for the Calgary Flames.
He still didn't believe me.
"Oh sure, sure, I know we are in public, you don't want to be recognized by too many people, I won't make a big fuss."
I assured him that he had the wrong guy. I said that I was from Toronto and not a hockey player. He still looked at me like I was lying about my identity. Then he looked at John and said he knew for sure it was me when he say my friend with a hockey injury. I laughed again, because John playing hockey is funny unto itself. Then I told him that the break happened snowboarding, and that neither of us were professional hockey players.
He told me I was identical to Miikka Kiprusoff, and that "IF" he was wrong he was sorry.
I told him it was not a problem and then walked away. I could hear him whispering something to his wife, and when I looked back he just smiled and nodded at me.
It was an 'I knew it was you' nod.
I'm pretty sure that right now he is telling his friends that he met the goalie of the Calgary Flames.
This is a picture of Miikka....

Look like me?
Um, nope.

Death

2006-03-05T23:27:00.000-08:00

I got an email from my mom tonight telling me that my aunt (my dads sister) has been given 2 weeks to live, and that her husband has brought her home from the hospital so that her last few days can be spent at home.
Of the million and one thoughts that have run through my head tonight, one of them is that I am absolutely terrified of dying.
I remember when I was a kid I used to be so afraid of old people, and the reason was that they were nearing the end of the life cycle. They had lived a long time and were gearing down for the inevitable. I couldn't handle it. I was afraid of my own grandparents. Afraid they would drop dead, and I'd be standing there staring at a lifeless body.
When I got older and realised that one day I too would die, I cried for hours in my room. Sobbing that everything I had, everyone I knew, would one day be taken away from me.
It seems like somewhere around puberty I became invincible, and stopped worrying about death. I guess I accepted other peoples mortality as I was then able to be around seniors, but my own death, at least the idea of it was back-burnered. I stopped allowing myself to consider death. I accepted that it happens, i worked through the ones that effected me, and I subconsciously disallowed myself to ponder my life, or the end of it.
I mean, it wouldn't be healthy to wander around day in and day out wondering if today would be the day, and I don't. I haven't ever done that.
Maybe the reason I am so terrified about it is that I haven't allowed myself the time to consider what 'could' happen when i die.
I am not religious.
There'll be no pearly gates for me.
I have no idea what there will be, if anything.
As an odd counter attack, I am also afraid of the idea of eternal life.
Wouldn't I get tired?
Do I want to exist on some plain for all of eternity?
Again, as a kid, I was petrified thinking that there is no end, the whole 'figure 8' thing always left me with chills down my spine.
I don't want to die, but I don't want to go on forever?????
If I knew what it was that I wanted I would just hope for that, but I am as ignorant to the hopes I have for my destiny as I am to the destiny itself.
When I lost my virginty, dated and broke up with people, one of the things that broke my heart the most was the thought that if I was still alive when they died, I wouldn't even know. We would be out of contact, and their death could happen while I was out playing Yhatzee with my friends. How weird is it to not know (or never know) that someone you once said 'I love you' to, is dead.!?
I watched this show the other night called 'The First 48'. I guess the name is derived from the idea that if you haven't solved a homicide within the first 48 hours of it happening the likelyhood of it ever being solved diminishes rapidly.
I hated the show.
I cannot understand how the family of a murder victim could ever allow television cameras around while detectives are trying to uncover who murdered their loved one.
I think it's sick.
I don't care what the fucking financial gain is, there is no price tag that could ever be put on the horrific death of someone I loved.
Why would I want the television audience to be enthralled by the tactics investigaters used to solve my moms murder, or my brothers murder or my friends murder. I just couldn't do it.
No one needs to know the 5 W's they just need to make sure the criminals are, first, guilty, and secondly, being punished accordingly.
Excuse me for being all over the place here.
Navigating another tributary in my mind right now, I also watched some of a 'Fifth Estate' episode last week that dealt with Homolka and Bernardo.
I was so freaked out watching it, but for some reason I stayed 'Tuned in', and I gave myself over to information I didn't want to know.
First of all, fuck the made for TV movie. There is no way that anyone should, or even want to, capitalise on the deaths and rapes and torturing that those two crazy mother fuckers inflicted on people. The families of those girls have gone through enough. Making a movie about it spits in the face of the victims, and glamourizes murderers.
BUT, from the little bit of the 'Fifth Estate' that I did see.....
Karla Homolka is one crazy bitch. More crazy than I would have considered when the media ban was on during the trial. More crazy than I thought when the trials ended and more crazy than I would have considered with the bits of information I have heard since then.
The show that night focused a lot on her. Video tapes of her confessing to what happened with the girls they murdered. She actually said that it was 'kind of' hard for her to see the girls die, because 'when you're in a situation like that' you become close to the girls. And that when Paul was out her and the victims would have 'girl talk' and just laugh and paint one anothers nails. Now, we know Karla was the only one laughing, those poor terrified children wondering what would happen to them. And that sick fucking bitch is out on the street. She should never be given a moments peace. It should always be in the spotlight where that bitch is and what she is doing, where she lives and works, and what she ate for breakfast this morning. I would never want to find out that a murderer lived on my street and because of privacy acts, i wasn't aware of it.
I don't believe in capital punishment, it's barberic, but I do believe that people like her should spend the rest fo their lives suffering for what they did to another human being.
I could go on for a long time about this, but I'll cut myself off about her now, I'm getting angry.
I'll just end it here.
Sorry for the bummer blog.

Ce jour suce le pénis des chameaux

2006-01-31T10:50:00.000-08:00

I'm tired of letting the media blow its load in my mouth so I've shut the TV off and sauntered over to the fridge in search of an easily accesible snack.
I see nothing, but a bottle of Kokanee catches my eye. I swap it up in place of the orange juice I was actually thinking about and search half heartedly for the abominable snowman which is apparently hidden somewhere different on ever label. Before I find him I have twisted the cap that Columbia Brewery has designed for my convenience and helped me save the money on a bottle opener. Such good people they are out there in beautiful British Columbia.
The monotone humm of my boyfriends laptop reminds me that I am still to be job hunting and sending my credentials over the world wide web hoping someone will even open the file in which all of my personal information (and subtle pimping of myself) is contained.
I know they probably won't.
On Maury Povich this morning some fat guy was admitting to his diseased wife that he had been selling his body to both men and women so that he could afford the medication necessary to sustain her life. She got all mad and pushed him away.
"Oh, how could you do this to me" and other predictable retorts spouted from he oddly pouty mouth.
'Look lady, he's fucking some of the ugliest bastards you could imagine and he's doing it all so you can still wake up tomorrow and eat yer cream of wheat.'
Or something like that I would have said if I were in the audience, and felt like speaking. I just hope I wouldn't be on of those typical douche bags in the peanut gallery who just holler shit out, or prey they get applause after their usually poorly thought out comments. I just realized how quiet it is in here because I forgot to put some music on, John made me clean up my CD's off of the living room floor, and now I don't know where anything is. Plus yesterday I put on Madonna's new album to hear why people keep telling me it's good, and I just couldn't get it. In fact, it's hard to listen to for me. Maybe I'm more for the classics, I liked it when she sang about getting laid and then knocked up. Now, she just spouts shit out, and I wanna sew her vocal chords together. I wouldn't, cause I can't stand blood.
Lately I have been considering how eerily similar we are to the SIMS. We work, come home, fuck, make babies, work more to support the babies into adulthood, eat dinner and die. I've thought about hog-tying my boyfriend moving out to the woods and sustaining ourselves off of the land, but I know the resurgence of the 60's mentality wonuldn't fly, so I'm going to combat the boredom that has me nerve wracked by making more lists.
UNDERRATED SONGS
1. Run To The Hills - Iron Maiden
2. That's What It Takes - Celine Dion
3. Autumns Here - Hawksley Workman
4. O Holy Night
5. That song by, hmm, was it Sharon Lois and Bram, about the old lady who lived in the woods oooooh ohhh ohh ohh, and you sat there terrified waiting for her to scream BOO. And you always knew it was coming but for some chilhood reason that was never enough to prepare you for it, and you shat yer pants every time it came.
ANNOYING CELEBRITIES
1. Ben Mulroney
2. Raven-Symone (Has anyone seen 'That's So Raven'? it's a half hour with the Anti-Christ!)
3. Carnie Wilson (her first name says it all "Come see the worlds fattest lady who got skinny and made money from it, don't forget yer candy floss sold for a mere $7 a bag just outside the big-top")
4. Antonio Banderas (the worlds ugliest latin lover fantasy comes to life in this heart warming drama set in the spanish country side)
5. Tyra Banks
Aspects Of A Repulsive Personality
1. Feeling the need to tell others to 'smile'.
2. Referring to your mother as Mom, when you're talking to me...."Mom says", I'm actually riddled with shock by how many people do it.
3. Using racial slang and meaning it
4. Farting during meals
5. Telling people that you've never masterbated
6. Those people who just wait until it is their turn to speak again when you're having a conversation. You can physically see them hanging off of thier next words, and totally oblivious to what you're saying. I figuratively throat punch all of those kinds of people.
7. The double soy latte with skimmed milk assholes
Movies You Should Really See (à mon avis humble)
1. A Dirty Shame - John Waters
2. Mean Creek - Jacob Aaron Estes
3. Outrageous Fortune - Arthur Hiller
Top Three Things I Will Only Admit In French
1. J'ai eu un rêve que j'ai eu des rapports anaux avec votre grand-père
2. Mon testicule gauche est sensiblement plus grand que ma droite, et souvent odeurs des ananas de décomposition quand danse de salsa de I.
3. Je me sens assez quand je place un sale, chaussure portée dans mon rectum et applique le rouge à lèvres à mon scrotum.

The 7 Deadly Sins and How They Apply To Me

2006-01-24T23:57:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I went to church by way of my parents force as a youngster, and later in my teen years I lead children in the teachings of Jesus at Sunday School, still by the strong hand of my mother but the later as a means of escaping the sermon held by our minister. I knew that by being baptized I would be welcomed into the kingdom heaven so saw no real need to learn more about the bible or sit through endless blathering about god and this and that. I got some cold water on my forehead as a child, I was good to go. When I finally reached the age where my parents accepted that I did not want to continue as a member of an organized religion I threw church and all things godfearing aside. I never looked back either, until tonight.
I got to thinking about the afterlife, God, Heaven, all that shit. And then it hit me, IF there is a god, will I really make it into heaven?
I remembered the 7 deadly sins and I thought that some self exploration here was necessary, I'll lay it out for you.
PRIDE Pride is excessive belief in one's own abilities, that interferes with the individual's recognition of the grace of God. It has been called the sin from which all others arise. Pride is also known as Vanity.
Okay, but am I proud or vain? For me these are two different things. I mean, like, I dance in front of the mirror sometimes and think that my moves have improved, but I'm not ready to bust them out on a stage. So...Am I proud of my accomplishments as a mirror dancer or am I staring at myself and thinking "Oh you go boy"?
Well, neither, I mirror dance to prepare for a night on the town, and when I look like I have a few moves down, I feel good, but that's the accomplishment of hard work, not over analyzing how good I look. Sometimes I have handsome days where I look in the mirror and think, "Fuck, if I could clone myself I would never be horny again!". That is vain, Carly Simon might need a Part deux for that one. But so what, I'd do me, and love it. Yeah that's right, I've even gone as far as to add a picture of myself. Does that make me proud/vain? Who knows, guess god does, we'll have to wait and see on that one. What's next?
GLUTTONY is an inordinate desire to consume more than that which one requires.
Hmm, well, depends what were talking about here. If it's beer, I may be gluttonous, if it's Shredded Wheat Cereal, I am very giving, this is all so vague, it's like going to a psychic who never really tells you anything. Could I be gluttonous?
Sure!
next...............
LUST is an inordinate craving for the pleasures of the body
Hey, like I said in PRIDE, I'd fuck me, so I'd sure as shit fuck you. I like to have sex, I'd rather be having it than writing blogs, but you can't win em all. It's not like I roofies in my boyfriends morning coffee, but I do enjoy 'the pleasures of the body'. I'm starting to think these sins were dreamt up by some fridgid douche bag. "HEY GOD LOVER, you need to fuck more, than it would only be the 6 deadly sins and the one fun way to pass time".
ANGER is manifested in the individual who spurns love and opts instead for fury. It is also known as Wrath.
Okay, once I had a cab driver in Toronto treat me like a piece of shit when he found out the neighbourhood I was heading to was the gay ghetto. He was black too, so should know how it feels to be discriminated against, but apparently not, because he proved to be one of the most homophobic shitbags I have ever come into contact with. I was angry at him. I spurned some fucking love that night.
GREED is the desire for material wealth or gain, ignoring the realm of the spiritual. It is also called Avarice or Covetousness.
Okay, this one is not me, I am not greedy. Sure, I'd like to win the lottery, but that's because I hate my job, and working in general, not because I want to have more money than you. I think I'm a 'give you the shirt off of my back' kind of guy. I've never been a label dropper, or cared much for trends. I think Paris Hilton is kinda cute, but it's cause she's so dumb, not cause she's so rich. Oh, and she is lanky, it's not sexy, it's emaciated.
SLOTH is the avoidance of physical or spiritual work.
Okay, this one is me, I don't want to get my hands dirty, or break a sweat unless I am committing the sin of lust or exercising. Don't ask me to cut the lawn or wash dishes either, it sparks anger which god doesn't much like.
IN CLOSING
thank god I don't believe in you

It's so lonely I could pee

2006-01-18T21:52:00.000-08:00

I'm in a cave....it's dark in here....scary, and I feel so alone, if it weren't for my charming smile I'm not sure the people ahead of my would have been so keen on showing me the way out! God love the friendly cave dwellers. (Banff, Alberta @ The Cave and Basin) Catch the fire crotch in the background with the mint green jacket. "Hey, did you get that at the vintage store?" She looks like my moms birth mother, and I hate her, not the lady in the mint green jacket but the woman who squeezed my mom into the world. I fart on you grandma....I fart!

Why Safeway Suxxx

2006-01-17T09:28:00.000-08:00

So, I emailed the Safeway Corporation on January 9th to express my obvious discontent with being called a 'Fag' by one of the little part time kids that work there. As I said in the previous blog I spoke to the manager on duty and he seemed to express genuine concern about what had happened. But, I know that all the kid who said it had to do was deny it. "Oh no, they took it the wrong way, I never said anything about them, and I didn't use the word fag". Well, then it comes down to our word over his, and nothing would be done.
So, I wrote a little note to the corporate office explaining that I wanted something to be done about it, and I wanted to know what that was. Today is January 17th, and I have not received anything more than an automatically generated email that you receive after writing to the grocery store chain.
I had been thinking about what I should do next as I let days slip by with no word from the customer service department in Safeway.
This morning I read my friend Dan's blog who had written about a 29 year old Canadian guy who was shot in the head while exiting a gay bar in Detroit. It was random, a hate crime. A fucking HATE CRIME in 2006. Dan was talking about how these issues need to be brought to the publics attention, and it's true, they do need to be brought into the light. The only problem is that so few people would even awknowledge the tiny light that it seems almost useless....ALMOST.
I just phoned Safeways Canadian Customer Service hotline and spoke to someone who told me that he didn't have access to the type of comment I was making, and then he took my name and information and told me that someone would call me back as soon as possible.
This little blurb is taken directly from the automatic response that safeway sent to me
Our staff is available to answer customer e-mails Monday through Friday
from 7AM to 9PM (MST). Efficient customer service is our top priority.
We will research and respond to your inquiry as diligently and quickly
as possible.
EFFICIENT???? My boyfriend and I get called Faggots by some little punk and his lady-caveman co-worker and I wait 10 days to find out what is being done? Then I call and all I get is, "I don't have access to that kind of comment"??????
What the fuck is efficient about that?
I work in retail, if I muttered something under my breath i would be fired on the customers word alone, and, AND I would probably be given hundreds of dollars in gift certificates to make up for the offense.
Safeway.....well, they just back burner it, maybe hoping you'll forget about it. Well, not this time, and not this 'Fag'.

Faux-Hawk Fuck Bag

2006-01-09T22:14:00.000-08:00

Well, God doesn't, but little boners that work for the Safeway corporation sure do. And I'll tell ya why......
My boyfriend and I were shopping at our local Safeway Store because we had watched the movie 'Twister' the night before and the scene where the cast eats dinner at one of the leads Aunts house makes him crave the dinner they have. It's pretty simple (but fucking good) and consists of mashed potatoes, gravy and steak. It did look damn good, so when John picked me up from work the following night I had no problem with the idea of grabbing those staples and eating that exact meal. We got what we needed at one end of the store and then headed to the produce aisle to grab some veggies. As soon as we walked around the corner I saw a young man look over at us and say something to a female coworker who was at his side. I did not hear what was said, but saw that they were both looking at us and laughing, and it wasn't too fucking hard to figure out what the joke may have been. The young man in his grocery store garb also sported one of the worst faux-hawks I have ever seen. Maybe that's why he's burned into my brain. Anyway.......
We walked out of the area and John turned to me and asked if I had heard what was said, I admitted that I had not, and then he told me that the male employee had called us 'fags'.
My initial instinct was to run over there, grab his cop-out version of a Mohawk and bounce his little boy head off of my knee, but I fought it, and agreed (with John's cohersing) to walk away. We wandered up and down a few more aisles, and then I couldn't take it anymore. I had planned to say something to him, ask him if he had the balls to repeat what he had said, but again, knew it wouldn't work out appropriately if I were to confront the kid. I opted to wander near him, get his name and wage my complaint with the manager. When I got near them, the kid working there noticed me again, and whispered something into his coworkers ear, they again both laughed out loud. I was boiling. He moved around his cart, and I caught a glimpse of his name tag 'A-Ron'. Spelled just like that, which made me think that his parents must be modern day hippies and perplexed at how they could have raised such a homophobe. I walked back to the cashier where John was waiting in line and told him that we had to go to coustomer service and talk to someone or I would kick myself for a long fucking time. And we did. The guy in charge that night was very professional and apologetic, and couldn't express more sincere regret than if it were he who had the insult directed at him. I felt better knowing that at very least he was a fantastic actor and not the only person I know wasting their talents in the customer service industry. The manager assured me that the situation would be dealt with and that upper management would be made aware of what had transpired. I was going to leave it at that. But, i just couldn't. Tonight, John and I emailed the corporate office to make damn sure that the right people know just who is serving the public in their locations. I don't imagine anything will be done. All this little fucker has to do is deny that he said anything, and the situation ends. Admittedly, i hope we score a gift card for 100 bucks, and eat lobsters in the face of homophobia, but we'll see......
I'll let ya'll know!

Sweet

2006-01-05T16:08:00.000-08:00

Normally I would not post a picture of a good friend of mine looking like she were in the middle of either vomiting or smelling a foul fart, but, this dear friend of mine emailed a group of our friends a short video of myself dancing seductively with the Christmas tree on new years eve. So, here I shall post a picture of her where she looks like poopie. *giggling*

