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.

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!

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.

Wonderful Generic Memories

Hey, who is this?, Mom says as she points at a person's picture, that's part of one of those multi-photo picture frames we have in my family's house.

Hmmm, I don't really know.... is my replay. I briefly glance at the picture, as I walk past her and it. If I stopped next to her, she would notice I'm trying to mask a suspicious smile.

I thought you're the one who put all those pictures in the frame, I add from the other room.

Wait a second, who are any of the people in these frames!?, she yells out.


I try to hide my snickering, but obviously she can hear me.

Thomas, what have you done!? She has a big smile.

I look over to her, with a big smirk.

Well, about 6 months ago I noticed one of the slots in the frame was missing a photo, so I found some generic picture of a happy family and inserted it into the slot. A week or two after that, no one noticed the complete strangers in the frame. Soon after that, I decided to then take out all our family photos and replace them with generic pictures I found in magazines.

Laughing, I walk over to my desk, open up a drawer and pull out a small stack of pictures.

Hahaha, are you serious!?, she picks up the stack of photos. Wait, these couldn't have all gone in that one frame!

My smile grows. Yup, look at the other ones in the hall.

That is when my Mom noticed she had been walking through the same hallway, everyday for 5 months, without realizing all the family picture frames were filled with photos of generic actors having generically enjoyable moments with their generic families.

My foot will [hopefully soon] be able to do it

Xav: There is talk of silo action tomorrow, for sunset.

Me: Oh man, I reeeaalllllllyyy want to go BUT I CAN'T BECAUSE OF MY STUPID FUCKING FOOT, AKJRHKAJRMAKRNMNAR.

Xav: Woah there yojimbo. Someone with a fucked up foot shouldn't be climbing so many stairs.

Me: Ya.....

Great. So I had to skip out on the first abandoned building adventure of this summer. The silo would have been the below picture.


Come on Foot!
You can do it!
Come on Foot!
There's nothing to it!

(Anyone get that Arcade Fire - Laika song reference? No? Ya, I've been sitting on my own for too long...)

Arcade Fire - Laika
As always, I don't care about the video image. It's the song that's important.

Here's Some Advice

So, the next time that your friend (let's theoretically name him Mike) tells you not to screw around in his new apartment/condo, you should probably listen to him.

When he goes out for a smoke, with this theoretical girlfriend, you should not get your friend (let's theoretically name him Tim) to boost you up onto a mysterious 2nd level of the room (imagine the room to a bathroom that has a space of 3 feet between its own roof and the main loft's roof) in hopes of having fun and scaring said theoretical friends when they return from having a smoke. Of course, one should not decide to jump down from such a height, to land awkwardly and potentially break your foot.

By theoretically breaking one's foot, I mean needing crutches to comfortably move around because simply standing on on of your feet hurts a lot.

Ya, I think that's some good advice.

Slopes

Yesterday was the perfect days for ski/snowboarding. So we did just that.


The hill was empty because it snowed lightly all day long. People are too nervous to drive when it snowed I suppose. A normal "long" wait for the chairlift on a weekend, was instead only about 30 seconds each time.


I'm surprised I can ski backwards quickly, while taking photos.


Even today my entire body feels exhausted from the 7 hours on the slopes. It's that good kind of tired feeling though.

Consequently, I have zero motivation to do any work today. I would much rather just curl up with a guy, à la this post, while listening to music.

Secret Books

A new-found Sunday habit of mine is to head over to the local mega-bookstore and spend a good 2 or 3 hours perusing the shelves. I pick 3 or 4 eye-catching books out and then find myself I nice secluded corner to sit down in a read. I usually head to the sociology & community section, since the books there typically look at societal situations. They're interesting and typically too expensive (and expansive) for me to actually want to buy, so I take me time to look over them there until my attention fades and my interest has sufficiently waned.

Although not belonging to the above references section, per se, a favorite read has been the PostSecret book series. In case you live under a rock, PostSecret is , and I quote: "an ongoing community art project where people mail in their secrets anonymously on one side of a postcard." Effectively what it means is that you get to view a selection of secrets people have posted in, along with their choice of accompagnying art-work. Obviously, the theme of the entries is secrets that people are too scared to share with anyone in their own lives. The range of post cards go from loving, to heart breaking, to funny, to odd and to scary.

I, myself, actually own one of the books in the series. I don't take it out often, but it's a really good way to calm my mind when I'm feeling a little frantic. I read through the pages, digesting all these little thoughts, wishes and fears from different people. My mind slows its racing and I become calm, because they are examples of everyone's little calamities. They also give the feeling of shared experience with so many strangers.

