Bachelor Party

Two friends of mine tied the knot this past fall. They are the first people I've known to get married. I'm betting they also not the last, since my general groups of friends are reaching the age when the weddings will be exploding from left-right-and-center.

I've never before been invited/attended a wedding. Oh god, it was fun. But more importantly for this post, I had never attended a bachelor party.

Leading up to the bachelor party, I couldn't help but think of the circumstances: parties like this are the stereotypical stag night where all the straight-guy friends of the groom come together and bond over their macho-ness and the groom's last night of freedom, typically by getting drunk and hitting up the strip clubs. They're a group of loud, annoying guys who walk up and down the popular bar/clubs streets, making as much noise as possible and being the biggest douches known to man. And this night, I was gonna be part of that group!

It didn't bother me at all being the only gay guy there - like with everything else I do, I rarely feel out of place in straight environments. I did however make a bit of a slip-up when I first met the bachelor group at the restaurant. I didn't do a good job of censoring my first thought to the group:

Wow, 20 guys hanging out all night. This is like the gayest thing ever.

Ten of their faces gave an awkward expression. I did my best to save the situation:

Oh wait, wrong crowd to say this stuff around...wrong crowd...

As we left the restaurant I found myself being a sort of leader for everyone, picking out the bars where we'd rush in, take a shot, then skip out to the next place. The best man didn't really know where to go, so he didn't seem to mind. I had a good time chatting with the guys. I had met most of them before, at one time or another. I found myself sort of focusing my attention on one of the guys who clearly was high and a little tipsy early into the evening. He has these naturally light grey eyes, black hair and super white skin...which made me consciously compare him to a zombie... a hot zombie.....no, I have no idea why.

zombie dude

As part of the evening, the gang had created a list of dumb things that the groom had to do over the course of the night, take a body shot off someone or get a girl to spank you. I liked my addition to the list: show a random woman your penis. Unfortunately, the groom did not seem to appreciate my creativity.

As the night progressed, we stopped off a one last bar before heading to the strip club. As usual, I got a bunch of pitchers and shots for everyone. I was pretty happy at that point - drunk happy. On my way back from the bathroom, I ran into a guy I went to highschool with. He was clearly in the same alcohol-induced happiness as me.

Guy: Holy shit, Thomas! How've you been!

Me: Heeyyy [Guy]! I'm doing great! I'm out here with a bunch of guys for my friend's bachelor party! We're stopping off here before the strip club.

Guy: Oh cool! The one around the corner?

Me: Ya

Guy: I hear that if you give a stripper $300 bucks she'll give you head!

I was a little surprised that he would say that, because to me the "I hear that if..." part actually means "I once payed 300$ for a stripper to give me head". Lucky for me, I'd oddly good at hiding shock and coming up with quick responses when I'm drinking. So I made up this doosy:

Me: Really? I'm thought it was $150?

That response blew his mind. I'm pretty sure he went home that night convinced that I go to strippers for blow jobs, just like I'm now convinced he does the same.

Soon the last part of the night began: the strip club. I have to admit that I was REALLY EXCITED to go to the strip club. Only a small part of my enthusiasm was because of the drinks: on a few other random occasions I had petitioned my friends to go to one but they always "didn't feel like it" or were "morally opposed" to going. From my perspective, I thought it was going to be so hilarious seeing naked women everywhere and overly excited guys. I was not disappointed. It was almost completely packed, with groups of guys all talking and having a good time. There were women on stage and others walking around, offering dances. Some of the guys from our bachelor group banded together to reserve a private booth, overlooking the whole floor.

I spent most of the time laughing at the completely fantastical nature of the strip club: completely naked women rubbing themselves all over guys; the intense focus some of the guys showed when they got their lap dances; the amount of ass and tit grabbing. I was definitely more excited than some of the straight guys in our party.

Toward the end, I was so drunk that I decided to make one of the dumbest mistakes you can do in a strip club: take a picture. I pulled my camera out of my pocket, and coyly put it down at my hip, out of view. I turned the flash off, and slowly listed it over my leg and took the photo of a stripper straddling on of the guys in my group.


So now I have the above blurry picture of a stripper, and a blurry picture of some other stripper's vagina, which I'm obviously not posting.

.....Sweet.....

(Argh, it was so stupid - although executed really well. No one noticed, since I clearly still have all my front teeth and didn't get the shit beaten out of me by a bouncer.)


The vag-shot aside, I can;t wait for future bachelor parties.

ETA 1.5 Months

Over the last 4 months, the local government of Montreal posted up adds all over the city for...living in the city. They seem to want people to stay in Montreal, as opposed to moving away. I don't really understand the point of the adds, since the city is definitely not suffering from a falling population. We are the second biggest city in Canada after all - if anything we're only getting bigger.

Quitter Montreal, mais pour aller òu? - Leaving Montreal, but to go where?

In my Not Dead Yet return post, I said I had some big news. Here it is: at the end of January/beginning of February, I will be experiencing a change of environment. It won't be permanent, but I definitely won't be back in Montreal, or Canada, for at least 9 months. In fact, I'm traveling to the opposite side of the Earth.

Where am I going? Australia.

Tired of not having some big goal to look forward too, I decide to head to that other former British colony. My 1-year visa has already been issued and I'm now in the process of deciding my exact plans whilst there. Alicia lives just outside of Sydney, so that will be my first landing point. It'll be amazing to see her again in person. From there, I'm not sure if I'll simply rent a place around Sydney, or if I'll travel around for a bit before settling. Two other options are that I'll stick to some quasi-nomadic routine of moving around every few weeks or I'll use Alicia as a home base and travel back and forth from there.

My job is following me to Australia too, although my boss already knows I'll only work periodically. While I've saved tons of money from living at home with my parents, this'll guarantee that I still make some money while away.

With me being less at work and out doing fun things, I assume that activity of this blog will go up. I've also been thinking I might need to change the banner to something more appropriate...like me riding a emu? Or how about this picture representing my Canadian invasion?


Hmm, maybe I'll have to find something else...

My friends' reactions to my plans is mostly joy and excitement. Alicia can't wait to have a North American visitor from her old life. Xav, Kieran and Liz are really happy for me. My plans seem to have triggered Tim into wanting a change as well, so he announced he's moving to Vancouver this summer (while I'm gone) with his girlfriend. Mike's reaction seems to be the exception: he's freaked out because he'll be losing me and later on Tim, the two main/close guy friends he has.