hexmas Shopping

2005-12-19T15:47:00.000-08:00

The other day my loving boyfriend took me to the mall so that I could purchase a few things for xmas. At first I was kind of excited, looking forward to the mad rush and grab associated with shopping this close the the holiday. I got into the car with a big smile on my face, partially because he and I had been joking around all morning and partly because I was genuinely excited at the prospect of finding a great gift.
Then we got to the mall, actually felt lucky to find a parking spot at the furthest point of the parking area, got out of the car and headed in. I got that sort of sick feeling I get in my stomach when I know I have to shop. It's kind of like shit cramps, but I know I'm not going to shit. That, and I feel like I could cry. For real, remember when you got picked on as a kid? Okay, well, I got fucking picked on, and it's that sad "I want my mommy" kind of urge to sob. It sort of tinged a bit as we headed to the manually operated door of The Bay. For about the first 12 years of my life I couldn't figure out what that logo was for The Bay, when a friend told me it was a giant 'B' my balls crawled into my stomach and I made mental note to never again ask another human a question with the potential for that much embarrassment. Hmm, no wait, I did it the other night. I was chatting to a friend of mine online and he said that he was going to 'Narnia' tonight. Now, I am still a pretty new Calgarian, so I thought Narnia was like Okotoks or some other oddly named small community in the area, so what did I ask...."Oh cool, where's Narnia", his response was LOL, ROFL, LMAO. I still didn't get it until he said it was a Movie called 'The Lion The Witch and The Wardrobe', then I just got kinda red, remembered the giant B of The Bay, and moved on.
Ahem, anyfuckingway...
We get inside and I see the opportunity for boyfriend and I to go our separate shopping ways and I give us a place to meet back. I head through horrendous crowds of people that I am calling cunts, faggots and assholes in my head, even small children. "Ugly fucking kid, get the fuck out of my way before I take you out to the parking lot and make you fuck yer mommy". I get one gift, then head to the Body Shop for another. Inside I wait patiently to get at what I want, which is being picked over by breeders who want to buy their wives just about anything to make them fuckable again. And finally, my turn, I grab and turn to the cashiers, which only 45 seconds prior to that had been visible. Now they were buried in a line 24 people deep. I know I need presents, so I take my place, but a few times before making it to the front of the line I imagine pitching my gift through one of the windows and storm out, of course, in the fantasy it's a bit gayer than that, and it turns into some hexmas-rock musical, and I dance down the main aisle 'kevin bacon' style. I didn't do it though, I just waited, saw a dad I'd like to fucking punch and then was the next person in line. Suddenly 'I wanna be cool alterna chick' is standing beside me and scanning the cashiers. She then notices me, says "Oh" in recognition of the fact that she is not the next in line, and then turns and sees the actual line up.
Again, this time an element of surprise added, "OH!".
I turn and nod the 'that's right bitch' nod, and then look back to see if any openings have appeared for me.
"You know, you shouldn't leave so much room at the front of the line between you and the cashiers or someone might bud in front of you".
That time I opted for the "Get the fuck out of my face" scowl and she turned to make her way to her rightful spot in line.
Before she had taken her first step a woman in line behind me, said to me..
"Not Bloodly Likely EH!"
I turned and say a small stout woman with an armful of beauty accessories looking up at me and smirking.
I responded, 'Nope, no way that's going to happen'.
"No way is right, she'd be on her ass before her purchases touched the cash desk".
I couldn't help it, I burst out laughing, then so did she. Apparently alterna chick had hung around for our short conversation and was looking at us with disbelief. The lady and I noticed that and laughed harder.
Then it was my turn, but I was smiley guy again, so I poured sugar and Christmas cheer all over the cashier. Paid my total and headed back out into the mall.
It was 1:01 pm.
I had arranged to meet my man by Santa Claus at 1:05 pm, I got to pick the time, and that's what I settled on okay.
So I popped into HMV, to look and see if I could find that song "I need a Hero, but he's gotta be strong and he's gotta be something and he's gotta be down for the fight" cause I heard it in john's car the other day and it made me want to be a good dancer. I couldn't remember her name though, I never can, but I did know it was on the footloose soundtrack, so I looked for that, but it was sold out. How cool is that? The Footloose soundtrack was sold out in 2005. Made me giggle a bit.
By 1:23pm, I was on my third circle of the Santa's Wonderland display and scowling a bit, Oh, and I think I got 'cruised'. That means I think another gay man saw me, and gave me a certain look/stare that says 'follow me and we'll go find a dirty place to get each other off, and then I can go home and eat my wife's meatloaf and you can go to counseling and try to uncover why it is you had sex with a total stranger in a mall bathroom.' I looked away and got the chills a bit, it was so animalistic, I felt like such a piece of meat, it was degrading, ah hell, I was kind of flattered, but I did wonder how he knew I was gay. Maybe this whole holiday has added to the swagger in my step. I needed something to frown about so I could get butch again.
Oh Yeah....'my boyfriend is late meeting me and I am in a swarm of children either loudly excited about seeing santa again, or emitting high volume screams of terror that their parents are going to make them sit on some strange mans lap. ALL of the pictures my parents have of me on Santas lap, I am wailing.
I was bitter again. And back to butch.
Then, I saw him coming down one of the halls with a gift in his hand, looking none too thrilled to be there. I melted a little. We exchanged horror stories, I lectured him on the err of his ways cause he bought himself a regular coke and no diet coke for me, and then we both agreed it was time to leave the mall. I was happier again.
I had to drive, because John is sure that it will help me learn the city. This is not the case, I simply 'turn left' or 'turn right' when I hear the commands, and eventually we get to our destination. Having to do it on my own, I'd be fucked. This time I turned my rights and lefts and ended up in the parking lot of an even busier mall. I was a little confused, but, I remember what a dick I was to shop with when he and I had to go looking for shirts for his company xmas party, so I sucked it up and parked. Then he told me I was a bad driver and I soured for the rest of the shopping experience.
I am not a bad driver, this is what happened, it was bright, like really bright, I was making a right hand turn and didn't see the car coming. They stopped (in plenty of time I might add) and then sat there and everyone in the car gave me dirty looks, they started to go again, and I giggled and gunned it out in front of them, they had to brake again. But, not BUT, had I not done that we would NOT have gotten that good parking spot, and to this very moment could have been driving around trying to find a place to leave the fucking Jeep.
We go in, a few shops, a few "How can I help you?" and a few "Just looking"s.
Then we go into a furniture store, see these huge leather chairs with high backs and plush armrests and they're positioned in front of a big screen TV. We both sit down. Just as I am changing channels a sales lady comes over and asks if she can 'wrap then up for us'. I chuckle, but am getting impatient with the whole shopping thing. Anyway, so we say no we're just taking a break, and she tells us about the price, the pieces, the leather or other upholstery available and the option converter storage space.
I want to kick her, but I just watch the TV instead and let John tell her no.
We get away. Then he points out a 'Hutch' that he loves, I saw it's ugly and chuckle in my head about the 'Starsky' I used to love.
"Oh, what are you looking at? Do you guys like that lamp?"
And she's back again. John says that we do, I guess to not have to explain the Hutch that we were pseudo-arguing over. She launches into another sales attack, and I slip away as unnoticed as I could be by turning my back and heading into another direction. John follows soon after.
THEN, we go to Best Buy.
I have this idea again, that it might be kind of fun to have a cell phone. So, John suggests we look. I remember getting there and looking at the very first phone and all of a sudden.
"OH, HI, do you have any questions, you can ask me, because I happen to be the bell representative."
And she's got those blonde chunks in her hair, you know like that box in the hair dye aisle 'chunking' and it's the girl with the dark brown hair and those big blonde chunks. Yeah, like that. Only her hair is sort of disheveled and she's got blunt cut bangs that are wispy and begging to be combed.
"No thanks", I muster in the best voice I can, "Just looking".
'Well, are you familiar with Bell?"
And I'm thinking, like what? You mean that we have Alexander to thank for it. Today is not the day to fuck with me lady.
"Let me give you some history", and all of a sudden John and I are begrudgingly thrown into the verbal tour of Bell Canada, from it's origin to it's competition to the locale of it its towers. My eyes were burning like they always do in the mall, and I was trying to maintain some eye contact as I squinted and blinked and tried to restore some moisture.
"What are you looking for?"
I admit that I have toyed with the idea that I might like to get a pay as you go phone.
She asks me why pay as you go and I say it's my commitment issues. She laughs and makes verification of the fact that neither of us had girls with us. MMM HMMM. Do you know what gay means you fucking tart?
Then, she tells me about some monthly phone plans and cancellation fees. Now, she's speaking to me in English, so I assume that she understands the words coming out of my mouth, such as PAY AS YOU GO!!!
I again thank her, but say that I am not interested in making any purchase today, and that I am just looking.
For real, that was like time number 7 for telling her I wasn't interested. Then she says to me
"So, do you want to have a look at one of our handsets?"
I pictured knocking her down and making her yell uncle in order to get me to remove her pamphlets from her ass.
I turn to John
"I can't take this anymore, I have to get out of here".
And then I simply turned and walked away.
I knew John and Bell Rep were staring at me exiting the store in a sort of wonderment, but I couldn't help it.
When John got outside he simply told me that I had been rude.
He was right too, I had, and I knew it. I just couldn't bring myself to give a shit.
Then we went to the grocery store and John made us Green Curry Chicken on Coconut Sticky Rice for dinner, and we ate it as we watched The Fantastic 4.
I was happy then.
But this week.....I have to do some more shopping.
:-(
Bell Reps beware!

You Too Can Be This Happy

2005-12-13T10:26:00.000-08:00

Look at the sheer exhilaration in karen's eyes. Feel the joy she must be feeling from her visit to Calgary. I mean, that kind of excitement is rarely captured on film. This is the kind of joy that all of my friends can expect to feel when the come and visit us in Calgary. So don't hold back, book your tickets now, with Karen as the poster child for vacations in Alberta we don't expect there to be many seats available. Order now, space is limited!

The Devil's Rejects

2005-12-02T21:52:00.000-08:00

Okay, I'm all for a good horror movie. I love the feeling of knowing something is going to happen, not knowing when, and then flying out of your seat when it does. Well, The Devil's Rejects is not like that. It's not a nail biter, it's not even eerie as much as it is flat out disgusting. I made it through about 25 minutes of the movie, and then I had to go for a shower and leave my boyfriend and my best friend to finish out the movie without me. I rememeber talking to my friend Lisa about the film. She told me that her and her boyfriend were going to go see it with another couple, but the other couple opted not to go because of a 'brutal rape scene' in the movie. Well, let me tell ya. This movie is not just a twisted horror, it's a fucked up movie that seems to delve solely into the goal of going too far. It's not so much offensive, I mean, suspension of disbelief is a great thing, but this movie is just over the top with brutality and gore. Not even gore, I mean, b-horror movies of the 80's had tons of bloodshed, but this movie, I don't know. I remember watching 'Seven' and feeling dirty when it was over. I couldn't imagine how I would feel at the end of this one. I guess maybe that's what makes it a good movie to a reviewer, it causes a reaction. But fuck me, I don't want to see this shit. The rape scene, the violence, the whole thing, it was just too much for me. I'm curious to know if anyone else has seen it, and what they think. I can't imagine sitting through the whole movie, and even if I could, to then at the end of it say that it was good. Ebert and Roeper gave it two thumbs up. WTF? I don't know, it was too brutal for my blood. Anyone else?

F Me Hard In The Arse

2005-11-24T16:24:00.000-08:00

OBSERVATIONS
on my own personal idiot

My boyfriend loves to shop. He rarely buys, it more the thrill of the chase for him. I currently work in retail so shopping for me is as rewarding as eating my finger nail clippings. But, I 'suck it up' (who coined that phrase) and enjoy the moments with the man I love. There are a lot of these moments, I love him beyond them. So, he currently has this thing where he is in search of the perfect fake xmas tree. It can't look fake (although it is) and must embody the exact nature of a tree that is, ohh, I don't know, REAL. He notices short comings in most FAKE christmas trees. So the search is long and hard, and rarely yields any real possibilities. I stagger up and down aisles pressing the buttons on anything that might sing to me and don the hexmas spirit (which I totally have). Have you any idea how many cool little animated decorations are out this year. I just saw a dancing and singing Santa, that's like 5 feet tall (sorry Cheryl) for like 69.99 here. I so want it, actually, I thought about dry humping it, but that's a story for another blog.
My boyfriend is a shopper.
God love him.
So he takes me into this posh home store, and I'm not talking home outfitters or Homesense, I'm talking like 90 bucks for a wine cork.
I get bored of the xmas tree chat and venture out on my own.
Nice glasses, nice tables, nice accent pillows (did I just say that) and then I see these words, they look like they're sculpted out of marble.
BELIEVE
DREAM
FRIENDSHIP
TRUST
I'm new in this city, and often nostalgic, so they catch my eye.
I pick one up (Dream) and flip it over to check the price. In my head I'm like "Oh what $119.99 for a fucking fake rock word".
To my surprise, a meager $14.99, and with the fact that Alberta has no PST, I thought "hey, I can totally afford to buy this shit".
So, (the man I am) I take it over to my boyfriend and ask if it is okay if I buy it, and when I get the okay, i proudly march to the register (which by the way was manned by a woman whose face looked like a road map, and who (by stereotype) should have been selling me a mickey of vodka) and display my purchase proudly on the register desk.
"I'll take this".
DREAM
She brushes a few wrinkles out of her eyes and begins to gently wrap my new purchase in soft and delicate tissue paper. So much so that I start to get agitated by how much 'tissue paper' she is wasting.
"Just put it in the fucking bag".
Yeah right, like I said that.
It was like 16.09 with tax. UNHEARD of in Ontario.
I was happy.
The shopping comes to an end, we go home and crawl into bed. My boyfriend grabs my cock and begins to pull vigorously on the shaft, I felt myself beginning to....
ah fuck off
The next morning Johnny goes to work.
When I wake up I stumble about to gain my senses and then remember my fake rock purchase (who am I to bag on fake xmas trees when I buy fake rocks with pretentious meanings?) and I snatch it off the counter.
In the bedroom I try to scope out the best place for it. I know I am not an authority on design so I try to REALLY think about where it would really "POP".
I find myself at a bit of a loss.
Johnny's headboard is wooden, thick, and rounded. It arches between each pillar that marks the end of each side of the bed.
I want it in the middle.
There are those metal rivets on the back of the stone word Dream, but, I think, design challenged as I am, that it would look best sitting a top the arch of the headboard.
The word is maybe 1 1/2 inches thick, the headboard, maybe 2 inches thick.
The word dream sits there perfectly.
Then, I imagine John rolling about in his sleep, whacking his hand off the headboard and the word dream pulverizing his skull and ruining the effect.
So, I stand at the edge of the bed.
Reconfigure the force of our fuck and with my leg apply that perceived pressure onto the foot of the headboard.
The word DREAM falls elegantly backwards and tumbles to the ground behind the bed. What I didn't think about until later were the marks on the wall as it fell. OOPS.
I was kinda peeved.
Now I had to bend over, visually locate the word the dream, and then try to find somewhere it wouldn't fall from. I did to. I picked it up, tried it here and there. moved it about the room. I could feel my patience and interest dwindling. But I fought through it, and came to the conclusion that we would have to nail it into the wall just below the dried floral arrangement for it to be best suited.
Pride for a job well done bit slightly into my left butt cheek.
I was confident that I had made the right decision.
And with that confidence I put down the word dream and forgot all about it.
2 DAYS LATER
I'm writing an email to one of my friends.
Enter John
"Ian, did you drop this?"
And he's holding the rock word dream in his hand.
My first inclination is "Why the fuck can't I get away with ANYTHING?"
Me: What? (like i didn't hear)
John: Did you drop this?
Me: Oh yeah, it fell off of the back of the headboard when I was trying to decide where to put it!
John: Oh, so it left marks on my wall
Me: (in my head) Zoot, that's how I got caught!
Me: Sorry honey.
John: Read the word
Me: What?
John: READ THE WORD
Me: Dream
Then I looked, like I was all of a sudden tuned in. It didn't say DREAM but what did it day? It was close.
John then (as a final clue) produced the extra arch of the letter M out from behind his back. What my nostalgic, pretentious word actually read was DREAN, drean, drean, I'd completely snapped off the end of the word during my headboard testing phase. GONE. MIA. It was gone.
I carried that fucking fake rock word around the room for a good 45 minutes, then set it down and walked away, all the while NEVER noticing that the word had morphed into something dark and unrecognizeable.
SO, for now, i call attention to my personal idiot.
I gracefully awknowledge that he "one upped me"
and i ask him to beware. Because i am coming.
I am sharpening my axles as we speak.
I will no longer carry DREAN around a room as i try to decorate. I WILL BE SMART.
DAMN YOU DREANERS OUT THERE
I PISS ON YOU!
and on my inner idiot!

What Gay Means To Me

2005-11-10T00:16:00.000-08:00

YEARS ago....
I went to a gay support group meeting with some of my nearest and dearest. A very good friend of mine at the time was quite keen on becomming a mentor in the gay community and thus sucked the rest of us into attending a meeting.
It happened to be around the time of the cities pride festivities so we painted banners to carry in the parade (which most of my friends backed out of doing).
But, there was a question presented during the meeting which later became the butt of jokes for my friend Dan and I.
The question...
WHAT DOES PRIDE MEAN TO YOU?
Seated in a circle the question passed from one fag to a dyke and back to a fag until it got to me.
Face burning red I spouted out something about not being ashamed of who you are. At the time it felt prophetic, smart, well thought out.
Now, my answer would be absurd, naieve, unfounded and ignorant.
NOW, i have more to base it on.
Lets start with my first boyfriend.
I spotted him in a bar and sent my friend Deanna over to talk to him. She asked if he was single and he responded that he was, but that he was gay.
Sorry sweetheart, no fish in my diet
But she told him that she was in fact asking on behalf of her friend.
Enter Ian, standing against the far wall looking around as if he didn't know what was going on.
Said guy told my friend that I was cute, and to have me come and talk to him myself.
I walked over, asked if he would be there the following saturday, he said he would, and then I said goodbye and walked away.
In the car I felt like a louse.
I was in fact.
But the following saturday I made my way back, we exchanged phone numbers and the rest (although short lived) was history.
The most predominant memory I have from that relationship is as follows...
We pulled into the driveway of the house that he shared with his roomate. A foreign car was parked in the driveway, boyfriend of the time exclaimed "Oh no, Kevin's mother is here".
I wanted to drive away, but I kept cool.
Boyfriend of the time opened the front door and walked into the house, myself following closely behind. Roomate and roomate's mother were seated on the blue faux suede L Couch in the livingroom.
Roomate: "Oh, there's Michael, and his new honey hole".
The mother gasped and swated her son, acting ashamed while she giggled reluctantly.
Boyfriend: "Kevin" agitated.
Me: "Hi, I'm Ian, the new honey hole"
Mother: "Oh jesus, sorry about my son Ian, nice to meet you!"
No one was more sorry about her son at that moment then i was.
fuckin HONEY HOLE.
The relationship lasted about 5 months, and the thing that sticks out the most is getting called HONEY HOLE by some obtuse fag with nil social skills.
COMING OUT
I told my mother over the phone, I was away at school.
She didn't believe me, thought I was 'pulling her leg'. I used the F-Word (uncharacteristic at the time for the relationship that my mom and I shared). When I said fuck in my exclamation, she gasped. Not at the word fuck, well okay, maybe a bit, but that was when the realization set it. I didn't talk to her or my father for months afterwards. Not by their choice, but by mine. In the end my father was cool with it all. My mom took me to a shrink. The shrink told me that all kinds of people can be gay, doctors can be gay, lawyers can be gay, just because I was gay doesn't mean I couldn't achieve my dreams.
Did that mean I'd be sucking Arnold Schwarzeneggers cock by that time the following week?
Not so much.
It meant I could learn not two be so stoopid ifv I weally twried.
FUCK OFF.
Then she made me say that i was gay.
Me: "I'm Gay"
Shrink: "Now say it like you mean it"
Me: "I'm Gay"
Shrink: "No, c'mon, say it like you really mean it"
I'm fucking gay, wanna throw a cock in my ass and hear me squeal you sick fucking twat?
Me: "I'm Gay"
All the time my mother sat in the waiting room hoping I'd resurface with a copy of 'Swank Magazine' in my hand and a noticeable hardon in my Joe Boxers.
I didn't, I just resurfaced the gay kid who had admitted it 21 times in the past 15 minutes.
GAY BARS
They're fun in the way that a car accident can be fun if no one gets hurt. Like the excitement of the rush you wish you could relive, but at the time it's all whirlwind and encompassing. That's the diamond nights though. It can also be trying to avoid the OBVIOUS stare of a man who resembles your father yet dressed in leather, like the BLUE OYSTER of police acadamy fame. Or worse.....
Creep: "If I get some cocaine, will you sleep with me?"
Me: "Sure, if you get some coke I will"
Creep: "Okay honey, I'll be back"
Me: running to my friends "Oh my gawd, you would not believe this, that black guy with the green contact lenses just asked me if I'd sleep with him if he got some cocaine"~!
Friends: "What did you say"?
Me: "I said i would, like, where's he going to find cociane here"?
I was in a fucking gay bar! I didn't think he'd be able to find cocaine?!?
later
I walk out to the cab, dude with the creepy contact lenses runs over holding a small bag with a drug i didn't even know you could get in Canada and asks where I live.
Me: "Oh, I don't do cocaine"
Jump into cab and drive away.
There are worse pick up lines, but, I don't even like it when people assume I smoke cigarettes, let alone snort fucking coke. i felt cheap. I fart on creepy contact lens guy.
STRAIGHT PEOPLE
It's a love hate relationship. As in, I love some of them, and hate some more of them.
Straight people: "When did you know"?
Me: "OMG, Just now when I realized how horrible it would be if I had to spend the rest of my life living with you."
Straight people: "Is there always a man and woman"?
Me: "No, there's always two men or two women, that's what makes it GAY you grain fed fuck stick"
Straight people: "Is it a choice"?
Me: "Whether or not I crotch punch you right now is a choice"
Straight People: "I'm so proud of you for admitting who you are"
Me: puking.....violently
Straight people: "It must be so hard for you"
Me: "well, it's hard for me, but I think lesbians like it softer"
Straight people: "How did you know you were gay"?
Me: "C'mere, I wanna kiss you deeply and with tongue, OH NO, I DON'T, does that mean I'm a homo"?

In conclusion....
WHAT DOES GAY MEAN TO ME?
Fags have no tact, gay bars are hit and miss, with too many miss's and not enough hittin, and stupid people are still breeding.
Could I paint that on a pride banner?

Why Being A Lazy Bastard Sucks

2005-11-02T20:41:00.000-08:00

My boyfriends not home tonight to make me dinner or talk me into going out for food.
I thought about just enduring hunger until tomorrow, but it got the best of me.
First I opened the fridge and saw one of those roasted chickens that my friend Lisa who used to work in a grocery store deli always warned me not to eat.
I pulled it out, smelled it, because of course a quick wiff of cold dead chicken will inform me of it's edibility (is that a word?).
My nose didn't seem to pick up any warning scents, so I grabbed a steak knife and began shaving off pieces of meat as if it were a turkey (only smaller).
I got about 3 shavings in and chewed before what I was doing struck me.
I grabbed the oversized plastic lid, sealed it up and returned the bird to the top shelf of the refridgerator (where I am pretty sure it will remain until it begins to rot).
I opened the little pantry door and saw the box of 'Smores' flavoured 'Poptarts' that I bought over a month ago.
I know they are preservable, but for some reason the shelf life of a poptart turned my stomach and I cancelled another possible culinary option.
I turned to another shelf and saw a huge, like costco sized bag of chocolate pudding mix.
Mmmmmm pudding....
But then I'd have to pour milk into it, and maybe even find a blender. That was too much effort, and since my health freak brother moved to Australia I haven't seen anyone 'blend' their dinners.
Nope, the pudding was out the fucking window.
You know when you get that shakey, hollow kind of hungry?
Yeah, i was borderline, so I went back to the couch and laid down to think.
"Should I walk to Burger King?"
Yeah fuck that, I'd piss the couch before I'd get up to pee, walking ain't in the cards.
***BING***
Nope, not some genius idea ringing in my head, but the signal that my laundry was done and ready to be folded.
I actually got up.
WALKED downstairs and grabbed the laundry.
Then, there it was, and I had forgotten all about it.
The deep freezer.
I cracked that puppy open with a new hope in my heart.
Then there it was.....
Eggo Waffles. :-)
I remembered that the toaster was still sitting on the counter so I didn't even have to bend over, open the cupboard, pull it out, put it on the counter and plug it in.
It was easy enough.
I WALKED back upstairs with an 8 pack of eggos under my arm and my laundry only a sweet smelling memory sitting on top of the dryer.
A few labourous movements and I had my dinner cooking and a plate and fork all ready.
I toyed with the idea of just buttering them and eating it like that, but figured it would be dry. I hate dry, I'd put sauce on everything if it was socially acceptable.
I'd have to bite the bullet and use MAPLE SYRUP.
Fuck, even the name of that shit makes me sick.
It's secretions from a fucking tree, and we drizzle it over food to make it taste better.
Tree puke, or blood or cum, whatever, it's fucking nasty, but, being that I am a lazy bastard I had to overlook it.
I opened the fridge again, tried to divert my eyes from the cold dead bird and spotted a 1 litre bottle of maple syrup (gulp) on the third shelf.
I grabbed it and it felt empty.
A little shake eased my mind that enough foliage jizz was in there to coat my toasted waffles.
Then I tried to open it, i was sort of holding it over the plate, which by this point in time held my dinner all spaced out and ready to be dampened.
I unscrewed the cap, and a big chunk of dried out tree spunk fell directly into one of the divets on the second waffle from the right.
I could actually feel my throat opening up.
But I ponied up (ponyed up) and shook it off into the sink, where i quickly rinsed it down the drain.
Now I'm thinking, 'Hmm, if it's all dried out and crusty like the corners of my old neighbours mouth who always talked too much and got spit bubbles going from extended sentences (much like this one) should I be eating this.
I went back over the choices in my head, pudding, poptarts, hunger, and then I just dumped it on.
I carried it to the couch, flicked the TV on so that maybe if I was eating funky tree splooge I might not notice cause my attention would be diverted elsewhere, and I ate.
All four waffles.
They were good too.
I hate that I am a lazy bastard, because now I am hungry again, and going over the choices in my head. But, the laundry is done, so there's no reason to go back downstairs and look in the freezer. I mean, if there were two reasons to go I could justify it, but there just isn't.
Maybe someone could just run me over a hamburg?
Please...

Insert appropriate title here fucker

2005-10-28T15:03:00.000-07:00

Ok,
So, I was chatting online with this guy i talk to all the time. He's a really cool guy, and this is not meant to bag on him. But, we started talking about why I had moved to Calgary. So I told him about my fantastic boyfriend, and how much I loved him, and then online friend puked so I started to talk about the job market and how great it is out here, and the mountains, and hot guys in cowboy hats.
THEN
He says who the fuck would ever move to Calgary?
I was like, "Oh, why?"
And he starts going on about homophobic mormons, and dead gays found in parks. Now, I assume that the dead gays in the park reference goes back to some old murder that happened here where a gay guy's body was found in a park.
I love how a body can be gay too.
Anyway, fine, that's absolute shit, but like that same shit doesn't happen EVERYWHERE, we don't live in a fucking bubble.
Fine, Calgary may be a bit more right wing, but there is still a gay pride parade and celebration once a year,same as the almighty Toronto.
And so what, i should go live in a gay ghetto because I'm afraid of straight people or ashamed of who I am am?
Fuck that.
No one needs to have their place of residence dictated by how many mormons there are in the area.
I say fuck mormons, and every other organized religion that tells me that I am an abomination.
If there is a god, he made all of us, and he made gay ghettos and he made suburbs and he made rural areas, and the gays are in all of those spots.
Don't bag on a city because you felt threatened there.
No one should be telling you where to live.
Live and let live, so long as none of them fuckin christians try to hit on me!

