Chance

While sitting in a cafe yesterday afternoon, doing some work, a memory popped into my head. The memory was of a certain person, from a certain moment about a year ago.

Recalling it randomly like that gave me a weird chill down my back. I looked over my shoulder, to make sure he wasn't in the room.

Phew, he's wasn't. Awkward moment averted.

How random; thinking about that night, right now.

The person I'm thinking of is an acquaintance from a year ago. We knew each other as mutual friends through Kieran. Our mutual gangs of friends had hung out a few times, so we got to talking a bit. At first meeting, I immediately knew he was gay or bi - wasn't a hard guess, really. Over the few months of being acquaintances, we spoke a little more each meeting. I went to one of his productions - he's an actor. Although theater's not my thing, it was cool to watch.

Come January last year, I felt like going out to the Village. It has been a while since my last time there, since my friendship with my group of my former gay friends had continued down the road to dissolution. After all, none of us had anything in common other than sexuality.

I decided to call up this acquaintance. Maybe he could be a cool gay friend to hang out with, if I got to know him better. He thought it was a great idea, as well, to go to a gay bar and club as friends. I remember accentuating the as friends part, when making the offer. I didn't want him to get the wrong idea.


The night-of, we shared 3 pitchers together, before going to the club. We spoke a lot - or more should I say I spoke with myself a lot. Early into the night it became pretty obvious why Kieran never hung out much with this guy. He wasn't really interesting and had nothing much to say. He was definitely nice, but his personality was rather passive and bland, as opposed to active. Someone else always has to say the first thing, suggest the first idea or act first with this type of person. I pretty much said and did what I wanted, and he went along with it. Still, I did have a great time and so did he, as someone just following me in every sense of the meaning...

As last call approached, when we were later at the club, he started feeding me drinks. He also began grinding up on me a little too much. I do very much like dancing with friends and dancing close with gay friends (hey, who doesn't like touching bodies?), but he was going a little too much on me. In all honesty too, he really wasn't attractive (yes, I'm shallow and I prefer touching good looking friends and strangers. Whatever.).

Anyway, the lights soon came on, we got our jackets and headed out into the snow-swept night/morning.

We caught a taxi. I stayed in briefly, only to get to my nighttime bus stop, thereby saving myself some money. We were heading in completely different directions anyway.

So there I was. Alone on an oddly-quiet downtown street at 3:30 am. Heavy snowfall blanketed everything. You couldn't see much beyond 20 metres in front of you.

Most romantic movies these days always involve one of the characters taking a leap to win over the other person. We're all familiar with it: The person puts himself/herself out there completely, for their potential love to either affectionately accept them or bitterly reject them. It's that chance that makes the moment beautiful and intense, in movies. Of course from my point of view, it's also that chance that makes most romantic movies so corny. I blame Disney for this cultural garbage.


From the white-out, I saw a silhouette approach me from across the streets. Oh God, I thought. It's one of these chances.

I just knew it was him. He had apparently gotten out of the taxi 2 or 3 blocks after me and walked back toward my bus stop.

The silhouette became clearer, as the person approached. As I watched the figure become clearer, the gist of my thoughts were this:
Oh come on. Don't do this! It's going to be so awkward...

The silhouette, now a young man's body, began crossing the street toward me.
Ah jeez, OK Thomas.....Don't be drunk right now...be extra considerate....Hmm, I wish I was eating some pizza right now...

And then he was next to me.
Man, I really want to eat some Al-Taib pizza...

Him: Hey Thomas

Me: Hey [Acquaintance's name]

And he took his chance.

Saving the mushy-gushy stuff, here's the Cliff Notes of his speech as he exposed his drunken heart to me:
Him: I really like talking to you...you're good looking...I really understand what you mean when we spoke about familiarity and affection at the bar...I really like you...I want to go out with you...

The whole time he was telling me this, I was thinking how I really wanted to eat some pizza. Yep, I'm a bastard.

I was very understanding and nice about the circumstance. Exposing one's self like can be damaging. I explained that he was really cool but I wasn't interested in him like that. To make sure he would be OK, I then invited him to come get pizza with me from the 24H pizza place close-by. Catastrophe averted (me for) and a pizza reward - perfect!

We spoke some more at the pizza place - or I mean I spoke with myself some more. He seemed to be coping alright, considering his heart might have felt like it went through a blender after my rejection. He was still kind of drunk too, so everything is extra intense then.

We eventually went our separate ways - again.