I stared off my post talking about the advertisements because I like to imagine that the city of Montreal posted up those Don't Leave Us adds just for me, as a last ditch effort to get me to stay. They really did coincide perfectly with the initiation of my plan. Seems that I'll unfortunately have to write a letter to the city saying I'm sorry my fair lady but I'm still leaving.

She shouldn't worry though, I'll be back to continue our love affair - though I do expect a whole bunch of Thank God You're Fucking Back posters.

Not Dead Yet

No-no, I'm not dead.

And no-no, the blog's not dead either.

I've been really busy at work. Unfortunately as time at work (at the computer) increases, my willingness to be in front of a computer when not working decreases. Sorry internet blog!

But things will change soon - oh, how they will change. I won't elaborate in this post, but I'll let you guys know real soon. I think I might even need to change my banner...

Over the last ~3 months I've written down a nice, fun list of things I need to blog about. Hehehe, plenty of good moments to write about as I play catch-up.

My blogging absence has gotten a bunch of you readers, in particular ones I did not know existed, to message me. I really appreciate the feedback and it's always an amazing encouragement to hear that someone enjoys reading all my crap! Thank you Same-Old-Faces and New Ones.

Splat

I have never came on my own face until tonight.

In all honest, I'm actually really shocked by it - and there was a lot!

My reaction was to freeze, thinking to myself HOLY SHIT...THAT WAS WEIRD.

In fact, I'm shocked enough to turn on my laptop and write this random diddy in the blog.


So...enjoy!....I suppose....


Oh, and the pictures are in no way related to the post.

Diary

I would like you to keep this photo in mind while reading this short, random post. Also, I would like to point out my pointed toes - it's all in the pointed toes.

This was taken just over a year ago in St. Petersburgh, Russia.

Thomas:
Dear diary,

Xav sucks.

Love Thomas.

PS: See you tomorrow!

Xav: I always knew you were a big girl.

5 Minutes to Midnight

What do you think is worse: To have your life is come to a drastic and immediate end or to have your life slowly seep out from you over time, as you lose control of your body and mind? This is the question I've been mulling over today.

After finishing an online meeting this morning, I walked downstairs to find my Mum in tears while talking on the phone. I sat down next to her, without interrupting, awaiting the bad news that was going to be explained to me once she was done with the call. She soon hung up the phone and let it out: Oldest Brother was in Toronto for a conference. He had decided to randomly stop by my Grandmother's house to visit. He rang the doorbell and knocked a few times, without an answer. He found the door unlocked, so he let himself inside. He ended up finding Grandma lying on the ground in an overwhelming pool of blood, without the ability to speak coherently. A 911 call later, phone calls back and forth between himself and us in Montreal, and about 10 hours of time, my Grandma is now in the hospital with a broken nose, probably broken pelvis, what seems like a stroke, and in a quasi-coma. To add onto that she's hooked up to a respirator and has yet to speak to anyone. She may have been lying on the kitchen floor for a full day, unable to help herself, before Oldest Brother walked in.

She only briefly appeared once in my blog, but that shouldn't make you think I don't care a lot about my Grandmother. Independent, quick, witty and always interesting & entertaining, she's the only grandparent I have really known well.

In this situation, like I said to my Mum, we should only focus on the immediate since there's no point in thinking about the repercussions of everything that
s going to follow over the long term. Still, just as my Dad verbalized what we all separately thought, there are only two outcomes right now: in the next few days, Grandma's precarious condition will deteriorate and she will die, or she will recover but be forced into some sort of home or assisted care due to her injuries and stroke, where she will stay for the rest of her days.

Obviously you should understand why I began the post as I did.

The truth is that it took me only a few minutes to make my decision: I'm hoping for a quick, sudden death for my Grandma.

Worse than the current predicament, I'd be a lot sadder if we had to keep her in some sort of old folks' home. One of the things she values the most is her liberty and self-sufficiency. Giving up her current home of 50+ years, the garden, her car and all her activities would be devastating to her. When the doctors asked my Mum, over the phone, if they could hook her up to the breathing device, my Mum answered: "I know she would fight it but I am going to say yes for my own selfish reasons."

To add onto that, Grandma was always one of the most eloquent and pertinent conversationalists; when she has something to say, it sounded important, beautiful and intelligent. The doctor's don't know the intensity or damage of the stroke, but I've seen others get wrapped up in frustration from not being able to express themselves when their words were once their closest friends. I don't think I could bare to stand that.

Oddly enough though, my feelings for my Mum are trumping those for my Grandmother. Since they are mother and daughter, I know my Mum will take/is taking this situation worse than the rest of the family. All I can do right now is comfort her (which I personally think I am quite good at). The sad truth is that if Grandma does survive the next few days, a long, drawn out half-life for my Grandmother would just sap the strength out of my Mum. I know it would exhaust her and rip the well-placed heart off of her sleeve. She would be by my Grandmother's side day and night, which is wonderful, all the while the circumstances would depress her more and more.

So here's to taking each day once at a time, coming together as a family, watching and waiting.

Gay Ol' Time

We found our perfect spot in the sun at Tamtams, surrounded by the other few thousand people whom decided to make the park their relaxing sport for the afternoon. I had convinced my friends to pass by this amazing Portuguese chicken place I had been craving for a few days. Apparently only two of us were even going to order some takeout. The other two were vegan, vegetarian or something close to that. Ah yes, I should have know. You are queer women so stereotypes say you must be anti-meat. I apologize, I had forgotten.



We chatted about anything and everything while I ate my greasy chicken with my hands. My excitement for salty, spiced chicken had overruled the common sense of actually getting utensils, so this was my punishment. My friend, who also had ordered the chicken with me, even decided to forgo his unnecessary diet. Portuguese chicken can apparently also make a young, skinny, attractive-by-the-accounts-of-everyone gay male forget about his irrational need for the most cut abs ever. It's good stuff.