I don't get why people don't sit on the ground more often. It just feels go good.

I'm pretty sure all of my friends also look at the weekly update to the PostSecret blog, though none of us ever talk about it. I've seen the blog URL in peoples' internet browsers and mentioned how I really like the blog. The other people present always reply that its one of their favorites too. Beyond that recognition though, we never talk about it. It's both surprising but expected: it's all about secrets and people who like it probably sympathize with the thoughts of hiding things about themselves or what they've done. So apart from saying "I like it", to really talk about the postcards that you liked the most or found terrible would probably say too much about yourself and what you potentially hide.

Tattoos

About 2 months ago I decided to give yoga a try. Surprised by how much effort it really takes, I've stuck with it because it's fun and it's a pretty good alternative to going for a very boring 45 minute run. The studio I chose only does "hot" yoga, which means they keep the room heated to 41C (106F) during the sessions. If you have ever felt that temperature, I can assure you that twisting your body into awkward positions and fighting your muscles' exhaustion for an hour and a half in that gets you drenched in sweat and ready for sleep.

A definite benefit of hot yoga is that everyone wears the absolute minimum amount of clothing, since they're sweating like mad. With half the room covered in mirrors, it's a bit of an effort for my wandering eyes not to stare at the shirtless guys in their underwear. It seems I'm not the only person with this problem either. When I notice other people starring at me, I become self-conscious, unfocused and then fall out of the "Yodelling-Bear" or whatever the name of the position I was in. I think I've also lucked out on the time when I go to yoga, because it was the least number of people while still having the highest ratio of hot guys.


What I notice most though are peoples' tattoos. A whole bunch of yoga-ites have some really awesome tattoos, that make them really attractive to me. And it's not like they just have one tiny little one; they have full sleeves, lower legs or shoulders covered in them. Theirs tattoos are usually big collages of different themes stuck together. Part of me kind of wants to befriend these yoga people just because of their tattoos (and obviously because they're good looking). It's just so fucking hot - especially because none of them have those stupid tribal tattoos (although even with the tribal tattoo below the body is super hot).


My friend tells me that getting tattooed is addictive. She started off with one small one and then a second, and now she has a shoulder, her chest and various other places covered.

I would love to get a tattoo, but I don't really feel strongly enough about anything to want it stuck on me. Maybe I don't thinking impulsively enough, since plenty of acquaintances have tattoos simply for the cool-looking factor, while carrying no other meaning. Naturally, the tattoos make them look more make out-worthy, but that's besides the point... No wait, that IS the whole point!


Alternatively, maybe the people I know aren't the most full thinking...

Harder Better Faster Stronger

A few of my friends have separately mentioned that my arms and shoulders look bigger and I look more built as of late. They wondered if I had been working out. The answer to their question would be yes and they have no idea how good their comments make me feel, since I haven't told anyone that I'm working out again. That is the best kind of encouragement I could ask for.

I've always been active, but since this summer I've taken it up a notch. Normally I stick with playing hockey with friends, going running and rock-climbing when someone wants to partner up. Now though, I've expanded my frequency, range and intensity. Since I started biking everywhere, although not anymore because it's getting too cold, my leg muscles grew a lot. My normal jeans and tight-pants have both gotten noticeably tighter. I also got back into some mild-to-moderate weight training, hence the compliment for my arms. I even gave eating low-fat foods a try. It's surprising how my abs become so much more visible if I avoid milk and cheese, although it wasn't easy since I'm someone who was raised on the dairy. As my ex-roomie (the straight one, not the gay one; ya I have 2 ex-roomies) would say: T'es come un veau; which translates in English to You're like a baby cow. I would guzzle down litres of milk every day.
(Rereading that, I feel likes its quasi-sexual and pretty nasty. Oh well.)

I definitely notice the differences: my narcissistic moods seem to happen more often and I do linger a little too long in front of the mirror. Xav and Liz have also both yelled at me for losing focus on conversations with them, because I got lost while starring at myself in a mirror. God, what have I unleashed, hahaha.

My hesitation or laziness for going into all-out workout/active mode, over the last few years, wasn't unfounded. Being tall and based on my Dad's history, I'm prone to injuries. Specifically, pulling muscles and those ultra-shitty lower back mishaps. Even with all the tips from friends, weight training in university got me hurt a few times. Hockey with the guys also put me out pretty bad with a serious lower back fuck-up, 3 years ago. A few months of physio helped, but it took a good year and a half before I became confident enough to pick up a stick again. Even today, I always do stretches almost everyday in the morning because the same part of my lower can ache.

