Vancouver

I love reading blogs from writers who live in different countries and cities. It allows me to be a voyeur into their lives, which are so similar, yet different in subtle and interesting ways. Even the United States is so different from Canada, although we are neighbours. There are huge differences between New York, San Diego, Alabama, the mid-west, and Seattle. I enjoy trying to pick out the subtle cultural/geographical differences.

I love reading "Made in Brazil" because it gives me insight into their sexy, social and machismo culture, that can be dangerous, yet is surprisingly flexible when it comes to sex between men. I love reading "Tokio Bleu," because it shows me contemporary Japanese culture, which tends to be creative, gentle, intelligent and whimsically fashionable. "Is Mise" informs me on the daily life of an Irish man – going to pubs, drinking beer, socializing, joking around and yet being worldly.

Of course I’m generalizing, and steriotypifying to a large degree. But sometimes it’s helpful to do so, to gain some insight. Reading blogs from other countries makes me reflect on my own culture – Vancouver, BC, Canada. I’ll attempt to make some generalizations.

1. Vancouver is fairly multi-cultural. Other than Caucasians, the largest majority of the population are Asians (mostly Chinese, some Japanese), and then Middle Eastern and Indians. Within two blocks of me, there are three Asian restaurants. There are so few black people that when you see one, you’re surprised.

2. My Mexican roommate noticed that everyone reads on the transit here – not just newspapers, but also books.

3. I think it’s simply being a Pacific Coast city…but the main thing I noticed when I moved here is that intensity and anger is not allowed or tolerated here. Unlike Toronto, people go out of their way to appear easy-going, relaxed and non-intense. If you become intense or angry, you’re treated like a freak. Unfortunately the negative side of this is that so many people are passive-aggressive on the West Coast of Canada.

4. While there is some cultural activity in this city, it cannot be compared to Toronto or East Coast cities. After having lived here for a while, I went back to Toronto and was amazed by how so many people engaged me in an intelligent conversation about politics, the world, the arts, religion and society. These topics tend to be too intense for the West Coast.

5. Nearly everyone here is involved in physical activity – working out, hiking, swimming, sailing, skateboarding (one of the top city planners who is openly gay and 50 years old, rides to work on his skateboard everyday), rollerblading, walking, cycling, camping. It’s because nature is so prevalent here. Nature overtakes culture in this city.

6. Even though we have a huge gay population, there’s only a handful of clubs. I believe the majority of gay men (who are 28 plus) don’t ever go to a club. You’ll only meet these guys by becoming a part of their dinner party circle, gym or favourite sport. You’ll see them at large special event parties though, with their shirts off.

7. Vancouver is mostly anti-fashion. You’ll practically never seen a woman with make-up, high heels and wearing a dress. No one wears black, unless you’re an immigrant. Black is too intense.

8. No one smokes in Vancouver. You’re not allowed to, anywhere. If you’re smoking outside a building, you need to be 3 metres away from the door.

9. There is a yoga studio and natural health store every block. Along with Asian restaurants. Sushi is cheap here!

10. Since it rains 6 months of every year in Vancouver, people squint when the sun comes out (unless they’re wearing sunglasses). It really is a shock when the sun comes out and the sky is clear.

I love Vancouver!

An admission

Over the past year and a half, I’ve been celibate (thanks for the spelling correction, Maloney). Except for a single sexual experience in December 2004, which I paid for (I hired an escort), I’m re-virginizing myself. The escort experience was fine, but not worth the cost ($200 per hour).

This is my process:

• I break up with my partner, with whom I’m in love
• To get over the pain, I have lots of sex with mostly anonymous guys for about six months
• I get bored with the absence of intimacy and meaning
• I give up sex.
• Once I feel renewed, re-virginized, and pure, I end up meeting someone special.

I think I’ll be ready to date again, at the end of July.

What’s great about hiring an escort is that I don’t have to go to a gay club to pick someone up, or go online and take my chances, and I know what I’m getting.

That’s why I’ve been blogging about past experiences in the last year and a half. I have no new experiences to share.

I’ve done this every time I’ve broken up with a partner. I have sex with lots of guys for a while, then get bored, get celibate, then after a year or more, meet someone new.

That’s how I work.

Celine Dion & Quebec Canada - The English-Speaking Canadian's Perspective

A difficult relationship exists between English and French-speaking Canadians. It can be seen in the way that each perceives international singer Celine Dion. To English-speaking Canadians she epitomizes the Quebecois. Canada is a relatively accepting country - after all, we're a very multicultural society. So I'm not sure why so many English speakers have such a derogatory opinion of native Quebecers.