And so this was the first day in years I actually spent comfortably hanging out with a group of gay/lesbian/queer only friends

Unlike my other experiences with making or having gay friends (one recap here) everything felt normal and right with them. They talked about things I knew and liked. We joked around; they laughed at my rude & deprecating humor. I didn't feel awkward around my gay guy friend, as I do with others. I didn't feel like I was walking on eggshells with the two queer ladies. It was just so new and better than a few years back when I had a fay group of friends.

In hindsight it feels like a testament to how much I've changed. I actually felt normal around a group of gay friends.

After relaxing at the park, we just walked around Montreal, showing one of the girls the city that has only been her home for 1 week.

It was good.

I TALK LIKE THIS

Friend: You know, it's always really easy to tell when you're drunk.

Me: Oh really? How so?

Friend: You get really loud.
Me: Haha, ya... I tend to lose my volume control.

Friend: Oh definitely, you are the worst offender for that. If neighbors ever make a noise complaint, I like to think it's because of you.

Me: Ohhh....well, uh...thanks, I guess...

On conduit dans les Catons-de-l'Est

Ever wondered what the classic French-Canadian/Québécois sounds like? Perhaps you already speak Molière's French (a.k.a. France-French) and have never ventured into the wondrous region of Quebec? Well let my blog give you a brief glimpse into the language.

I stumbled onto this great video of some Quebecois family letting their 7 year old drive the car in the country.Ah, so irresponsible and so much fun. Most (all?) of you probably can't understand what's being said. If some of you even speak French, you might not be able to get any of the words. But that's okay, just enjoy.

Let me provide you with some translation of what's being said:

Father: Here is my wonderful son, Samuel, who is only 7 years old and driving the car! I'm not even looking to make sure he's driving well! He's so confident. Smile for the camera my beautiful son!

Mother: No no, stop he's going to give me nightmares! Slow down!

Father: Ahaha, you can hear Mom screaming in the back like a chicken! Oh look, and here's our daughter and ..

Mother: Sylvain! SYLVAIN! SAYLVAIN! LOOK WHERE HE'S DRIVING! HE'S TOO CLOSE TO THE SIDE!

Father: Hahaha, see now we've recorded your Mom's nervous temperament, to re-watch for years and years...

[expressions I don't quite hear and/or understand]

Father: And look, my son has sped up to 70km/h (43miles/h). He's crazy! Hahaha, He's going fast - he's going fast! Fast - fast - fast -fast... I love you my little driver!


Just so you know, that is a pretty accurate translation. Maybe slightly too literal, but that was done on purpose to make it more awkward & funny.

The full length video may or may not have ended with them hitting a moose. We will just never know...

Socializing at Work

Although I'm great with clients and co-workers in work meetings, I tend to become awkward with those same people when they try to bridge from the work aspect of our relationship to a more personal one. What I mean is: talking with some co-workers about changing the software to better assess a client for ADHD is fine, but when someone makes a joke about their girlfriend, I reply with a fake laugh and pull their focus back onto the meeting topic. In a similar form, if they try to chat me up about my weekend or my personal life, I tend to kind of deflect the question away with "Oh, I'm doing fine", "nothing much", "ya, pretty good" without bothering to reciprocate the question back to them.

Some of the reasons for reacting like that would be my tendency to keep my work life and personal life separate. It's not that I believe they should be non-overlapping, but I just tend to not want to share details about myself with people whom I might not consider a friend - this is undoubtedly layover from my intensely closeted, self-preservation days. Most people like to ask the generic, general bonding questions of "How are you with the ladies?" or "Do you have a girlfriend?". My answers tend to involve unelaborate lies of "I do alright for myself" or "Not right now", without any interest in reciprocating the investigative and kind-natured queries.

On a separate level though, I've always had trouble considering clients, co-workers or even professors and teaching-assistants (TAs) to be people like myself, with personal lives and interests beyond the same company or university class. Back in university, I easily imagined Profs and TAs as people who attended a class for the day, then returned to their offices where they waited there patiently for the next day's class to arrive. Yes, I thought of them as robots.

Exceptions for these rules do of course exist: I work with Kieran and we talk about anything. That is of course because I knew him before work. My boss is, oddly enough, also an exception to this rule. He's just way too cool not to talk to.

As a change from my normal work routine last week, my boss asked me to head to a downtown office for the full week. A special, big-name clinician/trainer was in town so he wanted me to handle her in-person and hangout in the background in case she needed help while at the office.

The first two days were both stressful and boring. My normal day consists of on-and-off work-and-play: when I want a break, I go watch TV, or cook, or bike to a cafe. But in an office, when I needed a break I didn't know what to do. Go talk to the many co-workers/office people, all zooming around and talking to one-another? Ya right, that violates my modus operandi. So I'd pretty much go get a glass of water from the kitchen, smile, nod, deflect personal questions and then sit back down in my chair and force myself to work more.

As the end of the week arrived though, I wasn't going to stand being bored out of my mind anymore: I decided to try considering my co-workers as human beings *cringes* and actually enjoy talking with them. After strategically placing myself at a new desk, next to a very friendly guy I had previous shared lots of online meetings with, I just waited for the social opportunity to show itself.

My first chance eventually materialized: my neighbor swiveled his chair around and threw out a comment.

Guy: Oh jeez, that damn school-parents association is giving my wife a hard time...

Me: I would LOVE to hear about it.

He gives me a quick awkward look, since my voice had way too much eagerness and very little of my standard indifference. I took a mental note to be less excited by his mundane chatter. I then immediately took a second mental note, to avoid thinking of people's conversations as mundane chatter.

Turns out my social pounce was the perfect springboard for actually enjoying myself at the office. We got to talking more throughout the day and I really started enjoying speaking with him. It probably helped as well that I spent half an hour on a Skype call with drunk Alicia (in Australia), who was seeking advice on what to do about having a long distance boyfriend and having "accidentally" spent two hours making out with a lesbian, whom she then invited over to sleep with her. My co-worker seemed quite captured by my exclamations of "well if you want to sleep with a girl, go ahead just remember your boyfriend will probably be pissed" and "I'm not too sure what to say to get out of this...I'm only good at getting out of 3-somes".

From that first guy, I got the confidence and the state-of-mind to see the others around me as non-robotic, normal people too. Next, I began chatting with the front-desk assistant and some other account woman. Some engineers seemed to respond to my friendliness and come over to me. By then end of the day, I was having an awesome end of day with some 50 year old woman make sexual innuendos as she tried to teach me to use the automatic coffee machine.