The next morning I found a Facebook message from him, apologizing and hoping the intensely awkward moment could be forgotten and we could be friends. I ended up replying it was OK, and to not worry about the situation. I didn't actually want to be friends with him, because his personality was just really uninteresting. I did feel bad though, because he would assume I'd want to avoid him because of the chance he took. It's not like I could correct him and say:

"No, I don't care that you're infatuated with me. I actually don't want to be friends with you because you lack a personality and you're boring."

Since last year I've ran into him once or twice. I have good reasoning for wanting to dive behind a table instead of running into him at a cafe. Let me confirm: aaawwwkkkkwwwaarddddd.

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.

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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.

Mama's Got a Lesson for Me

My Mom and I had an interesting talk yesterday. At first, it was just a typical conversation about my work, where it's going and what I plan on doing next year. We were speaking about my interests, what I like and what strengths I should play toward. My Mom decided to describe her impression of me, in relation to interacting with people:

My Mom in a marathon (completely unrelated to the topic of this post)

Mom: "I remember you said you took a lot of classes outside of your normal biology ones. You really seemed to like those courses that focused on people"

Me: "Ya I know, I really like sociology and psychology. Pretty much anything that studies people."
Sociology is the word I used to describe the courses in Sexual Ethics, Sexual Diversity and Sex in History I took in university. Obviously I never told them I took those classes.

Mom: "You've always been really good at watching people, gauging reactions, understanding feelings and knowing how to react."
I was genuinely impressed when she said this. These are things that I consider myself highly atuned at picking up. As some of you hopefully recall, this what I practiced since highschool, mostly in relation to my hyper-vigilance for hiding my sexuality. Of course I don't think my Mom realizes why I'm good at that, but her noticing that my alertness of peoples' states made me proud of her for noticing.

Mom: "Like a few weeks ago, when we met [your cousin's fiance's] family. I was still gauging the situation to see how I should approach them. You on the other hand, in few minutes, saw they were all really shy and became really friendly and went in the house to introduce yourself and talk with them. None of us were ready to do that but you just knew to do that and they loved you immediately and became bery comfortable."

As readers, you all need a bit of an explanation to understand this: When my extended family went to meet my cousin's fiance's family, we arrived at the family's home and they were all extremely shy and afraid to talk to us. Most of them literally hid in their tiny house for 3 hours while our family hung out outside, setting up tables and talking amongst ourselves. As guests, our family didn't want to just barge in on them.
Unlike my family, 5 minutes after we arrived, I just walked right in the house and became extremely friendly since I realized they were extremely awkward. As in awkward to the point of starring at the ground when you look at them awkward. I can't be sure to why they initially acted like that, I think it has something to do with the disparate differences between our families: our family is urban, affluent, Moms+Dads still together, successful at work, non-religious and used to guests, while their family is a poor, rural, Mormon, a single Mom who had 3 kids with 3 different fathers who each abandoned her, along with cousins and uncles/aunts, whom aren't used to entertaining friends.

Seeing how my Mom was being really honest and observant about me, I decided I would be open with her about myself. I decided to share how I think those situations out to decide how I need to react.
Me: "Well, one of the reasons I can do that is because when I walk into a room of people, it takes about 30 seconds or a minute to get a good feeling about peoples' personalities. I just do this naturally. This will probably come off as mean or cruel but it's pretty easy to see if someone's personality is strong or weak. By weak, I mean shy or quiet or too agreeable. With a weak personality, I stop feeling self conscious or awkward around them because I know I can say or do anything I want and they won't be speak up to say anything mean or openly disapproving. They'll just go along with it. I could even be mean to them and they'd just be quiet about it."

My Mom gives me an odd look. I keep going:

Me: "I realized they were extremely awkward and shy so I became outgoing because knew I wouldn't get any negative repercussions from them. I could have walked in there, eaten the food they offered, knocked over the dining room table and then just left without saying anything to them. Of course I wouldn't do that, but I could have. Instead I was really friendly, talkative and hugged them all and I knew they'd just appreciate that because of their personalities would take anything. Me being friendly like that, they just didn't have a chance but to like me. It was like shooting fish in a barrel."

Mom: "You know, that's a really bad way of looking at the situation. Why would you even suggest being cruel to someone because you think they would take it?"...

The conversation went on for a little longer. My Mom was a little bothered by my "dual" way of seeing the situation (in the sense that I think in terms of potentially being mean or nice ,as opposed to just nice). I guess it is negative, but I very much still look at things from a neutral perspective, where I can treat people positively or negatively. I don't usually want to hurt people, since there's nothing conductive to anyone having a good time that way. I just think like that.

My Mom had a good line to add in though.

Mom: "You know, I think you just like to portray yourself as dark or mean so that you're freed from the convention of people expecting something from you. You wouldn't actually do anything bad. You tend to focus on the negative and downplay the positive you do."

