On Friday, I spent about 2 hours in on/off hysterical weed-brownie laughter, because I kept replaying an particular image in my mind.
I don't know how it got to this, but a friend was laughing at the idea of the "Bunny Foo Foo" dance, which apparently is when a guy tucks his dick and balls behind his legs, creating a mangina (click here for a good photo example), and follows-up that maneuver with some sort of version of the gay bunny-hop.
Since I thought the idea of Bunny Foo Foo was amazing enough, he then got up, threw his pants down to show us his ready-made mangina and then did the dance. It had lots of bunny-hop hand positions, with hip turning. He also thought it would be great to try to impress me with his gay vocabulary knowledge:
This is what twinks do, right?
Half horrified, though busy suffocating from laughter, I decided not to fight his statement.
Had he been waiting for hours, with his mangina well-arranged, for the right time to show his glory? I think so.
Bunny Foo Foo - just amazing.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Friday, November 28, 2008
Coming Out to Tim
Rereading some posts of mine today, I was thinking about my coming-out. To be more specific, it occurs to me that I actually haven't come out of the closet, by my own choice, to many people. The majority of the time, I was either outed (one example here) or I just never bothered to clarify my sexual preference because I didn't feel it necessary. Eventually, the person or people would hear me say something along the lines of "that guy's hot"; they would understand I'm gay and I would bother to review my whole gay-life-story with them.
Much of my apprehension for coming-out to my parents probably stems from me never having taken that plunge with other people that are very important to me. When I first told some friends at CEGEP that I was gay, I was using them more as test subjects because I didn't care for them very much at the time. Even with my three closest friends, Xav, Tim and Mike, I never came-out to any of them. They all fall into the same category "got told by someone else" or "I just never bothered bringing it up and all was fine".
For the rest of this post, I think I'll talk about how my three closest straight guy friends found out I was gay. To start off, I had always meant to tell them myself, but like with my family I cared too much about them to risk losing them. I never felt that push to say the words I am gay. Looking back, I do regret not be courageous enough, especially since it turned out so well in the end. Of course, there's nothing I can do about that now.
Let's start with Tim.
I had originally tried to keep my different groups of friends separate from one-another. My CEGEP friends, and by extension of their friends, all knew I was gay (whether I was comfortable enough or not to talk about it) mainly because I was outed to all of them. For that reason, I tried to keep them separate from my highschool friends (a.k.a. Tim, Mike and others), but as always it was a losing battle: some friends from each group met each other, they got along well and they decided to hang out some more. Most of CEGEP friends generally knew that my sexuality was a taboo subject, so they rarely mentioned it. I slowly grew relaxed about the meeting of CEGEP friends and Tim and Dave since nothing initial went bad, from my point of view.
Into the spring of my first year at university, Tim shared a lab course with a CEGEP friend of mine. One day in class, this friend was listening to some cock-goblin proclaim how he thought gay people were disgusting and should all die, yada yada yada... Being offended that some loser could say that about gay people, included several friends of hers, she decided to yell at him about his fucked up views. For some unknown reason, she decided to list off the names of her gay friends. Naturally, Tim just had to be sitting directly behind her.
Friend: No you're fucked up! Don't you dare say shit like that about my friends Chris or Suzie or Thomas...
Tim: Wait, do you mean Thomas Who Knows?
Friend: Uuuuhhhhhhh
Tim: Thomas is gay!?
My friend then picks up her bag and walks very quickly out of the room, ignoring Tim.
How do I know this? After leaving the class and about 1 hour of my friend frantically calling our mutual friends to find me, she takes me aside and explains the whole situation. Oddly enough, I took the situation pretty well. Having been outed to large groups of people, 1 person didn't seem so bad even though it was Tim. I knew the damage was already done so there was nothing more than to accept it, wait and see. My friend was just glad that I didn't decide to practice my backhand on her.
For a week, everything would be the same between Tim and I. He would call for help for a class and I would pretend I knew nothing.
During the weekend, Tim would give me a lift on our way to a friend's house. During our unusually silent drive, he would park the car before we arrived at our destination. He would then turn to look at me.
Tim: I don't know how to say this and I know this is going to make things awkward, but I don't know how else to do this. I know you're gay.
Me:.......*silence*.....Ya, you're right. This is going to make things awkward.
We would talk briefly about how he found out and how long I knew, but we were both really uncomfortable and didn't want to share much. The rest of that evening was awkward between us, but Tim still gave me a lift home. As I got out of his car, he said:
I was freaked out at first, but it's not like you're any different today than you were 1 week before I knew. We're still friends.
Over the next few months, Tim and I would talk about me being gay from time to time, when no one was around. It was definitely a learning experience. Tim didn't know how to ask the questions he wanted to understand and I didn't even know how to answer them, let alone even express my feelings about it all. Even saying the word "gay" gave me an uncomfortable feeling. It was all very slow progress, but looking back I know this was very important to me. If any of you readers recall the name Alicia, I had yet to really get to know her so I was still very uncomfortable and even scared in my own gay skin.
Tim's Best Halloween costume ever
I had pegged Tim as one of the most homophobic friend I had. He admitted himself that he said some pretty horrible things, but through our talks his views would radically change. He had never met a gay person, so he only had stereotypical assumptions about gays. It wouldn't be too rash to even say he briefly became more comfortable with me being gay than I was.
This post is pretty long, so I think I'll end it suddenly here and talk about Xav and Mike in my next post.
Much of my apprehension for coming-out to my parents probably stems from me never having taken that plunge with other people that are very important to me. When I first told some friends at CEGEP that I was gay, I was using them more as test subjects because I didn't care for them very much at the time. Even with my three closest friends, Xav, Tim and Mike, I never came-out to any of them. They all fall into the same category "got told by someone else" or "I just never bothered bringing it up and all was fine".
For the rest of this post, I think I'll talk about how my three closest straight guy friends found out I was gay. To start off, I had always meant to tell them myself, but like with my family I cared too much about them to risk losing them. I never felt that push to say the words I am gay. Looking back, I do regret not be courageous enough, especially since it turned out so well in the end. Of course, there's nothing I can do about that now.
Let's start with Tim.
I had originally tried to keep my different groups of friends separate from one-another. My CEGEP friends, and by extension of their friends, all knew I was gay (whether I was comfortable enough or not to talk about it) mainly because I was outed to all of them. For that reason, I tried to keep them separate from my highschool friends (a.k.a. Tim, Mike and others), but as always it was a losing battle: some friends from each group met each other, they got along well and they decided to hang out some more. Most of CEGEP friends generally knew that my sexuality was a taboo subject, so they rarely mentioned it. I slowly grew relaxed about the meeting of CEGEP friends and Tim and Dave since nothing initial went bad, from my point of view.
Into the spring of my first year at university, Tim shared a lab course with a CEGEP friend of mine. One day in class, this friend was listening to some cock-goblin proclaim how he thought gay people were disgusting and should all die, yada yada yada... Being offended that some loser could say that about gay people, included several friends of hers, she decided to yell at him about his fucked up views. For some unknown reason, she decided to list off the names of her gay friends. Naturally, Tim just had to be sitting directly behind her.
Friend: No you're fucked up! Don't you dare say shit like that about my friends Chris or Suzie or Thomas...
Tim: Wait, do you mean Thomas Who Knows?
Friend: Uuuuhhhhhhh
Tim: Thomas is gay!?
My friend then picks up her bag and walks very quickly out of the room, ignoring Tim.
How do I know this? After leaving the class and about 1 hour of my friend frantically calling our mutual friends to find me, she takes me aside and explains the whole situation. Oddly enough, I took the situation pretty well. Having been outed to large groups of people, 1 person didn't seem so bad even though it was Tim. I knew the damage was already done so there was nothing more than to accept it, wait and see. My friend was just glad that I didn't decide to practice my backhand on her.
For a week, everything would be the same between Tim and I. He would call for help for a class and I would pretend I knew nothing.
During the weekend, Tim would give me a lift on our way to a friend's house. During our unusually silent drive, he would park the car before we arrived at our destination. He would then turn to look at me.
Tim: I don't know how to say this and I know this is going to make things awkward, but I don't know how else to do this. I know you're gay.
Me:.......*silence*.....Ya, you're right. This is going to make things awkward.
We would talk briefly about how he found out and how long I knew, but we were both really uncomfortable and didn't want to share much. The rest of that evening was awkward between us, but Tim still gave me a lift home. As I got out of his car, he said:
I was freaked out at first, but it's not like you're any different today than you were 1 week before I knew. We're still friends.
Over the next few months, Tim and I would talk about me being gay from time to time, when no one was around. It was definitely a learning experience. Tim didn't know how to ask the questions he wanted to understand and I didn't even know how to answer them, let alone even express my feelings about it all. Even saying the word "gay" gave me an uncomfortable feeling. It was all very slow progress, but looking back I know this was very important to me. If any of you readers recall the name Alicia, I had yet to really get to know her so I was still very uncomfortable and even scared in my own gay skin.
Tim's Best Halloween costume everI had pegged Tim as one of the most homophobic friend I had. He admitted himself that he said some pretty horrible things, but through our talks his views would radically change. He had never met a gay person, so he only had stereotypical assumptions about gays. It wouldn't be too rash to even say he briefly became more comfortable with me being gay than I was.
This post is pretty long, so I think I'll end it suddenly here and talk about Xav and Mike in my next post.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Familiarity, Comfort & Attraction
Over a year ago, I came to understand that my romantic affection for someone relates very strongly to my familiarity and comfort with them. I do find myself attracted to complete strangers, based purely on looks, but the most enduring attraction is that which develops with friends.
From my point of view, it's a pretty natural extension of the friendship-type of affection. As I get to know someone, I understand their personality, their likes and what entertains them. Similarly, the other person also gets used to my personality and what I like. Once you really know a person, the both of you know how to act and what ways to approach each other. It kind of sounds like I'm talking about cruising, but I don't mean it like that. For example, when you hang out with your best friends, you all understand how to speak to each other, what type of stories are fun to talk about and what type of things to do. With Tim and Mike I play hockey and mostly make sleazy/amazing sex jokes. With Xav, I talk about music, subversion, "hipster" things and go city-exploring.
Well, at the level where I'm so familiar and comfortable with someone, I inevitably find myself attracted to them. As a friend, they make me happy and I make them happy so that little mental-step from friendship-attraction to romantic-attraction is pretty small in my mind.
When I started fooling around with my ex-roomie, it was because I felt that sense of familiarity and comfort that attracts me to guys. I definitely didn't think he was good-looking, but our personalities got along really well. Even with my straight guy friends (with Xav, Tim and Mike as exceptions), as I got to know each one better I found myself attracted to them more and more. This especially rang true for an acquaintance I got a job for at my work, who then hung out with me all the time. Damn it, he's so good looking! Hmm, I'll have to talk about him in another post. He does deserve a name.
Since I see my attraction to people being based a lot on the natural outcome of friendship, I find it just as natural for friends to hook-up sometimes, without wanting a relationship.
Of course I don't have any real gay friends that I would call up to go to out to a bar, so maybe my thinking is a little fucked up. But oh well.
From my point of view, it's a pretty natural extension of the friendship-type of affection. As I get to know someone, I understand their personality, their likes and what entertains them. Similarly, the other person also gets used to my personality and what I like. Once you really know a person, the both of you know how to act and what ways to approach each other. It kind of sounds like I'm talking about cruising, but I don't mean it like that. For example, when you hang out with your best friends, you all understand how to speak to each other, what type of stories are fun to talk about and what type of things to do. With Tim and Mike I play hockey and mostly make sleazy/amazing sex jokes. With Xav, I talk about music, subversion, "hipster" things and go city-exploring.
Well, at the level where I'm so familiar and comfortable with someone, I inevitably find myself attracted to them. As a friend, they make me happy and I make them happy so that little mental-step from friendship-attraction to romantic-attraction is pretty small in my mind.
When I started fooling around with my ex-roomie, it was because I felt that sense of familiarity and comfort that attracts me to guys. I definitely didn't think he was good-looking, but our personalities got along really well. Even with my straight guy friends (with Xav, Tim and Mike as exceptions), as I got to know each one better I found myself attracted to them more and more. This especially rang true for an acquaintance I got a job for at my work, who then hung out with me all the time. Damn it, he's so good looking! Hmm, I'll have to talk about him in another post. He does deserve a name.
Since I see my attraction to people being based a lot on the natural outcome of friendship, I find it just as natural for friends to hook-up sometimes, without wanting a relationship.