Lady: Remember, just jam the rod into the hole. You should know how to do that!

Me: *Laughter*

Lady: Now take that flat piece - remember, flat like my chest - and place it on top of the rod. To review, the thing's flat like what?

Me: Like your chest!

Lady: Exactly!

Maybe my co-workers and I even looked excited like this!

Impromptu Boston/Provincetown

The best kind of trips are randomly proposed and immediately executed:

Oldest Brother's Girlfriend, at 1am: Hey Thomas, want to come to Boston with me tomorrow?
Me: YES!

And to Boston I went! My work wouldn't mind the sudden disappearance, especially since I left a note in the company calendar:
Thomas is in Boston - I ain't coming to work, bitches!


I was essentially on my own for the 4 days. Oldest Brother's Girlfriend was there for a conference all day long, each day, so I spent my time wandering and seeing the sites alone. As with my previous trip to New York & Washington DC, I think it would be a lot more fun to write about the random and stereotypical things that I have learnt on this holiday.

On an unrelated note, I don't like saying "I was on vacation" or "I'm going on a holiday" because I feel like my normal life pretty much one giant vacation in itself, but anyway...

Here we go!

- Boston is filled with the crazies. So many wacky homeless (?) people.

- I should smile more, as one crazy person pointed. Especially with my hair, as he also pointed out.

- The only single guy buying entrance to an aquarium, whilst surrounded by families with young kids, makes me wonder if people think I'm a pedophile.

- Boston has an excess of uggoes, also known as ugly people. Oldest Brother's Girlfriend also really noticed that.

- An exception to the above rule is most people running in the parks along the river. All beautiful men run along the river, shirtless.

- I could live in the downtown Boston Public Library. It's like a castle.

- Provincetown (CapeCod) is possibly the gayest town ever. If the world would be reversed so that gays were 90-95% of the population and straights were 5-10%, all places would look like Provincetown.

- I'm in love with the sand dune landscape of Provincetown.


- Only in a super ultra gay town beach would you ever hear a 35 year old man exclaim loudly in the bitchiest voice:
"Argh, I have sand in my foreskin"

- Awkward looks were shared by all strangers, after the above comment was heard.

- There's something really cute about seeing two 50 year old women walk down the beach together, and one slides her hand in the other's so casually, and it remaining so normal.

- It's surprisingly easy to fall asleep behind a wooden crate, on the top floor of the hydrofoil boat, on the way back to Boston from Provincetown.

- It's fun to visit Harvard, whilst mocking it at the same time. This is accomplished by taking stupid photos of yourself with Harvard as a backdrop. Saying "OOOoohhh, Look at meee! I go to HAAAAAARVVAAAAAAAARD" also helps.

Too bad you can't see my eyes. It completes the photos.

- "Pffft, you're just jealous you didn't go there!" Yes. Yes I am a bit.

Dentures, or lack there-of

Craigslist amazes again! I feel liek this has to be made up, but I kind of hope it isn't:

Click on the picture to enlarge!

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA, Gumjobs!

Oh man!

Thank you!..... Thank you!..... Thank you!

One of the odd traits that is included on my resume of qualities is sleepwalking. Yep, I'm a sleepwalker.

Although it's common for young kids and teenagers to sleepwalk, no one seems to have informed my body about that fact because I still do. It doesn't occur often (or, at least not in a way that I or people around me have noticed or pointed out) , but I have been on a bunch of sleepwalking adventures.


When I'm in a sleepwalking episode, my body and face clearly look awake (my eyes are open, I walk around normally - no stumbling) but it's clear that "Thomas isn't home". "I", used in loose terms because it's not complete my personality in the driver's seat, am very single-minded and frankly stupid when sleepwalking. I may or may not have glazed-over eyes. I don't react normally to people around me. Based on other peoples' descriptions of my behavior, it's as if I'm acting/reacting like I exist in a dream world: some dreams have wacky logic that you adamantly know is true, but when you wake up you realize that reality was just so dumb and illogical.

I don't remember any of my sleepwalks, unless I wake up in the middle of them. The few times that happens, it takes me a very confusing 20 minutes to figure out the difference between my sleepwalking, dream-like world and reality. I have sat in the bathroom for 30 minutes before, trying to decide if I was in my house or if I should still be trying to run away from the first mate on a 15th century navy boat. I'm not joking at all.

The most recently amusing sleepwalking episode occurred 2 or 3 years ago, when I slept over at Liz's family home. See had made a huge special dinner (as I recall it was a "Hey Jesus died this weekend so I want to invite 12 of my favorite people over to dine with me!") and I decided to sleep over. Long after I had fallen asleep, Liz and Tim (who was also staying the night) were still quietly talking in the same room. They watched me get up off the couch, walk over to the tv-cabinet and start looking through all the drawers. They asked me what I was doing but I completely ignored them; I was much too interested in rummaging through the drawers.

Next I made my way to the kitchen, where I was looking through all the cabinets as well. Liz and Tim were right behind me. They caught on to the fact I was sleepwalking, since I had previously told them stories about my episodes. Eventually, I recognized their presence by saying "I'm trying to find the bathroom", as I kept rummaging under the sink. Liz told me where the bathroom was, even though I already knew where it was since I had visited her house plenty of times. I ignored her, and the bathroom on the main floor, as I walked toward her sleeping parents' and siblings' bedrooms, intent on finding this mysterious bathroom in some drawer.

After some more coaxing and before I the chance to freak out the sleeping [Liz's Last Name] family, they convinced me to check out the bathroom in the basement. Apparently I didn't want to ignore that one. It seemed to work - I walked in, closed the bathroom door. Liz and Tim went back upstairs.

20 minutes passed without me reappearing.

Liz told her brother, who had just appeared, to go check on me downstairs. He apparently came to the bathroom, called out my name, and waited for a response. I didn't answer. He cautiously opened the unlocked bathroom door to find me standing directly against the door, facing him. He described the situation as one of those horror movies where the killer is as close as possible to the victim before the scary jump moment. Naturally, I was playing the killer's role. I freaked the shit out of him.