Survivor Stephanie

2005-10-13T19:28:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I missed season one entirely.
That does in no way mark my record as a survivor fanatic.
I have diligently been there screaming, cheering and sometimes farting at survivor, its host and its stars.
Stephanie, has been one of my all time fav 'castaways'.
She embodied, for me, what it means to be a true competitor, regardless of what hung or didn't hang between her legs (as is stressed so often in the show).
She was just a true alhlete, a true player and a true threat in the game. She never gave up. She fought to the end and never lost her spirit, although her tribes seem incapable fo winning.
WAIT
at this point if you are thinking that survivor is fixed, contrived and ridiculous, i ask you to kindly fuck off and find another blog to read.
ANYWAY
She was one of the 'old survivors' that was asked to come back and compete in this season. She 'had' something. Something other people on the show didn't.
I 'loved' her.
Or felt as close as one can to that emotion when all your confronted with is an image on television.
Then, diligently, I sat down and watched tonights episode.
Steph's team lost the reward challenge.
It was a goodie too, it would have stung to lose.
Bobby John, who is another 'ask back' from a previous season and who is quite possibly one of the most annoying individuals of all time was on the tribe that achieved victory.
He was noticeably moved and excited, full on yelling and cheering.
Then, it cuts to poor Stephanie, who is crying, upset she is losing AGAIN. Expressing her desire to win and wishing she was on a team with individuals who shared her same spirit. Admittedly, she is not.
Then it cuts to her walking through the Guatemalan jungle with her tribe mates as they complain about losing.
She is bitching about Bobby John and the way he handles a victory.
She said......
"I dunno he just gets's so gay, like he wins and then he just acts so GAY."
GAY?
You mean like a giant cock flies out of the woods and he starts sucking it, or bending over and offering his ass to its mercy?
What does it mean to get so "gay".
What the fuck is GAY?
You can sum someone up with that word because it is so all encompassing?
You can call someone down with the use of the same word?
I used to *heart* you Stephanie, but now I see that you're just another stupid fucking heterosexual whose opinions are dictated by the media. In the same stretch my first opion of you was the same. I thought you were a strong, upstanding person, a competitive spirit.
But, you showed me the truth.
You're just another dumb fucking breeder who bases their opinions on fiction as opposed to fact, and too ignorant to look for anything that isn't grain fed to you.
So, Stephanie, fuck you, and I hope you lose!

Top Ten Things About Music

2005-10-05T20:45:00.000-07:00

Here's a little personal 'whats for' to all you kin folk lovin, head in the oven, 13 pubed youngsters with 18 sperm....

Music is not dictated by friends, family, love, life, experience, dreams, thoughts, tremors, convulsions, drugs or a really good shit, but above and beyond all of that, music is not dictated by radio.
Radio provides us with a really small sampling of musicians, and all of the sampled musicians are decided on by the target market of each radio station.
You can pick even your favorite radio station and realize why that is terrifying. That slobbering, summer toothed wonder that you pick as your worst possible listener just bought the same ASHLEE SIMPSON album that you just bought. Her songs are touching him too, or he is touching himself while the songs are playing. It doesn't matter, the most important thing for ANY fan of music to do is experiment.
EXPERIMENT!
I am not 1/2, 1/4 (what's smaller than that?) the musical reference that most of my friends are, but, I know how to love music.
And it doesn't matter if at the end of my decision we both love ASHLEE SIMPSON, I BELIEVE, there is a right and a wrong way to interpret a song, a musician, a band. And if you knew how, my constant reference to ASHLEE SIMPSON would have you dry heaving......
If you feel sick, for real, talk to me.....
I appreciate the beaks and twirps of kiddie music, but I don't want to talk about it, aside from guilty pleasures, some shit I have would never even be written on a blog, but, leave me a note, I'll give ya my email, and we'll talk dirt....
AHEM.....
Fuck, now I've gone on so long about music and top tens I have forgotten all of my top tens and have to start back at first base.
Remember that? First base! I don't think I ever knew what that was.
Is it a hand up the shirt?
I dunno, I didn't even start playing baseball till I was 17. I know, I was a late bloomer. I got my first home run at 19.
WTF?
"shut up Ian"
Music......
what you need to know!
1) Never buy a CD for one or two songs and then only listen to those two songs. If you love them, chances are you love them for a reason. So, give them a fucking chance and see what else you like, nine times out of ten, yer fav song on the album is not the one you bought it for.

2) If you download a song, and you love it....buy the album. Support the band, at least you'll have an entire collection of CD's where you love at least one song on every album.

3) Guilty pleasure or not, love who you love. Burn CD's for your friends with their songs on them. Then, when questioned, stand up, be proud. Announce your support of said artist. You could be passionate about EMINEM, and I'd still be excited to hear what you have to say.

4) Never let popularity stand in your way for supporting a band or singer. The biggest losers are the 'indie kids' who drop bands when they get recognized. Here's an idea, use the radio play to get others into something more intelligent. Fuck radio play. Essentially, it means nothing.

5) Don't talk about Green Day, even if you like them or have a friend that does, or went to a concert. Treat it like herpes, you know it's out there, but why call attention to it.

6) When people ask what kind of music are you into, be able to say "a little bit of everything" and not have it mean just 'Lil Kim, Beyonce, Chiarra, Gwen and Missy'.

7) Drugs do not make a great album great, a great album establishes itself. I feel like I just coined a phrase, did I duplicate that? Anyway, it's true, saying you have to get high to 'really appreciate' an album, well, it makes you look dumb. Do you have to get high to wipe yer bum bum too, does it make blowing yer nose religious? Fuck off, good albums transcend weed.

8) Liking one album is not a good enough reason to back a singer/band. Don't jump on the band wagon if there's shit you know is not as good. Sure, Ani has like 17 albums out, not including shit she did with other people, but like, I love Ani, I do. I mean i wouldn't eat pussy for her, but I LOVE Ani, and I can still admit that from 'Dialate' on we lost something. You be that big too!

9) Don't let your friends stand in your way. One of my all time favorite songs is 'Hero' by 'Mariah Carey', my friends bow their heads in shame, and i giggle and fart on them.

10) The biggest, most important thing to remember about music. Your parents do have a clue! Some of what they listened to is genius! Try it again, c'mon, Willie Nelson, that shit is pure poetry!

I have nothing more for you, if you follow my teachings you do so with blessings, if not, you risk pointed stars aimed at yer temples! But fuck, whatever, but the new Gwen Stefani, see if you make it to heaven!

SEXISM, and how I see it

2005-10-05T20:35:00.000-07:00

Karen and I hung out tonight, and we got to talking (I don't know how) about the term 'nymphomaniac', and if it referred to a woman solely or if it encompassed men.
Karen's point was that the term referred to a person with a really REALLY high sex drive, and that that was significant for both men and women, and how both could be 'nymphos'.
But, i told her that i always remember books from childhood on up, and every time the word nympho was dropped it seemed to be hand in hand with a poorly drawn illustration of greek women in ripped and flowing robes.
I told Karen that I thought the term was gender specific.
She disagreed.
But then I asked, if there were a term for a male with the same sexual affliction, what would it be?
She had no idea, again pointing out the fact that the term was in fact not gender specific.
I told her when the cigarettes were finished we would 'dictionary.com' it and find out the truth.
here is what we found
adj : (used of women) affected with excessive sexual desire
Other definitions all mirrored the important points.
It is gender specific.
Now, i know I could have used the same trusty internet to find out the appropriate male terminology, but, it got me to thinking.
Why don't I know?
Why do I have such a clear mental picture of what a nympho is?
It is a horny woman!
So what is the man? Is it general knowledge?
For real, who knew the answer to this before looking it up?

High On A Mountain Top

2005-09-27T11:09:00.000-07:00

So I was in Banff, Alberta, with my boyfriend and saw mountains for the first time.
It was, for real, breath taking.
One of the peaks called sulfur Mountain had a gondola that went to the top.
There was a wooden boardwalk up there that lined the edges of the peak and led to the summit. We walked it, so I guess, I have hiked to the summit of a mountain.
There were quite a few protruding look out points up there.
Hundreds of photo opportunities.
At one of the look outs there was an older lady leaning against the railing scoping out the perfect shot. She seemed pretty deeply involved in the planning of her picture.
When John and I walked past she stopped and asked if we would mind taking her picture. Her voice was riddled with the twang of the deep American south.
She was cute though, maybe mid 60's with sweet looking eyes and a nice smile. We said it wouldn't be a problem at all, and she handed the camera to John.
'Alriight, I'd like to have me standing by that there railing, and have the resterant and the mountins in the baackground.'
She explained to John that the camera was 'panneramic' and showed him some of the key points that she wanted in the picture. Then she made her way over to the spot she had decided on and leaned on the railing in full bent elbow, I am about to be in a picture mode.
As she got there John said he'd just wait a minute for the people who were climbing down the stairs to move along so they wouldn't be in the picture.
She turned to her right and spotted two women looking at the view, and completely overlooked the people to her left that John had been talking about.
The two ladies to the right were in no way interfering with the shot.
She continued to stare at them. Dead pan.
I felt my face flush a bit.
The two ladies were talking.
'C'est la montagne la plus belle, il fait mon vagin verser le liquide comme une chute d'eau!'.
They were French.
The older American belle just kept staring at them as if they were to turn around, see the look in her eyes and know instantly that they were ruining a very well thought out picture.
They didn't turn around.
Ol' Yankee Sue took matters into her own hands.
'Cuse me ya'll, ya'll mind moving, he's bout to shoot me'.
The two French ladies looked at her, baffled.
'Je n'ai pas entendu un tel mauvais anglais depuis que nous nous sommes perdus Ã Los Angeles centrale du sud.'
Yankee then looked at John with an expression of disbelief that they couldn't understand what she was saying.
I speak the fucking language, and I had to strain to figure her out!
Then she repeated what she had said about wanting her picture taken but added long sweeping arm movements to provide them with a visual aid of what she wanted.
if I didn't speak the language I would have thought she was doing Tai Chi.
TheFrenchh ladies took one small step.
They might have thought she wanted them to be in the picture, because at this point they had spotted John and the camera.
They looked worried.
Then, the American lady walked over to where she wanted them to stand, out of the picture, and made come here motions with her fingers.
'Could-ya'll-come-over-here'.
Because of course, if you don't speak a language the best thing to do is have the person slow down what they are saying, and then it's easier to understand!??
At this point I had to walk a few steps in the other direction and turn my back.
If I had the cameraIi would have begun to laugh at this point.
Instead, I was 10 paces behind John in the opposite direction, laughing.
I didn't see it happen but the twoFrenchh ladies finally caught on to what 'they all' was being asked to do, and they walked out of the area saying 'Oh je suis dÃ©solÃ©, nous excuse'.
To which tAmericancan woman responded
'Ah, thank you, thank you....Gracias'
She fucking said Gracias to a couple of very obviousFrenchnch women.
Because you know, if someone is speaking in another language it is most likely Spanish?!??
I had to start walking away.
John gave back the camera and caught up to me.
'Oh my god, did you hear that'?
I had, OH, I had!
I had to stop for a minute to collect myself.
The cute little woman became something dark and ugly after that picture experience.
It was almost frightening to see the way that she related to people.
Eyes rolling, sighing, and upset that they weren't able to speak HER language.
Then, at the end of it all to assume they were speakiSpanishish and to thank them in that language.
Well, between laughing at heI, i thought about kicking her.
Maybe it was the altitude that made her dumb.....
Oh but we all know it wasn't!

IN RESPONSE TO KARMEN

2005-09-13T19:38:00.000-07:00

Mon AMI Karmen wrote a blog about 'trends' that she was glad that she never bought into. I have been thinking about that since I read her blog.
There are some sick fucking trends out there....
I want to name a few more

1) Cabbage Patch Kids - My mom told me that Cabbage Patch Kids were for 'little girls' I tried to argue the point, but my penis rendered me the loser of the great debate. Thank God (Allah, Yaweh, Jebus, El Shaddai, Jehovah, Jah) they introduced the GARBAGE PAIL KIDS; Flat Pat, Atom Bomb and Up Chuck saved my childhood insecurities surrounding my psycho sexual development.

2) Chip N' Pepper - Remember them, they came before hyper colour t shirts, and were all about the waves. Only, there were no waves in southern Ontario, just great lakes that burped. I have no pictures of myself donning Chip N' Pepper. It's the little things that help me deal with the crisis of my childhood.

3) Cock Rings - Ok, they're used to help a man maintain a hardon. I am good all on my own. Aesthetically, it's a piece of metal that wraps around the part of my junk that no one pays attention to anyway. In the long run, cheaper than viagra, honestly, more embarrassing than pushing hemorrhoids back into your ass.

4) Celine Dion - She did for titanic what she did for Chrysler. Wait, I think I just farted on Celine Dion! Oh My God, I did, she's so gasping right now.

5) Orbit- Does anyone remember this drink? I have no idea if it was carbonated? But it had these little jell balls that floated (orbited) around inside of it. I think Pepsi backed it, but it might have been coke, which would be the drug that the development team would have been using when they thought introducing it would be cool.

6) Heroin - Courtney Love is a mommy????????

7) Ska - WTF? Some of it was good. SKA FACE! COME BACK! Some people are so dumb.

8) GAY - C'mon, it was sooo cool like 4 years ago. Everyone wanted to be gay. I still am, but the shadows have thickened and the cool kids moved on to anime and then heroin (see # 6)

9) Looney Toon Character Sweat Shirts - This one was reserved solely for WHITE TRASH; "Oh jesus Mike, youze gonna get me dat sweater wit Mickey throwing dat baseball for christmas dis year, I knows hes gonna win dat ball game"

10) Len, Afroman, LFO, please, if you own these CD's educate yerself, maybe if you did you'd know I purposely spelled yerself wrong, I am merely trying to relate. But wait, you're a loser, and I am not. Go back to HMV and beg for forgiveness.

11) The Male Condom - Hmm, or a Miracle Mart bag will do in a pinch. We should all be having anal sex anyway, just to piss of god.

12) Tony Little - YOU CAN DOOOOOO IT! Long blonde pony tail, always bouncing around, c'mon, he's number 8 cool like years ago.

13) Ian - "ME??????" Oh My God, my acceptance speech is so short right now, but thank you all for voting. Let me start by thanking god, who made me gay, condemned me for it and then sicked all of christianity on my ass. I LOVE A CHALLENGE. Then I'd like to thank my mom, who always taught me that working hard reaped benefits, and that being a lazy fucking asshole who just sat around and played on the computer all fucking day made me a bad man. Obviously, my dad comes next, but he agrees with my mom, and I am scared to comment. Then I would like to thank my school teachers who said I would never amount to anything. YOU WERE RIGHT, only I blame societal norms and the current job market for my current inability to find acceptance in the 'career industry'. I would also like to thank Wayne, who taught me that men can fuck more than your ass. And to Mike who taught me that ass is a mere synonym for soul. And for counseling who said that soul wasn't just a musical movement in the 19th century. I'd like to thank ants for moving so quickly and making me wonder why I can't get that kind of motivation. I want to thank my ex's for scaring me. i want to thank my job for forcing me to realize that the general public is not cool. And most of all, I want to thank my friends who are so fucking odd that I can tell them all od this, and all we'd do is giggle (or get really drunk and touch one another's privates). Most of all, I'd like to thank Karmen, for her trends, and making me think of mine. Me love Karmen.

So Glad I'm Not An American

2005-09-07T14:59:00.000-07:00

New Orleans is full of crazy black people who shoot at rescue workers because all black people own guns and use them freely.
Right?
Well, it's the truth if you watch the nightly news.
It's true for all the American (and Canadian) assholes who are too FUCKING STUPID to see through the typical media bullshit.
Yahoo posted two seperate stories about the nightmare in Louisiana, Both had pictures of people wading through waist deep waters carrying boxes of food. Both pictures looked as if they could have been taken in the same area, water was about all you could see.
The only difference was that one of the photos featured black people carrying food, and the other picture showed white people carrying the same shit.
The stories were much different.
The story that was accompanied by the picture of the black people dealt with looters and criminals.
The story that showed the white people carrying food dealt with how desperate the situation had become, and how hard it was for people to find something to eat.
THE SAME FUCKING PICTURES.
Now first of all, there is no such thing as 'LOOTING' where food is concerned, you can't be stealing if you're trying to survive, to actually make it through another night.
FUCK YOU for saying that anyone is looting when they're taking something to eat!
Does it make more sense for the food to got to go to waste?
Is it more appropriate for people to die because they didn't have the 3 bucks for the loaf of bread?
Just thanks god that American law falls in the favour of the white man, we don't loot, we survive, it's just them fucking blacks that steal.
?????????
I saw something on Canadian news where three young dudes on vacation in New orleans with one of the kids mothers got caught in the middle, taken to the Astrodome, and eventually rescued from there on charter buses.
To get to these buses they were snuck out of the back door of the stadium and through tunnels, but before they got to the safety of the bus they had to walk through a 'BLACK NEIGHBOURHOOD' and the fucking police told them all not to make eye contact, not to answer anything that anyone said, and just keep walking.
Because, of course, black people are like rabid dogs, if you look one of them in the eye, they'll attack.
Imagine standing on your street, literally starving to death, the bodies of your neighbours floating by, and then seeing people walk by and get on a nice air conditioned bus and driving off to safety. You are just left there, to die, or be forced from your home. Of course, you have no insurance, so what you are leaving you will never be able to come back to. If you have a dog, that you love, you will have to leave it behind when you are forced out. There's no promise or hope for you. Your government hates you (for more reasons than just not voting republican).
I'd be pretty fucking pissed too.
Would I grab my gun and start shooting at people?
Well, no.
BUT NEITHER ARE THEY!!!!!!!!!!!
These crazy black folks are really just law abiding memebers of the community that fall under the poverty line. They don't have guns, and are not shooting at the 'people trying to help them'. They're just unlucky enough to live in a country that doesn't care about them, no, THAT HATES THEM, because of the colour of their skin.
For that reason, they are dying, dead, or hopeless.
Where's the fucking president anyway?
No, never mind, I don't even want to get into that fuck.
If it were middle class white folks down there, the government would have reacted a lot sooner. The relief would have come a lot faster, and a lot less people would have lost their lives or suffered.
Oh, and as a side note, the 'shooters' well, there were tough gang bangers (of all colours) in the Astrodome, as well as real Felons and Criminals who had to be taken out of the prisons that were flooding. So, who was doing the shooting I wonder? Well, don't turn to the news to tell you anything, because it's all bullshit. Figure it out for yourself.
And when you do, let me know how rascism is still so brutally destructive and obviously rampant in 2006?

Fudgey Puffs

2005-09-06T16:59:00.000-07:00

I have been sitting here thinking of something I could write about, and nothing has come to me.
One of my best friends told me that it was time that I updated my blog, so I got all full of pressure, and began brain storming.
My brain failed me.
The only thing that came to mind was these two words...
'FUDGEY PUFFS'
So, i got to thinking, 'where did that come from'.
As close as i can tell the words Fudgey Puffs originated in France, Le Poof de Chocofudgez. Loosely translated 'The Plume Shaped Domes of Chocolate Fudge'.
It wasn't until French Immigrants came to Canada that this innocent term became something dark and disfigured.
Now, 'Fudgey Puffs' is a derogitory slang term used in reference to a homosexual male.
"Look at that fucking FUDGEY PUFF, he walks like a bitch".
Thankfully the Canadian Homosexual has a tough skin (perhaps because of the bitter cold winters).
When questioned about the use of the term one homosexual said;
"I'm so not caring right now, it's just so dumb. I mean, these big brutish men are just so silly with their terms, i mean, what does fudge have to do with being gay, like do we have a sweet tooth?, Like Whatever eh!"
Research suggests that when used in slang the fudge is to represent fecal matter, as in Fudge Packer.
When we asked a smarter gay man this is what he had to say;
"Fudgey Puff? What the fuck do I care if some toothless breeder is sitting around swilling beer with his mother/girlfriend and calling me something that sounds like a Mr. Christie fucking cookie?"
Further research stated that yes, 'Fudgey Puff' did in fact sound like a dessert biscuit.

sources
The Gay Canadian Handbook Of Words That Should Offend Us When We Hear Them,
The Canadian Reference Guide To Funny Things To Scream At Fags,
The Christian Bible,
Mr. Christies Cooks With Fudge

Cross Marketing Smells Like My Last Dump

2005-08-29T18:56:00.000-07:00

When Celine Dion released a CD that had the Chrysler logo adorned on the back inlay I felt a little sick.
More than sick maybe, she's a Canadian artist. I don't want to own her CD's, or pay hundreds of dollars to see her in concert, but I did want to be proud of her as a French girl who came from my country and made it big.
Then, she did make it big, HUGE even.
She had more money than I will probably ever see in my life.
Enough to sustain the life of a Hilton party girl.
And then she sold out, and I don't care what any of you fuckers say, she JUMPED THE FUCKING SHARK.
"As a singer, I've had many opportunities to travel, and one thing I've learned is that through my music, I can be accepted by people all over the world. I often wonder why so many of us can't accept people who are different here, in our country? It's just not fair to be prejudiced against those whose race, religion or colour aren't the same as ours."
Okay, I take it back, Celine Dion is a fucking MORON.
My apologies to the Chrysler Corporation.
You guys totally got butt fucked.
BUT.....
What about Snoop D-O-Double-G?
That mother fucker sold out For Schizzle when he decided that he wanted to endorse Dodge. Better yet, when the fuck did Dodge's target market shift so dramatically? I must have been napping.
C'mon snoop. You're an artist, and a porn producer (has anyone even seen 'Doggy Style?)
ahem
anyway, Why does Hip-Hop sell a Dodge?
It doesn't!
It fucking sells yogurt drinks for kids. How could I have forgotten the commercial with the cartoon tiger spinning some serious beats for a bunch or prepubescent minors who crave a good cold yogurt beverage. XL, that's the shit yo!
Are we not supposed to see that this commercial mimics perfectly EVERY beer and liquor commercial that is marketed towards us of the 'legal age'.
Oh no wait, not mimics perfectly, there's no obvious sexism in the yogurt commercials.....
YET!!!!!
About the C- Walk:
"It's a heredity thing that comes with the set, the neighborhood... When I was a kid I saw my big homies doing it. It spread throughout the neighborhoods in '79, '78, somethin' like that."
Okay....Wait....Maybe if he's still "walking" like they did in '79, '78, he left his dignity there too.
But to be on commercial hitting balls about the course and telling us all how cool we would be if we drove a dodge?
C'mon....
I know it's not literary genius, but I have two words that come to mind...
FUCK OFF.
and p.s. rhythm and Gangsta was mediocre at best!
Then.....
after this cross marketing assault on my senses I walk into the beer store for some escapism and what do I see?
Well, Colonel Saunders telling me I need a bucket of chicken to go with my 'Lucky Lager'.
As if that weren't bad enough the 'beer dude' hands me a sample stick of 'Degree' body responsive, ultra clear deodorant for MEN.
Obviously, because women don't drink beer.
I buy beer, and I get deodorant?
Fuck the Tsunamis and Hurricanes, the world is fucked on a more base level when I get pit stick after buying a 12 pack.
What is next?
For real...
p.s. I just did the spell check provided on this website because I want to at least appear intelligent, and it caught the word GANGSTA, which it didn't recognize, the first word it offered to replace gangsta with was GUNSHOT. I kid you not!