Of course I don't have any real gay friends that I would call up to go to out to a bar, so maybe my thinking is a little fucked up. But oh well.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
A Move I Might Regret
My current apartment rental contract is up at the end of December. Over the last month, I've been considering my options of what I will do about this. My other two roommates, who have never been mentioned in this blog and who will most likely never get mentioned because they are completely uninteresting (although quite nice), are going their separate ways. This leaves me with 3 options:
- I can find 2 new roommates
OR
- I can find a new apartment, with or without roommates.
OR
- I can move back in with my family.
I'm right now strongly leaning toward the 3rd option, as scary as it sounds.
Over the next 9 months, I will be looking for a new job or I will go back to school and get my Masters. In about 6 months, it will have been a full 2 years that I've been working for my current awesome employer. I still think my job is perfect for me, but I need to try doing something else. I mostly want to do something less medical, but more related to wildlife, ecology and conservation; something that puts me outside and using my body instead of being a desk-jockey. Likelihood dictates that if I get into whatever program I want or I do get a job in any of those fields, I will have to move away from Montreal. That is what plays into my choice for the 3 decisions.
I don't know where I'm going to be in 6-9 months, so I don't think I will want to rent an apartment for a year. I could rent, but then I'd need to find replacements tenants and all that garbage. Also, if I do get involved in any of the above-mentioned fields, I'll probably be stationed somewhere in the country so there will be plenty of things I will need to buy, including a car. Saving large amounts of money is therefore high-up on my priorities. Moving back in with my parents makes sense to the dollar bill signs in my head. They would also love to have me back at home, as they've already told me. If i do end up getting another job or going back to school in Montreal though, Xav and Tim have already shotgunned me to move in with them in the spring/summer.
Now here's the problem: Would me moving back in with my family make me go nuts and become depressed?
Since I've left my parents' house about 2.5 years ago, I've been so incredibly happy. My self-esteem, although not the strongest in the world, has been flying comparatively high since my freeing from my parents' grip. I'm comfortable in my sexuality with all my friends and I'm happy being independent. Moving in with them might just crush these parts of me.
Moving back would be a huge shift. Obviously, there would be the small bad things: essentially zero potential sex life; I wouldn't want to have friends over anymore; I would be farther from the downtown; I would be around my Mom way too often, since I'd work a lot from home; I would have to help with annoying chores; I wouldn't be doing my own thing when I feel like it. OK, so there aren't "small" bad things at all.
Now for the big problem: I'm not Out to my family and I don't intend on coming out before I move in with them. With regards to family, I'm still very insecure about my sexuality. I also do have a bit of separation between myself and caring much for them. You can review Part1, Part2 and Part3 of me talking about my myself, my sexuality and family if you'd like. I also know their views of homosexuality are still pretty negative. Just this weekend, my Mom called me and decided to randomly tell me about her day, while including:
...oh and a gay man was there as well. I avoided him....
Just hearing that judgement-filled sentence put me into a mini depressed mood for the rest of Saturday evening. Realistically, how am I going to last being around my Mom and Dad all the time if a little line like that can affect me so strongly? Would being around them maybe even make myself regress in terms of my own self-comfort?
I do have a hopeful note on this potential outcome: I've never felt comfortable to take the plunge of coming out to my parents when living away from them, so maybe living with them will bring me closer and give me the courage to say it. The 3-Parts family posts, I linked above, also say how I've mentally distanced myself from my parents and brothers. I think that living with my parents again could get me to feel closer with them and want to tell them. Easily, this could all backfire and I might just distance myself more from them, but this is something I'd be willing to try. I doubt that living away from them and then moving even further away would ever give me the courage to come-out to them in the later future anyhow:
Me: Oh, hi Mom/Dad. By the way I'm gay.
Mom/Dad: !!!!!
Me: OK, bye! I'm flying back to my new city and will be avoiding your calls for the next 5 months. Cheers!
Nothing is set yet, but the 3rd option seems the best. I would love some feedback or opinions.
At minimum, it'll give me a lot more flack to write about in the blog.
- I can find 2 new roommates
OR
- I can find a new apartment, with or without roommates.
OR
- I can move back in with my family.
I'm right now strongly leaning toward the 3rd option, as scary as it sounds.
Over the next 9 months, I will be looking for a new job or I will go back to school and get my Masters. In about 6 months, it will have been a full 2 years that I've been working for my current awesome employer. I still think my job is perfect for me, but I need to try doing something else. I mostly want to do something less medical, but more related to wildlife, ecology and conservation; something that puts me outside and using my body instead of being a desk-jockey. Likelihood dictates that if I get into whatever program I want or I do get a job in any of those fields, I will have to move away from Montreal. That is what plays into my choice for the 3 decisions.
I don't know where I'm going to be in 6-9 months, so I don't think I will want to rent an apartment for a year. I could rent, but then I'd need to find replacements tenants and all that garbage. Also, if I do get involved in any of the above-mentioned fields, I'll probably be stationed somewhere in the country so there will be plenty of things I will need to buy, including a car. Saving large amounts of money is therefore high-up on my priorities. Moving back in with my parents makes sense to the dollar bill signs in my head. They would also love to have me back at home, as they've already told me. If i do end up getting another job or going back to school in Montreal though, Xav and Tim have already shotgunned me to move in with them in the spring/summer.
Now here's the problem: Would me moving back in with my family make me go nuts and become depressed?
Since I've left my parents' house about 2.5 years ago, I've been so incredibly happy. My self-esteem, although not the strongest in the world, has been flying comparatively high since my freeing from my parents' grip. I'm comfortable in my sexuality with all my friends and I'm happy being independent. Moving in with them might just crush these parts of me.
Moving back would be a huge shift. Obviously, there would be the small bad things: essentially zero potential sex life; I wouldn't want to have friends over anymore; I would be farther from the downtown; I would be around my Mom way too often, since I'd work a lot from home; I would have to help with annoying chores; I wouldn't be doing my own thing when I feel like it. OK, so there aren't "small" bad things at all.
Now for the big problem: I'm not Out to my family and I don't intend on coming out before I move in with them. With regards to family, I'm still very insecure about my sexuality. I also do have a bit of separation between myself and caring much for them. You can review Part1, Part2 and Part3 of me talking about my myself, my sexuality and family if you'd like. I also know their views of homosexuality are still pretty negative. Just this weekend, my Mom called me and decided to randomly tell me about her day, while including:
...oh and a gay man was there as well. I avoided him....
Just hearing that judgement-filled sentence put me into a mini depressed mood for the rest of Saturday evening. Realistically, how am I going to last being around my Mom and Dad all the time if a little line like that can affect me so strongly? Would being around them maybe even make myself regress in terms of my own self-comfort?
I do have a hopeful note on this potential outcome: I've never felt comfortable to take the plunge of coming out to my parents when living away from them, so maybe living with them will bring me closer and give me the courage to say it. The 3-Parts family posts, I linked above, also say how I've mentally distanced myself from my parents and brothers. I think that living with my parents again could get me to feel closer with them and want to tell them. Easily, this could all backfire and I might just distance myself more from them, but this is something I'd be willing to try. I doubt that living away from them and then moving even further away would ever give me the courage to come-out to them in the later future anyhow:
Me: Oh, hi Mom/Dad. By the way I'm gay.
Mom/Dad: !!!!!
Me: OK, bye! I'm flying back to my new city and will be avoiding your calls for the next 5 months. Cheers!
Nothing is set yet, but the 3rd option seems the best. I would love some feedback or opinions.
At minimum, it'll give me a lot more flack to write about in the blog.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Brownie High
It's 11:40 am right now. I'm currently in a meeting at work. I'm also high out of my mind.
Last night, Liz and I got together to use the weed, that had been sitting in my desk for the last year (entertaining post here), to make some weed-brownies. She had done it before and I never had, so obviously I was excited about the process.
We combined all the normal ingredients, cut up the buds and added them in with some melted butter, and then added that stuff to the main mix. After some oven-cooking time, we each ate a really large chunk of brownie. We then sat on the couch, talked, watched from antennae-TV and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited...
2 hours later, neither of us felt anything. We both assumed my old, old weed was a dud. Since I was hungry, I ate more brownies.
We kept hanging out, I did nearly fall into 1 or 2 laughing fits, but it was under control. OK, so maybe the brownies were finally affecting me a bit...
Eventually it's midnight, so Liz needs to sleep and I need to catch the metro home. Everything seems normal and sitting in the metro car waiting for my stop.
...And the metro feels like it's going really fast....
...And yet I feel like the metro is traveling for 20 minutes before it arrives at the next stop...
...And I kept losing focus and just starring out at nothing, over and over again...
...And I'm feeling pretty damn happy, for no real reason...
Great, so 4 hours later it needs to kick in?
Eventually, I'm home and in front of my computer at 1 am. I started trying to type this post, but it's too hard to be productive at this point. The computer screen kept getting fuzzy, my muscles practically turned to jelly, the world started spinning and I couldn't concentrate. Sounds like a good time to go to sleep.
Now I'm awake and the world is still spinning. I'm in a meeting and trying my best to concentrate on what people are saying, but I jut can't focus on any of it. Clearly this will be unproductive day, although since 9am the feeling has diminished a lot.
I kind of find this hilarious, because whenever I've smoked pot I've either felt nothing or combined my smoking with significant amounts of alcohol. When I think about it, or at least as little thinking I can successfully achieve right now, I'm never been just completely high without the masking drunk effect. Assuming eating weed-brownies is the same high as just smoking a ton, this is pretty fun.
I think I'll eat the other 4 pieces sitting in my bag this Friday, and go meet up with my friends when I'm high out of my mind. Hahaha, what else am I suppose to do with them?
Time to try and go back to work...
Last night, Liz and I got together to use the weed, that had been sitting in my desk for the last year (entertaining post here), to make some weed-brownies. She had done it before and I never had, so obviously I was excited about the process.
We combined all the normal ingredients, cut up the buds and added them in with some melted butter, and then added that stuff to the main mix. After some oven-cooking time, we each ate a really large chunk of brownie. We then sat on the couch, talked, watched from antennae-TV and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited...
2 hours later, neither of us felt anything. We both assumed my old, old weed was a dud. Since I was hungry, I ate more brownies.
We kept hanging out, I did nearly fall into 1 or 2 laughing fits, but it was under control. OK, so maybe the brownies were finally affecting me a bit...
Eventually it's midnight, so Liz needs to sleep and I need to catch the metro home. Everything seems normal and sitting in the metro car waiting for my stop.
...And the metro feels like it's going really fast....
...And yet I feel like the metro is traveling for 20 minutes before it arrives at the next stop...
...And I kept losing focus and just starring out at nothing, over and over again...
...And I'm feeling pretty damn happy, for no real reason...
Great, so 4 hours later it needs to kick in?
Eventually, I'm home and in front of my computer at 1 am. I started trying to type this post, but it's too hard to be productive at this point. The computer screen kept getting fuzzy, my muscles practically turned to jelly, the world started spinning and I couldn't concentrate. Sounds like a good time to go to sleep.
Now I'm awake and the world is still spinning. I'm in a meeting and trying my best to concentrate on what people are saying, but I jut can't focus on any of it. Clearly this will be unproductive day, although since 9am the feeling has diminished a lot.
I kind of find this hilarious, because whenever I've smoked pot I've either felt nothing or combined my smoking with significant amounts of alcohol. When I think about it, or at least as little thinking I can successfully achieve right now, I'm never been just completely high without the masking drunk effect. Assuming eating weed-brownies is the same high as just smoking a ton, this is pretty fun.
I think I'll eat the other 4 pieces sitting in my bag this Friday, and go meet up with my friends when I'm high out of my mind. Hahaha, what else am I suppose to do with them?
Time to try and go back to work...
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Janelle
A little over 1 year ago, at the end of summer '07, I met a very special lady. She had been lucky enough to be sponsored by a foundation to attend a sort of retreat, taking place just north of Montreal. Being from Vancouver, on the opposite side of Canada, she wouldn't have otherwise been able to get all the way over here on her own. There, she met some friends of mine, who thought it would be a great idea to hangout and show her around Montreal. Once back in the city, I met her when I went to meet up with these same friends.
Janelle, which is her real name, had been diagnosed with breast cancer 1 year before I met her. Thrust into that situation, she struggled to cope with the treatment and the outcome that could befall her. She was 25 at the time, but age doesn't really matter in this type of event. 1 month after the diagnosis, in an effort to stop the potential spread of the cancer, the doctors incised and removed her right breast. I can't imagine how it could feel to lose a part of my body, so I won't try to comment on that.