Without taking any notice of Liz's brother's reaction of terror, I went upstairs to lie back down on the same couch, where I was sleeping before my grand bathroom search began. Liz and Tim were sitting back in their chairs talking. It seemed like I was back asleep...

... but I got up again. I walked over to Liz, put my hand on her shoulder and whispered with the utmost sincerity:
"Thank you!"
I then went back to the couch to sleep.
Then I got up again. I went back over to Liz, put my hand on her shoulder again and whispered, again, with utmost sincerity:
"Thank you!"
Then, I, again, went back to the couch.

Nope it wasn't done yet. Once more, with feeling, I got up, went to Liz, put my hand on her shoulder and whispered "Thank you!", before returning to the couch.

After being stuck in a short loop, I finally stayed asleep. I woke up next morning to Liz and Tim's big grins and my own embarrassment. That was the second time that I slept-walk outside of my own home and in front of non-family members.

In all honesty, that specific event made me a bit apprehensive about my sleepwalking. I have no memories of the majority of these events so it feels like my conscious or personality is not in control of the things I could potentially do. What if I had decided to just whip out my dick and start waking off!? Imagine the story they'd tell me the next day! Or maybe they'd hit me to wake me up and then I would be incredibly confused, with my dick in my hand, feeling like a huge pervert! Uuuhhh...

But oh well, I can't control it...so I might as well enjoy the good stories.

Postcard

This is so me:


Thanks again, PostSecret.

On Gayness and Swedes

Every summer, a Swedish friend of ours jumps on a plane headed for Montreal to visit his sister, brother-in-law, nieces/nephew, cousin and us for a month or two. We first met him about 5 years ago through his cousin (a.k.a. one of our friends) at a big weekend party. Since that first party, he's become a regular in the gang when he's in the country.

Oh Sweden - the land of hot blonds (and brunettes!) and vikings

Although his English is freaking amazing for anyone who learns it as a second language, he sometimes has these weird ways of acting or reacting. I've always assumed these oddities are related to the differences between our culture (that of the general people in Montreal/Quebec or Canada+US) and that in Sweden. I know some of his jokes and expressions are definitely lost in translation...

Soon after the first party, so many years ago when we got to know him, the question came up: do you think he's gay? No - I didn't ask the question first. I'm pretty sure it was probably Mike. None of us were particularly sure. He never mentioned any women in stories or him finding anyone particularly hot. Mike seemed convinced of the Yes-he's-gay answer. Xav agreed with Mike, on the lines of "I felt like he was looking at me too deeply, as if he was checking me out sometimes". I was actually on the No side with the reasoning "He's not gay, he's European!" (Sorry to any Euros reading this, but from an American/Canada standpoint a lot of physical mannerisms and styles Europeans tend to come off as stereotypically gay from our perspective. If it makes you feel better though, most people in Montreal come off as gay to non-Quebecois, for the same reasoning...). Tim took my side with the Not-gay point too.

For years we lightly joked about the possibility. We conveniently ignored the fact that he has accidentally filmed his female cousin skinny dipping and running around naked (Note: His cousin, Kieran and I initiated the streaking), although I think that relates more to the blood-relation factor than the ruining-our-gay-joke-suspicions.

This summer came round and the Swede was back here again. The big weekend summer party happened again. New faces at the party joined in on the joke and took the Not-Gay and Gay sides. It seemed like the two sides would be at a stalemate, but the Swede had something else in mind.

On the first night, we taking cover in the cabin from the rain and wind. I was in the main room, sitting crossed-legged on a bed, whilst talking to a group of people, the Swede included. We had already drank plenty by then. The Swede casually walked over to me, sat directly in my lap, while leaning on me. I put my arm around his side, even though I was adamantly chanting in my head:

"DON'T GET A BONER. DON'T GET A BONER. DON'T GET A BONER."

I suppose denial is powerful force in me, because I still kind of stuck to the Not-Gay opinion. Maybe all Swedish men sit in each others' laps - how would I know!? He got up after a few minutes and I, nor anyone, said anything about it...well, at least not that weekend. The Gay side gained a few more supporters.

Fast forward two week later: a big group of us are enjoying socializing in a bar. I'm chatting with some friends at a table, the Swede included. He's sitting on a stool and I'm standing next to him. He casually pulls me closer so that I'm sitting on me. The Not-Gay side officially loses all support.

A few of my friends suggested I should have hooked up with him, but I really wasn't interested. Why might you ask? Like I've said, I'm all for hook-ups, but I just got the odd impression that he would become romantically attached to me somehow. Again, maybe its the lost-in-Swedish-translation thing again but I got the feeling that I would become his focus whilst he was in Canada, this year and maybe futures ones when he came back for the summer. I just didn't want to chance ruining a friendship by having to intentionally distancing myself from him.

A small part of me does think I should have just said "fuck it" and made out with him though.

No Class at Osheaga

Nothing says class like buying a small bottle of whiskey and shoving into your crotch to smuggle it into a music festival. The festival organisers are asking for this though: if they're gonna make me pay 5.50$ for less-than-a-bottle of crappy beer, I think it's okay for me to do that. Maybe the group of women, who saw me stick my hand shamelessly and completely down into my junk to retrieve the bottle after clearing security, were a bit shocked, but I'll forgive them. We all need to make allowances, right?

PS: Prodige are my most favorite briefs ever.

On a different note, if Girl Talk ever makes its way to where you live, buy tickets. He (no, I have no idea why he chose the name Girl Talk) is the most phenomenal live act. It was completely worth skipping over live ColdPlay to see him. The entire hour+ was just a wild dancefest, with the audience dancing on-stage, giant inflatable beach balls, confetti, inflattable tubes, toilet paper, exploding balls with money (yes, real money) and fireworks in every direction. Two days after the festival, my body still physically hurts from the amount of funk that was coarsing through it and being released as body gyrations.


And for another complete shift in post direction:

Awww, Liz still luvs me.

Awww, Oldest Brother was briefly in town and still loves making fake smiles when I try to take his photo.

Awww, Mike & Mike's Girlfriend are cute - though even better: he's actually regularly & often appearing in our lives again!

Missing In Action

I realize I've haven't been posting much.