Part of this improved active attitude is thanks to Xav, but a much larger part is because I have this innate need to do something physical now. In becoming a little less patient with my work that keeps me bound to a chair, table and laptop, I feel restless and don't really sleep well if I don't burn this excess energy. During the summer, this led to plenty of midnight bike runs, zooming around downtown for an hour. Trying-out yoga (and still going) is the cold-weather extension of my "treatment" for this need to keep moving. With snow coming soon, I hope to add skiing/snowboarding to mix, assuming I can cover the cost of heading up north and paying for the lift ticket.

So what was the point of this post? Well, there was none. I'm just using this as a boost in my own self-confidence, since I feel great about myself right now, but in a week I'm sure I'll be back to normal or maybe feeling down and thinking I'm hideous. Whatever.

Yes, I also remember that I said I would post a no-shirt picture of myself a while ago. Well, today is not that day.
But soon.

Ha, I'm such a tease.

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...

You're a dominatrix? Can we be friends?

Since university, I've developed a strong interest in sexual perversion. Any oddity or uncommon things related to sex, gender, sexuality and fetishes really interest me. Ever since my first Sex Ethics class, where we talked about power in relationships, cross-dressing, domination, fetishes, homosexuality/bisexuality, I've just loved learning about what people do in the bedroom (or else where). I love just talking to people about what atypical things turn them on and catching a glimpse into their erotic world, which from my sexual perspective I don't understand or have no emotional attachment to. What could be more odd, interesting and funny than a guy who like to cry when masturbating because it turns him on? Tears a lubricant, hahaha. (Nope, I'm not making this up)

Before I continue, I think it's a good idea to clarify two things:
First, people tend to associate a negative connotation to the word perversion. I don't see anything bad with unusual or atypical behaviors related to the realms of sex. Perversion itself doesn't mean bad, just unusual or uncommon
Second, I'm fascinated by sexual perversion, however it doesn't mean at all that I want to try out any of these things. I consider myself pretty vanilla when it comes to sex and I'm pretty happy to keep it that way. Like I said, I find it interesting because it's the fact that someone else finds these things arousing.

I think my enthusiasm for the subject stems from wanting to glimpse into someone else's life and understand their perspective. Voyeuristic? Ya, I think so (of course I also download porn so this should be no big surprise there). To me it's natural fact that most people don't really understand each other. We all lead our own singular lives, so it's tough to grasp a person's history and thought process for why they might react in a particular fashion to a specific situation. I, myself, like to talk with people and understand their perspective though. It's fascinating to hear the differences between the view of someone else and my own, in reference to the same situation.

How people feel with regards to sex and sexual behavior is a natural extension all this. Everyone likes to talk about sex, anyways. I just prefer to ask a few deeper, more invasive questions than most.

Craigslist is definitely a fun source for glimpsing into someone's head. Protected my anonymity, people just type out their innermost desires and fetishes in hopes of other who are looking for the same. I love reading the adds and seeing what bizarre, from my viewpoint, things people find hot. Anonymous sex is already really interesting, but popular other entries are people looking for gang bangs, domination or "I'm not gay but..."

A current friendship I have with a girl was purely even sparked because of my interest in her sexual perversion: Tayla is an escort.
Finding out she works in the sex industry was a complete accident. We had hung out with mutual friends at a few parties, then one day I was walking through a park and overheard some girl on the street speaking with a potential client about what they want: it was the type of talk along the lines of "200$ for a blowjob...". When I was through the park and on the sidewalk, I actually saw the person's face who had been talking and I recognize Tayla. She also recognized me and made the connection I had overheard her. Long-story short, we were both shocked, we avoided each other, but eventually began talking about it since I was obviously super interested in asking her about it all.

These days, most of what we talk about are her tricks and funny requests from clients. She likes how I'm nonjudgmental and morally-neutral about it: I have a little bit of concern but I see it as her life and her choices. I'm actually really amazed by her whole job and life, but that's the topic for another post.