I had known beforehand that my friends worked for a retreat that helped young adults deal with the psychological pressure of having cancer, so when I met them and Janelle I already had an idea of her situation. I was surprised by her: she was friendly, funny and bubbly. She was very open and liked talking about her cancer. She also liked to hug and smile a lot. We spent the evening at my friend's apartment drinking and talking about our own experiences and laughing a lot. Janelle could beat/lose to anyone at a game of Never-Have-I-Ever, depending on how you look at the game.
Talking with her that night was an amazing glimpse into the life of someone dealing with cancer. We spoke about the whole treatment process, what she thought and was nervous about and how she had been coping with it all. She so openly shared her fears that the doctors might find a relapse of the cancer. She also talked about the sadness she felt because her Mormon Mother told her that she genuinely believed this was god punishing Janelle for her wicked life of indulgence. Most of all though, she talked about how getting cancer made her come to life. It's corny and lame to say this, but it had opened her eyes to the fact that she's a vulnerable human being. Instead of just going through the motions of work and seeing friends on the weekend, she felt the need to reach out to every new thing around her. After all, you only have 1 shot at this life.
This was the first time I had met another person who had cancer, so it was amazing to see how she reacted to it all. I, myself, was diagnosed with leukemia when I was 7 (grade 2). I spent the next 3 years of my life visiting the hospital for blood tests, shots and treatment. The worst was the lumbar punctures. They would put me to sleep before inserting the needle into my spine, but I would always wake up 2 minutes before they did it. ALWAYS. Then for the next 4 hours I would feel like I was trapped in my own body, since the shot that initially put me to sleep would also paralyze my body (or at least that's how it felt). While my mind would be 100% awake, I would be physically unable to move my arms, legs, open my mouth to speak or open an eyelid to see. All I could do was wait and listen.
My experiences were completely different from Janelle's, but I understood her. Death for a little kid and for an adult are very different. My mind as a 7-10 year old couldn't possibly have understood the full implications of having cancer, although looking back today I see it all clearly. As an adult, Janelle can't help but to understand what was happening to her, while worrying about her present and future. My parents were the ones who shouldered the real fear for my future. They were terrified of the prospect that the treatment wouldn't work. They watched plenty of other parents become increasingly desperate, as their kids' health got worse and worse.
Over the single evening, Janelle and I bonded a lot over our cancers. She told me that she saw me as a "could be" - who she could be once the cancer was gone and stayed gone. She saw me as a cool and normal person just living. I saw her as that person who knew what life was all about - take nothing for granted, keep pushing your boundaries, and strive for happiness regardless of your situation. I'll be honest, there was plenty of crying that night. I think that was the first time I've ever had a "happy cry".
I found it interesting how Janelle spoke of her cancer as a living, thinking animal, that was slowly attacking her. From my point of view, she was implying that the cancer was acting for a reason and that she therefore deserved this because the cancer felt and chose to attack her. I told her that the cancer was just cells and chemicals - barely alive on its own. It doesn't think or feel or know anything. It just is and there's nothing more to it. Whether it made a difference or not, she was happy with that. She kept crying and I kept crying.
Whenever I think back to that evening, I always become a little more happy. I wish everyone could be such an amazing person as Janelle. Faced with something they can barely control and that could kill them, her personality was still so warm, open and friendly.
A few months after I met Janelle, she was re-diagnosed with cancer. This time it had appeared in her major organs and the outlook was pretty grim. Still, back in Vancouver, she seemed happy and lived her life and striving for new goals, including creating her own non-profit jewelery line for women with cancer and starring in a music video.
Today marks the 6 month anniversary of Janelle's passing away.
Oh, and the picture at the top is actually her.
The Retreat of a Nation
Mike: No, you don't mean it!
Liz: Yes I do!
Tim: Don't do it, you can't take it back!
Liz: I don't care! I've had enough!
Other Friend1: Stop her!
Mike's Girlfriend: This can't be right.
So after a few (many) beers, Liz made a rash decision to declare her emancipation from dating, as written on a napkin in the bar. Tired of putting her resources (herself) out-there, even though my independent nation of Thomas was so impressed by her, she had had enough. At least 3 minutes had been put into writing out her proclamation of surrender:
Click to enlarge
Here's is a copy of the official bilingual transcript:
Treaty of Bishop Street:
I hereby declare that all my troops, efforts, hopes and attempts at finding any meaningful romantic relationship are now withdrawn.
[Translated from French]: I, who's signature is below, has read and understands all the agreements and clauses presented.
Signed: Liz's Real Name
We tried our best to hold her hand back from signing the official napkin-document, but it was too late.
Me: You don't mean that! Come on, you were doing well!
Liz: They were all losers! The last guy wasn't worth my time.
Mike, the present representative of the bar's court, attempted to over-rule the declaration, however he was too drunk to form a coherent sentence: "Judge Mike Sez No" did not mean anything according to the bar's legislature.
With the Nation of Liz recalling its troops from all foreign outreaches, it marks a dark day for the hopes of other Independent Nations finding meaningful luv out in the battlefield. If the strongest of us cannot prevail, how can other nations, such as Thomas, possible have hope of salvation?
Liz: Yes I do!
Tim: Don't do it, you can't take it back!
Liz: I don't care! I've had enough!
Other Friend1: Stop her!
Mike's Girlfriend: This can't be right.
So after a few (many) beers, Liz made a rash decision to declare her emancipation from dating, as written on a napkin in the bar. Tired of putting her resources (herself) out-there, even though my independent nation of Thomas was so impressed by her, she had had enough. At least 3 minutes had been put into writing out her proclamation of surrender:
Click to enlargeTreaty of Bishop Street:
I hereby declare that all my troops, efforts, hopes and attempts at finding any meaningful romantic relationship are now withdrawn.
[Translated from French]: I, who's signature is below, has read and understands all the agreements and clauses presented.
Signed: Liz's Real Name
We tried our best to hold her hand back from signing the official napkin-document, but it was too late.
Me: You don't mean that! Come on, you were doing well!
Liz: They were all losers! The last guy wasn't worth my time.
Mike, the present representative of the bar's court, attempted to over-rule the declaration, however he was too drunk to form a coherent sentence: "Judge Mike Sez No" did not mean anything according to the bar's legislature.
With the Nation of Liz recalling its troops from all foreign outreaches, it marks a dark day for the hopes of other Independent Nations finding meaningful luv out in the battlefield. If the strongest of us cannot prevail, how can other nations, such as Thomas, possible have hope of salvation?
Friday, November 21, 2008
TextSleep-BonersFantasy
I've just came home from an early night of drinking again, so it's time for 3 random, shameless and short posts.
Unfortunately, I'm not drunk. Only buzzed. Or more like happy-tipsy, which is not bad.
MMmmmmm happppyyy tipppppssssyy.
hheeeeeeeehhheeeeeee
Random #1
While at work/bobbing my head to good music, I received a text message from Fiona:
Just had 2 gin & tonics before class. Are you proud?
Haha, yes I am! I'm glad my delinquent behavior has seeped itself into my friends. As a wanna-be chartered accountant, Fiona getting drunk (yes, she's a light-weight) before a very important class is wonderful!
Down with society! (I don't know why...)
Down with sobriety! (Oh, I know why.)
Random #2
I miss sleep-boners.
You all know what I'm talking about! There's no shame in it! It happens when you're tired, bored, whenever you're somewhat trying to stay awake. I used to get them all the time in university because I would get bored in class. My mind would wander, then my eyelids get heavy and I would have to struggle to listen to the prof.... Then bam! Sleep-Boner Time. A big, hard erection, that wouldn't go away. All I could do was sit back and enjoy.
They were always fun, because I would start fantasizing about hot guys and what I would do to them (or what they would do to me). Being half-awake and half-assleep was the perfect mindset for fantasizing. I would also sometimes move my leg a little from side to side, so that the head of my dick was rubbing against up and down my leg, with a nice slow pressure. Just up and down...no one in the room could tell...ah, it felt so good...
Before I became more important and active in my work meetings, I used to get very bored because I would be sitting "in the background" (remember, we have voice meetings only so that can't see me), with nothing to say. Since I had to stay awake and listen, I would get the sleep-boners all the time. Of course, since I was usually at home when this happened, there would be nothing wrong with my hand wandering down to my waist a bit...just to see if it could get things going...
Nooooo, I would never start touching myself while being payed to attend a meeting...
What sort of person do you all think I am!?
It's not like I could just mute my microphone...
And it's not like I'm faceless and they can't see what was on my 2nd monitor, which potentially could be extremely Not-Safe-For-Work....No, of course not...
I wouldn't do that!...I'm an oustanding young lad with no moral indecency...
Ha ha ha, yaaaaaaaaaaaaa.....
Random #3
The best nights of sleep are when you slowly drift to into that deep quiet, while imagining fooling around with a really hot guy and then wake up the very next day still thinking about the same person.
Oh man, that's good.
Cheers to everyone with sleep-boners and fantasies while falling asleep and waking up.
Unfortunately, I'm not drunk. Only buzzed. Or more like happy-tipsy, which is not bad.
MMmmmmm happppyyy tipppppssssyy.
hheeeeeeeehhheeeeeee
------
Random #1
While at work/bobbing my head to good music, I received a text message from Fiona:
Just had 2 gin & tonics before class. Are you proud?
Haha, yes I am! I'm glad my delinquent behavior has seeped itself into my friends. As a wanna-be chartered accountant, Fiona getting drunk (yes, she's a light-weight) before a very important class is wonderful!
Down with society! (I don't know why...)
Down with sobriety! (Oh, I know why.)
------
Random #2
I miss sleep-boners.
You all know what I'm talking about! There's no shame in it! It happens when you're tired, bored, whenever you're somewhat trying to stay awake. I used to get them all the time in university because I would get bored in class. My mind would wander, then my eyelids get heavy and I would have to struggle to listen to the prof.... Then bam! Sleep-Boner Time. A big, hard erection, that wouldn't go away. All I could do was sit back and enjoy.
They were always fun, because I would start fantasizing about hot guys and what I would do to them (or what they would do to me). Being half-awake and half-assleep was the perfect mindset for fantasizing. I would also sometimes move my leg a little from side to side, so that the head of my dick was rubbing against up and down my leg, with a nice slow pressure. Just up and down...no one in the room could tell...ah, it felt so good...
Before I became more important and active in my work meetings, I used to get very bored because I would be sitting "in the background" (remember, we have voice meetings only so that can't see me), with nothing to say. Since I had to stay awake and listen, I would get the sleep-boners all the time. Of course, since I was usually at home when this happened, there would be nothing wrong with my hand wandering down to my waist a bit...just to see if it could get things going...
Nooooo, I would never start touching myself while being payed to attend a meeting...
What sort of person do you all think I am!?
It's not like I could just mute my microphone...
And it's not like I'm faceless and they can't see what was on my 2nd monitor, which potentially could be extremely Not-Safe-For-Work....No, of course not...
I wouldn't do that!...I'm an oustanding young lad with no moral indecency...
Ha ha ha, yaaaaaaaaaaaaa.....
------
Random #3
The best nights of sleep are when you slowly drift to into that deep quiet, while imagining fooling around with a really hot guy and then wake up the very next day still thinking about the same person.
Oh man, that's good.
------
Cheers to everyone with sleep-boners and fantasies while falling asleep and waking up.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
They Impress Me Again
I've always been somewhat protective and careful of my sexuality when around one of my main group of friends. Tim and Mike are two members of this greater group of people. It's a way of acting that I've always had around the group, even though they know I'm gay. It's nothing in the realm of me pretending I'm straight - no, nothing like the old me. I don't know why I'm like this with them in particular; it probably has a lot to do with me knowing the core of the group since highschool. I've briefly written about these people in one of the first WindsThatYouRise blog posts, here.
Around them, I kind of just let my sexuality take a backseat. I don't really bring it up, but if they ask me something specific, I won't hesitate to talk about it. Mike and Tim are exceptions to this, since we're real close (today, I freely tell them anything about some guy I like or my personal issues regarding sexuality). Anyway, when the group all starts talking about something related to gay people or homosexuality, I typically just listen in to what they have to say. I find it pretty interesting to see what they think, since I don't usually jump in to impose my view (which personally usually I think is right). This way I also feel like I'm learning what they really think about gay-related things and people.