The reason for that is that I've just been feeling extremely unmotivated when it comes to writing stuff on the computer. This is especially true for work. Since my foot injury (which is all healed up now!) I've been completely unmotivated for sitting in front a computer for work/meetings or blog writing. When I was hurt, all I did was work. Now, my mind is just back-lashing at the thought of spending EVEN MORE time at a keyboard. Even if I'm in front of the computer screen, for work, I don't even have the motivation to open up my work programs to get something done. Suffice to say: I'm not making a lot of money. Of course, I have few expenses so that doesn't really matter...

It doesn't help that an opportunity to release some steam hasn't produced itself, when an adventure in upstate New York was canceled the day-of due to Kieran's car dying in Quebec City.

On a more positive note, I have been out living life instead of being cooped up at home. As you can guess by two posts lower, at times I'm sort of going crazy, but I'm still having fun. I've had plenty of mildly interested stories...that I will hopefully write once I get the strength to go through the process.


Oh ya, you should thanks Guy from Chicago - he wrote me an email that kicked me in the ass enough to write this post. Cheers Justin.

Identity - Part 2

Before you read this post, you should probably refresh your memory with Part 1. Ya, I realize it's been quite a wait...

-------


Part 1 should have given you a sense of the historical antagonism and annoyance that Quebecers (a.k.a. the Quebecois) and all other Canadians seem to have for one-another. The St-Jean and Canada day holidays are symbolic reminders of how these two groups seem to compete and not view each other as equals. Even today, if you ask the average non-Quebec Canadian, they'll show a sort of disdain for the Quebecois. They feel that Quebec doesn't like the rest of Canada (which isn't a too bad assumption since the province tried to separate away twice in the last 30 years), so they in response don't like those whinny Quebecers/French Canadians. Quebecois, especially those who know little or no English, feel that Canada does not have Quebec's best interest and that they just make fun of her French-speaking population. Consequently these Quebecers respond by hating all things non-Quebecois.

This pretty much gives the gist of the political/cultural shit that surrounds me.

If you know anything about me, you should be able to guess that I'm actually sandwiched between these two [stupid] groups of people, who's identities simultaneously include and exclude me. I'm a French-speaking Quebecer/Quebecois, although my first language is English and my parents are British descendant. I'm also an English Canadian, however I also live in Quebec and speak French. I feel both equally, and proudly, attached to both facets of these identities.

Other peoples' perspectives see me differently though: On the streets of Toronto, I'm known as the Frenchie. I once had a business meeting with some salesmen and they actually starting mocking the way I use certain French-style words when speaking English, for example metro instead of subway. Uh, jackasses - and you wonder why I don't like Toronto? (kidding!)
If hanging out with a bunch of French-speaking friends, I'm know as the Anglo (Anglo=anglophone=the name for people who speak English). One of the first times I met a current friend, she asked why I didn't just speak French all the time instead of speaking English. This was followed by the remark that we both live in Quebec province so I shouldn't be speaking English.

As you can sort of guess, the stereotypical viewpoints are just rehashes of the historical Us vs. Them that seems stuck in Quebec and Canada. Unfortunately, Quebec's politicians and advocacy groups have felt it necessary to entrench this disdain for the Others in everyday life. Sometimes it's subtle and other times it isn't. One example is that Quebec license plate used to say La Belle Province - The Beautiful Province, but was changed in 1978 to say Je me souviens - I remember. Although not officially stated, the multiple meaning of je me souviens fall in the realm of I remember myself, I remember my identity, I remember what I/we suffered , I remember my glory. Every car has it's own little nationalistic Quebec message.


Don't get me wrong - I am very proud of my identity. I've come to appreciate my unique vantage point, as the Anglo-Quebecois/Canadian. If anything, I benefit from growing up immersed in two languages and cultures, which help me grasp this mass difference across the world. Although I repeatedly hear these two general remarks, from both, whilst never falling for them:
Non-Quebec Canadians: We hate you Frenchies, because you hate us!
Quebecois: On hait le Canada, parce que vous nous détestent! - We hate Canada because they hate us!
My response to these types of situations are of course:
Me: You're all a bunch of morons.

I've been Missing

My growing anger, which doesn't seem to dissipate on its own like it used to, fuels and churns itself to grow larger and larger. Although it doesn't think for me, the feelings target the memories of those to whom I am closest.

Just when I think I'm at the tipping point - when my thoughts weigh myself against those people and their actions, do my friends pull through.

It happens every time.

I'm not sure if it's just their personalities or if I'm just crazy, in some way or another, but this has become a consistency over the last 2 months.

They are my friends. This rage is...something to which I don't yet completely understand the origin.

And no, this should not make any sense to you.

Sorry, I realize reading these posts are frustrating since they don't mean much to you as a reader.

Identity - Part 1

This is gonna be a 2 part post, so pull up pants (or take them off!) and put your reading glasses on. I've meant to write about this for a while, but just haven't felt like getting all the feeling down.


The past 2 weeks had two significant dates for my part of the world (not counting my birthday!): St-Jean and Canada Day.


Celebrated on June 24th, St-Jean is Quebec's big provincial holiday, where everything is mandatory closed and everyone (regardless of age) is found partying. The day is named for the patron saint of Quebec & French Canadians. No, I have no idea how someone can become a patron saint of a region or entire people...


6 days after Quebec's big holiday, on July 1st, is Canada. As you should be able to guess, it's Canada's big holiday that celebrates our breaking away from Britain to become our own independent country. People celebrate this holiday all across Canada, albeit a lot less in Quebec since a week before was St-Jean.

These two holidays rubbing up against another has always had a more personalized significance to me due to my political, cultural, provincial and national identity.

A quick review of Canada & Quebec history shows us that most of people in Quebec have not gotten along with the majority of people in Canada. Up towards the 1960s, the French-speaking majority of Quebec experienced heavy amounts of prejudice and were regarded as somewhat of a 2nd, lower class. Since the British and French showdown in the mid 18th century, that kicked France out of North America, the British & its English Canadian descendants always regarded French Canadians as people to be pushed out of jobs & higher employment, to be assimilated or just ignored. If visiting Montreal at the beginning of the 1960s, you wouldn't even realize that Quebec had ~5 million French speakers and only 400 000 English speakers, since French would never be heard in the downtown stores, business, hospitals, universities...