Bike Wheels On A Gravel Path

2005-08-17T17:49:00.000-07:00

www.envirolet.com/visapotty268.html

Okay, please have a look at this link. It is a dream come true for me.
I have a fear of public restrooms, acquaintances restrooms and sometimes even my own dear toilet makes me sweat.
I have left all kinds of parties, bars and functions to go back to the toilet I am most comfortable with and achieve release.
Once in college I felt the onset of a pretty serious shit at like 10am.
Normally I would have just jumped on the bus then headed for the hills, but I had an afternoon exam, I couldn't leave. I know the option to use my educational facilities facility was viable, but, there really was no question. I would have to hold it.
This one turned out to be something I'd have to hold, negotiate with and beg.
By the time I got home (after walking with no bend in my knees from bus stop to front door) I was shaking, sweating and, well, crying just a little bit.
I whipped the front door open and took what could only have been 3 seconds but felt like an hour to contemplate if the upstairs or downstairs Lou was closer. I went up.
My hands were shaking so much that my zipper became a logic puzzle, I was just thankful that I was going to shit myself at home where I could keep it a very dark secret.
I made it though, I got the pants and gitch down, bent to reclaim my rightful (and needed) spot on the throne, and had begun, endured and finished my shit by the time my ass cheeks met the cool plastic of the toilet seat.
It was like a "THWOOP".
Rolaids spells relief? My Ass!
Nothing spells relief like the relief a person with a social phobia of shitting in public gets when they make it to their 'comfort throne'.
Sometimes the gross inevitability of a persistent turd forces me to ignore my beliefs of a public can.
I'd rather take the plunge than explain why my pants got heavy while driving in a Chevy.
I combat this with excessive flushing, loud coughing and trying to pinch it off until all the footsteps from the stalls pat their way out the door.
A few weeks ago I was camping up North (Tobermory, Ontario).
The 'outhouses' were actually kind of clean. Not too busy either, I only had about three shit attempts that ended with me zipping back up and putting it off.
THEN....
10:00 am. The morning sun was starting to get hot, all the keeners who wake up at 6 am to walk dogs and brew coffee had already taken their dumps, and all the partiers who would be dropping some pretty serious beer shits were still trying to sleep off a hangover.
I saw my chance, and I took it.
I announced to my camping buddies that I was going to take a shit, and I headed up the path.
My stomach was knotting a bit, both with the urge to purge, and the onsetting fear of what I was about to do, the indecency of it all.
I tried to casually glance into the campsites I was passing to see if there was anyone looking like they had to go, or outrightly announcing their intentions as I just had.
It seemed clear.
I saw the facilities in the distance.
The sun shone gently on the wooden and plastic exterior, not disturbed by the entrance or exit of any civilians.
I made it all the way there, no one to be seen.
I got inside, glanced at the toilet, assessed it to be as clean as I could logically expect, and I sat down.
I felt good.
Confident even.
With the relaxation of the appropriate muscles, my 'private time' had begun.
Then gravel started churning and crunching under the wheels of a bike.
Sounded like the bike was coming fast, and a skid to stop by the toilet.
Great, a fucking dream come true this was, shitting in relative public, and a child in the area.
I glanced at the lock on the door (which was one of those J hooks that sits in the O and keeps my door firmly shut for privacy) all locks in place, now it was a waiting game.
I heard this child walk across about 3.12 feet of gravel and come to a stop in front of the only two doors that had toilets behind them.
It was 50/50.
If he tried the door on the right, he'd find an empty toilet to call his own, if he tried the door on the left it would pull until the lock was taut, and then make his way to the right.
Child tried door on the left first.
Door on the left pulled until the lock engaged.....
then said lock disengaged, and door opened wide.
My vanilla white upper thighs and knobby knees highlighted in the sun, but even more shocking was the wide eyed horror of child who was looking at me crapping.
He stood there, maybe 3 seconds (again, felt like a fucking hour) and then just let go of the door, didn't push it shut, but let it fall from his fingers.
My useless fucking bathroom door fell slowly toward me.
I grabbed the J lock, hard too, like I was trying to pinch it the way an abusive parent would grab their kid in a time of disobedience.
The lock didn't care.
It hated its job.
I could understand too.
Then I heard the same 3.12 feet of gravel being crossed and Child getting back on bike and peddling away.
Logically, I knew he was red faced and running away from what he had seen.
But, in my head, he was hauling ass back to his campsite to tell everyone his new story of seeing some guy with a Mohawk taking a crap.
I could hear them laughing.
I could feel the laughter spreading from site to site.
The story spreading like gossip at a southern united states beauty salon.
There wasn't much I could do.
I saw another opportunity, and I took it.
I bared down.
Wiped like I was on 'fast forward' and got the fuck out of there.
I didn't want to be the 'Butt' of this kids joke.
By the time I got back to the campsite, I was sweating even harder.
It was a shit to remember, and to reinforce the reasons that any sort of public release has the potential to end in humiliation.
Again, see link above.
If I were an inventor I would have made that!
I'm not, instead I just send big kisses and social anxiety abolishing hugs to the inventor.
Toot Toot!
literally!

Your truly,
Crappy McScaredypants

DISAPPEAR HERE

2005-08-16T16:34:00.000-07:00

I was just sitting down to check my email, and I was trying to decide what CD I should put on for background music.
Then i remembered this CD that one of my best friends made for me in the Fall of 2003.
It's perfect.
Although I usually can't get all the way through it without slipping into some pretty heavy nostalgia.
Track two is a song called 'Autumns Here' by Hawksley Workman. This song for me is the only thing in the world that makes me believe that sometimes pain is beautiful.
On the inlay of the CD he made me is written this;

"And an angel of rock and roll piss and dangerous guitar riffs lifted the weight of inherited guilt. The angel sang songs about whiskey and decay. He spoke words infinitely sad and frightening. He played music about the blessing of new moments and the freedom in forgetting. And he wrote. He wrote about tireless nights and passionate souls. He wrote about nights when there's nothing left to hold. He wrote about knowing how the worst will come and the worst will go. He worte about helping people away from fear. He wrote about cities fading and brake lights on highways blurring into the sky. He wrote about people like us, not sure where they were going. He wrote about being drunk and acting tough. He wrote about how you're not the only one who feels this way. He wrote about what we were doing in our last moments and what brought us here to begin with. He wrote about moths and suns, stars and gigolos, front porches and warm rain that ran down cheeks like tears of happiness. But with the happiness came envy. And with envy, came the angel to make it all okay. The angel looked at me with blue and beautiful bloodshot eyes and just as the music started playing, he began mouthing out these words over and over. Disappear here. Disappear here..."

I love this friend of mine!

It's The Small Things

2005-08-15T19:28:00.000-07:00

1) The hanging seconds between when you first fart, and when you can smell your fart. There is some excitement to be found in those moments.

2) The change in phone voice when you say good night to a potential bf/gf on the phone. It's like it softens.

3) Autumn, it's around the corner. Everything about the fall is poetry. The smells, the colours, the way the breeze feels. It's nostalgia at its finest.

4) The first sip of a beer when you're hanging out with your best friends. You know it's going to be a great night. That first sip is like the stepping off point.

5) Other Animals - Matmos, Autumn's Here - Hawksley Workman, Brokedown palace - The Grateful Dead, Kissing You - D'esiree, I'm Still Your Fag - Broken Social Scene.

6) Mixed CD's that people make for you. I don't know about anyone else, but for me, these are the best gifts ever.

7) Campfires.

8) Making out.

9) Margaret Cho.

10) Dead baby jokes and the people who laugh at them.

11) The smell of the fog that they make to ensure dance floors look mysterious.

12) Used record stores.

13) Flipping through pictures. Even the ones that make you groan.

14) Nights at home, bored and sipping cheap beer and writing lists of things you love.

A.D.D.

2005-08-13T17:02:00.000-07:00

http://add.about.com/gi/dynamic/offsite.htm?zi=1/XJ&sdn=add&zu=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.amenclinic.com%2Fac%2Faddtests%2Fadult1.asp

ok, so one whore of a link, i didn't bother trying to figure out what was unnecessary.
Anyway, a friend of mine at work got 'diagnosed' with ADD, the other day, and she told me some of the reasons they believed she had it.
I recognized all of those reasons in myself.
I took to online searching for ADD tests to get a general idea of whether or not I have it, or i fit's even a real disorder.
i found this test, see link above.
It told me that it was Highly Probable that I had Adult Attention Deficit Disorder.
And all this time I thought I was just eccentric.
Please....take the test and let me know what it says about you.
Also, if you think this is a recognizable disorder.
Any and all feedback would be dreamy.
Sorry for the lame blog, but it's interesting once you take the test!
Peace Out YO!
Ian

20/DUMBASS

2005-08-05T20:35:00.000-07:00

GAYDAR
see radar; An individuals ability to gauge a persons sexual orientation through interaction or exposure.
Do I have Gaydar?
Sure, as much as the next person.
I can point out a stereotype as easily as I can identify when I am dehydrated and need a glass of water.
Am I a 'gaydar' expert?
Well, no!
The same as I am not an expert on the 'Tooth Fairy' or 'Nessy'.
The areas of expertise differ but the reason I am not an expert are the same.
THEY DON'T EXIST
But, ABC's news program 20/20 must have missed the memo, and sordidly arranged a segment on tonight's show to 'test' Gaydar.
They found ten willing men to submit to the scrutiny of Gaydar experts.
Five gay men....
Five Straight men....
The idea was to have members of the general public with finely tuned Gaydar interact with all ten men, and then vote on who was gay and who was straight.
The findings were monumental.
People were absolutely shocked to discover that a man who displayed no 'feminine' attributes was in fact a homosexual.
They were beside themselves to hear that a slightly 'effeminate' man could actually still be a heterosexual.
CALL IN THE EXPERT
Professor Pussylover from The University of Grasping said that, in all, Gay men are more 'feminine' than straight men.
He stated that a straight man uses more animated arm motion from shoulder to finger tips, where as a gay man will only use his arms from elbow to finger tips.
Which is true, and making it difficult for me to type right now.
Doctor Pussylover also said that a straight man will tend to slouch, where as a gay man will sit "more properly".
An audience member said that you can tell a gay man from a straight man by how much their eyebrows move when they're talking.
As she stated 'A gay guys eyebrows are always higher' (insert surprised look) 'where straight guys are like' (insert furrowed brow).
The interviewer; "Some gay men are up in arms saying that your research just perpetuates stereotypes"
Prof Pussylover; "Well, research has proven that gay men are more feminine that straight men".
Well 20/20, this gay man thanks god that he has use of his arms from elbow to fingers, so that when he is flipping you the bird, you get the exact idea of what the message is that I am trying to convey.
And while we're at it, tell Maury he's a Loser.

Call It By It's Name

2005-08-01T23:09:00.000-07:00

The Musings Of A Demi-Slut
We all know that the ignoramus view of sexually active individuals is that men are studs and women are sluts.
*dry heaving*
Ahem *wiping mouth*
Lets tear down the gender barriers on what makes a person too promiscuous and try to analyze the reasoning.
First off, there are no sluts here, no people who fuck for the sake of filling the psychiatric 'void'.
Here, we are just looking at people who are in tune with their sexual appetite, their desire to get off, and to get other people off.
What aspect of multiple partners is so offensive to such a vast majority of people?
Is it jealousy?
A dogmatic ideology of who and when humans are supposed to fuck?
Why is it such a topic of discussion?
Albeit, I was sickened when I learned that the guy I was in my one and only 'long term' relationship with had been with upwards of 30 people.
Why was I so put off?
Because I had wanted to do just that?
Because I felt less attractive for not having bee able to 'bed' that many men?NO
It was because I had been poisoned by my upbringing.
I had learned that masturbating was a private but dirty thing to do.
Fuck, the roman Catholics say yer jerking yer cock if you shake three or more times after you take a piss.
I was brought up to believe that you save yourself for marriage.
A man commits to one woman and they fuck to procreate.
Well....
No more pussy for this kid...
So, you'd assume the rules were out the window, but for a long time, they still applied. I viewed sex as an act that plays out between two people who love one another.
I believed that if you had sex with some random guy it made you dirty, cheap, undesirable.
It made you less appealing for the guy you wanted to date.
To a certain degree I am still 'that guy'.
I mean, I wouldn't want to walk into the Zellers bathroom and have every guy at the urinal start tapping his left foot in recognition of my boyfriend....
but...
the lines have blurred.
Sex has become a more tangible release than a romantic notion.
I am not a HO.
I feel it's necessary to qualify that even as I write a blog that in some fucked up fashion is in defense of HO's.
I don't want to go to sex parties, have orgies, get pissed on.
But, I have seen that it is immature to disregard and disrespect the people who do choose to express themselves in seemingly 'slutty' ways.
I believe that anything healthy and consentual is healthy and consentual, therefore deserves no judgment or comment by the likes of me or some bible toting Christian.
I also think that if I were to meet a man, fall in love, or just heavy petting in the back seat of his Volvo, I would approach the situation from that day onward.
The past, has passed.
If they were useful enough to be safe, protect themselves and others, then who am I, are you, to judge?
We're all so self serving in our ideas of what makes a person loose anyway.
My mom would tell you that anyone who has had sex with more than one person is a slut.
My friend Dayne would tell you that there is no such thing as a slut, and that sexuality is to be embraced and let flourish.
It's all opinion.
And I guess the biggest thing is....
Your opinion doesn't matter for one 'fuck'.

Cross-eyed to the poltergeist

2005-08-01T19:09:00.000-07:00

I have a hair that grows out of the exterior of my nostril.
At the ski slope part of your nose that you fingered as a child to determine if your nose was proportionate enough to escape ridicule on the playground.
Mine was.
I was never ridiculed, for my nose.
A year ago I noticed a small blonde hair.
It's nothing to send me to eternal bliss with the other freaks from 'The Crysalids' but it's there.
I'd guess 1 1/2 millimeters in length, microscopic in Gerth.
I always notice it in passing, I'm in a softly lighted bathroom, and it catches the yellow glow of a 40 watt bulb, shimmers like gold in a separating pan.
I search for it in the bright, honest light of a fluorescent bulb.
It evades me.
I forget it's there.
It haunts me, I forget I have it, and then it makes itself apparent as I'm making sure I have no boogers in my nose, or when I am brushing my teeth.
ALWAYS, when I do not have tweezers within an arms reach.
When I look for it, it hides.
When I forget it's there, it shows up.
Always in the same spot, always the same hair.
It's so small and insignificant but it presents itself like a bumblebee that has landed on my face.
I want it gone, but when I act to swat it it's not there anymore.
The surprisingly sharp edges of metal tweezers roam along my nose at the will of my eyes as guides, yet no final attack is ever recognized.
The hair hides.
Dives back into one of my pores and obtains the role of jivey soldier.
Remember that 'whack a mole' game that always had the shittiest prizes at the carnival.
This nose hair is the mole I want to whack, but the prize is monumental.
I will be free of this tufted horror.
Free of this phantasmal irritant.
If my tweezers and a 40 watt light bulb ever line up, I'm going to show a little 'whose who' to the hairs we grow at the demise of our twenties.
Live in fear tiny cursed follicle.
I am coming for your baby.

Worst Nightmare

2005-07-21T22:06:00.000-07:00

My friend Lisa and I were talking about irrational fears, just a conversation confessing what scares the shit out of us.
We threw a few fears back and forth and then she told me that her mother was afriad of balconies.
Me; "Why, she's afraid of heights?"
Lisa; "No, she's afraid she'll jump."
It was the first time I had ever been able to completely relate to someone elses fear, and I had only heard it second hand.
When I am sitting on a balcony I worry that I will suddenly snap, and throw myself over.
To the point where I can feel myself falling.
I can see the ground getting closer.
I don't want to die, but for some reason I throw myself over the concrete wall and metal railing.
My heart always races, and I want to go inside, but I keep it quiet and tell myself that I am just being 'crazy'.
I think it stems from a special I watched on City TV, years ago, about people who suffered 'psychotic breaks'.
Apparently you lose you mind for an undetermined amount of time, and then all of a sudden regain your sanity.
There was this one girl, cute, sleeve tattoos, seemed so grounded.
She woke up in the psych ward after 'apparently' running naked through the streets of toronto and chanting.
Police came, the whole nine yards, they forced her into an ambulance and took her to the hospital.
Diagnosis;
Psychotic Break.
It said it can happen to anyone, at any time.
I never think about that show, or the 'breaks', until I am on a balcony.
I'm afraid of my own mind?
I watch too much TV?
I don't know.
It's just funny how certain things stick with us.
20/20 fucked me up hardcore in a similiar way.
Odd that parents keep their kids away from violent movies and TV shows but 'real horror' is fair game.
I don't know where I am going with this, I was just on a balcony.

Parles Francais

2005-07-19T20:25:00.000-07:00

I've always wished I could speak french.
There is no better language to express discontent than french.
Je Ne T'aime Pas!
You'll have to pardon my spelling, as I said, I do not speak or write the language. But, here are a few things I ne taime pas.

1) PT Cruisers - Okay, the one with the faux wood paneling on the doors is the most offensive, shit, or is it the convertible? They're always driven by business people who have these odd fantasies about being a gangster (not to be confused with gangsta) or they want to fuck a mob boss. Middle aged, white professional schleps with stinky foreskin and 2.3 children. Hold me back, I think I may go Gotti.

2) Poorly thought out Tattoos - Okay, I saw this woman, HUGE, not obese, but tall, I felt like a dwarf. She had white cotton shorts on (her underwear was blue, but the shorts weren't sheer as much as falling apart) and her tat was cat paw prints running all the way up her leg. But, close together, one after another, and they were all black, then, like the tenth paw print, PINK, more black, then pink. It went all the way up her leg, ankle to dilapidated shorts. Did they lead to her pussy?
I have the shivers.

3) Advertising - Okay, we all puked at the ZIT slushie, but I have issues with the new yogurt drink. I remember 'YOP' when I was a kid and wondering why people wanted to drink yogurt. Now, we get XS or is it XL, some shit, anyway, the commercial depicts these kids going to some cool after school party and drinking yogurt while getting down to some cool hip hop that is being mixed by a cartoon tiger. Hip hop and yogurt, of course, I only kick myself for not thinking of it first. Damn advert moguls.

4) Dog Town and Z Boys - The original doc had woody harrelson narrating the story of a group of people in Cali that made skateboarding what it is today. It was cool. Then I saw that a movie was made of it. I must have missed it. But, there are kids wandering around with the hairstyles and attitudes of the Z boys, but no one has a fucking skateboard? This is almost as annoying as the indie rocker phase where everyone looked like Jack White, but no one played an instrument.

5) The INXS reality show - If I died masturbating I would be pissed if my band replaced me at the will of the north American public. 'Guns In The Sky', a fucking anthem man!

6) Camping Equiptment - Lantern; $69.99, Tarp; $19.99, Rubbermaid Container; $29.99, Stove; $84.99, Water Container; $8.99. The list goes on, it was supposed to be a cheap trip. OH, Weed; $75.00. Plus, as per Karen, first aid kits so we can stitch one another back together after plummeting off a cliff.

7) Irrational fears - Bears, I'm going camping. There will be no food, hygienic products or pleasantly smelling items or people in my tent. I have checked the bear safety websites, I know the guidelines, and the mother fuckers I am camping with WILL adhere to these regulations. Rattle Snakes, yeah, in Northern Ontario. Who Knew? I still need to check the Rattle Snake safety websites. New guidelines coming shortly.

8) Dreams - Yeah, last night I had a sex dream about a midget, and his foreskin got caught in my throat? I now believe that dreams are a glimpse into the level of crazy that one person houses. Potential Crazy. I may very well be a sexual deviant for reasons I had yet undiscovered.

I have said too much!

Taking Em Out In The Good Ol' U.S. Of Fucking A.

2005-07-14T18:28:00.000-07:00

Today is Thursday July 14th 2005.
On Tuesday July 12th 2005 the State of Georgia put to death a one, Robert Dale Conklin. He was killed using a lethal injection in the Georgia Diagnostic and Classification Prison in Jackson.
Conklin, a parolee for a burglary conviction met a 28 year old attorney named George Grant Crooks after his release and the two began a short affair. During an altercation at one of the mens apartments, Conklin stabbed Crooks in the ear with a screwdriver, killing him.
The rest is merely facts and fictions belonging specifically to this case.
After all, nothing else matters.
An eye for an eye.
Since January 1st of this year the United States has maintained its unified stance on execution, and taken 29 eyes retributively.
Since January 17th, 1977 when Gary Gilmore stood before a firing squad in Utah, the United States has taken 973 visual organs to compensate for horrendous criminal acts.
No charges are laid against the people present at executions.
The 'bystander effect' does not exist there.
The LAW, does not exist there.
This is where murder becomes legal because it is a form of punishment.
Shoot them, inject them with poison or have them inhale it. Have them hanged, or maybe electrocution suits your fancy.
Whatever way they go, they're going to go for good, and good riddance to the lousy fuckers too....
right?
What of the good doctor who injects the criminal. We've all thought it. Are they not just as guilty?
The criminal is expected to be penitent, but the executioner is simply doing a job.
Both have killed someone.
'An eye for an eye', but only in certain cases of course.
"They deserve it for what they did"
Ah yes, sure they do, and it is within our rights as humans to decide that the only plausible punishment for certain acts is murder.
'You killed them, now we'll kill you'.
I can't believe I didn't see it before.
It's like when children breaks a dinner plate, they deserve to be spanked so they'll learn their lesson.
We learn from violence to be better people, and the better people punish the criminals with more violence.
I'm designing my PRO-EXECUTION banner in my head as I am writing this.
Sadly I have to travel all the way down to Oklahoma to support the execution of Michael J. Pennington this coming Tuesday.
Too bad I couldn't just go to toronto and see someone getting hanged at Nathan Phillips Square.
I wonder why i can't?
Oh right. I'm in Canada.
We don't 'do' that.
Why?
Well, the idea that rehabilitation is somtimes possible, or that a life incarcerated is more punishment than death.
OR....
Someone is telling us 'impressionable canucks' that murder is never okay.
Must be all the beer we drink, but we fucking bought it.
We don't kill the killers.
We punish them.
We don't hold ourselves above the law.
We stand in support of it.
An eye for an eye isn't emblazened in our minds growing up.
My mom didn't punch me after I punched my brother. I didn't get my hair pulled by my school teachers after I pulled a classmates hair.
I got 'punished'.
It doesn't always 'fit the crime', but it's never above the law that our country has created for itself.
I'd rather be swilling beer in a country where the law may be too lenient, than living in a country where the law doesn't apply to everyone.

On a side note....The most disturbing piece of information I found during some online research;
Between 1984 and 2000 the USA executed 34 people who showed "EVIDENCE OF MENTAL RETARDATION."