From what I've heard from them recently, my feelings are a little mixed, but in general I'm really happy with them.
For a long time, I've wondered if this group of friends is accepting of gay people in general or if their acceptance of homosexuality only extends to me as an exception. It's kind of like saying I like Obama, but I hate black people. I know that none of them really talk about other gay people they know, assuming they know any. I also know that although I'm not some super, macho guy, I'm not really representative of the gay stereotype either. Because of that, the group might not even think of me as "truly gay", but instead an exception, like with the Obama example.
Although I haven't heard it recently, a few of them used to like to say "well that's gay!" when talking about something stupid (I would murder the kid who first thought of that expression, if I could). Tim even used to say that, although recently he once said it, and I just looked right at him and stared him in the eyes. He then looked really nervous and said You know I don't mean it as an insult to gay people, but just to mean something stupid, right? I just kept starring at him. He has never said it since.
This group of friends had dinner at a restaurant last week. During the dinner, the topic of gay marriage, the US-ban on gay marriage, coming-out, and the origin of homosexuality came up. I swear, I had no hand in introducing these topics. Like usual, I kind of listened in and let them state their own opinions and differences, although they would all eventually look at me waiting for some sort of comment "from the expert", since clearly if I'm gay I know everything *I roll my eyes*. Their general consensus was that they all thought:
It seemed that my guys friends were much more into the conversation than my lady friends. I found that the women were much more quiet, but that's also because their attention was focused on my friend's really cute 10 month old baby, who was trying to grab a knife and stick it in his mouth. He's a good kid - I hope he makes it to the age of 2.
Maybe it's the laziness in me, but I like that I don't need to be a preacher with this group of friends, or any of my friends in particular. Obviously, they say some off-comments sometimes or opinions that come straight from idiocy, but I look at them and usually tell them how I actually think it is. Maybe my presence as a gay person has changed their opinions or maybe they've always thought like this (pfffft, ya right...) or maybe they've matured with age. Either way, I'm pretty lucky.
Around them, I kind of just let my sexuality take a backseat. I don't really bring it up, but if they ask me something specific, I won't hesitate to talk about it. Mike and Tim are exceptions to this, since we're real close (today, I freely tell them anything about some guy I like or my personal issues regarding sexuality). Anyway, when the group all starts talking about something related to gay people or homosexuality, I typically just listen in to what they have to say. I find it pretty interesting to see what they think, since I don't usually jump in to impose my view (which personally usually I think is right). This way I also feel like I'm learning what they really think about gay-related things and people.
From what I've heard from them recently, my feelings are a little mixed, but in general I'm really happy with them.
For a long time, I've wondered if this group of friends is accepting of gay people in general or if their acceptance of homosexuality only extends to me as an exception. It's kind of like saying I like Obama, but I hate black people. I know that none of them really talk about other gay people they know, assuming they know any. I also know that although I'm not some super, macho guy, I'm not really representative of the gay stereotype either. Because of that, the group might not even think of me as "truly gay", but instead an exception, like with the Obama example.
Although I haven't heard it recently, a few of them used to like to say "well that's gay!" when talking about something stupid (I would murder the kid who first thought of that expression, if I could). Tim even used to say that, although recently he once said it, and I just looked right at him and stared him in the eyes. He then looked really nervous and said You know I don't mean it as an insult to gay people, but just to mean something stupid, right? I just kept starring at him. He has never said it since.
This group of friends had dinner at a restaurant last week. During the dinner, the topic of gay marriage, the US-ban on gay marriage, coming-out, and the origin of homosexuality came up. I swear, I had no hand in introducing these topics. Like usual, I kind of listened in and let them state their own opinions and differences, although they would all eventually look at me waiting for some sort of comment "from the expert", since clearly if I'm gay I know everything *I roll my eyes*. Their general consensus was that they all thought:
- it was pretty pathetic to ban gay marriage, since it was ruining two peoples' chance to be happy.
- being gay is purely genetic.
- it's sad that there are some adults (they focuses particularly on men in their examples) who lie to themselves and their families all their lives, to eventually come-out at the age of 40 or above.
It seemed that my guys friends were much more into the conversation than my lady friends. I found that the women were much more quiet, but that's also because their attention was focused on my friend's really cute 10 month old baby, who was trying to grab a knife and stick it in his mouth. He's a good kid - I hope he makes it to the age of 2.
Maybe it's the laziness in me, but I like that I don't need to be a preacher with this group of friends, or any of my friends in particular. Obviously, they say some off-comments sometimes or opinions that come straight from idiocy, but I look at them and usually tell them how I actually think it is. Maybe my presence as a gay person has changed their opinions or maybe they've always thought like this (pfffft, ya right...) or maybe they've matured with age. Either way, I'm pretty lucky.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
And this was Saturday
Based on Rock Band, my friends and I are going to be household names in about a year. We're THAT good. I am an amazing drummer, if I do say-so myself.
We're aiming to be douche-preteen sensations or death metal musicians, who do lines of coke off the Economist magazine before concerts. We've not yet decided...
We're aiming to be douche-preteen sensations or death metal musicians, who do lines of coke off the Economist magazine before concerts. We've not yet decided...
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Finally.
Wow, it's been at least 2 weeks since I've reminisced about younger, gay me. The last post I wrote involved my unsuccessful attempts at making some gay friends, but I eventually end up meeting someone, whom I pretty much immediately began dating. You can find that post here.
Like with most dates and relationships, that one ended pretty quickly. He pretty much used me a threw me aside after a month. Looking back, I see now that we really had nothing in common other than wanting to take each others' clothes off. We never even left his apartment!
It was tough on me, to say the least. Not only did I go through losing my first luv (not love), but I also went from my first engaging, albeit superficial, connection to the gay world to being rejected and alone again.
Fast-forward the shitty summer of 2006 and I was back at university for my last year.
A little damaged from being used, but a little-less shy, I tried putting myself out-there even more. Into the beginning of October, I decided check out a Queer Conversation group hosted at my university, by the same Queer Group that I had found pretty useless and frustrating for the last 2 years. I didn't tell anyone I was going - not because it had to do with being gay but because I had the stereotype in my mind that only losers would go to anything like this.
By my thinking, it turns out I'm a loser because I was incredibly glad I went.
There I met 3 really cool guys and an awesome woman, with whom I got along really well. We formed our own mini-group and went out to The Village for plenty of nights of fun. They realized I had never gone there so they really enjoyed showing me all the good bars and clubs.
There was an unsaid recognition between us all that I was the baby of the group. In terms of age, they were all older than me: I was 21 and they were in the 24, 25, 30 and 41. In terms of personalities, I was (and am still) relatively immature. I was easily impressed with the whole Gay scene and was always interested by the gay-related things they talked about. They had all come to terms with their own sexualities long before (or in case of the 41 year old lesbian, very long before!) and were very comfortable with themselves. By contrast, I wasn't out to my closest friends, parents and still had some trouble talking about things related to my sexuality with other friends. This gay gang kind of acted like older siblings to me, because they understood I was still figuring myself out and getting comfortable. They also never wanted me to have a shitty time in the bars.
One of them in particular would become one of my future roommates, after the Christmas of that year.
Before we would be roommates, though, we would end up fooling around. I knew he was attracted to me when we first met. Personally, I wasn't into his looks but his confidence and personality. When we hung out, I felt relaxed with him and it was always a lot of fun. One night after heading home from the bar, I stopped by his apartment for food. One thing led to another and we made-out, the pants came off and I came all over his childhood teddy bear. I thought it was hilarious. He did not.
We would end up hooking up a few more times, but it was never serious. I made it clear that I wasn't looking for a relationship and he was Ok with that. I had learned the lesson that dating every gay person you get along with leads to not having any gay friends. Our fooling around would also become the run-on joke of our gay group.
I don't see any of them these days (which is the part to another story), but I have good, fond memories of them. They would definitely make that next year of my life fucking awesome.
Like with most dates and relationships, that one ended pretty quickly. He pretty much used me a threw me aside after a month. Looking back, I see now that we really had nothing in common other than wanting to take each others' clothes off. We never even left his apartment!
It was tough on me, to say the least. Not only did I go through losing my first luv (not love), but I also went from my first engaging, albeit superficial, connection to the gay world to being rejected and alone again.
Fast-forward the shitty summer of 2006 and I was back at university for my last year.
A little damaged from being used, but a little-less shy, I tried putting myself out-there even more. Into the beginning of October, I decided check out a Queer Conversation group hosted at my university, by the same Queer Group that I had found pretty useless and frustrating for the last 2 years. I didn't tell anyone I was going - not because it had to do with being gay but because I had the stereotype in my mind that only losers would go to anything like this.
By my thinking, it turns out I'm a loser because I was incredibly glad I went.
There I met 3 really cool guys and an awesome woman, with whom I got along really well. We formed our own mini-group and went out to The Village for plenty of nights of fun. They realized I had never gone there so they really enjoyed showing me all the good bars and clubs.
There was an unsaid recognition between us all that I was the baby of the group. In terms of age, they were all older than me: I was 21 and they were in the 24, 25, 30 and 41. In terms of personalities, I was (and am still) relatively immature. I was easily impressed with the whole Gay scene and was always interested by the gay-related things they talked about. They had all come to terms with their own sexualities long before (or in case of the 41 year old lesbian, very long before!) and were very comfortable with themselves. By contrast, I wasn't out to my closest friends, parents and still had some trouble talking about things related to my sexuality with other friends. This gay gang kind of acted like older siblings to me, because they understood I was still figuring myself out and getting comfortable. They also never wanted me to have a shitty time in the bars.
One of them in particular would become one of my future roommates, after the Christmas of that year.
Before we would be roommates, though, we would end up fooling around. I knew he was attracted to me when we first met. Personally, I wasn't into his looks but his confidence and personality. When we hung out, I felt relaxed with him and it was always a lot of fun. One night after heading home from the bar, I stopped by his apartment for food. One thing led to another and we made-out, the pants came off and I came all over his childhood teddy bear. I thought it was hilarious. He did not.
We would end up hooking up a few more times, but it was never serious. I made it clear that I wasn't looking for a relationship and he was Ok with that. I had learned the lesson that dating every gay person you get along with leads to not having any gay friends. Our fooling around would also become the run-on joke of our gay group.
I don't see any of them these days (which is the part to another story), but I have good, fond memories of them. They would definitely make that next year of my life fucking awesome.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Art and Bars
More bars should have Arts & Crafts night. How can someone find painting, glueing or playing with plaster, combined with drinking beer, to be lame? It's not like anyone's a Picasso or Michelangelo.
It's the perfect activity for the antisocial drinker, because he/she can just creative while drinking alone or can ignore his/her friends.
It also let's you express your fantasies, whether it's:
being in a nude painting,
Playing executioner,
or being an all-round creepbag.
Of course, it inevitably turns into a travesty of mocking things and each other.
Come on bars, do this more often!
It's the perfect activity for the antisocial drinker, because he/she can just creative while drinking alone or can ignore his/her friends.
It also let's you express your fantasies, whether it's:
being in a nude painting,
Playing executioner,
or being an all-round creepbag.
Of course, it inevitably turns into a travesty of mocking things and each other.
Come on bars, do this more often!
Changing My Statement
I want to take something back.
In yesterday's post, I said that it's fine that Guy from the Abandoned Building left and I didn't get a chance to have a one-on-one chat with him. I also said that it's fine we're just friends.
Well, I'm taking all that stuff back. It DOES bother me that I didn't get a chance to talk with him on my own and it DOES bother that we're just friends. He lives in a different city now and it's tough for us to keep in touch, so I did want a chance just to talk with him. I DO regret not still being involved with him, since I still find myself star-struck by him. Ever since he was added to my Facebook, if I ever see his profile I get distracted and reminiscent for at least 20 minutes.
A friend, whom I almost never speak with or see since he now lives in Los Angeles, told me a few weeks ago that I should have fought for him and maybe even followed him to New York. Would it have worked out? Probably not, but as he said: you can't just sit back and wait for things - you need to pursue them.
So yes, I am bothered by this. Like I ended my last post: life goes on. I will get over it, but I just want to clear up the fact that right now I am not perfectly Ok with the situation and that I am a little bothered.
I think this will be the last time I mention the Guy from the Abandoned Building.
In yesterday's post, I said that it's fine that Guy from the Abandoned Building left and I didn't get a chance to have a one-on-one chat with him. I also said that it's fine we're just friends.