Fast-forwarding the 1960s to today, an influx of French Quebecers that championed the English language then overthrew the prejudice system from the inside to equalize and even raise French above English. Two new pro-Quebec separating from Canada parties would come into existence and rally their Quebecois French-speaking compatriots behind the banner of Quebec breaking away from Canada to become their own independent country.


A side effect of the newly-emerging, and justified, pro-French and pro-Quebec was the rise of anti-English and anti-Canada. The message of linguistic and cultural equality or independence became muddled with hate for English-speakers and English Canada (a.k.a. most of the rest of Canada). Necessary laws meant to protect the endangered French language in Quebec, such as Bill 101, would become over extended: hence was born the language police. Nope, they aren't nifty, swat gear-clad soldiers that beat people down if they speak poorly...although that would be pretty awesome (and horrible) to see. The extremist Front du Libération du Quebec (Quebec Liberation Front) would briefly appear in the late 60s and 70s, a violent separatist group responsible for robberies, riots, as well as the bombings of English-related institutions (Montreal stock exchange, English schools) and homes in predominantly English neighborhoods. The group's acts would culminate with the kidnap and execution of Quebec's Minister of Labor and a member of the British diplomat.

Two provincial referendums would also be held, asking the population the question of should Quebec separate from Canada. The first vote in 1980 showed a significant win for the No-to-separation vote. The second vote, when I was 9 years old in 1995, had us (and everyone else in the province) sitting around the TV waiting for the results. The No side barely won over the Yes-to-separation, by a 50.1% to 49.9% vote.

The last 40 years in the rise of French and Quebec has not gone without reaction by the other provinces of Canada. The anti-English and anti-Canadianism has been answered with anti-Quebecism and anti-French. A strong feeling has been that Quebec should just shut the fuck up and stop whining to be coddled for special status, which isn't a very wrong reality. Within Canada, Quebec is treated better and more equal than the others, to the point of an unfair advantage in spending resources and representation.

With a better idea of the history, my identity is quite a complicated one. These two big holidays celebrating Quebec and Canada do have an awkward stance against one-another Personally, it's very easy for me to feel sandwiched between two cultures, as part of both but belonging to neither according to the other members. Unfortunately, you will need to wait for the second post before I fill in this part.

WoW

Some people get presents for their birthday and others give out presents on their birthday. Here's my cheap present to you all:

I'm not sure if it's real, but I find it all so hilarious. The best parts are:

- screaming like a pterodactyl
- headbutting the bed
- shaking as if he's possessed
- his sudden wardrobe change
- trying to shove the controller in his ass

Enjoy.

Thoughts on my Birthday

My relationship to birthdays has always been an awkward and unusual one.

I love going out to make a big event out of someone's birthday, but when it comes to my own I am the exact opposite. Outwardly, I don't like to make a big thing of my birthday, but secretly I do.

There's never an urge to plan anything; no "Hey let's all go get shit faced to celebrate!". It actually has a lot to do with guilt and self-confidence: I don't like to tell people that it's my birthday because I don't want them to feel obliged to come out for it. I want them to call me up and say "let;s go drinking" from their own choice. On the other hand, I never feel obliged to go out and have a bash for someone's birthday, even if it's a big arranged celebration. It's hypocritical, and I know it, but I just don't want people to feel forced to show up. Along the same line of thinking, if the evening doesn't end up being lots of fun, I don't want to feel guilty for "forcing" them to have been present. I'm weird like that.

My process of thinking only harms myself - I know that. Typically, by the late hours of my birthday, I tend to feel down on myself. Common thoughts of "Man, this sucks...I didn't do anything for my birthday" float around my mind. As I replay those thoughts over and over again in my mind, they get twisted to "My friends don't care about me" or "I'm not worth it". It's actually really pathetic.

Yesterday's birthday was no different - I was at home all day and felt down on myself. I ended up really unhappy by midnight and kind of felt like crying, although I didn't. (You don't realize how much of a loser it feels to even admit that). I ended up

The feeling only lasts for that day. By the next morning I'm amped up to go out and have fun with friends. Today, on Canada Day (there'll be another post about this), I hung out with Liz, Mike and others. We celebrated my birthday, with inferior generic-cake, to which I was embarrassed but inwardly very happy. Uh, I'm so weird.

Birthdays

My family has one tradition that is extremely important, even sacred, to us: the birthday cake.

For every person's birthday, we need to serve the Jamocha Almond Fudge Ice Cream birthday cake, made by the local Baskin Robbins ice cream store. It has always been so, since my oldest brother was born, and as long as those types of cakes are available we will be eating that. We've never intentionally chosen to eat or serve any other type of cake.

People who are aware of our tradition have asked why does it need to be that cake? Clearly none of us need to answer them because they've never eaten the Jamocha Almond Fudge Ice Cream cake. You probably haven't either. Just understand: it is amazing.

A few years ago, the ice cream shops was out of cakes; so were the other stores on the island of Montreal. My middle brother understood that it wasn't any of our faults that we didn't get him the right cake, but we still didn't feel like it was the right type of birthday. As soon as the store had some new cakes in stock, we bought one, invited the whole family together and then re-celebrated his birthday anew.

We like to joke that we're the only reason that the ice cream store, Baskin Robbins, is still in business.

This is a very lose way of saying that it's a family members birthday:

Happy Birthday Thomas!

Tallness

Going to Chinatown for dragon beard candy is perfect for making me feel extremely & awkwardly tall.

Crushing

I've never been the type to crush over my male friends. In my mind, there's always been an invisible separation of my straight male friends from guys in general (whether straight or gay) that I find attractive. I've even asked some of my female friends why so many women find some of my friends attractive, because I just didn't really understand why people thought they were hot. Don't take that the wrong way: no, I don't think I don't consider myself a model compared to their raggedy-ass selves. My brain just doesn't consider my guy friends in terms of hot or not.

The funny thing, though, is that over the 2 day period of our camping trip, I really started to understand why Kieran's girlfriend finds him so attractive. His pro-active attitude, his handyman demeanor, his joking mind and yes, his nicely muscled body. Who couldn't like short blond hair, stubble of a short blond beard and light blue eyes? When we were lying next to each other in the tent, the thought did cross my mind that I'd love to just throw my arms over him, snuggle up and make-out.