English-speaking Canada (ESC) tends to find Celion Dion "embarrassing." If we were American, we'd be celebrating the fact that "one of our own" is acknowledged as being the world's best "pop" singer and performer. But no, not us ESCers.

While we might acknowledge that French-Canadians are the most social, best looking, highest cultured, most sexual and fashionable of Canadians (when administered truth serum and under oath), we don't like them because they're "show offs."

I just watched a new biography on Celine Dion, this evening. It was very well done. It gave me new insight as to why I have such a difficult relationship to her.

There are two reasons.

Celine Dion's accent is hard on the ears. It's just plain UGLY. It's has none of the purity of Parisian French. It's Quebecois French. In the rest of Canada, we call it FROG language. French-Canadians speak through their nostrils. Imagine pinching your nasal passage and then pronouncing "wah, wah, wah." That's what they sound like to us.

I can hear hear Celine's Quebecois accent in her mostly lovely singing voice. It really upsets me and makes me wonder if the rest of the world is deaf. (Can't you hear it too?)

But I think the worst thing that offends my ECS sensibilities is that she is SO confident. To be that confident is okay for Americans. It's not okay for Canadians. We're not allowed to be that in-your-face about it. It's improper. Celine is so super-confident, so perfectly honest, so real and without any apparent guile it just seems...un-Canadian. And please, most Canadians wouldn't admit to visiting Las Vegas, nevermind living there.



ECSers have built our national identity on self-flagellation. We criticize ourselves, our politicans, government, economics, culture and talent incessantly. We're never good enough, and we're proud of it - but quietly proud. Our greatest sense of national unity comes from a Molson Canadian beer commercial called "I am Canadian." Our identity is created not out of an existential self-determinism, but out of what we are not. We're not American.

The Quebecois aren't American either. They're a weird hybrid of Parisian self-importance and...some permutation of Canadian culture.

Let me end with our theme song, which summarizes much better than our national anthem does, what we're all aboot about:

Hey.
I'm not a lumberjack,
or a fur trader...
and I don't live in an igloo
or eat blubber, or own a dogsled...
and I don't know Jimmy, Sally or Suzy from Canada,
although I'm certain they're really, really nice.

I have a Prime Minister,
not a President.
I speak English and French,
NOT American.
and I pronouce it ABOUT,
NOT A BOOT.

I can proudly sew my country's flag on my backpack.
I believe in peace keeping, NOT policing.
DIVERSITY, NOT assimilation,
AND THAT THE BEAVER IS A TRULY PROUD AND NOBLE ANIMAL.
A TOQUE IS A HAT,
A CHESTERFIELD IS A COUCH,
AND IT IS PRONOUCED 'ZED' NOT 'ZEE', 'ZED'!

CANADA IS THE SECOND LARGEST LANDMASS!
THE FIRST NATION OF HOCKEY!
AND THE BEST PART OF NORTH AMERICA!

MY NAME IS JOE!
AND I AM CANADIAN!

The Cure

Trying to appear invisible and nondescript, while hiding behind the corner of a stack of bookshelves, I waited for a library patron to leave. He was searching for a specific Dewey decimal number, pointing at the printed numbers on the books’ spines.

Adrenaline raced through me and my senses were heightened. My face was flushed and I tried to keep my breathing shallow. Finally, he found the book he needed and left, so I quickly moved to the section further down from where he had been, labeled “homosexuality.”

I was going to cure myself.

I scanned through the first few books, and slid one thick volume from the shelf, hiding it under my arm, with the blank, back cover facing outward. I walked quickly to a private, partitioned reading table, avoiding the gaze of other library patrons whom I walked past.

I opened the book, and began reading about clinical case studies of homosexual patients, written in a dry, academic tone with a psychoanalytical viewpoint. I was sixteen years old, and struggled to understand the terminology. What I read was that homosexuality was a mental illness, and various techniques had been used to try to cure it, including electroshock therapy and behavioural modification methods. My heart sunk, because it confirmed what I already believed – I have a mental illness, and drastic methods must be taken. Determined to find a cure, I read on.

I’d known for a while that I was attracted to the same gender. Being the son of a Lutheran minister in a small town, I enjoyed being raised in the church, attending youth group, singing in the choir and participating in events. While I didn’t understand all the theology behind church rituals, I loved the feeling of belonging and being part of a community that, until now, had loved me. But, being gay was a sin, and I not only felt great guilt, but a self-repulsion knowing that God condemned me.

I must find a cure. I prayed daily, on my hands and knees, begging God to change me… but to no avail. I still wanted to be with a man – it felt like it was a part of my soul: a part that needed to be severed.