Well, I'm taking all that stuff back. It DOES bother me that I didn't get a chance to talk with him on my own and it DOES bother that we're just friends. He lives in a different city now and it's tough for us to keep in touch, so I did want a chance just to talk with him. I DO regret not still being involved with him, since I still find myself star-struck by him. Ever since he was added to my Facebook, if I ever see his profile I get distracted and reminiscent for at least 20 minutes.
A friend, whom I almost never speak with or see since he now lives in Los Angeles, told me a few weeks ago that I should have fought for him and maybe even followed him to New York. Would it have worked out? Probably not, but as he said: you can't just sit back and wait for things - you need to pursue them.
So yes, I am bothered by this. Like I ended my last post: life goes on. I will get over it, but I just want to clear up the fact that right now I am not perfectly Ok with the situation and that I am a little bothered.
I think this will be the last time I mention the Guy from the Abandoned Building.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Party and the Guy
Uuuhhhh....
....stupid headache....
...dizzy too.
Wait.
How did I get here?
Where are my clothes?
!!!
....What's the last thing I can remember?
Guy from Abandoned Building, talking, drinking, party, dancing and then.....
How did I get home?
.......
................whatever.
And so I went back to sleep and only woke up at 2pm this afternoon.
Yesterday was definitely an awesome night. I can probably blame the Maudite & Fin du Monde beer, along with a few tokes of weed for my lack of memory toward the end, but that doesn't matter. With Guy from the Abandoned Building in town, Xav and I met up with him and his friends to have a good time.
We walked into the friends' apartment at the perfect time too. Shirt off, "my" Guy was by the front of the door changing. Not that it's been long, but he still looks fucking awesome. Perfect chest, abs and arms. Still the same beautiful face and eyes that light up with his smile. He was happy and excited to see us both. Photos just can't capture how good looking he is.
We all made our way to another group of friends' loft. They weren't at their home yet when we arrived, so we waited out on the street. We opened up our beers for some sidewalk drinking and I decided it was time to bring out my condolences gift to Xav. That morning, Xav got in a bike accident. His bike was split in two in a collision with another bike. I don't get how a bike explodes like that, while he didn't get hurt at all, but he was really bummed out because of it. He found the parts, built that bike himself and even named it Jane. RIP Jane.
My gift was half a water bottle filled with Russian vodka. It was a small portion of what I brought back from my summer trip to Russia. Don't kid yourselves: you don't know vodka until you have real Russian vodka. It's smooth, almost no after taste and doesn't cost much. You can even drink 2 full bottles with a friend, pass out in your hostel, wake up in a pile of liquid that you think is your own piss, but then realize you just spilled a gallon of water on yourself when you passed out onto the floor. All without a hangover. It's that good.
The offering brightened Xav's spirits. Everyone enjoyed a sip. The Guy from the Abandoned Building, who I refuse to name otherwise, really liked it. His smile made me swoon some more. We were all happy.
Eventually the second group of friends arrived, opened their door and the party started. Their big open loft got turned into a dance floor. Music was pumping out of some giant speakers. The lights went off and the indoor Christmas lights came on. Everyone had the dance funk in them. The rest of the night was a blast.
Guy from the Abandoned Building ended up disappearing midway through the night. I didn't really notice until much later. My time was split with everyone at the impromptu party, so we didn't get the chance to sit down and talk, just the two of us. I would have liked to be alone with him, talking or ripping off his clothes, but that's fine. He lives in New York. I live in Montreal. We're just friends and I'm Ok with that. Life goes on.
Toward the end of the night, when my memory starts getting fuzzy, some other guy was chatting me up hoping that we'd run into each other again. That made a good night end a little better.
....stupid headache....
...dizzy too.
Wait.
How did I get here?
Where are my clothes?
!!!
....What's the last thing I can remember?
Guy from Abandoned Building, talking, drinking, party, dancing and then.....
How did I get home?
.......
................whatever.
And so I went back to sleep and only woke up at 2pm this afternoon.
Yesterday was definitely an awesome night. I can probably blame the Maudite & Fin du Monde beer, along with a few tokes of weed for my lack of memory toward the end, but that doesn't matter. With Guy from the Abandoned Building in town, Xav and I met up with him and his friends to have a good time.
We walked into the friends' apartment at the perfect time too. Shirt off, "my" Guy was by the front of the door changing. Not that it's been long, but he still looks fucking awesome. Perfect chest, abs and arms. Still the same beautiful face and eyes that light up with his smile. He was happy and excited to see us both. Photos just can't capture how good looking he is.
We all made our way to another group of friends' loft. They weren't at their home yet when we arrived, so we waited out on the street. We opened up our beers for some sidewalk drinking and I decided it was time to bring out my condolences gift to Xav. That morning, Xav got in a bike accident. His bike was split in two in a collision with another bike. I don't get how a bike explodes like that, while he didn't get hurt at all, but he was really bummed out because of it. He found the parts, built that bike himself and even named it Jane. RIP Jane.
My gift was half a water bottle filled with Russian vodka. It was a small portion of what I brought back from my summer trip to Russia. Don't kid yourselves: you don't know vodka until you have real Russian vodka. It's smooth, almost no after taste and doesn't cost much. You can even drink 2 full bottles with a friend, pass out in your hostel, wake up in a pile of liquid that you think is your own piss, but then realize you just spilled a gallon of water on yourself when you passed out onto the floor. All without a hangover. It's that good.
The offering brightened Xav's spirits. Everyone enjoyed a sip. The Guy from the Abandoned Building, who I refuse to name otherwise, really liked it. His smile made me swoon some more. We were all happy.
Eventually the second group of friends arrived, opened their door and the party started. Their big open loft got turned into a dance floor. Music was pumping out of some giant speakers. The lights went off and the indoor Christmas lights came on. Everyone had the dance funk in them. The rest of the night was a blast.
Guy from the Abandoned Building ended up disappearing midway through the night. I didn't really notice until much later. My time was split with everyone at the impromptu party, so we didn't get the chance to sit down and talk, just the two of us. I would have liked to be alone with him, talking or ripping off his clothes, but that's fine. He lives in New York. I live in Montreal. We're just friends and I'm Ok with that. Life goes on.
Toward the end of the night, when my memory starts getting fuzzy, some other guy was chatting me up hoping that we'd run into each other again. That made a good night end a little better.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
You can now "speak" to Thomas!
I originally shyed away from the idea of getting AIM, when a few of you readers asked me to add you to my contacts. Normally, I don't sit in front of a computer for long, unless I'm doing something I'm really interested in or unless I'm at work. I originally had MSN (which is apparently the Canadian equivalent of AIM), but also dropped that since I really preferred just calling up any friend I wanted to talk to.
Well, it seems that I have now caved to AIM. As of this evening, it's now downloaded and I will probably be signed on during the day or evening. I've checked my work agenda, and over the next few weeks I'm going to be spending a lot less time in real-time meetings with clients and a lot more time doing boring, tedious offline work in cafes. So I need company! After all, I can only make up so many stories about the two 15-year-olds on their first date, sitting at the table across from me:
Oh, she just smiled.
Oh wait, he's reaching across the table to touch her hand!
The girl's letting him hold her hand! She's such a slut!
I should throw a condom at them and yell "That's how kids get pregnant!"
See? I can only keep this up for so long.
So feel free to add me to your AIM. My contact ID is windsthatyourise@gmail.com ...or at least I think it is. I'm still trying to figure AIM out. I will try my darnedest to be interesting and mildly entertaining. I can't say I'll be on all the time or that I won't be awkward, since you all know a lot about me and I know nothing about you, but we will just have to see.
For those who did send me their info before, feel free to add me or resend the info. I don't delete my emails, however I don't know if any of you still read the blog or are still interested in adding me to AIM or not. Yes, yes, I'm shy and weird, but whatever.
Cheers.
Well, it seems that I have now caved to AIM. As of this evening, it's now downloaded and I will probably be signed on during the day or evening. I've checked my work agenda, and over the next few weeks I'm going to be spending a lot less time in real-time meetings with clients and a lot more time doing boring, tedious offline work in cafes. So I need company! After all, I can only make up so many stories about the two 15-year-olds on their first date, sitting at the table across from me:
Oh, she just smiled.
Oh wait, he's reaching across the table to touch her hand!
The girl's letting him hold her hand! She's such a slut!
I should throw a condom at them and yell "That's how kids get pregnant!"
See? I can only keep this up for so long.
So feel free to add me to your AIM. My contact ID is windsthatyourise@gmail.com ...or at least I think it is. I'm still trying to figure AIM out. I will try my darnedest to be interesting and mildly entertaining. I can't say I'll be on all the time or that I won't be awkward, since you all know a lot about me and I know nothing about you, but we will just have to see.
For those who did send me their info before, feel free to add me or resend the info. I don't delete my emails, however I don't know if any of you still read the blog or are still interested in adding me to AIM or not. Yes, yes, I'm shy and weird, but whatever.
Cheers.
Now's the Time
This past weekend, I had some very good 1-on-1 hangout time with my friend Liz.
She's a new addition to the list of friends whom I have named in the blog. Liz isn't a new person - we met years ago and became close when she developed a crush on me (the standard story of my female friends' lives). Her eccentric character matches mine perfectly, so our meeting was clearly meant to be. She's watched me go from closet kid to what I am now and I've watched the lows and highs in her life go by. We also bonded over both having stalkers - oh the things that bring people together.
That evening we stayed at her apartment, drinking wine, eating muffins and talking about our lives. Having gone through a lull in the frequency with which we saw each other over the summer, the last 3 weeks have been us seeing each other pretty frequently, although always amongst other friends.
I'm very impressed with her right now. She told me that she's tired of waiting for the right guy to come around and talk her up, so she's gone on the offensive over the last few weeks. Whenever she finds a guy attractive, whether at a bar or breakfast restaurant, she jumps right into the flirting game with stares, smiles and eventually approaching them to quickly hand out her number. No waiting anymore. She's even joined a dating website, had a few dates, and and answered a Craigslist add. Surprisingly, the Craigslist-guy and her got along really well and have become friends.
Her exact words come to mind when introducing her new mindset:
Right now's the time I should be meeting guys and having lots of sex.
And she also added:
You too.
I should be taking a page from her book and put my self out there. God knows my flirting needs practice and my self-esteem needs a kick in the ass, to get into the driver's seat.
Liz tried to get me to join the same dating site as her, but I haven't soon forgotten the people I met/talked to last time I tried to do that a few years ago (which is briefly summarized here). I admit that I do need to hit some climax point, like she had, to set myself into gear for being proactive for meeting other guys, but that day has not yet happened. In the mean time, I was content to look over people's profile in the dating registry and make fun of them with Liz.
1.5 wine bottle later, my narcissistic tendencies took hold of my body and I decided to take snap shots of us as we laughed about it all.
And then we simultaneously passed out on her bed.
PS: I didn't mention to her that The Guy I Met on the Abandoned Building will be back in Montreal this Friday. I am very excited for that.
She's a new addition to the list of friends whom I have named in the blog. Liz isn't a new person - we met years ago and became close when she developed a crush on me (the standard story of my female friends' lives). Her eccentric character matches mine perfectly, so our meeting was clearly meant to be. She's watched me go from closet kid to what I am now and I've watched the lows and highs in her life go by. We also bonded over both having stalkers - oh the things that bring people together.
That evening we stayed at her apartment, drinking wine, eating muffins and talking about our lives. Having gone through a lull in the frequency with which we saw each other over the summer, the last 3 weeks have been us seeing each other pretty frequently, although always amongst other friends.
I'm very impressed with her right now. She told me that she's tired of waiting for the right guy to come around and talk her up, so she's gone on the offensive over the last few weeks. Whenever she finds a guy attractive, whether at a bar or breakfast restaurant, she jumps right into the flirting game with stares, smiles and eventually approaching them to quickly hand out her number. No waiting anymore. She's even joined a dating website, had a few dates, and and answered a Craigslist add. Surprisingly, the Craigslist-guy and her got along really well and have become friends.
Her exact words come to mind when introducing her new mindset:
Right now's the time I should be meeting guys and having lots of sex.
And she also added:
You too.
I should be taking a page from her book and put my self out there. God knows my flirting needs practice and my self-esteem needs a kick in the ass, to get into the driver's seat.