Kieran

Oh Kieran, you're so bad at taking photos

Nothing other than a strong friendship will ever occur between Kieran and I. I know that and I am very happy with this. I thought it was just a funny, and odd moment for me to actually be crushing on a close friend of mine.

PS-1: Thank god I'm not some gay guy with delusions of converting his very straight friends

PS-2: Oh god, I'm actually blushing from admitting to myself that I felt attracted to him during our trip! Bah, it's not my fault. He was shirtless most of the time anyway!

Weeeeee!

Let's add some happy music to preface by below post.


Cut Off Your Hands - Happy As Can Be

Couldn't Have Asked For More

Camping with Kieran was the best choice I could have made.

Turns out the place we had found last year wasn't nearly as good as this place. 5 hours from Montreal, lost on some backwater dirt roads, untouched by electrical line, running water, we found a a perfect little piece of natural heaven. God, I love the Canadian Shield.

And to think, had we chosen to not ignore the Pont Barré: Danger! (Bridge Closed: Danger!) sign warning that the wooden bridge was highly unstable, we would have never found the place!

There were giant, gaping holes at each corner of the bridge.
Someone had tried to make their own wood & nail repairs too.

There was a perfect space for our tent and fire. Just beyond the threshold of plants was the wonderful river, with giant polished rocks, fed by a mini-waterfall and double set of rapids. We even had a natural sand beach and cliff overlooking the area.

Looking out at the upper rapids

Our first thing was to throw on our life jackets, jump into the river current and ride down some small rapids. If you lie back, with the tips of your feet sticking out of the water (use those abs!) you slide straight over the rocks...well usually. My ass bounced off one and is still a bit sore.

View from the cliff

The whole two days were spent eating hotdogs on the fire, exploring our land, reading and hanging out. I'm pretty sure Kieran thought the no-stress getaway was a success.


We decided to leave a little marker to show that we had been there: we made a [very crappy] Inukshuk. I realize that the region has no relation to this Inuit cultural creation, and that ours is a white man's poor attempt at making one, but I still love it. It's named Sammy; Sammy the Inukshuk.

You probably need to click on the picture to really see it...

I'm now sun burnt, a little chewed up from bugs bites, but very happy. My feet also didn't hurt one bit while I was there.

This place is going to be a wonderful little secret for our group of friends.

A Camping We Will Go

And camping it is!

Let's all assume that because Justin commented on my previous post, absolving me of the potential guilt of not letting my feet rest at home, this little camping adventure is justified. Thank you Mr. Guy From Chicago!

Kieran has told me that the theme of the next 2 days will be no stress. It shouldn't be too tough, since it's only us two. For some reason, no one else has a job that's as flexible with getting time off as us...suckers.

Kieran's university undergraduate convocation passed (that means he graduated!), so one would think that he'd have nothing much to stress over. Of course that is a mistake, because his severely depressed-closeted-wacko Dad decided not to attend the ceremony or even recognize Kieran for the last few months. Unfortunately timed uprisings of crazy have also stricken other close friends/family members/girlfriend of his, so he just wants to get away for two night.

I'll make sure that Kieran has no choice but to relax. If not, it'll be another axe to his head.


...I'm only somewhat joking about the ax part.

Snapped

The last few days have not seen my mind in a positive head space. My days were spent focusing on work or brimming with anger and frustrations at the lack of feet-healing progress. You can probably imagine that the rage has taken precedent over concentrating at the job. Luckily for me though, co-workers and customers seem to be really entertained by my bitter, sarcastic comments.

Yesterday was the last day I was going to stand for it though. I could not go another day of sitting on my ass, brooding and doing nothing.

So I got on my bike and peddled. Hard. I just wanted to punish my feet, and get this anger out of me.

I had forgotten that all this non-exercise has turns my calves and thighs to weak jelly. The Me of last-summer could have biked for 2 hours, without getting much of a sweat. The Me of today could last 15 minutes before the knees were sore.

I eventually got back home, lied down, and awaited what I assumed would be my well-deserved reward of pain in my feet. It eventually throbbed its way in, but you know what? It wasn't that bad.

Come this morning, my feet are a little more tender, but it just isn't that bad. Even though my family doctor have given me a run-around on why this pain exists (i.e. he have no clue what's the problem), this gives me some hope that I'm slowly getting better.


Upon hearing this news, Kieran has invited me camping next week.

So a choice must be made next week: I should stay home, relax and keep taking it easy, BUT I want to go camping.

We've been to the spot before...and it's amazing.

Brazilians and Barbara

Friend's friend: Oh god, I love Misstress Barbara! There's no chance of me missing the next time she's at Piknik Électronik !

Me: I'm sorry to be a hater, here, but I saw her two years ago at a club and she was absolutely awful. I don't get why people say she's so amazing.

Misstress Barbara - I'm Running

Since that conversation on Friday (I actually briefly left my house! And my feet regretted it the next 2 days!), I decided to check up on that Misstress Barbara. It seems that she has pleasantly surprised me. Her new track (above) is pretty good. I'm actually excited to buy download her new album.

The only reason I did go to that Misstress Barbara performance, 2 years ago, was because of this really cool lesbian, Brazilian, exchange student whom Alicia and I met at our university. She told us it would be the greatest night of our lives. Although the music disappointed, just seeing this friend was entertainment enough. Brazilian stereotypes do stand true. They're hot in every possible manner: their looks, their style, their moves and their words.

As I recall, my Brazilian friend put her hands up in the air and used them like human antennas, to find the perfect place in the room where the sound from every speaker was just right. My ears are shot, but apparently she could feel the difference enough to locate the club's sweet spot, before busting out her moves.

Man, Brazilians actually have 3 parents: a Mom, a Dad, and Music. I takes all 3 to nurture one of those super babies.

I've wondered about whatever happened to her. She obviously went back to Brazil, but I'd be surprised if she isn't gallivanting across the world right now. Nothing could stop that wild one. She was always encouraging me to follow her lead and to hook up with lots of strangers. According to her, I wasn't living life and going wild enough for her! I prefer to think that I live it up, even if I don't look to physically throw myself at anyone...although it's been known to happen.

Of course, she only ever told me this after she finally accepted I was gay and gave up on thinking that Alicia and I were actually dating.