2005-07-13T21:43:00.000-07:00

Shower Curtain Ring (aka - BLING)

Waiting Room Jitters

2005-07-13T07:39:00.000-07:00

I have a new(ish) family doctor, new to me at least.
The office has about 5 different doctors working out of it.
The office itself is located in one of the less affluent areas of Hamilton, Ontario.
For those unfamiliar, Hamilton is also known as 'Steel Town' and 'The Egg Fart Of Ontario'.
I've never liked going to the doctor. Primarily because I'm worried that while I sit in the waiting room with all of the other patients, I am going to pick up some other random illness.
Now, my doctors waiting area is much bigger, probably seats about 45 to 50 people.
Usually, it's hard to find a seat.
Yesterday, while I waited to get diagnosed with strep throat, with my mom who was having her blood pressure tested, I was uncategorically disturbed by the freaks who had booked appointments on the same day.
I sat in a chair that had my back to most of the room. I heard an old man talking. He must have been hard of hearing, because he was speaking about 2 decibels above what he needed to for the entire room to hear him.
But, his voice. Remember when you were a kid and you'd put clickers in the spokes of your bicycle (or an old baseball card for the kids who didn't get clickers for their b-days). Well, picture a clicker rotating in his throat, and add some moisture to it. That is what his voice sounded like. I had to have a look.
I turned around, spotted him immediately in the crowd, and for some unknown reason he was looking at me too. I spun back around and got the shakes.
He had wisps of white hair, his head was pushed forward so it sat above his thighs instead of his chest, but his back was straight. His eyes were wide open, buldging out and surrounded by grey skin.
I fully expected to hear him start moaning "brainnnnns, brains" and take a bite out of the head of the person sitting closest to him.
I picked a spot on the wall and focused. Time didn't move faster at my will.
I looked at my mother who was glancing around the room with a look on her face like she had just witnessed a car accident or a train wreck.
A plump girl with greasy blonde hair walks up to the window to speak with one of the medical office receptionists.
"Well, I just want it back to normal, why can't anyone understand that".
A pause, I couldn't hear the words of the receptionist, who are all slightly barracaded behind glass with small windows through which to converse.
"Well, my sex life is awful, it hurts too much, and my husband is frustrated, I can understand why to, I let him put it in, and then I'm like NO TAKE IT OUT!"
I dry heave.
She finalizes her appointment which from the remainder of the conversation all I can gather is that she has had something put in her vagina that she now wants out of it. Hopefully the good doctor can help.
At this point my mother has found a spot on the floor, she is staring intently, but time moves no quicker.
Grandma, Mom, and the kids come in, talk to the receptionist, and then all settle around us in chairs that had freed up.
My mom looks at me.
"Are you getting ideas for something to write about by sitting here?"
Well, yes, to write, and to try to wash out of my head.
One of the little boys;
"I'm bored"
Grandma; "You're always bored. It doesn't matter what you are doing, you are always bored, and do you wannna know why? It's because you are a boring person"
Little Boy; "I'm not a boring person" and then sulking.
I had to glance at Grandma to find out who the fuck talks to their grand children like that.
She had long dyed black hair, with patches of grey coming through, not strands, but patches where the dye had faded. Her face was a scowl. And her wrinkles looked like pool water after someone had kicked their feet furiously at one end of still water.
She had a red t-shirt on, with a pair of stretched out pink track shorts on the bottom. I did glance at her feet too, but the look of them dawgs was so disturbing it blew all memory of her sandals out of my head.
She started ranting about doctors, how they're all 'stupids and dumb' and she 'knows more then dem doctors alls together'.
You know when you're in public, and you've just had enough?
Like, you want to tell someone to shut the fuck up because they have no idea how stupids and dumb they sound.
I didn't, my mom would have shin kicked me for sure. But, I was getting there.
The rest of them walked slowly, hunched over, coughing, spattering, and swearing about the wait.
It looked like a zombie convention, where the order of the day was discontentedness.
There were others there, who seemed to stick out like sore thumbs.
They were the ones with that lost look on their faces, the ones who covered their own mouths when their neighbours coughed on them. The ones who didn't use the f-word when they were talking to the nurses or filling prescriptions.
Finally our names get called and my mom and I jump out of our seats.
We get into one of the examination rooms and crack jokes about the people we were just sitting with.
The nurse comes in to ask why were there.
My mom tells her about wanting her blood pressure checked as a preventative measure, stating that it seems to go up and down.
The nurse; "Especially when you're sitting in a waiting room like that eh!"
We all laugh.
But, my mom and I got to leave. Not only do the people who work there have to be near that waiting room all day, but they have to interact with these people, day in and day out.
The throat clicking zombie, mysterious vagina girl, stupids dumb grandma.
I hope my doctor is a millionaire, and drives a BMW.
He works for every penny of it.

Piano Man

2005-07-13T07:05:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I went to the doctor about one hell of a sore throat.
It's Strep.
I got my meds. Amazingly, after only 3 pills it's starting to feel better. So I had a cigarette this morning.
Yeah yeah yeah.
So, I'm sitting out front, and I can hear someone playing the piano. It seemed to be coming from a house where I didn't realize any musicians lived.
It was nice, soothing.
It got me to thinking about when I was a kid.
I played guitar, and my brother played the piano.
We both were expected to practice for at least a half an hour a day.
I hated it. Now I wish I wasn't such a fucking brat, and had actually realized what a great thing it would be to know the guitar as an adult.
I also remember hating the fact that my brother had to practice so much, and the fact that he was a bit of a keener, and would go beyond his 1/2 hour mandatory practice time.
I would be sitting in the basement with my extensive G.I. Joe collection right in the middle of some creative fantasy that indulged my juvenile sexual ideas (ie. The Baroness would be getting dry humped by one of the horny soldiers) and that damn piano would be belting out some Bach.
It killed any imagined sexual discovery my action figures where trying to engage in.
While I was smoking this morning I thought how I should have been more adult about it.
It was great music, I should have appreciated it.
Then......
The person across the street came to a part in the song that must have been particularly tricky. They stopped, tried it again, fucked it up, stopped, tried it again, fucked it up.....
I got the 'hot pricklies'.
I wanted to toss a brick through their window.
My musical childhood came flooding back to me.
Hearing the same few bars over and over again, then, when my brother thought he had mastered it, would start from the beginning, get to that part and fuck it up. Then, play the same god damn bars over and over again, and then start from the beginning.
It was torturous.
Children should not be subjected to one another attempting to learn a musical instrument. Especially not a LOUD one.
Sometimes my brother reads my blog.
I love you man.
I put my cigarette out (early) and headed back inside, thankful that all I had to do was close the door and the ivories would fade perfectly into the distance.
I am not without blame. I am just without patience.
My brother might secretly hate me, in high school, I played the trumpet.

2005-07-09T20:13:00.000-07:00

Nobody Puts Baby In A Corner

If I Were A Princess

2005-07-06T08:42:00.000-07:00

I have this friend named Lisa who is good friends with a girl who acted in the movie 'Mean Girls' with Lindsay Lohan. The actress told Lisa that Lohan was a total 'princess' and had a long list of demands that she enforced during filming.
I got to thinking.
If I were a princess, what would I make damn sure I had around to make sure I was acting at the top of my game.

1) Dasani - I don't care what people say, it's the best tasting bottled water out there. Yes, I am aware that it is bottled by the Coca Cola Corporation. I simply don't care. It beats Evian hands down.

2) My own private toilet - No one else would have access to this. Except the cleaner who would have to wipe off the bottom of the toilet seat semi regularly. I get the trots when I'm nervous. I would also need AXE deordorant body spray to freshen the room when I was done, and a stereo in there that would mask any sounds I may make. Also, I'd need a good shitting CD too. Maybe 'Coral Fang' by The Distillers.

3) Dill Pickles - To snack on between takes, and they better be crunchy or the caterer better fucking run. What's worse than a soggy pickle?

4) A Cell Phone - So I could call all my friends and tell them what a dick Mel Gibson is in person.

5) Nap Time - And I'd want an air conditioned trailer with a huge bed and a body pillow so I could dry hump it while falling gracefully off to sleep and picturing Mel naked and touching me.

6) A Mean Personal Trainer - So he'd call me shit like 'Fat Boy' or 'Chunk' and motivate me to do some time on the cross trainer for an hour or so in the afternoon.

7) All the software necessary to make my own electronic music - That way I can finally make my CD, and entrance all the other actors with one of my 'other' talents.

8) A body double - No fucking way I'm taking my shirt off and having it documented on film. He'd have to be nicely tanned, great pecs and abs and a fair measure of chest hair. I think when I die and go to heaven that's how I'll look, and I'll be an underwear model for Calvin when I get up there, oh yeah, and in my heaven, Mark Whalberg is chubby.

9) Flip Flops - Brightly coloured and make loud slapping noises when I walk, and I'd run by Mel when he was talking to one of his Christian friends on the phone. He'd scowl at me, and then I'd grab my cell phone and call someone to tell them what I had just done. And we'd laugh. Then I'd dry hump my pillow.

10) A Clock On A Gold Chain - And I'd freestyle in front of a room full of people who would have to applaud my efforts, or I'd get them all fired.

11) A Kilt - And I'd be dating Ashley MacIsaac. I'd put the kilt on and we'd spank one another, but some paparazzi would take pictures of us through the Venetian blinds of my trailer, and my mom would be really pissed at me when the enquirer came out.

12) LiL Kim - She'd be my friend, and we'd sit in my trailer and smoke pot, and she'd tell me stories about her and her other friends, and all the crazy shit they do. And from that relationship I'd introduce words like scurred, gurl and simma down, into all my public appearances. "Oprah, simma down gurl, I'm not scurred of you, let me fuckin talk gurl!"

Shit, now I wish I was a princess.
I hate my job!

Thank You Corky

2005-07-06T07:52:00.000-07:00

The other day I was driving around with a couple of my friends, and one of them told me that I "had to hear a song called The Only Gay Eskimo, by Corky and the Juice Pigs".
I told her that I was familiar with the song, and we sang some of the funnier lines.
Then, my friend, who we'll call Trixie, to save face. Said;
"Well how would you know you were gay if you were the only Eskimo in your tribe"
The other friend and I eyeballed Trixie trying to decipher what she was talking about.
It fizzled out in the car, but later when I got home I figured out what she was saying.
How could a gay person realize their sexual orientation if they had never had sex with a person of the same gender?
Then, at work the other day one of the younger staff members asked me if I had ever had sex with a woman.
I told her that yes I had in fact (and I was a great lay, well, I didn't tell her that, just you).
To which she responded;
"Oh, okay, so you didn't like it, and that's how you know that you're gay!".
Now, these are two people that have known me for a while. People who I enjoy being around, and talk pretty openly to.
How can they both be so clueless, and, if they are, how many more people are equally daft?
I mean, this was not the first time I had heard comments, or fielded questions like this, but more than anything this line of thought blows my fucking mind.
I can take people who think it's a choice, fine, whatever, let me know when you chose to be straight and swore off same sex relationships then.
BUT......
You do not have to have had sex with the opposite sex to realize where your attraction lies.
It's common sense.
I mean, by that line of thought all straight guys would have to have sucked dick or been fucked in the ass to know that they were straight. As nice of a thought as that is, obviously, it is not the case.
Sexual attraction and courting rituals begin in childhood and flourish in adolescence.
I knew I liked boys as soon as I developed the mindset to ponder intimacy.
I was a kid.
Maybe 7 or 8.
I had crushes on the guys, and not knowing what sex was or anything to do with physical acts, I just liked looking at them. Admiring something about them in a way I didn't, and never have, with females.
I was gay long before I had sexual contact with a man.
But, I was also afraid to tell anyone, so I dated women, and for a while swore myself to my own dark secret, and resigned myself to a life where I would never be totally happy.
Then I thought, well, fuck you, and I came out, and never looked back.
Now I have had sex with one or two fellas (lol) and don't consider myself to be gayer now than I was when I first learned what gay meant. It has always applied to me, and it always will.
I guess all of this does stem from the idea that all us 'gays' choose this 'lifestyle'.
Well, rest assured, I had about as much choice in my sexual orientation as I did to whether or not I wanted to live my life as a person who had bowel movements.
If you're straight and think it's a choice, then be gay for a day. Choose to be attracted to the same sex, we'll see how well it works for you.
And Corky, for Gawd's Sake, it's Inuit, not Eskimo!

2005-07-06T07:11:00.000-07:00

camping dandelion

2005-07-06T07:08:00.000-07:00

Balcony Step

KARLA GETS OUT

2005-07-04T15:29:00.000-07:00

So, Homolka got set free.
The world is once again her oyster.
She can go out to dinner, catch a movie, grab a beer, and maybe even re-offend.
After all, those who know her the best say she is 'remorseless' and 'capable of another offence'.
Hmm, well, that is fucking comforting.
Although, one of the ones who is now saying that Karla is dangerous is an ex lover from the all female prison. It's funny too, that French lesbian inmate is constantly quoted as an expert on all things 'Karla'. But, what did the french lady do to get into prison? Did she off someone too? And why is it that when her face was buried in Karla's pussy she didn't realize that the bitch was a psycho. It's only after Karla stopped eating her out that she came forth and said what a danger Homolka can be. I'd say anyone who enters into a sexual relationship with someone who murdered innocent children needs to SHUT THE FUCK UP, and stop trying to provide insight into anything about anyone.
As for the whole "An Eye For An Eye" thing, well, that's horseshit. I don't want 'witches and queers' burned at the steak again, or black people hanged. That's prehistoric, and ignorant. No, one wrong does not make a right, but, do I hope she suffers? Hmm, well, to what degree. I mean, the thought of her sitting around someone's backyard and drinking beer and laughing bugs the shit out of me. That's the stuff I do, with my friends, as a somewhat mature and responsible adult. Why she should still be awarded the same comfortable rights that I enjoy, let alone any special privileges. I don't want the media to constantly report on her every move, because I don't want to see that cunts face every night on the news, and every morning on the paper. But, you can be damn sure that if she lived in my city, in my neighbourhood or on my street, I'd wanna fucking know. Would I pitch rocks through her window or at her? No! But I wouldn't care if other people did. You, see, she's not a human, she's not a person. People do not do the stuff that she did, and appear on videotapes to be enjoying it while it was happening. She isn't even an animal, they only fight for territory, or dominance. She is unclassifiable. She does not deserve to move back into a happy life. She does not deserve to be a 'normal' part of society. She deserves to be outcasted. Ostracized. Don't like the way that sounds? Think it's harsh? Well, she pulled teeth out of the mouths of living girls, she and her husband raped them, she disfigured, and dismembered other human beings. And this is the shit we know because it leaked out, we don't even know the true horror of what Kristin, Tammy, Leslie and Jane Doe went through. Do I hope someone kills her, nope, do I care if someone does? Nope.
Did she do her time? Yes, as a result of an agreement that was signed she has done her time. Does her time fit her crime? Well, we all know it doesn't, but, she's fucked anyway. She will never be left alone, she will never be comfortable. But, the most likely person to kill Karla is Karla herself.
I don't want to join a betting pool on how long she'll last or talk endlessly about her, and glorify her any more than the media already has. I do hope she finds her true jail sentence outside of her jail term. I hope she never feels comfortable sunbathing, dating or corresponding again. She spent 12 years in a strick hotel, now she's out, but, she'll never again be as safe as she was when she was behind bars.
I like that she has to watch her back.
I'm just not the type of person to be behind her.

Swimming mentally

2005-06-29T21:08:00.000-07:00

I have such a bizarre cross section of thoughts tonight that I do not even know where to begin.
First off, I buy cologne as a result of guys that I have dated. It seems to go hand in hand that the ones I actually date smell good. So, I borrow (steal) their colognes, not literally, but I purchase them later and claim them as my own. But, instead of just enjoying a scent, I am riddled with memories of that person. I always thought that I was the guy who became the most nostalgic from a temperature. I mean, crisp autumn days remind me of so much of my childhood it's sick. But, I think, on board with my friend Dan, I get sucked into smell too. My father recently purchased a cologne called 'Hummer', and I have been borrowing it on nights out. I had the unfortunate experience of having a dude come up to me at a bar and compliment me on my cologne, and then ask what it was called. I had to say that it was 'Hummer', in a gay bar, C'mon, there's some irony in that! So, I decided then to get myself a new scent. I bought 'Issey Miyake' (forgive my spelling) and have worn it for two days. Instead of enjoying my new cologne I am bombarded with memories of my ex. Not like I want to rekindle, but, like those years have been playing back as a movie, in snipits. Odd. I need my own signature scent.

Karla the Kunt Homolka gets out of prison this weekend. She has tried to put a muzzle on the media to stop them from reporting on her every move. This is being sought after as Ms. Homolka "fears for her safety". My guess, is that she will never feel fear the way that Kristen, Leslie, Jane Doe and her own sister have felt. I couldn't kill her because I couldn't live with the guilt of taking another persons life. I'm actually kind of scared of the people who say that they would kill her given the chance. How many steps above her are they in their ability to kill? I hope her life plays out daily as the hell that she had created for her victims. I hope she never sleeps a full night again. But I don't want to see it. I don't commend the person who 'offs her'.

Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes are 'dating'. The latest rumor that I heard was that Rob Thomas from Matchbox Twenty had his wife walk in on him and ol' Tommy Cruise having sex. She freaked! So they are paying katie holmes to be Tom's beard. I have heard other homosexual rumors about Tom in a sexual relationship with some European porn star. None of it materializes. Leave the poor fucker alone. Maybe Michael Jackson and Tom Cruise should date, they both know what it's like to be the centre of unwanted (and bias) media attention. On that note, Martin Bashir is a loser! If he is gay, he's gay, let him suck subtle cock until he's ready to admit it, I'm speaking of Tom now. If he is straight, let him make wild love to the former star of Dawson's Creek. Just don't remind me, because the thought of those two humping makes me want a week long vacation in solitary.

LAND OF THE DEAD. Yup, saw it tonight, if you haven't seen it, I suggest you don't read what I am about to write until after you get the chance to take it in. First off, I fucking love George A Romero. I think the dead trilogy is pure genius. Sparing a slight fuck up with 'Day Of The Dead', left a little to be desired there George! But, I for real have been waiting for some continuation to the story since I was a puppy. Tonight, I got it. I wanted to love it, run from the theatre and sing this movies song in the hills. I just can't. It's a fucking ZOMBIE movie, not a platform for socio-economic and political messages. It was not what I expected. I wanted a small group of people on an island using what they had to survive a dark force. Not a movie about a vicious entrepreneur, who houses the rich and casts of the less fortunate. I hate to use words like predictable when I watch movies I am not in support of, but, it just fits. I actually feel kind of sad. There was so much more he could have done, and he didn't. I don't blame only George, I blame the team. Would I recommend seeing it in theatres? NO! Although I was pleasantly surprised that I paid a mere $9.95 to get in on a Thursday night, I'd still wait for the video. It was better than 'Day' and worse than the others, remakes and parodys included. AND.....What the fuck were the casting directors thinking when they gave a role to a somewhat recognizable Canadian actress? I wanted miscellaneous dead, not the fucking PEAK FREEN ZOMBIE!!! That almost killed it for me, if it weren't for the mensa zombie I may have given up all hope that a rotting brain was useless!
Big fucking fart at Land Of The Dead.

2005-06-28T17:24:00.000-07:00

This Christian girl I used to work with got knocked up by her god fearing husband after an intercourse session, and then started buying every book in sight that dealt with the issue of pregnancy. One in particular spoke of food cravings that pregnant women experience. It said that some of the cravings could be out of the ordinary and if you were to experience any of them, to consult a doctor. It meant you were missing something in your diet. The foods they spoke of;
1) Laundry Detergent
2) Dirt
Ahem, okay, so, maybe I guess. I once wanted a steak and kraft dinner sandwich, but I am not pregnant.
The dirt thing has stuck with me though. I actually even think about it when I stroll by a garden. I picture a bunch of ladies 'with child' down on all fours and swiveling soil into their mouths. It's one of many things that come into my mind during a day and make me laugh out loud.
Again, I have formulated a short list of things that are out of the ordinary that make me laugh.
Shall we?

1) A co-worker who is particularly lousy, unloads her ass between unloading boxes at work. I seem to always stumble into the washroom after her. Guaranteed, there are shit streaks tracing the path of her turd down the drain, and the very recognizable smell of stewed tomatoes. It always smells like stewed tomatoes. At the time it's awful and I consider giving up the fruit that so many mistake for a vegetable. But, the wounds heal fast, and I laugh in the pantry, and the canned food isle!

2) Pubic hair stuck to the soap bar. It used to really chap my ass, but I've embraced it. It's funny to me how people refuse to use washcloths, and just jam the poor ivory (99.44) into their crack and dark spots, and then don't even wash the evidence away. Ok wait, that ones not so funny. USE YOUR FUCKING HANDS. (need some more counseling on that one.)

3) Paris Hilton and Le Tigre working on an album together. What else can I do but laugh. First it was the cell phones, now it's Paris Hilton.

4) Puberty, lately I have found the whole process of moving into adulthood to be quite a laugh. I mean, I work in a trashy part of Ontario, pretty low income, so, a lot of the patrons at my store look as if they've styled their hair with a piece of buttered toast. They're children look even worse. There was one girl who came in with her mom (a biker/spinner) and she was maybe 11 years old. She had little acorn boobies, I call them that because when I was a kid I used to shove acorns up my shirt and amaze my friends with ho much they looked like the developing breasts of the girls in our classes. Anyway, she was wearing one of those shirts that are tight on your boobie region, and then flare out all over right below your ta tas. They'd make even Karen Carpenter look chunky. That's beside the point. This girl was walking around with her chest out and kept pulling at the shirt to ensure the tight spot stayed over her barely visible mams. I saw a young boy walk by and she actually hiked her shoulders back and stuck out what she had. He noticed too, and they both smiled. I was ecstatic when I got my first pube, so it's not too odd for me to see proud kids. But, it is damn funny. Looking back on it, I was fugly, wore bad clothes and got geeked about the first hair that sprouted near my dink. I was a big dork. These kids are big dorks. But they are so completely clueless to their lack of cool, that I laugh heartily at their expense. Try it sometime, kids who hit puberty go insane for a few years. Good times.

Hi

2005-06-26T20:04:00.000-07:00

I started something tonight
with no real end in sight
all of it was in my grasp
like floating epitomes that hung by me like mosquitoes
I swatted them away
not that I didn't want them
I didn't want to confuse them
losing one brilliance at the overbearing heart of the other
it was tragic to sway one in light of another
but I fought to remember them
classify them, have a word that identified them
a clue that would trigger me to remember
like dipping my hand in hot chili and hoping I picked the right bean
and we never do
and that moment is lost, and it is forgotten
and sometimes we never get it back
in a shadow that passes we enlighten and forget
and these thoughts
that only my indecision allows me to have
I come back
again and again
and try to feel like the thoughts perfection
and I only have a day pass.