Liz tried to get me to join the same dating site as her, but I haven't soon forgotten the people I met/talked to last time I tried to do that a few years ago (which is briefly summarized here). I admit that I do need to hit some climax point, like she had, to set myself into gear for being proactive for meeting other guys, but that day has not yet happened. In the mean time, I was content to look over people's profile in the dating registry and make fun of them with Liz.
1.5 wine bottle later, my narcissistic tendencies took hold of my body and I decided to take snap shots of us as we laughed about it all.
And then we simultaneously passed out on her bed.
PS: I didn't mention to her that The Guy I Met on the Abandoned Building will be back in Montreal this Friday. I am very excited for that.
The Call - Part 3
This is the final post, in a series of three parts that began 2 days ago. You should read Part 1 and Part 2 before looking at this post.
It was surprisingly difficult to recount the story of Talya's call. The whole time I was writing part 1, I was shaking a little. This obviously isn't a story that I tell many people. I don't want to go advertise that Talya is a prostitute to my friends or the fact that my friend and I put someone into the hospital (we assume). The fucker deserved what he got and if I was put in the same situation, I would have been the one of use my keys as a stabbing brass knuckles. The whole event shook me up because I'm just not used to any of my friends actually been hurt. Broken bones from snowboarding is one thing, but a friend getting the shit beat out of her and her having to fight for her life is another thing. This'll make me sound like a baby, especially since Talya's situation was so much more serious than my experience, but even me kicking the shit out of the guy freaked me out. I'm really not one to get into fights - people generally like me so I've never had someone want to take me on. I'm also 6'4 - I'm definitely no body builder but my height clearly intimidates people who would be looking for trouble.
After that night, we did think about the possibility of the police on the lookout for 2 young adults who beat the shit out of a middle-aged man. We doubted that the fucker would have notified police. He had solicited a prostitute, beat her up, and potentially wanted to kill her. If he wanted the police to know about 2 guys assaulting him, he had to risk us sharing our stories. There's nothing for him to gain. If anything, he might have called for an ambulance to pick him up, but he probably wouldn't have recounted what actually happened. We did check the newspapers and listened to newscasts for a few days, but nothing came up.
There needs to be a bit of clarification on Tayla's job as an escort/prostitute. She not a hooker on a street corners of Sainte-Catherine, at 2am. As she has explained to me, she uses a service where people get in touch with her contact, and she takes jobs from that contact when she wants to. She typically meets the clients at pre-specified places, knowing what they want in advance. She has encountered fucked up people before and bailed on them, but nothing ever close to what happened that night. If you were to run into her during the day, she looks like a normal, cute young adult. No hideous face scares, skanky/(hilarious!) clothes or creepiness. In her words: I'm higher-class fare.
Now, let's get to the part where she called the police - oh wait, she didn't actually call the police for help! In her call to me, she told me police were already on the way. I was bolting across streets and between people in hopes that I might get there faster than the cops, so that I could save her life. I believed that the guys in blue, who actually know how to handle something like this, would be coming so hearing her tell me she lied made me almost want to beat the shit out of her myself. I held it all in that first night, because I knew that she needed support right then. But later that week, I let her have it.
HOW THE FUCK COULD SHE JUSTIFY NOT CALLING THE POLICE. What if I couldn't get there before the fucker bashed the door in!? What if he had a gun, and my friend and I just barged in to have our heads fucking blown off!? I spent an hour screaming at her, 1 week after the incident, putting that into her head. Sure, risking her own life is one fucking stupid thing, but putting my friend's life and my own in the same fucking basket was brilliance surpassed only by a kindergarten retard class, shoving crayons up their noses. Her justification was that she didn't want the police arresting her as well as a prostitute, but of course that doesn't fly. What's better: a charge for prostitution or no charges at all, because your body's been dumped into the St-Lawrence river? Exactly.
After my scream-a-thon over her idiocy, I walked out on her. We didn't speak for a month but I eventually answered one of her calls. I know that you all probably think I'm dumb, but I did start talking to her again and eventually we started hanging out again. For a few months she was still really shook up from that night and I was the only one she really felt understood her, let alone one of the very few people with whom she could talk about it.
Do I value myself, if I could open my friendship again with someone who thought nothing for my safety? I hope so. I genuinely believe she understands her mistake. I told her that I never want to get a call from her like that again, but if it has to happen then I'll be there. Maybe I'm an emotional sap, who crumbles before teary eyes, but at least I'm loyal and want to help those in need.
She still does escorting. I still believe that it's her life to have and use as she sees fit. The reality of a sex worker's life is much too clear for her and myself now. Someone could be tempted to say she deserves what she got. A small, angry part of myself would be inclined to agree, but it's not that easy. Just because a woman might wear a short skirt, doesn't mean she wants some club-douchebag putting their hands up her thigh and playing with the beaver. Same justification for a hooker. A prostitute doesn't deserve a black eye, or worse.
And to the fucker, left naked on the floor covered in a bit of his own blood: yes, I feel bad for him. Well, pity is a better word for it. What could have happened to him during his life that led him down that road. The few who know about this story think I'm fucked for thinking like that - giving that guy some sort of "forgiveness". That's not it at all. Nothing he did was Ok, but, as with all things, I just wish I could understand how a person could get to that point. Why would someone think that beating the shit out of a hooker is Ok? Probably some sort of way that they feel powerful or that they can feel better than another person, I can't be sure. But how did he get to feel that need?
Like I said, nothing is black or white.
------
It was surprisingly difficult to recount the story of Talya's call. The whole time I was writing part 1, I was shaking a little. This obviously isn't a story that I tell many people. I don't want to go advertise that Talya is a prostitute to my friends or the fact that my friend and I put someone into the hospital (we assume). The fucker deserved what he got and if I was put in the same situation, I would have been the one of use my keys as a stabbing brass knuckles. The whole event shook me up because I'm just not used to any of my friends actually been hurt. Broken bones from snowboarding is one thing, but a friend getting the shit beat out of her and her having to fight for her life is another thing. This'll make me sound like a baby, especially since Talya's situation was so much more serious than my experience, but even me kicking the shit out of the guy freaked me out. I'm really not one to get into fights - people generally like me so I've never had someone want to take me on. I'm also 6'4 - I'm definitely no body builder but my height clearly intimidates people who would be looking for trouble.
After that night, we did think about the possibility of the police on the lookout for 2 young adults who beat the shit out of a middle-aged man. We doubted that the fucker would have notified police. He had solicited a prostitute, beat her up, and potentially wanted to kill her. If he wanted the police to know about 2 guys assaulting him, he had to risk us sharing our stories. There's nothing for him to gain. If anything, he might have called for an ambulance to pick him up, but he probably wouldn't have recounted what actually happened. We did check the newspapers and listened to newscasts for a few days, but nothing came up.
There needs to be a bit of clarification on Tayla's job as an escort/prostitute. She not a hooker on a street corners of Sainte-Catherine, at 2am. As she has explained to me, she uses a service where people get in touch with her contact, and she takes jobs from that contact when she wants to. She typically meets the clients at pre-specified places, knowing what they want in advance. She has encountered fucked up people before and bailed on them, but nothing ever close to what happened that night. If you were to run into her during the day, she looks like a normal, cute young adult. No hideous face scares, skanky/(hilarious!) clothes or creepiness. In her words: I'm higher-class fare.
Now, let's get to the part where she called the police - oh wait, she didn't actually call the police for help! In her call to me, she told me police were already on the way. I was bolting across streets and between people in hopes that I might get there faster than the cops, so that I could save her life. I believed that the guys in blue, who actually know how to handle something like this, would be coming so hearing her tell me she lied made me almost want to beat the shit out of her myself. I held it all in that first night, because I knew that she needed support right then. But later that week, I let her have it.
HOW THE FUCK COULD SHE JUSTIFY NOT CALLING THE POLICE. What if I couldn't get there before the fucker bashed the door in!? What if he had a gun, and my friend and I just barged in to have our heads fucking blown off!? I spent an hour screaming at her, 1 week after the incident, putting that into her head. Sure, risking her own life is one fucking stupid thing, but putting my friend's life and my own in the same fucking basket was brilliance surpassed only by a kindergarten retard class, shoving crayons up their noses. Her justification was that she didn't want the police arresting her as well as a prostitute, but of course that doesn't fly. What's better: a charge for prostitution or no charges at all, because your body's been dumped into the St-Lawrence river? Exactly.
After my scream-a-thon over her idiocy, I walked out on her. We didn't speak for a month but I eventually answered one of her calls. I know that you all probably think I'm dumb, but I did start talking to her again and eventually we started hanging out again. For a few months she was still really shook up from that night and I was the only one she really felt understood her, let alone one of the very few people with whom she could talk about it.
Do I value myself, if I could open my friendship again with someone who thought nothing for my safety? I hope so. I genuinely believe she understands her mistake. I told her that I never want to get a call from her like that again, but if it has to happen then I'll be there. Maybe I'm an emotional sap, who crumbles before teary eyes, but at least I'm loyal and want to help those in need.
She still does escorting. I still believe that it's her life to have and use as she sees fit. The reality of a sex worker's life is much too clear for her and myself now. Someone could be tempted to say she deserves what she got. A small, angry part of myself would be inclined to agree, but it's not that easy. Just because a woman might wear a short skirt, doesn't mean she wants some club-douchebag putting their hands up her thigh and playing with the beaver. Same justification for a hooker. A prostitute doesn't deserve a black eye, or worse.
And to the fucker, left naked on the floor covered in a bit of his own blood: yes, I feel bad for him. Well, pity is a better word for it. What could have happened to him during his life that led him down that road. The few who know about this story think I'm fucked for thinking like that - giving that guy some sort of "forgiveness". That's not it at all. Nothing he did was Ok, but, as with all things, I just wish I could understand how a person could get to that point. Why would someone think that beating the shit out of a hooker is Ok? Probably some sort of way that they feel powerful or that they can feel better than another person, I can't be sure. But how did he get to feel that need?
Like I said, nothing is black or white.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
The Call - Part 2
You should read this part 1, before continuing to part 2 below. There will also be a part 3 featured tomorrow.
She's in there? my friend asks in the same tone I used before.
Ya, we need to get her out. A guy's attacking her. She's in the bathroom.
Let's go then.
He reaches for the doorknob with his left hand and raises his right hand, in front of his chest. He's holding his keys in his right hand, each key arranged between his fingers in order to, I imagine, to give a painful stabbing punch. Brass knuckled have nothing on these. I don't copy him, but prepare myself to rush in the room. God, I hope the door is unlocked, I think to myself.
He counts up to three, to signal when he'll try and throw the door open. His head bobs with each number.
1
2
3
At this point, I'm stop thinking. Everything that follows is just automatic. Looking back on it, I remember the actions but I feel like my mind was just riding auto-pilot to my body.
My friend's hand turns the doorknob. It's not locked. He swings the door open and rushes in. I'm right behind him.
A medium-height, middle aged, heavy-set, naked man is standing with his back to us, facing a closed door. My friend is running directly at the guy, head low and right-hand up. The man's upper body and head slowly turn around to realize that the motel's door is open and we're inside the room. He didn't expect us to walk in and he certainly didn't expect my friend to be on him so quickly.
The fucker never had a chance. My friend swings his key-hand into the back of the man's turning head. He then punches with his left hand and then interchanges a few hits with each hand. I come around for a punch and hit the man in the back. By that time, he's already falling away from what I assume is the bathroom door. He's on his knees and then onto his stomach. We start kicking him in the sides. He's screaming in pain. I can understand some of what he's saying, but it's muffled by his arms wrapped around his head for protection.
He's telling us to stop, or at least words close to that. We keep kicking.
I back away from the man, and turn to the bathroom door.
TAYLA! IT'S THOMAS! WE'RE HERE. OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR. WE'RE GETTING YOU OUT.
My friend keeps kicking the guy, although his pace is slow now. He knows the guy isn't going to move, let alone try anything. There are blood marks from the key-punches. I think the man's nose is also broken from the kicks.
IS THAT YOU THOMAS!?
It's Tayla's screaming voice, covered over my sobbing and crying.
YES! WE'RE HERE! OPEN THE DOOR! HURRY UP!
I head the door handle rattling and then turning. The door open to a crack. I can see Tayla's crying face. Her nose is bleeding. The door swings completely open. I grab Tayla's naked body into a hug and then quickly pick her up. My friend looks at me and Tayla and then at the man's motionless body on the ground.
LET'S GO!, I yell.
TAKE ME AWAY FROM HERE!, Tayla yells.