Her observation was actually pretty striking. I've thought about that all through the night and day today. I think she's right on the money. Just rereading my entire blog, it's pretty easy that I tend to focus on negative or dark imagery. I think I am a little dramatic and stuck in negativity, and not just because "adversity is more interesting than plain-and-easy".

I know that when I think about myself and my memories, bad situations do stand out easier than the positive ones. I don't consider myself a pessimist, but I do view the world as something inherent with good and bad experiences and it's just normal to run into each of them. It's not a secret either that my teenage and early 20s were filled with a lot of unhappiness, so a lot that's shaped me isn't love, trust, friendship and everything else the Care Bears taught us. Equally however, I do maybe focus too much on that since, today, I am a good and happy person most of the times.

She's not the first to suggest something like this. A few of my friends have said things similar. One in particular, who's name has not yet been mentioned, said I like to act like a dick just to cover up the fact that I care a lot about people. I think he was pretty right about that too.

Oh I definitely care about people

This is something I'll keep thinking about. I don't really have anything to conclude about this idea. I sure gotta give my Mom some credit though. She's a lot more perceptive than I had thought.

Nothing too Bad

It's Canadian Thanksgiving this weekend (think American Thanksgiving without "Saying Grace" before eating, but with adding syrup to the turkey). My family sat down together this Friday, since Saturday will be devoted to my cousin's engagement party and Sunday will be Thanksgiving with my extended family. Clearly an entire weekend of family-oriented activities will be...interesting. If I happen to never add a new post over the next week, assume I've lost my mind and dived in front of an oncoming truck.

It was a nice little evening. Both my brothers' girlfriends ate with us, along with one of their parents. They're all super cool folk. Conversation was the typical stuff people would talk about. Weather, traffic, how work is going, politics (upcoming Canadian and American elections, woo!), funny/embarrassing family stories... For some reason the conversation shifted to the house, behind my parents' backyard. It seems that the new owners got the paperwork approved by the town to knock it down soon. They'll probably replace it with an ugly monstrosity.

Our family has a lot of memories attached to that old building:

Older brother: "When we were little kids, we used to think it was haunted since no one had lived there since we were alive."

Me: "I remember on Halloween, we would dare each other to run up the walkway, up to the dark front door and ring the doorbell. We thought it was haunted."

Middle brother: "I was sure a monster lived in there. I remember every once in a while, at night, we used to think we'd see red eyes staring out at us."

Me: "The house was always abandoned and yet someone would always be payed to cut the grass."

Mom: "One day a few years ago, I'm guessing whoever owned the place passed away and the deed was passed onto the next member of the family. At that point, the family realized the house still existed and decided to sell it."

I'd say my Mom's opinion is a pretty good guess why the derelict house didn't stay abandoned. Of course, I know the real reason. I don't think it's a big deal, but I definitely wouldn't have opened my mouth to fill them in on the actual series of events that led to the home being sold.

As it turns out, one day some workers doing a repair job on the house next door walked into the backyard of the abandoned house and found a window that had been pried open. Some kids had broken the frame and gone exploring into the house. I even saw the workers make the initial discovery, from the view of my old bedroom window. Those guys ended up calling the town security to let them know. After some phone calls, the news got to the deed's owner's ears. With kids breaking into homes, they probably chose to empty out the abandoned house and sell it.

You should probably be thinking right now: Why would I be telling you this not-so particularly eventful story? Well, the hoodlums that broke into that house were myself and my friend.

Nope, I don't have remorse over it. The building was empty all my life. I thought it would be a fun idea to take a crowbar (I find it weird my Dad has a crowbar) and pry the window open. We broke the frame to get in, but closed the window to make it seem as if nothing was touched. I guess we didn't do a very good job.

I was pretty surprised at what we found inside. You know those stereotypical abandoned homes in movies? Filled with antiques, old war-time photos and furniture, covered in white blankets? That's exactly how it was. Very eerie and interesting. We walked all over the house, although we didn't want to stay long since our flashlights would attract attention. The upstairs had a bunch of things packed into boxes. It's as if the person had just given up packing midway-through.

The owners are lucky it was me who decided to break the law. If I was the type of person who wanted to make some money at the direct expense of others, I could have easily stolen so much valuable stuff from there. They left jewelery and fine china. There was even a grandfather-clock in the living room. Not an easy to steal? Just open the back door and put it in a car at night and it's easily sold to an antique dealer's for $1500. Lucky for whoever the owners were, I just wanted to explore my childhood's haunted house and have a small glimpse into the life/lives of a stranger(s).

Just because I break into neighbor's homes doesn't make me a bad person though. Right? Wouldn't you want to trust me with your valuables?

Hehehe.