Private Shit

2005-06-24T09:36:00.000-07:00

For everyone who knows me, they know I have bizarre issues with 'going # 2' in public washrooms. I hate it, and often hold it for as long as it takes until I reach the warm and comforting arms of my bathroom at home.
I have left restaurants, bars and parties to go home and make a dirty, and then return to the event at hand.
At work (a retail store) there is a staff and public washroom, side by side. I don't have too much of an issue with going there now because I have been working for this store for far too long. But, I have equipped the facilities with all the necessary amenities to make sure my experience is a good one (cologne to spray afterwards, extra toilet paper, a toilet brush and a door jam).
Yesterday I went into the staff washroom and seated myself for my daily release.
There was a knock at the door after the point of no return.
My face went red, I mean, if you try the door, and it is locked, there is a pretty good chance that someone is in there, so whey then is it necessary to knock.
"Yup, someone's in here", I said.
'Someone', like I wasn't exactly sure who was in there, or like I wanted to remain anonymous? I'm surprised I didn't disguise my voice.
"Yeah Der is somevone in here dare dare".
It was Suzanne. She's new, maybe a month under her belt.
Suzanne is the type of person that Saturday Night Live skits are based on.
She is a very nice girl. From a small town. Grew up on a farm.
One day she came to work looking like a Mennonite. Long flowing skirt and long flowing white blouse over top, hair in a pony tail and not a stitch of makeup.
She's one of those people who refer to their parents as mom and dad when she's telling you a story.
"I was gardening the other day and Mom drove in and was pretending to hit me with her car, so after she went inside, I filled up my watering jug and I dumped it all over her car".
(Insert creepy giggle here)
Very, very sweet girl, but pretty eccentric.
"Do you know how long you're going to be?"
I sat there, mid shit, thinking to myself, 'no, she didn't just ask how long it will take me to finish shitting'.
I was stunned, all that I could get out was
"Umm, what?"
Then she said it again, only louder this time, because I guess she thought my misunderstanding was a volume problem and she needed to speak up so I could hear her through the door.
"DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG YOU'RE GOING TO BE?"
By this time my face is burning red. I have never been so embarrassed while having a bowelmovement in my life, and believe me, I get easily embarrassed when it comes to anything that goes down in a washroom.
I sat on the toilet wondering why God was doing this to me.
I hummed and hawed and couldn't think of an appropriate response.
'Well, at the current force that I am pushing I estimate that all solid waste should have exited my body in approximately 3 and 1/2 minutes'.
Nope, that wouldn't work.
I was speechless.
Thank God Suzanne was there to help me.
"If I come back in five minutes will that give you enough time?"
I looked for a rock to crawl under, there were only logs.
"Umm, Yes"
Then she said goodbye and I heard her leave the area where the washrooms are.
I finished.
Washed my hands and ran away from the toilet as fast as I could.
I saw Suzanne in the men's denim section.
"All done?"
I just kept going and she walked into the washroom.
I wanted to go back and knock on the door and ask her if it smelled badly in there, and if I could do anything to help.
But, I realize that she is just very innocent.
I guess maybe back at the farm her family is all about estimates.
So, I left her alone.
BUT, I think I might be back to holding it for a while, I have a comfort level that was just blown right the fuck out of the water!

Sticks and Stones

2005-06-19T17:48:00.000-07:00

Well, they have all kinds of names for gay men. Here, i break down a few of them, and make a small tootie in the mouths of homophobes all over the globe.

Faggot
Faggots were bundles of wood used to start the fires when burning homosexuals and witches at the stake. Barberic? Certainly! But, I am not a bundle of wood, however, gay porn gives me a woody. So, if we must incorporate lumber into the context of the homosexual lifestyle, I prefer it is in reference to my penis.

Queer
Queer defines what differs from the ordinary in some abnormal way. Therefore, Rum and Raisin ice cream is queer. I am merely a homosexual. Comparitively I am much more normal than the repulsive flavour of ice cream that can be found at Fortinos. Fortinos must be queer too.

Homo
A combining form from the Greek meaning same. "Hey LeRoy, look at a dem sames there in that same pride parade. I says we go kick some same ass". Hmm, does make me wonder what the fuck Homo milk is, does it mean the whole carton is from one cow, or the same breed of bovine?

Gentleman of the Backdoor
This one is great, not widely used anymore, but when I hear it I always picture myself in a top hat and tails drinking brandy in some British parlour. "Right-O chap, me and the Gentlemen of the Backdoor are going to swing by the pub for a warm pint. Toot toot."

Cocksucker
Well, duh! It bothers me about as much as if I were to call a straight man a 'pussy eater'. Buttfucker, fits nicely here also.

Butt Pirate
Aye Matey! A pirate is anyone who uses lawless methods to gain something. I have never stolen a piece of ass, but I may have downloaded a few. Ass Bandit could fit in here also, that one's funny too, I see myself riding horseback into the sunset with a bunch of theived bums slapping around in my saddle bags.

Gay
It used to mean happy. It is my moms maiden name. She used to tell her co-workers that she was gay before she was married. She let everyone at K-Mart in on the joke when rumours of her lesbian tendencies got out of control. I'm not sure why Gay means homosexual now. But, I think it's supposed to be one of the good ones.

Friend of Dorothy
Ok, this one is supposed to be because all gay men idolize Judy Garland. Who doesn't love The Wizard Of Oz? C'mon, Dorothy is everyones buddy.

So, there's a few. Just so you know, they don't sting anymore. I can handle all of em, and hey, if I've left out anyones personal favourites, let me know, I'm always up for some good slang. But please, keep it dirty.

A Dream; To the best of my recollection

2005-06-17T13:57:00.000-07:00

I had a dream that I was at a comedy show, maybe 'Yuk Yuks' or something like that. I remember laughing in the dream. There was this Comedienne who came out and did a bit about flowers. As far as I can remember, this is what she was saying;

I found out my mans been creepin. Mother fucka doing my best friend. I whooped that bitches ass and called it out with him. Then the dumb mother fucka come to my crib with flowers. FLOWERS...like that goona make it okay that he fucked my friend. Who the fuck want flowers anyway, you know how flowers get beautiful, you feed em some manure. That mean, you make those poor bastards eat somethins shit, and then they get beautiful. Why the fuck I want something that eat shit? I don't want no friends that eat shit. What I'm goona do, leave em on my kitchen table? 'Oh yeah grrl, aren't they beautiful, I don't mind they eat turd to be pretty.' Hells no. Get them flowers the fuck outa my face!
Then I got to thinkin, imagine people could eat shit and get better lookin. I got some dumb mother fuckin friends too, some of them bitches try anything to get play.
Like we at a party and one of my grrls been eating turd for a week or some shit, dude comes up to me "Grrl, who is yer friend, she is slammin", I'd be like "Oh her, that one in the green skirt, yeah, that's my friend Janesha", guy be like "Damn, she is fine, you hook me up with her?".
I be like "sure brotha, I'll get her to holla at you. She be fine eh, I'll tell you too, that bitch look after herself, she do anything to look fine". I'd hook the mother fuckers up too. And I wouldn't tell that dude till months later why she look so good.
"Yeah, you guys hittin it eh, Janesha loves you boy, and all that shit eatin keeps her lookin good". I bet that mother fucka wish he never go to that party.
No body wanna hit it with someone who eats shit, so why I want a whole fuckin bouqet of shit eaters?

Poo

2005-06-05T18:56:00.000-07:00

I used an outhouse this weekend.
Well, sort of.
It looked like the run of the mill outdoor lavatories that are common place in most parks. Women enter the concrete building on one side, men on the other.
The toilet filled with water, and had a small button to push for the flushing action.
Only, the poop didn't go into a pipe that eventually led to some sewage pumping station, it didn't even go into a septic tank (I don't think).
It seemed to just fall down into a huge hole underneath the building.
Instead of flushing away, the bottom of the toilet, where your turd would sit after release but before the flush, would just sort of open downwards, like a can with the lid still attached by one small thread of tin.
Then, water would swirl around the bowl, and push down all of the 'papier de toilette'.
When this happened a horrendous smell would surface.
Like the clean water dropped into some dank pit and awoke the shit monster who would toss balls of stinky air at you.
It was much worse in the morning. Not from overuse, more from the inability to stomach such odors first thing in the morning.
I tried to pulling my hoodie up over my nose so that I would smell cotton gently stained by campfire instead of turd.
It didn't work.
Yes, there were toilets that flush, but they were a hike from where we were.
These toilets were so close you could see them from our campsite.
Smell them too.
At first it was offensive. Like, you'd be lifting your hotdog to your mouth for a bite, and that fucking shit monster would toss a ball at ya, then yer oscar meyer tasted like burnt turnip and rotting potato chips.
After a while though, it was nice.
Refreshing even. Okay, scratch that.
But it did remind me that I had really gotten back to nature. I mean, what says yer out of the city like a campfire and the smell of mingled shit?
If you walk a dog it will stop to smell any shit that is on the ground.
Maybe even eat it.
I have seen cats do the same, and I imagine the same holds true for most animals.
Myself, as a human animal, felt that this is some sort of ritual that as an animal I should embrace.
So, I went back to those toilets with my hoodie on my chest, I flushed that bastard, and I inhaled the smell balls that the shit monster threw at me.
And you know what?
I feel like a better man because of it.
I feel like I've gotten to know something that maybe I was a little ignorant of before this weekend.
I'm not syaing you'll see me on all fours smelling dog shit on my front boulevard, I'm just saying, I got back to nature this weekend.
And I embraced all that it threw at me.

2005-06-05T15:50:00.000-07:00

Deanna and I, (I'm the one in the red sweater with the beautiful eyes).

Turkey's Can't Point? WTF?

2005-06-05T15:45:00.000-07:00

Da Campers!

First Camp of 2005

2005-06-05T15:31:00.000-07:00

Mapquest.ca is a twat.
I always use it to try and navigate trips, and I always end up with some back-ass directions that leave me wondering what is wrong with main roads?
This time, I used mapquest to get us to Turkey Point Provincial park.
This time it was funny.
First of all, I tried typing in the street address that I got from calling the park, and Mapquest fought me on it, and told me it was an unrecognized destination.
So, I tried different variables, same address.
'Unrecognized'!
Then I just googled the address, and got the elusive postal code. With JUST the postal code I got front door to the campground directions.
There was the obligatory side streets, regional roads and 1/4 line roads, but eventually we we led straight to the campground.
Maybe I should reconsider the use of the word 'straight'.
Mapquest didn't direct us to Turkey Point Provincial Park! No no no...
Instead, the directions led us to the front drive of a campground called 'The Point', an all mens campground. And it ain't all mens cause the affluent fellas wanted to smoke cohebas without their 'ladies' complaining of the smell.
Karen and I had left about an hour before Deanna and Gary were able to, it was dusk by the time we got to 'The Point'.
We sat in the car at the front entrance and howled thinking about Deanna and Gary arriving there and hour later in full dark asking the campground supervisor where site #50 was.
Fortunately (or unfortunately for the story) my friends got lost, and had to stop for directions. They missed the Gay campground all together.
But, did Mapquest do this on purpose? Do they know of the Gay campground? Is this the tech geeks way of fucking with Canadian campers?
I was ready to give up and camp there anyway. Fuck Turkey Point, it don't get much better than this. Alas, we trekked on, and found our way to the site we had booked in the proper park.
The weekend was dreamy. No rain. No fighting. No television. Just beer, tents and some campfires. For the first trip of the season. It was a goodie.
The park is actually nice, it was quiet, good sites, pretty private, clean washrooms. The whole nine yeards. No complaints at all!
Except the mosquitos. There were a lot of mosquitos. And it's not bad enough that they have to drink yer fucking blood, but they have to leave behind some god damn venom to make you swell up and itch. They really are the living embodiment of the anti-christ. Bastards.
*Scratching*
My tent is a dream too. As is the new air mattress.
Fine holiday fun!
But, no man of my dreams. Maybe i should have played dumb at the entrance to 'The Point'....
"No, Karen, this is it, look, the map led us right here, lets go get a site!"
:-)

2005-06-03T06:01:00.000-07:00

Well
Here I am on the morning of June 3rd, 2005, and in a few hours I will be embarking on the first camping trip of this fine summer.
As per usual, planning has not gone smoothly, but I maintain my optomism, and actually, have been stricken with the trots. It's part of a juvenile inability to deal with excitement that I have never quite been able to get over.
Anyway, this trips venue...Turkey Point Ontario.
I know, not very outdoorsy as we're booked into an electrical site, and within walking distance to flushable toilets, but hey, I like tents and campfires, not bears and shittin in the woods.
The weather is supposed to be nice too, warm, sunny.
My optimism does end with the weather, if it doesn't rain at least once I will be shocked.
Now, I have a bunch of shit to do, including but not limited to grocery shopping, packing, trying to remember everything, and hydrating myself to counteract the beer and sun.
My hopes..
Well, that we're not stuck in a site that is bordered by teenagers who are getting drunk away from the watchful eyes of their folks.
That we're not bordered by families with children or dogs (Deanna is terrified of dogs, although it is comical to watch her run screaming, it is annoying for her).
No rain.
That an impromtu gay weekend is planned that we are unaware of, and I meet the man of my dreams and set out on a new life of domestic bliss.
The food doesn't rot and then make me sick.
My airmattress holds me off the ground for both nights.
Karen is over her snoring thing.
We don't have to play cards all day.
I win at Bocce Ball.
I remember to buy 'Powerade'.
No bears, snakes, bugs or vagrants.
No one steals my shit.
I get some sun, and turn into the bronze god I have always imagined.
So, those are just a few of my wants. And what about my wants? When do I get what the fuck I want? :-)
I'll let ya know on Sunday night how things went.
Off and camping!
toot toot

2005-06-02T20:03:00.000-07:00

NO...I WANNA BE YOUR JOEY RAMONE!!!!

Gay Cinema

2005-06-02T19:44:00.000-07:00

No, I am not talking about 'Dawson's Crack' or 'Doing Private Ryan'.
I'm talking about the movies that strive to be a little more enlightening, or at least entertaining for the gay community.
There's only so many 'When Harry Met Sally's' that a queer can stomach before they start wondering why Sally isn't meeting Thelma, and Harry isn't reforming a male hustler into the ultimate lover.
I love my suspension of disbelief. It is fine tuned. The same is true for all queers or we'd never feel anything towards mainstream media.
I can cry at a movie where a man and a woman overcome obstacles to form a loving union at the end, I'd just rather it be a movie where the subjects are both men.
Why?
Well formost because I am gay.
But, more importantly, even than that, is because it is time.
It's time 'Hollywood' added gay characters as leads. Not just comic relief or as extras in the hairdressing scene.
There are a lot of independent films that do focus on homosexual relationships and the lives of us gays. But, they're hard to find at the local Blockbuster.
Maybe because they were never blockbusters, of course not, that kind of subject matter on the hot new release wall?
Sure, if the main character grabs yer heart as he battles AIDS and eventually succumbs to the disease with the once homophobic character at his bedside.
So touching. And so done.
I know it's a long shot that any acclaimed mainstream producer/director would handle queer subject matter in a realistic format, so thank god for TV.
Will and Grace single handedly saves the reputation of the gay community.
It is like a teachers aid to inform the straight community of how the gays really are.
*vomiting*
I like 'Will and Grace' as much as the next homo, but, again, it's comic relief.
There is a serious side to the gays (and one outside of STD's).
Maybe I'll write a sci-fi queer movie with undertones so breathtakingly full of empowerment and pride that 'Stone' will be calling me begging for the script.
I'd give it to him too
if he sucked my dick first!

2005-05-30T14:15:00.000-07:00

The Olfactory Horror Of An Englishman's Loo

Why Limeys Are Fucked

2005-05-30T13:15:00.000-07:00

I know there are a lot of Canadians who have ancestral heritage lying in the damp moors of Yorkshire. But, as most immigrants to this country the English have lost most of their heritage.
This is not a bad thing.
I think (being half English) that I have good hygiene, not that I have good hygiene based on being half English, I think it's more the Scottish side of me that counterbalances the obsessiveness of English Hygiene.
Have you ever been in a Home in England?
Furthermore, have you ever been in a Canadian home owned by someone who is originally from England?
These people are crazy about cleanliness.
It's like the bathing process was refined, fine tuned and then shot into hyper drive.
My friend Karen (Bless her citrus heart) was born in England, and moved over here at the age of three.
She is a clean person.
Freakishly clean.
I remember using the washroom at her parents home the last time I was there, and counting at least seven bath puffs and three loofahs. Does this spell insanity? Not typically, just a desire for variety.
It's the products they use to adorn these puffs and loofas.
If you go to an English gift exchange, everyone is going home with some sort of talcum, perfume, oil, bodywash or bathsalt. And it is guaranteed, whatever you end up with, it will smell like shit.
The reason for this!
Well, an Englishman loves to drink, and loves to smell fine scents. So, why not combine the two.
Most of the planning for English hygiene went into again, variety, as opposed to fine tuning, and here we are again, shot into overdrive.
It is not unusual for me to see a nice white glass bottle sitting on the ledge of Karen's bathtub that holds something like 'Rose Lavender Body Milk'.
Rose and Lavender for the scent, and milk, to remind the Englishman of drinking.
'Lotus Bloom Tea Bodyscrub'.
And a pattern surfaces.
'Lil O The Valley Cream'.
And now it is just obvious.
Why not just make 'Dandelion and a Pint Talcum'?
or
'Boddingtons (warm) and Mowed Lawn Body Mister'?
The funniest part is that most of the English folks who have left their native land and moved on over to this fine country have seen the err of their ways.
Karen herself will let these bottles sit until the next Christmas when she rotates inventory. Out with the old, in the with the, umm, same.
For a country so hell bent on a cream or sauce for every part of the male and female anatomy, seemingly, they've forgotten to chose wisely when organizing the variety of showertime choice.
Take it from yer neighbours, the French, they love the finer things, including a good piss up, but you don't see your French friends coming home from a Christmas exchange with 'Chardonnay Tulip Cologne' now do you?

PENANCE

2005-05-29T18:50:00.000-07:00

On Friday I went to Licks for the good ol' Homeburger Combo, complete with a side of 'guck' to dip my deep fried potatoes in.
It was dreamy. Moist, tender, warm, everything I long for in a hamburg.
I walked away from my dining experience not assuming to remember it in a few months, but with my tummy full and content about the money I had spent.
I was to work early Saturday, so I opted to stay home Friday, and it was a good thing I did. I felt pretty wiped out by 9 pm, and although out of character for me, I decided to crawl into bed, and call it a day.
I awoke at approximately 1 am.
I felt a sudden urge to use the washroom, and thought it was kind of odd, as these types of urges have never woken me up from a dead sleep.
'Hmm, do I feel kind of sick too?'
I got out of bed and made my way to the downstairs washroom, so as not to disturb my family with 'my nature'.
I grabbed a bucket just in case, my stomach was definitely, not right.
By 3 am, my slight 'urge to purge' had developed into a full on symphony of release.
So much so that at one point I looked up at the sky (or more accurately, the bathroom ceiling) and asked 'God' to take me if this was my time, and to cut the fucking dramatics.
The homeburger that had poisoned me kept coming to me in a fever induced hallucination. I could smell the meat again. I could taste the toxins. I think, I could even hear the Jezebel Cow laughing.
This lasted the entire night, and part of Saturday morning.
I slept. A lot.
I ate, nothing.
It was sunday afternoon before I could sit upright again.
As my new blog will attest to, 'God' did not take me.
'God' has given me another chance.
I want to embrace this and make a fresh start.
Not only have I purged myself of the poisonous bovine who tried to kill me but did not succeed, I have purged myself of my poor attitude.
I am a new man.
Thoughts...
Well, my parents aren't just tree huggers who don't eat meat. They're avoiding a ton of possibilities that could lead to a 'food poisoning'.
Will I become a vegetarian? Hells no!
But, I will never eat at Licks again.
I'm not sure how many innocent cows I can save from that decision, but, I will do my part.
My stomach just cramped as a reminder that I need to do more than this.
So, I will also go back to church and reaquaint myself with the peace and fulfillment that one attains in a Christian lifestyle.
Good thing this is a blog, I was laughing before I even got that last sentence typed out.
Ahem, no, still no confirmation for this kid.
But, I will stop to smell the roses.
I will appreciate what I have.
I will not take things for granted anymore.
Ah fuck, you know I will!
See 'God' I told you, should've snuffed my flame when you had the chance. I am a lousy study!
What have I really taken away from this experience?
1) An excellent grasp on the discomfort of dehydration.
2) The ability to fend for myself. I shut myself in the basement to recover, and my parents left me there.
3) The goal of 'getting healthy' and not running any risks of getting sick for real.
4) A new scat fetish (just kidding).
5) The belief that it's good that cow was slaughtered, cause tomorrow when I'm feeling closer to 100% I would have gone and beats its ass.
6) A new NO 'LICKS' philosophy.
7) A sick appreciation for the poisoning. It has cut out one of my choices for a meal out. I am terrible when confronted with too many options. 1 down, 46 to go.

So maybe I don't want to go back to church, or build clean water wells in Sudan, but I didn't walk away from this void of any teachings. I had a shitty weekend (literally) and I learned from it. How many of us can say that about food poisoning.
*fucking twat cow*

These are a few of my least favourite things

2005-05-26T20:13:00.000-07:00

As I sit here, merely spitting on the month of June, I realize that the year is close to half over. I have done some brainstorming, and compiled a short list of a few minor attributes of 2005 that I think we could have done without.
They are as follows....
1) My Fabulous Gay Wedding;
Has this even aired yet? Please, open my mouth and fart in it, because I'm sure the aftertaste would be better than watching that annoying fag from 'Kids In The Hall' prance around and be all theatrical as a host to a gay wedding. Hmm, I think the best way to seal the vote is to AVOID taking a stereotype and making him the host of a gay union. Scott Thompson? Is that his name. Please, I'll spend 48 hours in a pool filled with piss if the network would just trash this show before it airs.
2) 'Napoleon Dynamite' T-Shirts;
Okay, the movie was a gas. I laughed hard, not as hard as 'Team America: World Police' but pretty fucking hard. I love the dance sequence, the older brother and his gal pal, the crazy uncle, and the lass with the berets. I made a friend buy it so I could borrow it. But, I don't want to see 'Vote Pedro' adorning white t-shirts with red piping all over the streets of Toronto. The movie isn't even old enough for that kind of shit to be cool. Wear one of those in 2015, then maybe you'll be cool. Until then, find yerself a nice 'Dukes Of Hazard' T-shirt and look mean when you're wearing it.
3) IPOD's;
Sorry, I know they are so functional and easy to use, but, I picture those lame silhouettes dancing to songs that really mean shit. That 'TECHNOLOGY' song? Hmm, here's an idea, FUCKING SLIT MY THROAT! Please, just because you haven;t heard it in constant rotation yet, doesn't mean it not coming, and doesn't mean that song isn't pure shit! Do you really want yer 'subdued' white earphones tying you to music that makes you a dork? Burn Ipod, burn.
4) Charity Bracelets;
I bought a 'save the children' bracelet from 7-11 for tsunami relief. I was so happy to adorn my naked arm with my new cobalt blue rubber band so that the whole world could see that I had done my part. I bought it with a pack of butts and some gum. Then I left the store and went back to work. I cracked open the cellophane packaging aching to get my support on my arm, and then I read the 'fine print'. 7-11 will donate 100% of the profits of bracelets sold to a maximum of $2.00 per bracelet. But those fuckers charged me $2.99 + tax. Slurpee sales must be down this year! Fuck the kids in the mud man, the employees need new red and green smocks!
5) Tom Cruise and 'Dawson's Creek Chick';
Okay, I'm not too interested in celebrity dating, in fact, usually I don't give a shit. But, Katie Holmes and Daddy Cruise? WTF? Never mind what would Jesus do...What the fuck would Jesus say? Katie Holmes said 'as a little girl she always dreamed of marrying Tom Cruise'. Yeah no shit, so the fuck did I. Too bad he was married twice and had 130 sexual partners before Katie Holmes sprouted her first pube.
6) Straight White Dumb Men;
So you've trained your toothless girlfriend into believing that 'fist-a-cuffs' are foreplay! You pissed on the aids memorial! You revel in the smell of your own farts! You think racial slang is reserved for 'the right crowd'! You have big balls, scrath them in public dude! Oh, and while yer at it, bend over and get fucked by all the women, gay people, visible minorities and sexual minorities who think you're a sist on the ass of roadkill. Oh yeah, and just because 'you're bitch' has 'nice tits' doesn't exempt you from the fact that you're an asshole!
7) The United States Of America;
Are you still there? OH....SHIT....You are!
8) Eminem;
Why are we still dealing with this shit. I liked him in the beginning. In the same way I liked 'Len' in the beginning, but let's let the one hit wonders have five hits, and then bury him. Aren't we sick of that fucking voice yet? How many more 'ho's' can he tap before the keg dries up?