I run out the room, with Tayla in my arms and my friend behind me. We run to the turning point of motel, where the front meets the back. I stop, not sure what to do.
Still crying, Tayla's screams
LETS GET OUT OF HERE! JUST GO!
It takes me a few moments to understand her words, since she's screaming in my chest.
Again, I freeze. I don't know where to go. What about the Police? Who do I tell? What about the guy back there?
My friend, right next to me, has his shirt off and drapes it over Tayla's body.
His voice is calm and precise. It's the type of voice you believe instantly.
We're heading to my place, he says.
He runs in front of us and I follow him without pausing anymore.
We run for a few blocks. I can't remember how many but it's not far at all. We pass one or two people, but I only notice them enough not to run into them. I could care fucking less about anyone other than Tayla, my friend and myself right now.
My friend turns up some steps to his apartment and swings the door open. I run in. He points us to his bedroom, I walk in and I put Tayla onto the bed. My friend walks in after us. I lie down next to Tayla and ask her if she's hurt. She tells me that the guy tried to pin her against the wall and then started punching her. She says her body hurts, but she things she's ok.
While lying next to Tayla, I'm still holding her and she's still holding me. I don't dare let go.
At this point, time feels like it's passing normally. I don't know how long actually passed from the phone call to when my friend and I ran into the room to when we arrived back at the apartment, but now everything is slowed down.
I don't know where I found the energy to do that, but I only feel the pain in my legs and arms now, from running and carrying Tayla. I don't want to move for as long is possible.
Tayla, my friend and myself spend the next 2 hours in his room. She explains to us exactly what happened, from the point where he stopped being a "trick" and started hurting her, to when she punched him in the balls, ran into the bathroom and locked the door. I tell her exactly what I did from her phone call to when I yelled for her, on the other side of the bathroom door. My friend tells us his reaction to my call. He pretends that he doesn't realize or care about Tayla being a prostitute.
We check her body for any serious wounds. Apart from purple bruising on her face, neck, arms and chest, she seems alright. A doctor would confirm this the next day.
My friend tells us he thinks we both probably broke a few of the guy's bones. My friend also washes the blood off his keys, right hand and shoe. Part of me doesn't care, but another part of me wants to go back to the motel to see the damage.
Tayla keeps sobbing and shaking for at least an hour. She looks at us both and tells us she didn't actually call the police. I hold in my words for another day, only barely though.
Eventually, my friend gives us a lift in his car back to my apartment. I owe him big. I let him know that. He lets me know that he knows that.
Tayla sleeps in my bed that night. I don't dare stop holding her all night long.
------
She's in there? my friend asks in the same tone I used before.
Ya, we need to get her out. A guy's attacking her. She's in the bathroom.
Let's go then.
He reaches for the doorknob with his left hand and raises his right hand, in front of his chest. He's holding his keys in his right hand, each key arranged between his fingers in order to, I imagine, to give a painful stabbing punch. Brass knuckled have nothing on these. I don't copy him, but prepare myself to rush in the room. God, I hope the door is unlocked, I think to myself.
He counts up to three, to signal when he'll try and throw the door open. His head bobs with each number.
1
2
3
At this point, I'm stop thinking. Everything that follows is just automatic. Looking back on it, I remember the actions but I feel like my mind was just riding auto-pilot to my body.
My friend's hand turns the doorknob. It's not locked. He swings the door open and rushes in. I'm right behind him.
A medium-height, middle aged, heavy-set, naked man is standing with his back to us, facing a closed door. My friend is running directly at the guy, head low and right-hand up. The man's upper body and head slowly turn around to realize that the motel's door is open and we're inside the room. He didn't expect us to walk in and he certainly didn't expect my friend to be on him so quickly.
The fucker never had a chance. My friend swings his key-hand into the back of the man's turning head. He then punches with his left hand and then interchanges a few hits with each hand. I come around for a punch and hit the man in the back. By that time, he's already falling away from what I assume is the bathroom door. He's on his knees and then onto his stomach. We start kicking him in the sides. He's screaming in pain. I can understand some of what he's saying, but it's muffled by his arms wrapped around his head for protection.
He's telling us to stop, or at least words close to that. We keep kicking.
I back away from the man, and turn to the bathroom door.
TAYLA! IT'S THOMAS! WE'RE HERE. OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR. WE'RE GETTING YOU OUT.
My friend keeps kicking the guy, although his pace is slow now. He knows the guy isn't going to move, let alone try anything. There are blood marks from the key-punches. I think the man's nose is also broken from the kicks.
IS THAT YOU THOMAS!?
It's Tayla's screaming voice, covered over my sobbing and crying.
YES! WE'RE HERE! OPEN THE DOOR! HURRY UP!
I head the door handle rattling and then turning. The door open to a crack. I can see Tayla's crying face. Her nose is bleeding. The door swings completely open. I grab Tayla's naked body into a hug and then quickly pick her up. My friend looks at me and Tayla and then at the man's motionless body on the ground.
LET'S GO!, I yell.
TAKE ME AWAY FROM HERE!, Tayla yells.
I run out the room, with Tayla in my arms and my friend behind me. We run to the turning point of motel, where the front meets the back. I stop, not sure what to do.
Still crying, Tayla's screams
LETS GET OUT OF HERE! JUST GO!
It takes me a few moments to understand her words, since she's screaming in my chest.
Again, I freeze. I don't know where to go. What about the Police? Who do I tell? What about the guy back there?
My friend, right next to me, has his shirt off and drapes it over Tayla's body.
His voice is calm and precise. It's the type of voice you believe instantly.
We're heading to my place, he says.
He runs in front of us and I follow him without pausing anymore.
We run for a few blocks. I can't remember how many but it's not far at all. We pass one or two people, but I only notice them enough not to run into them. I could care fucking less about anyone other than Tayla, my friend and myself right now.
My friend turns up some steps to his apartment and swings the door open. I run in. He points us to his bedroom, I walk in and I put Tayla onto the bed. My friend walks in after us. I lie down next to Tayla and ask her if she's hurt. She tells me that the guy tried to pin her against the wall and then started punching her. She says her body hurts, but she things she's ok.
While lying next to Tayla, I'm still holding her and she's still holding me. I don't dare let go.
At this point, time feels like it's passing normally. I don't know how long actually passed from the phone call to when my friend and I ran into the room to when we arrived back at the apartment, but now everything is slowed down.
I don't know where I found the energy to do that, but I only feel the pain in my legs and arms now, from running and carrying Tayla. I don't want to move for as long is possible.
Tayla, my friend and myself spend the next 2 hours in his room. She explains to us exactly what happened, from the point where he stopped being a "trick" and started hurting her, to when she punched him in the balls, ran into the bathroom and locked the door. I tell her exactly what I did from her phone call to when I yelled for her, on the other side of the bathroom door. My friend tells us his reaction to my call. He pretends that he doesn't realize or care about Tayla being a prostitute.
We check her body for any serious wounds. Apart from purple bruising on her face, neck, arms and chest, she seems alright. A doctor would confirm this the next day.
My friend tells us he thinks we both probably broke a few of the guy's bones. My friend also washes the blood off his keys, right hand and shoe. Part of me doesn't care, but another part of me wants to go back to the motel to see the damage.
Tayla keeps sobbing and shaking for at least an hour. She looks at us both and tells us she didn't actually call the police. I hold in my words for another day, only barely though.
Eventually, my friend gives us a lift in his car back to my apartment. I owe him big. I let him know that. He lets me know that he knows that.
Tayla sleeps in my bed that night. I don't dare stop holding her all night long.
The Call - Part 1
Tayla is the only person to whom I have ever mentioned that I write a blog. She's very supportive of this reaching out to the internet gayborhood and has loved reading about my life and thoughts. Considering she's a Woman-of-the-Night, she's down with all of this sharing intimate parts of myself with strangers. She also likes how she's even gotten a mention up here. In fact, the name I use for her in the blog is the real name she uses when she's on call. Her idea, I swear.
Anyway, I got her approval to write about this next story. What you're going to read should raise a lot of questions and comments. Because there's so much for me to say, this story will be done over 3 posts. This first two will cover the retelling of the actual event, which took place last year. The third post will try to cover the thoughts and questions regarding the event. You, the readers, could potentially have a lot to say in response to these 3 posts. Of course I don't have many readers so I might get no comments at all. Either is good and fine. Just remember: nothing is simple; everything is shades of grey.
So let's get started.
I don't remember what I was doing before the call. In the end, it really doesn't matter. Before the ring of my cell phone, I don't even remember anything that happened during day. It was probably a good, normal day. Or at least I assume.
My cell phone rings. It's about 9pm. I skip across the floor to answer it.
Hello?
A scream into the phone
FUCK, THOMAS, THIS IS TAYLA I NEED HELP NOW.
I'm confused, surprised and amused.
What? Huh?
She cuts me off over my words, screaming and half sobbing into the receiver:
IT'S TAYLA. THIS IS NOT A FUCKING JOKE. I'M AT [nearby motel name and room number] WITH A TRICK.
I'm not confused anymore. I'm serious. And scared. She keeps yelling into the phone, without pausing.
HE FUCKING ATTACKED ME! I'VE LOCKED MYSELF IN THE BATHROOM AND HE'S TRYING TO BREAK IN! HE'S GOING TO KILL ME! FUCK, COME NOW! HE'S BANGING ON THE DOOR AND FUCKING YELLING! I'M FUCKING SCARED! THE POLICE ARE ON THEIR WAY BUT GET HERE NOW! HE'S GOING TO KILL ME! HELP ME!
I don't think at all. I just answer. I'm not yelling, but I'm speaking fast and with a tone like I'm ordering someone with the utmost seriousness.
I'm coming right now Tayla! Get anything to use as a weapon! I'm running out the door! I'll be there! Block the door! Scream! Make noise! I'm coming!
I slide my shoes on and I run out the apartment. I don't lock my door, although I have my keys simply because they were in my pocket before.
She's crying and screaming. It's muffled and scratchy.
OK! GET HERE FUCKING QUICK! HE'S SCREAMING AT ME! HE'S GOING TO KILL ME! GET HERE NOW!
I'm fucking coming Tayla! I have to go now. You're going to be ok! I'm fucking coming!
OK! OK!
She hangs up.
I'm in a full sprint toward the motel. I know exactly where it is and how to get there. It's about a 20 minute walk from my house. I'm dodging people and running through intersections while barely checking for traffic. I'm still holding my cell phone, but dialing a friend's number. He doesn't know Tayla, but he lives close to the motel.
My mind is absolutely terrified and but so singularly focused at the same time. I'm counting everything because nothing is going fast enough. My legs aren't fast enough. The cars don't move out of my way fast enough. My friend isn't picking up fast enough.
Hello?
It's Thomas. where are you?
Hey Thomas, I'm at home. Not doing-
I cut him off. I'm speaking with the same serious, fast, ordering tone as before.
This is not a fucking joke. My friend's getting attacked by someone at [motel name]. Get there now.
Dude, what? What are-
I'm not fucking joking. Get to [motel name] now. I need you.
You're serious-
Yes. I'm running there now. I'm scared. Get there now. Just go!
I'm coming.
I hang up.
I'm still running. It's the fastest I've ever been in a long time. At the same time, I think I'm just too slow. I'm terrified for Talya. I don't know how I'm keeping up this pace. I'm not imagining anything. My attention is only on one thing. Running.
I rush around a corner and I see the motel at the next block. I see my friend too. I can tell he's confused and freaked out just as much as I am. He's twisting his head around in every direction looking for what I'm running toward. As I get up to him, I don't stop running. I yell out the number of the motel room and rush past him. He yells something to me, along the lines of "this better not be a joke" but I don't answer. He believes me and runs behind me.
We run to the back side of the motel. I see the number of the room. The window's curtains are pulled in front of the windows. I run up to the door and stop. My friend is right next to me. For a second, I don't know what to do.
I freeze. I look at my friend. He looks at me. I'm not a person who really fights. I don't know what to do. Do I just open the door? Do I knock to get the person's attention? Can I stop him? What if he's bigger than me? Maybe he has a knife? Maybe he has a gun? Now I can't stop thinking.
She's in there? my friend asks in the same tone I used before.
Ya, we need to get her out. A guy's attacking her. She's in the bathroom.
Let's go then.