When I graduated a year early and was accepted at a local college, I moved to Vancouver where I had access to the Public Library and a large collection of books. I was determined to read every book on homosexuality available to find a way to heal myself. I was too afraid to see a therapist, so I needed to do it on my own.

This was over 20 years ago, before being gay was widely discussed in the media, and before the Internet had been invented. I was too naïve, and ‘in the closet’ to search out other forms of assistance. The library was to be my saviour.

Three evenings a week for a year, I visited the library, going through the same ritual of stalking the bookshelves for a new book, spending three to four hours reading it front-to-back in a private reading stall (I was too fearful to sign out a book). I eventually began to change my mind.

I realized that there was a large range of viewpoints on homosexuality, depending on when the book was published and who wrote it. I learned that it was no longer considered a mental illness, since the 1970s, by the American Psychiatric Association. I discovered that Alfred Kinsey had developed a new model of sexuality and preference, based on a scale that may shift over an individual’s life. I read radical/political essays – mostly from San Francisco - by gay, lesbian, transsexual and transgender peoples who believed that homophobia was the problem: not being gay.

I read personal accounts from gay men who had suffered electroshock and behavioural modification therapies, lithium psychiatric interventions and more, who had learned to heal…by loving themselves. And I researched a wide variety of theological interpretations of the bible, from diverse religious viewpoints, towards homosexuality.

I learned that I could love and be loved as a gay man, not only by myself and others, but also by my Creator.

I had found my cure.

Intimacy Moment #3

Officially, he'd broken up with me a couple of weeks prior. But we'd organized a weekend camping trip before he ended our monogamous relationship. We agreed to still go on the trip together, but we'd try to keep our hands off each other.

Obviously this wasn't going to work...I was still strongly attracted to him. He was strongly attracted to me. He just didn't want to be committed to me, and wanted to have sex with other people. Since I was his first real relationship with another man, he believed we could keep our hands off of each other. Since he was my fourth relationship, I knew this wouldn't happen. I admit, I was manipulative...I wanted him back, and I wanted sex. I didn't want to let go of him and our fabulous sexual relationship

I think I've written about this before, but let me say it again. I've had sex with men since I was 15. That's about 20 years. I've had sex with so many men, I can't count the number. Plus having four long term relationships. But I learned things about sex with him, that I never experienced or knew previously.

I'm not talking about anything kinky. We only ever had very vanilla sex. But his technique was beyond anything I'd ever experienced. It's ironic. I'm an out gay man for 20 years. He's a straight man trying to come out as bisexual, who knows far more about sucking cock and fucking than any gay man I've ever had sex with before.

Before I met him, I'd never cum from having a blow job. He could make me come in two minutes, without ever touching my cock with his hand - it was just his mouth that did it. He made me shoot my load so strongly, that it would hit my forehead, or the back of the wall, regularly. I also had double orgasms - something I read about in porn and thought was a legend. I'd cum once, he'd continue, and I'd cum again a few minutes later.

He taught me his techniques, so I could do it to him as well. As I've mentioned before, he was extremely well hung, at least 10" and thick, so he rarely ever had a good blow job. Not many guys could wrap their mouths and throats around him, and make him cum. So both of us loved having sex with each other. In fact, the last time I ever saw him (because eventually I did stop seeing him), I gave him the hottest blow job he's ever had - he was groaning loudly, while my straight roommate was right next door to us. Very embarrassing, but he couldn't help the noise. I really loved to gag on his cock and make him shoot his thick, exceptional load.

Back to the camping trip. We drove north, hiked a mountain, visited the ocean, and gazed at a waterfall. It was on the Sea to Sky highway, north of Vancouver, on the way to Whistler. We stopped at typical tourist traps, as well as headed up unpaved roads to unknown destinations. We had packed all our food and a cooler, so we didn't need to stop anywhere. We talked, listened to CDs, and became hornier and even more horny. Since he'd broken up with me, two weeks ago, neither of us had had sex.

To save money, he put a foam mattress in the back of his 4x4, with lots of pillows and blankets, so that we didn't need to bring a tent or go to a campground. So we'd have to sleep together, side by side. I brought my laptop and rented 6 DVDs, that we could watch, while lying next to each other in the back.

At our first stop in the afternoon, for a short nap, I had my hand on his dick, right away, once we were lying together in the back of the 4x4. He was already hard. He said, "No, we shouldn't be doing this." I assured him I knew we shouldn't be doing this, but what the hell. So I gave him one of my now famous blow jobs. I promised we wouldn't do this again, after our weekend. (Right!) I wiped my fist across my mouth, clearing off the excess.