Okay, I could go on, but I'm afraid it would tarnish my idea of the rest of the year! Jessica Simpson, keep it real! I know I will!
*farting*

2005-05-24T20:27:00.000-07:00

Congrats to a great girl on a great trip!

LEASER ABROAD

2005-05-24T20:22:00.000-07:00

My friend Lisa (Lease) is currently travelling Europe, and at present she is doing it alone.
I think that takes a serious amount of balls.
I mean, imagine going to dinner and a movie alone? How many of us can even fathom doing that?
I can't!
or
wouldn't want to!
I think it takes a special type of people to take risks like that. To go and embark on something with yer backpack as your best friend.
My friend Lease is a special type of friend, I have always known that, and have always appreciated her in my life, as I do with all of my friends. I am fucking blessed with the group of people who I am lucky enough to have in my life.
And I don't say it enough.
Shit, I don't say it at all!
But tonight, in my small blog way, I am going to tell Lisa, that I love her and I am proud of her for all of her accomplishments.
For real Lease, I'm proud to call you my friend.

Camping Season

2005-05-23T21:13:00.000-07:00

The glorious time of year when people pitch tents and sleep on the earth is upon us again. I am feeling nostaglic;
I have chosen to share some 'camping memories' with all ya'll!

1) I shimmied up a pine tree (one where the needles don't start till a fuckers jump up there) and I made my way about 12 feet from the ground. At the time is seemed much higher. I looked down when someone posed the question of how you'd get the drunk guy out of the tree should the need arise. I remember glancing down and thinking how far my friends looked from me.....And then falling. It kinda slowed there, like I was crashing to my death only instead of my life flashing before my eyes the world just kind of, slowed down. It was peaceful, maybe even kind of fun. When I landed the upper portion of my back was square on a wooden stool that Beth's dead grandfather had made for her. The same stool that "No one could touch, it was a symbol more than a stool". I heard the wood cracking as more of my weight was forced onto it. Sort of like dropping chop sticks at first, but then went on to full on "TIMBER" wood cracking in half sound. The lower portion of my body hit first, but surprisingly, the wood Gramps had chosen was soft, pliable even, and the top half of my body was only milliseconds to follow. I laid there at first, wondering if the throbbing pain between my shoulders would subside. I had no idea that I had landed on grandpa's stool, at that point it could have been one of my friends. Still, the tormenting pain in my upper back fought off all concern for what I had crushed/killed. Beth didn't even scream. For grandpa's stool I mean. It was pretty quiet, I could still hear the fire beside me crackling, I knew I wasn't deaf. Then (and I'm not sure what came first) I felt a wild slapping motion on the top of my head, and in my ears rang the words....'His hair's on fire'. That is a moment I will never forget. Not that I valued my hair like Michael Jackson, but I still wanted to be pretty at the end of my weekend getaway. The flames were squashed out before any of the heat had burned me. I had simply gotten a very fast brush cut on one part of my head. What happened? Well, the citronella candle that my head hit had thrown wax all over the folks who were too close by. Alex, I'm still sorry about yer new jean jacket. And the candle had tipped, my head just inside, but, instead of the wick going out, it raged on in the way candles do when you drain the wax from them. My best friend had apparently first said "Is his hair on fire" because she thought she smelled that funky roasted smell. Then pulled the candle away to see that yes in fact, my brown locks were smoldering, and proceeded to administer the appropriate thwacks that would save me from hanging out with 'David' fulltime. As awkward as it seems to use this as a fav memory, it's like it happened to someone else, I relive it like a movie where the main characters face is much different than the person who the story is based on. Really funny. Imagine of you were there, you'd still laugh at me for it. Oh, and Beth, total accident, sincere apologies.

2) ELORA GORGE For anyone who doesn't know Elora Gorge is a gorge in Elora, Ontario. Nuff with the geography lesson. So, obviously, there is a river that flows between two walls of southern ontarios version of a canyon. This campground is based on the idea that people wanna camp, and ride an inner-tube down a lazy river. Only, sadly, the river isn't that lazy, and for years there were tubing casualties. Now, it is strictly governed, one person per tube, and a life jacket and helmut on all riders. When we 'tubed' the park 'forbid' anyone in the gorge, but there was never any security and the fine folks at the front gate simply looked the other way when EVERY CAR drove in with four inner-tubes tied by the trunk. We didn't think that far ahead. We showed up with no tubes. Thankfully the farmer across the street sold them by the highway in all shapes and sizes. We were a group of about 9 tubing virgins. And when the nine virgins saw that each small tube cost 20 dollars we lost faith in the idea of 'gettin a ride in the gorge'. Then, like a massive rotten donut one of us spotted a huge answer to our problem sitting near the back of a pile of smaller tubes. This fucking inner-tube was so big it must have come off of the worlds largest tractor. At a mere 50 Canadian dollars, it was a steal. There was no way to tie it to the trunk of the car as the car fit in the radius of the tube, so we threw our arms in the air and carried it back to camp as if it were the coolest crowd surfer of all time.
Some of us threw on bathing suits or old shorts and made our way to the gorge. The water was a ways down, but we hiked until a feasible path down showed itself. The water was about 2 feet deep when we dropped the tube. The nine or so of us got balanced, all feet into the center of the tube and took our feet off of the river bed. The tube instantly started to turn, forcing the heaviest portion to the front and down as the 'gentle' current carried us downstream. Soon we didn't have to hold our legs up to avoid the bottom of the river, the water darkened and we could relax our lower appendages into the deepening water. The spin on the tube seemed to pick up and switch directions. I can remember my body actually jerking to one side when the current switched. I thought that it was strong, and wondered what would have happened if someone had fallen in. I didn't have to wait long.
My good friend Deanna slipped off the tube as if it were coated in vaseline. She didn't even make a noise, I think it's because it happened so fast. Like the water somehow got a grip on her feet, and pulled her in. Yanked her in, fast like and as if it were serious. We all looked into the dark water, white foam spun around and held us there, just turning in a circle. Someone yelled about Deanna. Then, she started to surface. I remember seeing her kind of brown and gritty as if she were in an old movie, and then start to get dark again. I knew she was going back down, so I stuck my hand into the water and grabbed anything I could. That turned out to be her hair, and I reefed her out of the water by that. She came back onto the tube, visibly shaken, but not willing to give up. About an hour later the inner tube came to a stop at a concrete bridge where the water flows below the surface, and let's riders know the finish line is there. At this point our massive tube held only my best friend Karen and I, everyone else had fallen along the way. The tally; Deanna almost drowned, a guy lost the ring his grandfather had given him, someone was taken to the hospital for stitches, and all tubing clothes were covered in mud, sand and blood. The part that makes it a favourite camping memory. We were young and invincible. After all that had happened not once did Karen and I ever think of taking the tube out of the water and walking back to camp. It was all about making it to the end.

3) Having sex with my highschool girlfriend during the day. Her head was hitting the top of the small dome tent and sending a rippling effect from the top of the tent to the ground. I'm not sure how long it lasted (I don't like to brag) but when it was over and we were relaxing in the afterglo, we could hear families laughing. People pointing and saying 'that tent right there, people were just having sex, the whole tent was moving'. And long laughs from the people who had watched. We hid in there for another long while, maybe even napped for fear of unzipping the tent and showing the audience who'd put on the show.

these are just a few from a list that is too long to write. But, thank you camping gods for giving us another season to 'PITCH TENT'.

please read

2005-05-23T21:09:00.000-07:00

www.365gay.com/entertainment/MusicChannel/top10/051805top10.htm

this is an article about a gay porn star that has become a pop star.
It's too funny.
The 'gay movement' may never be the same!

*groaning*

Inherently Anti-social

2005-05-18T21:01:00.000-07:00

"I've dreamt of solitude, lost in the wilderness of the country side, my fellow man, a mere memory of what I walked away from."
anonymous

What is it about cities and towns, suburbia as opposed to the 'big city'?
We buy houses in cities and those of us who can afford an added luxury purchase a cottage in a rural area. Less than rural, an area untouched. After all, the idea of a cottage is to escape the hustle of day to day life. To get somewhere quiet and peaceful, to hear the crickets chirp.
What about the people who buy their homes in areas such as this?
It's a double edged sword.
In a city you can grocery shop, go to the bank, take in a movie and go out to dinner, all without bumping into anyone you know.
In a small town, you cannot go to the corner store without seeing someone you know.
If the population is 500, chances are you know the cashier, the bagger, the guy smoking by the ice machine and the mechanic who waves from across the street.
So what is the draw?
Are we inherently drawn to other people, or inherently drawn to the idea of escaping other people?
Do I want to live in a big city because I feel the need to surround myself with people? As opposed to Erin who has bought a house in an area where the neighbours are fewer.
When I sit on my front porch in a suburban neighbourhood of Southern Ontario I see the houses like well defined cottages.
Small dwellings that house completely different people.
All packed in to an area that someone decided was going to become a community.
The old school dictionary that I rely upon defines a community as
A body of persons having common rights, interests, and priviledges, living in the same locality.
Well, aside from the obvious contradictions like the government funded housing 3 blocks away, what else falters in this definition?
Interests?
How many of us know what our neighbours are interested in?
I assume, not too many.
So then, to build a permanent residence in a rural (untouched) area, are we then a part of an anti-community?
Do these people reject the notions of what it means to live in a city?
Or are they more independent, more willing to forge than to follow?
In actuality, we all live in cottage town, some of us just feel the need to have more neighbours, some of us shy away from that entirely.
I just wonder if there's something to be said about the hunters who drink beer and shoot deer during the appropriate season, compared to the kid in the Burgundy beret who reads his words against such behaviour at a coffee house in Toronto.
Are the hunters a modern version of that and their gathering ancestors, a more highly developed quota of the population that is still intouch with the idea of what is truly important. Survival and simplicity?
Have the people of the city become so enraptured with technology and the advancement of the human race that they have lost all recognition for respect of what has gotten us here?
It's funny, we're like ants, and as I think far too often, we're like 'THE SIMS' as we walk through life fighting for what we think is important. And the city kids make fun of the townies and the townies poke fun at the freaks, but, we're all just a version of one another. Some of us have purchased cottages in an area where we're surrounded by people, and some of us prefer a stove that burns wood.
Who is better than the other?
Neither is the PC answer.
We are simply functioning in a different mindset.
We hold different values and beliefs.
We have different ideas of what we want to wake up to on a Sunday morning.
But....
in the end, it's all cottage country,
we all chose to live in this area or that, and the reasons we do it are as mysterious as the answers people actually give.
I wanted to be a fire fighter!
Well, you can't fight a house fire in an area that has 30 houses in an 2000 acre cross-section. You can, but, it's be like writing for a magazine that publishes 4 stories once every 27 years.
Communities (large cottage countries) are founded on an inability to be alone, or even in small groups. We create this idea that we need to rely upon one another as opposed to fending for ourselves.
It's true!
Imagine what the community you lived in right now was like 200 years ago.
We would all be rural, or rich.
Now, we're all rural, or urban, with the occasional cottage that turns the head of a well coiffed debutante.
Do I live where I live because I have replaced instinct with knowledge?
or because knowledge was always an upper story to the idea of instinctual behaviour?
See ya'll in cottage country!

2005-05-12T18:25:00.000-07:00

1/2 melon

Pretty Boy, with yer pretty boobs

2005-05-10T20:47:00.000-07:00

Why did I once think that journalism was a good profession for me?
Since I am merely a woman trapped in a mans body, a stereotype on an already rejected minority.
I'm a bit fired up.....
Apparently, Sweedish researchers have discovered that the gay mans brain is much like a straight woman's brain.
We respond 'exactly' to the same scents!
Who Knew?
Gay men and straight women know what smells good.
But it goes beyond that, according to CTV News.
Straight women and gay men respond to the same 'pheromone.
We respond identically.
Well, thank god someone finally put out some research that backs 'nature' as opposed to 'nurture'.
BUT........
to say that we share the same brains as women?
WTF?
WWJD?
I think it's time to head back to the labs and reconsider what makes gay men gay, aside from 'responding' to a fucking scent!
Hmm, my brain is exactly like a woman's eh!
Damn, that must be why I always squeeze my fatty man boobs together and try to make my titties pretty in the mirror.
That also explains why every 28 days I wonder if I am going to begin my menstrual cycle.
I have always had an intense desire to get pregnant, and give birth!
Them Swedes are so on the ball!
How else can I explain finger banging my choda in hopes for a clitoral orgasm?
But wait....
what are we talking about here...that straight women and gay men both like cock?
Fuck me....those well funded Swedish 'meatballs' have really one 'upped global research on this one!
GAY MEN AND STRAIGHT WOMEN BOTH LIKE COCK
READ ALL ABOUT IT!
The one and ONLY gay man they interviewed on my local news station seemed to be living in Miami, and was 'tickled pink' to have some evidence that he didn't choose to be a queer!
Well fuck you buddy!
You're far too dumb to be gay!
I remember the exact moment I chose it. It was just before Christmas in 1985, I thought, "Hey, I need more of a challenge, from tomorrow on, I am going to be completely attracted to me".
Now my choice is vetoed by this new evidence that I was 'born gay'.
Fuck, now what am I going to tell my mom?
Maybe move beyond having gay men, straight men and straight women smell perfumes, then call me when you've 'uncovered' something.
Hell, maybe even look for something similar in the minds of gay men and lesbians.
Hell, gay women and straight men....
But fuck, I think I know already....
lesbians and straight men responded identically to the scent of petrol, saw dust and oatmeal.

DESIDERATA

2005-05-09T18:15:00.000-07:00

Desideratum: n. desiterata, anything desired; a want, desire, or need generally felt and recognized.

Forgive my ignorance to detail here, but, In a church called Old Saint Paul's, located in Baltimore USA a piece of writing was discovered that was dated 1692.
This piece of work is called Desiterata.
Essentially it's a feel good piece of writing that lifts you up a bit and adds a little more perserverance to our personalities.
It was found in a church.
Therefore, I expected it to be riddled with references to God, and Christianity.
It's not.
At all.
In fact only one line in the entire writing (approx 325 words) even mentions his holiness.
The line is;
Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive him to be, and whatever your labors & aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
Be at peace with God whatever you conceive him to be. I find that exceptionally cool, however odd it may be that a Christian wrote it.
I've read and reread the piece over and over again, most of it has been regurgitated a million times over since this was written and has lost most of its effectiveness. But that one line catches me every time.
Whatever you perceive him to be.
I don't think it's written arrogantly. I don't think the author demeans anyone elses beliefs.
I think it's just to encompass free thought.
It's accepting.
It's all encompassing.
The rest of the writing is not all encompassing, and warns us to avoid loud and aggressive persons, as they are 'vexations to the spirit.'
But that one line.
'Be at peace with God whatever you perceive him to be', and found in a church!
That's too much.
It's funny that so much that Christianity teaches is based in good, yet it gets poisoned and twisted around, comes out dirty.
If there is a God, I perceive God to be a free thinker.
I think he likes everybody, even the loud and aggressive people (Christians).

DUMB DUMB RODENTS

2005-05-06T20:58:00.000-07:00

I once had the gross misfortune of sharing a student house with musical theatre students.
They are always on stage.
There is no greater annoyance than living with people who self identify as actors, and not to be one yourself.
I credit them for giving me a slight knowledge of show tunes, and a love for a select few. BUT, aside from a catchy song or two, it was a fucking nightmare.
I once confronted one of the BFA students on some cruel things he was saying about me. I was angry. Livid, even.
I raised my voice and I shook the room and I pointed, cussed and snarled in the way only a scorned man can.
His response was to fall to the floor, fake convulsions and then be rescued by a helpful classmate (who had seen it all before) who knew to bring him a brown paper bag to ease his hyperventilation.
The BFA's saw 'MAN DOWN' and ran to his aid, I saw the most pathetic response to a confrontation ever, and, an easy kicking target. I had taken Tae Kwon Do for 5 years, and I saw all the areas he was leaving unprotected. In my head, well, I kicked each and every one of them.
It wasn't all bad.
Sometimes it was even fun, like when I had the house to myself, or, on Christmas vacation when I was in a different city.
I don't want to defame actors.
I'm sure the ones who actually make it have a more grounded appreciation of the art, but in my experience, young hopeful actors were the bain of my existance.
The girlfriend of one of the most offensive BFA's once told me two things that I have seen to be true.
(Two materialized)
1) I talk like I have marbles in my mouth.
and
2) I have the attention span of a retarded hamster.
I have seen myself on video, my mouth barely moves.
And as for the attention span, well, she may have been too generous.
I catch myself all the time 'drifting' when people are talking.
Sometimes even when I am interested in what they have to say I have to consciously fight off the desire to daydream.
I have to watch their lips move, and focus on the words they're using.
So, how can someone so closely associated and keen on such a fucked up group to hold as their social circle be so intuned with one of my biggest downfalls?
Was she clairvoyant?
Is she a medium I should still be consulting?
Should I have been an actor?
HELLS NO!
But I have to give her this.
My attention span sucks, it does now, and it always has.
If someone even uses a word I'm not fond of I tune them out entirely.
Honestly, sometimes I find myself in a heated conversation that I started, and have no idea what the last three points were of the people speaking.
Christ, even now........
I've lost it, forgot to concentrate!
I'm going to go for a smoke!
*farting*

2005-05-06T20:54:00.000-07:00

cigarette swirling over ashtray

Scouts Canada

2005-05-03T19:34:00.000-07:00

I was a lousy Scout.
My scout leaders were my father, and Scouter Eric.
Scouter Eric once told my father that he would break me. File down my juvenile rebellion and mould me into a man.
Yeah, like my 'right of passage' would be determined by Jamborees and merit badges.
Scouter Eric was wrong.
Although, I did experiences some moments in Scouts Canada that are for ever burned into my head.
We had an annual camping trip that took place at the Haliburton Scout Reserve. This is where we refined our roasting campfire songs and learned what we all need to know about survival in the wilderness and the much needed teachings of canoeing and portaging.
This story focuses on the latter.
A day of paddling and carrying Fiberglas canoes around an area that hadn't been touched by the developed Canada that we know and love.
It sucked.
It was hot, the canoes were tiresome both on my shoulder and in the water.
As a kid, I made no attempt to mask my discontempt, everyone near me and in a surrounding area, yet undocumented, bore witness to my rant.
Where's the campfire, wiener roast and burnt marshmallows.
That's not what Scouts is about.
This is where boys learn to be men. This is where you eat stew comprised of swamp findings, where 'yer lucky it's beef and not squirrel'. This is where machismo collides with youth, and fireworks happen.
I'm half ass paddling, my older brother in the front, and another scout in the middle are carrying my weight.
I try, but don't give a shit!
We come upon a beaver damn. It's typical Canadiana style, middle of a river, yet not touching either bank.
As we had learned to do, we file out, one by one trusting beavers (as I never did again) to hold our weight, as we physically maneuver the boat over the mass of surprisingly well meshed together sticks and sediment.
I am not happy.
I see myself falling through. I can feel the cold water sticking my shirt to my chest. That annoyance one gets when something goes horribly wrong.
I urge my team to pick up the pace.
The boat makes it back into the water on the appropriate side of the dam and my brother files into the front of the boat, as myself and the scout hold it to steady.
Then, middle scout takes his turn.
I hold that boat like an epileptics tongue, it's not going anywhere.
My big brother;
'Okay, Ian, you push off as hard as you can to make sure we make it off the dam, then jump in'.
I see this as an opportunity. Slightly less gratifying as wrestling the bear to save the troop, yet, I will free us from the beavers.
I push with all my might, and am just about ready to throw myself into the boat when something stops me.
I see my brothers paddle, and that of middle scout, hoist into the air and break the water.
feverishly.
Their arms were like animated movies where it's not so feasible to see human movement that quick.
I stand up, stunned.
They had planned to leave me there. My pushing to prove something had in turn sealed my fate.
The arse end of the canoe that once had me dragging my fingers through the water and sitting comfortably in it was now disappearing up river.
I had a millisecond of self realization;
'I deserve this.'
It ended after that. Now my Canadiana adventure had turned to bad canuck programming and I was the loser cast in the part of 'crazed beaver lunch'.
I screamed, but I did not stomp.
I first used the F-word in radius of my fathers ears.
I was standing in my scouts approved shorts, my converse one stars, and a t-shirt, looking up river and firing out words that I thought could make a canoe freeze in spot.
My words failed me that day, it wasn't until my brother had reached the next portage, and had to account for my absence that he turned around and came back for me.
I'm still always the middle scout.
To this day!

Can I escape my Christian Upbringing?

2005-04-30T20:35:00.000-07:00

BAPTIZE -
to sprinkle or pour water on, or immerse in water, as a religious ceremony, esp. in admitting to a Christian church; 2, to purify; 3, to christen

Sprinkling water on my forehead and dropping a few 'Jesus Christs' wouldn't even allow me to bypass a five dollar cover at a gay bar! Now why is this gay man expected to believe that it will grant me entrance into the kingdom of heaven?
I was a childhood Christian.
I attended all the years of Sunday School. I acted in church plays. I lit candles in my pew on Christmas eve. I prayed. I taught at Vacation Bible School in the summer months, and even went as far as to be a Sunday School Teacher for the grade 4's.
I did it all begrudgingly and at the force of my parents.
My mother used to refer to her one hour a week in church as her most peaceful hour of the week. I did not do the same.
I laid in bed on Sunday mornings and prayed (almost literally) that this would be the Sunday where my parents overslept.
By the time I was fifteen I was very capable of saying no. So when the idea of enrolling me in confirmation courses arose, I was steadfast with my 'Fuck No'.
I didn't (and don't) give a shit if I am not allowed full communion in a Christian Church.
My church housed a gay minister. Of course, the congregation didn't know that at the time, then one fateful Sunday (while I was colouring a picture of Jesus in the basement) my Minister came out of the closet during a sermon. Apparently, a lot of the "Christians" in attendance that day got up and left. Most refused to come back until the fag was gone, and a few were never to return because at one time there was a gay man spreading the word of God there. The church was somehow tainted, dirty, the word of God coated in a grey film that masked its true beauty. How dare a fag tarnish what God is trying to teach us;
'Love thy neighbour'
'Do unto others'
Admittedly, I didn't know at the time, I was a child. I didn't find out until years later.
It became a dirty secret that was burried just off the grounds of the church.
In late highschool I befriended a girl who had always attended my church, she told me the news.
I have no resentment.
I cannot blame Christians for their inability to form individual thought any more than they can point a finger at me for 'choosing my lifestyle'.
I do however, want to escape this. To move beyond my affiliations with organised religion and purge myself all that I have learned. I want to unlearn everything.
I don't want to pick and choose, join a gay church that candy coats the bible or search for another religion.
The simple truth is that no one has any fucking clue why were here or where we're going.
I'm all for spirituality, but only if it's self developed.
Organizing something like spirituality is like trying to organize free thought. It cannot be done, and if you try to, it becomes a herd that follows a leader(s).
Typically your religious beliefs are formed by what continent you are born on. They filter down to what country, and finally what family.
You did not pick your religion, an ancestor did when they realized that the Presbyterian Church was closer to home than the Baptist one.
Regardless, gay people have no place in Christianity. We are excluded from God's love as a direct result of our 'choice to deviate'.
To pretend that that is not a part of the bible is to sheild ourselves against the truth.
Not to mention, to choose to ignore one of the bible's teachings in turn chips away at the integrity of all the others.
We do not need Jesus as a part of morality, love, honesty or respect. These human conditions were there in B.C. just as in A.D.
The common argument is that Christianity instills good values, and does more good than harm.
Tell that to my ex-minister.
Tell me that.
Tell gay people all over the world that.
When those 'Christians' got up and walked out, they walked out on a very brave man at the front of the church, they walked out on a little boy in the basement, and they walked right the fuck out of all the 'good values' that the bible had taught them.
How can so much stock be placed in something that is seemingly so easy to forget?
I don't forget.
I only wish I could!