Anyway, I got her approval to write about this next story. What you're going to read should raise a lot of questions and comments. Because there's so much for me to say, this story will be done over 3 posts. This first two will cover the retelling of the actual event, which took place last year. The third post will try to cover the thoughts and questions regarding the event. You, the readers, could potentially have a lot to say in response to these 3 posts. Of course I don't have many readers so I might get no comments at all. Either is good and fine. Just remember: nothing is simple; everything is shades of grey.
So let's get started.
-------
I don't remember what I was doing before the call. In the end, it really doesn't matter. Before the ring of my cell phone, I don't even remember anything that happened during day. It was probably a good, normal day. Or at least I assume.
My cell phone rings. It's about 9pm. I skip across the floor to answer it.
Hello?
A scream into the phone
FUCK, THOMAS, THIS IS TAYLA I NEED HELP NOW.
I'm confused, surprised and amused.
What? Huh?
She cuts me off over my words, screaming and half sobbing into the receiver:
IT'S TAYLA. THIS IS NOT A FUCKING JOKE. I'M AT [nearby motel name and room number] WITH A TRICK.
I'm not confused anymore. I'm serious. And scared. She keeps yelling into the phone, without pausing.
HE FUCKING ATTACKED ME! I'VE LOCKED MYSELF IN THE BATHROOM AND HE'S TRYING TO BREAK IN! HE'S GOING TO KILL ME! FUCK, COME NOW! HE'S BANGING ON THE DOOR AND FUCKING YELLING! I'M FUCKING SCARED! THE POLICE ARE ON THEIR WAY BUT GET HERE NOW! HE'S GOING TO KILL ME! HELP ME!
I don't think at all. I just answer. I'm not yelling, but I'm speaking fast and with a tone like I'm ordering someone with the utmost seriousness.
I'm coming right now Tayla! Get anything to use as a weapon! I'm running out the door! I'll be there! Block the door! Scream! Make noise! I'm coming!
I slide my shoes on and I run out the apartment. I don't lock my door, although I have my keys simply because they were in my pocket before.
She's crying and screaming. It's muffled and scratchy.
OK! GET HERE FUCKING QUICK! HE'S SCREAMING AT ME! HE'S GOING TO KILL ME! GET HERE NOW!
I'm fucking coming Tayla! I have to go now. You're going to be ok! I'm fucking coming!
OK! OK!
She hangs up.
I'm in a full sprint toward the motel. I know exactly where it is and how to get there. It's about a 20 minute walk from my house. I'm dodging people and running through intersections while barely checking for traffic. I'm still holding my cell phone, but dialing a friend's number. He doesn't know Tayla, but he lives close to the motel.
My mind is absolutely terrified and but so singularly focused at the same time. I'm counting everything because nothing is going fast enough. My legs aren't fast enough. The cars don't move out of my way fast enough. My friend isn't picking up fast enough.
Hello?
It's Thomas. where are you?
Hey Thomas, I'm at home. Not doing-
I cut him off. I'm speaking with the same serious, fast, ordering tone as before.
This is not a fucking joke. My friend's getting attacked by someone at [motel name]. Get there now.
Dude, what? What are-
I'm not fucking joking. Get to [motel name] now. I need you.
You're serious-
Yes. I'm running there now. I'm scared. Get there now. Just go!
I'm coming.
I hang up.
I'm still running. It's the fastest I've ever been in a long time. At the same time, I think I'm just too slow. I'm terrified for Talya. I don't know how I'm keeping up this pace. I'm not imagining anything. My attention is only on one thing. Running.
I rush around a corner and I see the motel at the next block. I see my friend too. I can tell he's confused and freaked out just as much as I am. He's twisting his head around in every direction looking for what I'm running toward. As I get up to him, I don't stop running. I yell out the number of the motel room and rush past him. He yells something to me, along the lines of "this better not be a joke" but I don't answer. He believes me and runs behind me.
We run to the back side of the motel. I see the number of the room. The window's curtains are pulled in front of the windows. I run up to the door and stop. My friend is right next to me. For a second, I don't know what to do.
I freeze. I look at my friend. He looks at me. I'm not a person who really fights. I don't know what to do. Do I just open the door? Do I knock to get the person's attention? Can I stop him? What if he's bigger than me? Maybe he has a knife? Maybe he has a gun? Now I can't stop thinking.
She's in there? my friend asks in the same tone I used before.
Ya, we need to get her out. A guy's attacking her. She's in the bathroom.
Let's go then.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Lest We Forget
Let's begin with the song called "I'm Not Made For Fighting", by Woodhands. Click Play, although don't bother watching the video. It's the song that's awesome. Also, this has no relation to the content of this post.
It's been a while since Xav, Tim and Mike and I have gone out all together. If you're an avid reader of this blog, you should realize in principle that they are my 3 very close friends. In terms of names appearing in posts however, Xav is everywhere, Tim appears from time to time but Mike thus far has almost never been mentioned. There's a good reason for this: Mike has recently got a new girlfriend and is therefore unreachable and inseparable from her. He spends every day with her and frankly it's pissing Xav, Tim and myself off.
Mike seeing someone is not new. He is what one would call a nester. He stays with a girlfriend for at least 3 years, they eventually mutually break up and then 1 month or less later he is head-over-heals for a new girl.
Part of me gets angry at him for ditching us all the time for her. Don't get me wrong, his girlfriend is awesome but him always seeing her and her friends, without inviting us, is a dick move. As reciprocation, when they both want to get to together with us, we decide the terms of where we're going and if they don't like it (which is most of the time) then fuck them.
Another part of me is angry because I'm jealous. I admit it, the idea of being so into someone is appealing. I do miss it too, as you can read here. I take it out on him a little because he finds these people so effortlessly.
For the first time in more than a month, we finally all hung out at a nice, dark bar that we've all liked for some time. We talked, we laughed and enjoyed each others company. We all spoke about our own lady-friend/guy-friend situations, or the lack therefore. It felt good. Mike (and the others) has been through a lot with me, so as much as the current situation may strain our relationship, he's still a really good friend of mine.
It's been a while since Xav, Tim and Mike and I have gone out all together. If you're an avid reader of this blog, you should realize in principle that they are my 3 very close friends. In terms of names appearing in posts however, Xav is everywhere, Tim appears from time to time but Mike thus far has almost never been mentioned. There's a good reason for this: Mike has recently got a new girlfriend and is therefore unreachable and inseparable from her. He spends every day with her and frankly it's pissing Xav, Tim and myself off.
Mike seeing someone is not new. He is what one would call a nester. He stays with a girlfriend for at least 3 years, they eventually mutually break up and then 1 month or less later he is head-over-heals for a new girl.
Part of me gets angry at him for ditching us all the time for her. Don't get me wrong, his girlfriend is awesome but him always seeing her and her friends, without inviting us, is a dick move. As reciprocation, when they both want to get to together with us, we decide the terms of where we're going and if they don't like it (which is most of the time) then fuck them.
Another part of me is angry because I'm jealous. I admit it, the idea of being so into someone is appealing. I do miss it too, as you can read here. I take it out on him a little because he finds these people so effortlessly.
For the first time in more than a month, we finally all hung out at a nice, dark bar that we've all liked for some time. We talked, we laughed and enjoyed each others company. We all spoke about our own lady-friend/guy-friend situations, or the lack therefore. It felt good. Mike (and the others) has been through a lot with me, so as much as the current situation may strain our relationship, he's still a really good friend of mine.
Not the Right Type of Feeling
Before my mind went to beer-induced mush yesterday (incidentally before I wrote the previous post), I was talking with Tim at the bar about night out on Halloween. During that evening/morning, our drunken adventure led us to a complete stranger's apartment where we hung out with some cool people. Even while being drunk, I remember having a great conversation with this girl.
We talked mostly about her life; how she feels that everything has been going wrong lately and that she just can't get anything meaningful. She talked about her own adoption from Costa Rica, her recent graduation at the age of 28 and her debt. She felt like everything about herself was a failure. Her tattoo was even a reminder of things going wrong, since the artist did a really shitty job. To generalize, it was a pretty emo and depressing talk.
From the beginning of our interaction, I felt a weird attraction to her. Nothing sex related, but more in the sense that I understood part of her. I generally find myself empathizing with people who's lives are done-and-out. This is obviously not for anyone, but those whom I get the impression they don't deserve the consistent bad luck/bad decisions that have gone their way. I feel like together we share something in common, since a lot of my life wasn't happy either.
Jumping a step further though, when I'm in these empathetic moods I start feeling the need to make them feel better. This sounds really corny, but it's like I want to protect them from the sadness. I tend to especially get like this around women. With the girl from Halloween, I started actually hitting on her because I knew it would make her feel better. I would share selective bits about myself that I knew she would find attractive, such as when I worked in Costa Rica for a summer, and I would point out the positives of her situation. I pretty much gave her my exclusive attention that night. Toward the ending of our stay, I even considered asking for her number just because that would make her feel good about herself.
Looking back at that, as I told Tim about it, really just occurs to me as fucked up. Trying to improve a person's mood is one thing, but seriously hitting on them is another. I'm gay and I intentionally dodged questions such as "So why are you single" just to hide it from her and so that I could keep my act going. This isn't even the first time I've done this! It's like I just lose myself in the hopes of pleasing someone else.
Sometimes I just don't understand myself. I realize that at times I want to be the protective figure for someone, holding them in my arms just to protect them from the figurative pain in the world. But honestly, I think that's taking it too far. I need to be real to myself and everyone around me and not just lie outright at the hopes of making one person temporarily happy. The world is about taking the bad with the good anyway.
Even reading other peoples' blogs I sometimes get that feeling. When anyone reads a post about a person, you interpret the event/story/thought so subjectively, based on your own views or potentially 1-dimensional image of the author. Some blogs and posts I read stir up that intense protective and fucked-up feeling to make that person feel better and hide them away from the bad things in life. It doesn't even matter to me that I know almost nothing about the guy/girl. Let's be honest with me too, that level of "feeling" is kind of creepy right?
I consider my emotions and empathy a good thing, but acting like this can't be good - for the other person or myself. Maybe I should build up a thicker skin or something.
I'm not too sure what else to say, so I'll leave it at that.
We talked mostly about her life; how she feels that everything has been going wrong lately and that she just can't get anything meaningful. She talked about her own adoption from Costa Rica, her recent graduation at the age of 28 and her debt. She felt like everything about herself was a failure. Her tattoo was even a reminder of things going wrong, since the artist did a really shitty job. To generalize, it was a pretty emo and depressing talk.
From the beginning of our interaction, I felt a weird attraction to her. Nothing sex related, but more in the sense that I understood part of her. I generally find myself empathizing with people who's lives are done-and-out. This is obviously not for anyone, but those whom I get the impression they don't deserve the consistent bad luck/bad decisions that have gone their way. I feel like together we share something in common, since a lot of my life wasn't happy either.
Jumping a step further though, when I'm in these empathetic moods I start feeling the need to make them feel better. This sounds really corny, but it's like I want to protect them from the sadness. I tend to especially get like this around women. With the girl from Halloween, I started actually hitting on her because I knew it would make her feel better. I would share selective bits about myself that I knew she would find attractive, such as when I worked in Costa Rica for a summer, and I would point out the positives of her situation. I pretty much gave her my exclusive attention that night. Toward the ending of our stay, I even considered asking for her number just because that would make her feel good about herself.
Looking back at that, as I told Tim about it, really just occurs to me as fucked up. Trying to improve a person's mood is one thing, but seriously hitting on them is another. I'm gay and I intentionally dodged questions such as "So why are you single" just to hide it from her and so that I could keep my act going. This isn't even the first time I've done this! It's like I just lose myself in the hopes of pleasing someone else.
Sometimes I just don't understand myself. I realize that at times I want to be the protective figure for someone, holding them in my arms just to protect them from the figurative pain in the world. But honestly, I think that's taking it too far. I need to be real to myself and everyone around me and not just lie outright at the hopes of making one person temporarily happy. The world is about taking the bad with the good anyway.
Even reading other peoples' blogs I sometimes get that feeling. When anyone reads a post about a person, you interpret the event/story/thought so subjectively, based on your own views or potentially 1-dimensional image of the author. Some blogs and posts I read stir up that intense protective and fucked-up feeling to make that person feel better and hide them away from the bad things in life. It doesn't even matter to me that I know almost nothing about the guy/girl. Let's be honest with me too, that level of "feeling" is kind of creepy right?
I consider my emotions and empathy a good thing, but acting like this can't be good - for the other person or myself. Maybe I should build up a thicker skin or something.
I'm not too sure what else to say, so I'll leave it at that.
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