Some memorable lines from conversations I've had with people:
- "I think I'm falling in love with a woman" - Alicia
- "Sex with guys and girls is so different, but they're both really good. You should give it a try Thomas." - a past guy friend telling me this
- "I love dirty talk"
- "I really get turned on by touching my nipples, but only after doing exercise"
- "I think she's actually non-sexual. Not asexual, but just non sexual. She's has no sexual urges at all."
- "Can you guys just get over it? Ya, she was a dominatrix in university. Whatever."
- "I feel bad for her. She's transitioning from a man to a woman, but she still has 5 o'clock shadow."
- "It's an overwhelming urge to go to the bathroom and jack-off with these strangers."
- " And she put the ping pong ball in her vagina and clenched and shot it out at me! I loved every moment of it."
- "Ya, so she gets payed once a month to go to the man's house and piss on him."
- "They had all done so much drugs that one man was trying to shove his entire head into another guy's ass" - my ex-roommates' Dad saying this.
- "Maybe you want me to lick your feet?" - creepy stalker email I received, that made me fall out of my chair and almost die from laughter.

My life is weird and I love it like that.

Fire in the City

"I'm back in Montreal on Tuesday, so it's time to have a bonfire!" Excellent, a Facebook-event right up my alley.

We were the first to arrive at the gathering spot, so we found some wood (half-destroyed chairs found on railway tracks burn surprisingly well), set it up tepee-style and lit the fire. It didn't take too long for others to find us and begin roasting-up some marshmallows. After about 2 hours, there were 15 bodies around the fire.


The fire pit location was in a small, lost plot of trees/brush surrounded by a cement wasteland, overpass and train tracks. No residential places in direct sight. No cars driving through this area at night (or during the day even). Rarely a soul moving about, other than our own. Perfect.


Nothing eventful really happened, but it was nice to talk and gaze at the fire. The police ended up driving by and staring at us. They just looked at us, and the 15 of us looked back at them and continued talking. The police realized that doing anything to us would just cause them trouble. I also like to believe they knew we weren't up-to-no-good, so they pretended they never saw us.

Xav, myself, and the Montreal-visitor, who arranged the event, went off through the brush to gather some more wood. One reason I really like this place, apart from the seclusion while still being in the middle of the city, is that it's right next to the bus-graveyard. The city stores all it's old, hacked-up buses here. This has made for fun exploring and mischief: jumping along bus rooftops, in the rain, is pretty damn awesome.


Unfortunately, it seems the city was tired of hooligans such as ourselves, having fun with the buses. Only two were left. *Tear* for the bus graveyard.


We returned to the gathering, with fresh wood. I don't know why, but the (former) bus-graveyard has so much good burning-wood to collect. We threw the logs onto the pile and sat back down.

Xav: So apart from work, friends, family and all that, how are you actually feeling these days Thomas?

Me: I'm doing really well. I've honestly been really happy over the last year. No hedonic treadmill for me. Life is good.

Xav: Good.

Soon enough, Xav and I said our goodbyes to the group and went walking along the train tracks, back to where our bikes were hidden. We agreed on plans for skiing/snowboarding this winter. I told him I'm thinking of visiting some US cities in January, since my job gives me that freedom. He thought it was a good idea.

On the ride back home, Xav mentions the "Perfect Guy from the Abandoned Building". I swoon and day-dream for a second. That gave me just enough time to almost run into a parked car. I tell Xav that he's a jackass.

Lying down in my bed, I notice that my face feels warm from the campfire and that my hair smells like it as well. It's a good feeling. Life is good.

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.

Art

When I was a little kid, I really got into crafting, painting and drawing. Like anyone in primary school, I loved to be expressive and creative. As I remember, I tended to focus on animals and scenarios where Mario (Mario Brothers anyone?) would have to avoid the bad guys and traps to get from one side of the sheet to another. There was also a show on TV that involved taking throw-away containers and gluing them together to make a monster. Apparently, I took the program to heart because I would take old boxes from our recycling bin, attach googly-eyes and feathers to them and try to sell my little monster creations on the street for 75 cents each. Man, I was so adorable.


I always liked to draw, but I almost entirely stopped practicing through highschool and CEGEP. Nothing really forced me to drop it, but my science courses didn't allow me to enroll in the art class at my school. My laziness didn't help the situation any more either.

Only in the last 2 to 4 years have I gotten back into drawing and painting. If you recall my previous post, I tended to go through episodes of intense depression, around the age of 17 to 22. I'm sure a psychiatrist/psychologist would have a name for it, however this post isn't about that. My "depressive attacks" would always happen in the evening or night. Maybe this means I'm a werewolf, but, again, that has nothing to do with this post. As the frequency of these "episodes" subsided, I would get hit with this intense urge to pick up some sort of pencil or brush and just create. What was I drawing? It didn't matter; anything. I just felt the inspiration and the need.