2005-04-26T12:02:00.000-07:00

Now who's finger banging their asshole?

Squinting Cheetah

2005-04-26T11:53:00.000-07:00

K - Is for Kelly, cause i couldn't think of anything else that started with K, except that movie The Killing Fields, but we never saw that together!
E - Is for Entertaining, cause you make me giggle! One time I even peed a bit in my jockey shorts.
L - L is for love, cuase yer in it now and getting married.
L - L is for love, cause I think yer purdy damn special too!
Y - Y is for Yahweh, which is a modern reconstruction of the supposed original name of the God of the ancient Hebrews. And here I was thinking it was Donald.

ALL YOU FUCKERS IN HALIFAX, LOOK UP MY GIRL AND MAKE SURE SHE'S LOVING YOUR FINE CITY.
Good luck on the move and the future Kelpie!

2005-04-26T11:52:00.000-07:00

MMM, Lay one on me

Simple Rules For Good Face Sucking

2005-04-26T11:13:00.000-07:00

How many of us say that we enjoy kissing more than the sexual act?
How many believe that it is more intimate?
So, if it is so important, then why do so many of us deliver a lousy kiss.
I started out pretty lucky, back in the days of kissing girls i never had a complaint, aside from that fact that they were girls.
But, they kissed well.
Then, I came out. Started kissing men. For a while I was pretty confident with the skills I had aquired, and was pleasently surprised by the skills of the men I was kissing.
However, it has gone downhill.
So, I figured, it was time to lay down some simple ground rules to enhance your kissing experiences.
First of all, the men who have never kissed women have a lot to learn.
I hope this helps.
Kissing techniques to avoid;
1) The Tongue Spear; this one is particularly offensive. It is when the person you're making out with makes their tongue into a tubular mass of flesh, and they just shove it in there. Throw it in there. Then, the tongue dies, and you're left with a mouthfull of limp tube. Typically the lips stop moving. It's almost like your partner has died. The only thing to do is pull away. Hopefully then they retract the tongue and learn from their mistakes, but some sit there looking at you with their tongues still out, like they're waiting for you to open yer mouth and keep it warm for them. This is not good. People who do this get talked about behind their backs.
2) The Waterslide; This is also not a good way to make a lasting impression. The tongue forms that hotdog bun thing that only those of us with the recessive gene can form, and the inside of the bun acts as a tunnel for spit to leak down into the other persons mouth. I do not want you to spit in my mouth, so please, don't drool in it either. Hell, take a break and swallow once in a while.
3) The Non-Commital Tongue; This is the one that pops in at bad times, like when you're moving your lips and mouth around and they end up licking your teeth. We all brush thanks, this is supposed to be sexy, not hygenic.
4) The Archaeologist; This technique makes the receiver think that the person kissing them is looking for something. The microfilm or the arc. They use their tongue as a search engine, and run it around the inside of your mouth like a fucking automatic pool cleaner. It's creepy. There's nothing in there but a tongue and some teeth, and if you don't smarten up, someones going to bite down.
5) The Biter; I once had a girl bite my tongue so hard it bled. I wanted to punch her. Make sure your partner is into S&M before you latch onto something. Had it been a guy I would for sure have crotch punched him. A gentle lip nibble can be good if your in the sack, but a full on bite, well, that calls for a fucking throw down!
6) I don't even know what to call this one; But for you people out there who lean in for a kiss with your mouth open and tongue already sticking out, well, it's not all about that. The thrill is waiting for that magical french kiss to start, not to have yer fucking tongue in my mouth before our lips even meet. Okay, Tom Cruise pulled it off in Top Gun, are you Tom Cruise? Then fuck off!
7) Dental Derby; Do not ever make contact with your teeth and the person you are kissing. Are you trying to crawl inside? Or are you trying to see who has the bigger mouth opening? There's no bigger mood kill than that familiar 'clink' of two different peoples teeth rebounding off of one another. Go easy, it's better that way.
8) The Clamper; These are the people who afraid of a tongue kiss, they spend the makeout session (which typically is short lived for them) with their teeth clenched. What's the problem here? Shit, you're not in grade 8 are you? Fuck, I gotta go!
9) EYES OPEN; Okay, you want to fully creep out the person you're kissing, have them open their eyes once in a while and see that you're dead pan staring at them. Shut em, maybe not all the time, but for sure, once in a while. No one wants to be stared at when they're that close. *shivering* it's kinda like making out with a lunatic.

I don't want to go on for too long, but for real, keep some of this shit in mind. Maybe you won't get laughed at in the bars or around the water cooler so much!
Pucker up baby!

farting online

2005-04-26T10:40:00.000-07:00

'Men are not a new sensation, I've done pretty well i think'.
Ella Fitzgerald

Generally, I think I was doing well with men.
Then I opted to expand my dating potentials to the men 'wookin pa nub' on the internet.
My thought;
'I'm a pretty normal dude. I like pretty normal things. I'm easy going, like to laugh, and am a good caring fellow. So, if I'm online, there must be more guys like me on there too.'
I still believe there might be.
Sadly, they're all overshadowed by these dumbasses who bullshit their way through profiles, and even go as far as to use pictures that aren't even of them.
Ok, it makes sense to use a picture of yourself that you think is a good one.
BUT, we all have those one or two pics where were like, 'Damn bitch, I look good'.
We say this because we're surprised by what a great picture it is.
Why are we surprised?
Well, because most of the time we don't look like that.
So, to post one of the 'Damn Bitch...' pictures is going to disillusion the people looking at yer pic.
I have tried, as I think everyone should, to use pics that I'd say pretty much look like me on a daily basis.
For the ones who use other peoples pictures.
Well, yer a fucking idiot.
Nuff said.
Ahem, anyway, I've tried about 5 different dating websites, and keep seeing the same thing.
One dude i went out with said in his profile that he enjoyed weight lifting, hiking and biking, so on our first date we went for a hike. By the time we got back to the car after the walk he was peeling off layers of clothing and sweating like a St. Bernard in Cuba.
I was tipped off by the fact that he wasn't all that into weights, as his pecs were more like a b-cup of soft, pliable manboob.
I thought, hmm, why the fuck say you are something that you are not?
I mean, if you ever intend on meeting someone, they're going to notice, and although you may have a great personality, the knowledge that you lied before you even met the person will always be in your dates head!
So, don't lie!
I mean, post your own picture. Make of list of things you actually like to do.
Fuck there are people in the world that like to shit and piss on one another, and they're in relationships!
So, if you'd rather be sitting in front of a PS2 with a bong and a can of beer tell people that.
And, there are a huge number of people who are just looking to get off, so, search them out.
Leave the ones who aren't just looking for a blowjob in the back stall at Swiss Chalet alone.
Most of the people who use the internet as a source for meeting new people are not mutes, they are not incapable of intelligent thought.
Hell, I'd say some of us even have a brain on our shoulders, and we're more than a day old.
So for shit sakes...Be honest about who you are, what you like and what your looking for.
It'll save everyone a lot of time.
By the way, I'm looking for guys who can run in the Boston Marathon with me this year, I was lonely last year. Also, anyone else who like me, has won a Pulitzer or is a member of the 'Foot Long' club is welcome to say hi!

TRY TO SELL ME SOMETHING

2005-04-21T19:10:00.000-07:00

I work in retail.
I am a 'sales associate'.
I work in a questionable Canadian city, and I sling straight leg or relaxed fit denim to white trash.
I service the blue collar community.
I am attracted to most of them.
That is neither here nor there!
My point; tonight, I daydreamed about selling shit to people. Do I really back what I sell?
Do I give a shit if the customer is satisfied?
Do I unhold my companies standards on customer service?
The answer is Yes, and NO!
I have this retail Ian, he is a far cry from the Ian whose ass I wipe, or whose polluted kleenex I bury at the bottom of the waste paper basket.
This Ian, well, he sells shit, he genuinely laughs at a customers joke, he smiles all the time, he looks at a customer leaving the store, and he really hopes to see them again.
I hate this Ian.
This self that I have created. He is obnoxious, he is persistent, he is a shiny example of all the things I see myself hating when I'm sipping beers with my friends like Dan, Lisa or Karen. This is the Ian that Karmen wouldn't even look twice at on the sidewalk.
I become a version of myself that I don't even recognize.
I think then....If I am willing to do this for a store where my wage is insulting, where I NEVER go home feeling like I have accomplished something, why is it that I have created a persona?
Why do I owe my job this alter-ego.
The truth, well, we all have it, fuck man, we have it with different friends who travel in the same circle.
I am not the same Ian I am with Willy as I am with Wanda!
We recreate ourselves.
It's funny because even the biggest skeptics of what I am saying right now, have a personality that someone they know, would be shocked to uncover.
I see myself as a different person with the different people I know.
Well, I can say this to this person, but not to that one.
I can make a fart joke with you, but not you!
I can cry infront of you, but I would never do it infront of you!
Yet, I sell for a company that pays me to do so.
I do it well to, I sold a homophobe a pink sweatshirt, I sold a racist the worst safety shoe we sell.
I get back at the public where I can.
In my head, I call you cunts, fuckers, dorks, shitheads, and dickweeds.
I hate most of you, although I smile!
Well, since you buy what I sell, I'll be honest with all of you, I hate people who shop, I hate people who don't know their waste size, I hate people who refuse to give their postal codes, I hate men who shop with their wives/mummy's, I hate exceptionally fat people who bitch at ME for not stocking their size, I hate people who say they have been waiting too long for an order, I hate people who swear at me knowing I can't say 'Suck my big hard cock you lousy fucking fungal turd!'. I hate long professionally done finger nails. I hate people in manual labor jobs that shop at the end of their shift. I hate the use of the words Nigger, Faggot, Chinamen, Paki and Bitch, that I have heard countless times in countless sales. I hate that my 'HEAD OFFICE' does not back me in telling these losers to fuck off, to leave the store, or that I do not appreciate what they are saying. I am only allowed to nod and bring the subject back to the sale at hand.
I HATE RETAIL!
I HATE THE GENERAL PUBLIC!
You're all a bunch if self serving assholes out to get what you want!
I hope you get it, then I hope you shove it up yer ass, set it on fire, and try to pee on it to save yer own unholy, manufactured, ignorant asses from burning.

Fuck you!

Ian

MUSIC SNOBS SUCK

2005-04-14T19:11:00.000-07:00

There's this idea now that all the 'good' music is indie, or is a band comprised on musicians hell bent on political revolution, or someone who belongs to their own label.
Where does this come from?
I mean, fuck, we all know Brittany Spears and Justin Timberlake are manufactured versions of musicians, but, why is so much emphasis placed on this idea that new 'under-ground' bands are the ones that are breaking ground.
How many MUSIC SNOBS have enough knowledge of old music to be so snotty with what they listen to?
Do you think Kathleen Hanna or Patti Smith don't have guilty pleasures?
Do you love Earlimart because you think they have an original sound?
Do you embrace Matmos because they combine art and music?
I mean, all of these things are fine, I would agree with them myself, but why is it then, that a MUSIC SNOB will fight tooth and track listing to say they have no affinity for anything mainstream?
This is a manufactured approach to music.
How do you know what you are listening to is fantastic if you're just taking the word of the guy in the Beret who chokes down soy lattes cause that's what the 'Indie Gods' told him to do in a vision?
MUSIC SNOBS are people too, and they deserve respect, but it's really just an alternative to being a rocker, or a hippie, or a skid.
This is not a unique culture, there have always been people who favoured the music of the few to that of the mass.
The phenomena of MUSIC SNOBBERY has just recently been perfected.
And please, you have to be listening to more than Peaches, Sleater Kinney and Snow Patrol to classify, but, it's become popular to surround ones self with little known music to 'rebel' against the current mainstream.
FINE.....I hear the radio too, and it does all sound the same, and a lot of the same is shit!
BUT...why does it have to be new or the Velvet Underground to be cool?
It is not about message!
It is not about vocal ability!
It is not about Music!
It is solely about what is popular with the MUSIC SNOB kids!
It is a lesser version of a Blink 182 fan.....The mass you're following is simply smaller!
Don't get me wrong, I love me a good music fan, and I can comfortably discuss music over 24 beers in a one on one setting, BUT, come to me with more than what you heard was cool.
I wanna hear you love Sade or Led Zeppelin, and love Kids On TV!
Why is the music industry so fixated on what your neighbour likes?
Make up your own fucking mind, and go with it.
If you love Madonna, scream it from the friggin hills.
If you love The Band, say so with pride.
A true music fan is passionate about what they LISTEN to.
Not WHAT they listen to!

2005-04-12T09:44:00.000-07:00

INCENSE?? my bad

Don't be a dumb fuck!

2005-04-11T19:58:00.000-07:00

Television should be supervised by adults at all times?
well..fuck no....
'Adults' are the ones who are currently deciding what the youth of today is seeing on TV.
Those pokey 'children's shows' with brightly coloured creatures befriending one another and talking in spasmodic tones are excluded.
Although it is said that the 'years before 5 last the rest of our lives', it's the years after that that fuck with my head.
What messages are we really sending out.
Well, here's some realistic interpretations just from watching TV tonight.
1) Women are sexual objects simply created to entertain white, heterosexual men.
2) Smoking cigarettes is awful, but beer will get a man laid.
3) The female menstrual cycle is a thing of shame, so be discreet when you're on your period, god forbid anyone should be aware that you're dirty secret is really your ability to give life.
4) Gay men are always good for a laugh, better yet, laugh at them.
5) Avril Lavigne is a punk.
6) Times have changed, but women are still responsible for cleaning the toilets.
7) Getting old is a part of life, but looking old is for the poor.
8) Sex is a totally natural function for humans, and can be discussed in the parent/child relationship as easily as the weather.
9) Marijuana is a gateway drug, if you smoke it, you will end up homeless and injecting heroin.
10) Black people all have a way of talking that is significant to their race, they all share the same sense of humor and mannerisms.
11) Smart women are masculine.
12) Socially conscious men are gay.
13) All Asian people take Karate.
14) A personified animal will sell meat.
15) Teenage girls only want to make themselves appealing to the opposite sex, they have no capacity for individual thought.
16) All musicians have a message.
17) All men are incapable of romantic notions.
18) White people don't start wars, they defend honor.
19) Canada is a peaceful country with low crime rates and is comprised of heterosexual Christians who don't use drugs or intake too many calories.
20) North America has no poverty.

I could ramble more, and this really is just from watching TV tonight. Like the smarties commercial where three guys bite into the new smarties bar to match the colour of the girls outfits who walk by. Hetereosexual men, eat women.
It's funny how parents and people in the child rearing profession are so concerned with what their children see, and yet seem disaffected by what these same kids are seeing a few years later. ??? It's okay to not discuss the fact that all solvent commercials depict women as the cleaners, but it's important to tell them that Eminem doesn't really mean it when he says he's going to kill his mom!?!?
I love Canada!
I love that we are a multicultural country!
I just wish that we weren't so influenced by what we see on TV.
I wish people weren't still called down for their cultural backgrounds or sexual orientation.
I wish more people could 'put themselves in others shoes'.
I wish organized religion wasn't exclusive.
I wish we could formulate our own ideas regardless of what we have 'learned'.
I wish TV could be taken as a source of entertainment, and less as a window into the world.
I wish parents/people would take more time to analyze what they are seeing, and not be so quick to pass it off as a commercial or a television show. Thereby disregarding the messages.
There are too many amazing people in the world.
Too many unique ideas to pass up.
Too much emphasis placed on archaic ideas of what it is to be a man or a woman, or to belong to a certain race.
It's a joke to say 'why can't we all love one another'?
But it's common place to laugh at the blonde joke, or the Jewish joke, or the gay joke.
No real thought is present.
Who is it then, that doesn't want to think on their own, but will fight tooth and nail to say that they have?
Why are so many thoughts manufactured and so few able to realize that?
How clearly do you think about what you do, say or are opposed to?
Don't be fed by the media, use your own fucking head and make your own decisions based on realism and obvious fact!
sorry.....TV got to me tonight!

2005-04-06T12:13:00.000-07:00

Excited Turkey!

Wanna Hump?

2005-04-06T12:11:00.000-07:00

I lost my virginity on a bathmat.
I was 18.
I think my 'first time' fucked with my psycho-sexual development.
I'm not saying I get hardons in the bed and bath section at Walmart.
I just crave some romance.
Its been a while, if it's happened at all.
I'm sure there were one or two candles in there, but most likely a side effect as compared to a tool for seduction.
Like, say, I was getting head before I blew out the candles on my birthday cake.
Or, I rolled over to light one so I could see what the fuck 'this guy' was trying to do!

That's not the way it was meant to be.
I screwed up THE PLAN when I gave my virgintiy to someone 3 feet away from a fucking toilet.

I want to get some in a hot air balloon!
I want to make love on a beach!
I want to fuck in the forest of Algonquin park!
Or, I want a candle lit. A nice one, maybe even smells good!
I'm not some needy gay guy who wants to 'cuddle' (much).
But, I want someone who puts some thought into a good screw.
Maybe not everytime, or even most of the time.
But once in a while is a must.
I'm sick of the guy who dry humps yer leg and then looks at you like yer supposed to be excited about what's comming next!
I hold Karen and the bathmat accountable!
I crave romance because I experienced my first sex with 4 knees and two elbows on a plush blue bathmat at a friends house.
That is some sick shit!

Coffin Dodger Takes Flight

2005-03-25T07:09:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I was chatting with a friend on the internet.
He's a pretty decent photographer and had sent me some pictures.
One of the pictures was of this really scenic region in Germany.
In the picture my friend is standing on a pretty thin path of rocks. I can't see too far below where he is, but it looks mountainous, like if he ventured too far to one side there would be one hell of a drop.
I got to thinking about traveling and backpacking and exploring parts of the world I had not yet seen.
I pictured myself there. Skin in gooseflesh as this ethereal feeling surrounds me.
I had it in the back of my head for most of the day.
So when I went to bed that night I was not surprised to have a dream that incorporated huge cliffs and a very aesthetically appealing area.
I dreamt that I was walking on this grassy field. Lush grass too, like the green grass that one only finds in dreams, or possibly in parts of the world I have not yet made it to.
I was with some friends. It was sunny. Warm.
There were a fair amount of other people doing the same hike.
Off to the left of me was a massive drop. It wasn't even rocky, the field just sort of ended and led out to nothing. It looked like the ends of the earth, but somehow I knew there was land down there. I thank my first geography course for that.
I was walking. An excited feeling had a hold of me, and the warm sun on my face was a welcomed escape from the reality of this Canadian winter.
Then, screaming.
Loud panicked screams.
I was jarred right out of my good buzz and spun around to see an old woman in a pink jumpsuit sprinting across the field.
Her aged husband was close on her heels, but not quick enough to catch her.
Only, she wasn't running at me, or away from him.
She was running toward the cliff.
Not even running, hauling ass!
I stared in horror for about 5 seconds before she reached the end of the safety of the grassland.
She fucking jumped off.
All her white hair and pink flailing appendages just sort of disappeared as she fell below my field of view.
I thought about looking over the edge, but I've seem some of the websites where they post pictures of people who suffered serious accidents resulting in death most times, and I did NOT want to see it again.
Then, I woke up!
I just sort of shook my head last night and went back into a sleep that didn't provide me with any more dreams that I remember.
This morning, concern grows.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I take this perfectly innocent dream and make it into this sick statement.
What is the statement you ask?
I have no idea!
Just that I am a whack job.
I can link why I dreamt of the hike to what I had done during the day, but I do have a hard time drawing parallels to the suicidal old Betty.
Am I an ageist?
Do I subconsciously feel that seniors have no place in society, let alone in scenic areas?
I don't want to be a hater!
I knew I shouldn't have tossed out that dream interpretation book I got for Hexmas a few years ago.
Now how the hell do i know if I'm coming into money or due for a career change?
Still dreaming............

2005-03-24T20:59:00.000-08:00

This one was particularly obese!

Funny As Shite

2005-03-20T15:41:00.000-08:00

"Shit's Shit, you nancy priss-ass!"
'Trick', 1999 Fineline Features

Ahh, but is it?
If shit were merely the waste of a living organism then why would so many people find such delight in a good shit story?
Yes...even you! .......the one who won't admit it.
We all crap.
It's not like we walk into a public restroom and hear wild laughter while others 'release'. Yet, even tragic stories are made wildly amusing at the mere mention of turd.
Is it because having a bowelmovement has been something we've been socialized into keeping a 'dirty' secret for so long?
Are we in fact mesmerized by one of the most natural functions of human existance solely because it is something we don't speak of?
I used to be terrified to shit in public.I would only cut cable in my own home, or at the home of a very good friend.
I blame my father.
When we were kids and on family holidays a stop at a rest station meant sheer embarrassment for my brother and I. We'd see my dad grab onto the door handle of a stall and run to a urinal to void before the fireworks began.
My father is such an animated shitter, that while standing at the sink and washing my hands I remember men laughing and turning to look at what stall all the noise was coming from. As if they were expecting to see lights and pieces of porcelain shooting out from underneath.
I would ignore the proper hygiene my mother was so adamant about and run back to the shelter of the car, hiding under a crossword puzzle book so no one knew I was the offspring of the 'Ass Blaster'.
Later in life one of my best friends told me that there was a 'key' to public shitting. Her advice to me was to make as much noise as possible. Her idea is based on the fact that if people can hear that you don't make any apologies, why should they care?
I am not a good student of Karen's teachings.
But, it has gotten me thinking about # 2.
See, I got a digital camera this Hexmas. I was joyous.
Now I don't have to wonder what the photo consultant at the local 'Walmart' will think of me when she hands me the roll of film that has pictures of THAT.....
No friends..not that!
I just mean I can safely point and click my personal life with no judgements from a girl who has most likely seen things that would make the majority of us blush!
I got to thinking......
My thinking got me here.
I wonder if my facial expression changes when I am on the toilet?
Do I look like a pure gentleman who maintains composure?
Do I look like an orphan who caught a glimpse of 'Mommy' in the mall?
Do I look like a drug addict who sees the likeness of jesus in the crack pipe?
I couldn't resist......I had to know.
I waited until the moment was right. I grabbed my 5 mega pixel camera and headed into the room where we all do what we do not speak of.
I pointed, I clicked, I saved, and now, I share.
It turns out I look like I do when someone suggests I need more organized religion in my life.
Here, I share my moment with you, and suggest that if you do not already have one, pick up a digital camera and document the human things.
Like, love, hurt, dissapointment and of course........
shit!