Sounds lame right? I think so too, but I just couldn't stop it. Normally during the day I would go about my normal Thomas-like things and ever so often, as the moon rose, I would get the urge to create something on paper. Not only night time but rain gets me in the mood too. I am just so weird.

Nothing I drew or painted was ever amazing, but it was mine. I'm sure any 14 year-old could easily beat me, but I just love doing it. I feel so relaxed and happy to combine simple lines, shapes and colors to form some image I had or have in my mind. When I lived in my old apartment, I started painting on the living room wall once or twice a week, at about midnight. I'd put on an album by The Books or Ratatat and I'd just let the hand flow. A few ugly pictures [that my roommates had put on the wall when we first moved in] became about 30 separate drawings. I loved to just sit in my living room and stare at the wall. I posted a few pictures up here, of the little images I liked on my wall. You can also see a very miniature picture of the entire wall on the right side of the screen, as my profile picture.


I did also dabble in a bit of writing, but I was never very good at it or inspired enough. Of course this blog seems to be something else, but maybe I should analyze this some other time...

If any of you ever get a creative rush, for whatever reason, just go with it. It doesn't matter how good or bad that you are. Just go with it.

Good Night

Nothing beats a warm hockey night.

Ah, it's been so long.

Abandoned Building and a Perfect Guy

Over the last 2 years, I’ve really gotten into exploring the nooks and crannies of my city. Walking through the dark alleyways, climbing up the rusty fire escapes and venturing into anything that looks old, decrepit or abandoned really gets me going. Typically, the grimier, the better. I find it incredibly interesting to see places and objects that once had direct meaning or use, but now just sit there and slowly fall apart. An added bonus is finding private buildings and spaces that strangers have “reclaimed” and created an new (usually illegal) uses for. Highway underpass DJ parties anyone? Fuck ya!



It first started with climbing up onto the roof of buildings downtown and at my university. My first partner in crime, Alicia, and I would just sit up there, stare out at the cityscape and sky while talking about everything and nothing. It’s those moments that I value most with people; the ones just relaxing and watching while talking about our lives, loves and worries. Surprisingly, we would rarely bring alcohol with us. Xav soon joined the fun, which led to 1:00 am trips across the city on our bikes and running across roof tops in the student-hipster part of town.

Recently I followed Xav’s instructions to get to the top of an abandoned industrial silo. He and some others I had yet to ever meet were already up there, so I followed to their vague phone directions to get up there. Skipping over the details of the creepy/amazing pitch black route (cell phones are amazing sources of light to avoid falling through rusted gratings) I walkout out the door onto the roof of the silo. It is quite possibly one of the best roof-top lookouts I have seen. You could see everything in all directions. The splash of the city lights against the mountain and the sky make is a beautiful sitting spot. In case you had wondered, the Winds That You Rise banner at the top of the blog is a photo of the view. To add to the perfect settings, Xav’s friends were pretty cool and I had a great time chatting with them. One in particular was the focus of that night.


I rarely ever find someone to be incredibly good looking, but he was just that. Everything about him seemed perfect. He’s tall, with blond short hair and eyes that lit up when he smile. He was really friendly and easy to relate with, so I had to concentrate not to swoon every time while we talked. His body looked pretty damn good too, which was hard not to notice when he decided to climb up onto higher roof-top levels of building.

It’s annoying when you find someone attractive and you don’t know if they’re into guys. That seems to be the story of my life. But the whole evening I kept jumping back-and-forth over the line of maybe he is, maybe he’s isn’t. I tend to start making little observations about a person’s behaviour, trying to conclude whether they play for my side or not. With him, I started settling that he was for the ladies.

I had to leave early to meet up with some others friends, so I said my goodbyes to everyone and gave some of the gang hugs. As the last person to get a goodbye, the man of my focus for the night came right up to me and pulled me in for a really good hug. Hopefully you all know the kind I’m talking about. Nice and strong, both arms holding the other person. Your chest and torso flat against the other person’s. Your cheeks rub together – and not in the French Canadian hello/bye cheek kiss type of way. His stubble rubbing against me felt amazing. That was the kind of hug you just don’t want to let go.
That affection pretty much sent fireworks off in my mind. I’m sure some might think a blowjob would have been a better goodbye, but shit that was some real good hugging. Man, why did I have to leave then…

I could give him a name in this blog, but I won’t just yet. Don’t worry, I do have more to write on him.