Once it got dark, he said we should find an out-of-the-way place, on a back road, where we could park, watch DVDs and sleep for the night. I agreed. We found one. Then, what happened, I've never experienced before (or since).

We started to watch a DVD on my laptop, laying next to each other in the back on the foam mattress. Of course, my hand was soon on his dick, and his on mine. We were both hard already. He expertly stroked my nice. above average, thick cock, while I stroked his ten incher. It wasn't jerking up and down, hand around cock type of jerking. Sometimes, but not always. What happened is, we were playing with each other and we had lots of precum. So we used the precum to play with the backside of our cocks. The place where the skin connects with the head. It was like being in an extended moment of heightened sexual ecstacy. We did this for at least three hours, if not four. It was like having an extended moment of sexual orgasm - it was Tantric. My whole body was turned on constantly, while watching the DVDs. We both were rock hard the whole time. We both had a steady stream of precum to play with.

There was no discussion, really. We just did it. We both felt the Tantric sexuality of it. We just did it, had fun, and it felt so fucking good. It was really intimate.

I still remember the hardness of his cock. The slippery juice of his precum. The delicious healthy smell on my fingers. I know he felt the same way.

What is intimate about this situation is that there was no talking, just connecting on a very physical level. There were no cumming, no blow jobs, (until later). Just enjoying hard cocks, slippery cum, and massaging that most intimate joining of skin to skin. Mmm. It's worth writing about, for prosperity.

Attempt to tell Intimacy Moment #2 (The B eauty and Horror of Bisexual Men)

We were in the midst of our "honeymoon," high from sexual feelings for each other, but still didn't know each other. We went for dinner at a small Italian restaurant, a block away from Kitsilano beach, where all the beautiful people hang out. We got a patio-side table, next to the sidewalk. We were so engrossed in each other. The energy was thick between us (have you ever experienced this?). We were both engaged in a sense of heightened unreality. We wanted each other. Every word we spoke to each other was important and undeniably fascinating.

In the middle of our main course, a single woman near us, on the patio, asked us, "Are you brothers? You seem to be a lot alike..."

We laughed. I was complimented...I thought, I had found someone very special, who would spend the rest of my life with me.

The horrible thing about bisexual men is that they can fall in love with you, and deny it at the same time. They're not comfortable with being gay, and they're uncomfortable with being straight. In fact, they're fearful of being in love, with anyone...actually, I should say, they're terrified of commitment because that means they have to make a decision. Meanwhile, their hormones, psyche and soul leads them to hook up with a man, but their mind tells them they should love a woman. These men are conflicted and are not good partners.

They can block it off, longer than most of us. After dinner, we walked on the beach. It was July, the weather was warm. We walked down to an isolated beach, where beach-goers lit illegal fires, hung out, drank beer, kissed. There were about a dozen of heterosexual partners around us, sitting around the fire, drinking. But he sat me down on a beached log, myself sitting in between his legs, feeling his HUGE cock on my butt, and began kissing my neck, then my cheek, and then my lips, in front of all the other straight lovers. I felt a warmth from him, that was stronger than any other lover I have ever been with.

I said to him, "You should stop, there are people who can see this." He told me to ignore it.

Meanwhile, he's very publicly embracing me, kissing me, and making love to me in the most lovely way. I was in heaven. But it was only a moment in time. One that I'll remember for its intimacy.

Of course, it didn't last. Two weeks later, driving around in his 4x4, I was caressing his leg while he was driving. He asked me to stop. He was afraid another driver would see me doing this (which was unlikely, considering we're a couple feet higher than anyone else, and his windows are slightly tinted). I've found with bisexual men, they have moments of great intimacy, and then moments of total fear. It's unfortunate they're so attractive.

Moments of Intimacy

Rarely do I read about moments of intimacy. They’re difficult to express. Or, are they so rare, that few people experience them? I don’t know. It may be both. Here’s my attempt to express some of mine.

Delerium
We’re sitting in his Ford 4x4, listening to Delerium on my CD player that’s connected to his car’s stereo system. It’s a winter night on Saltspring Island. His car is parked on the edge of the hill, within a few steps from the bed and breakfast. I sense the drop-off in front of us – if the car were to roll, we’d be dead.

I can’t remember why, but he’s let me drive his 4x4, and I’m sitting in the driver’s seat. He’s next to me in the passenger seat. We’re still new to each other – I’ve only known him for a few months. But I believe we’re a lot alike.

Before we go inside, I ask him to listen to a track from Delerium, the album named Karma, with me.

The funny thing is, I don’t think we smoked a joint, but I remember feeling stoned. Was it the beautiful energy I felt between us, or did we puff on some dooby? I don’t remember, but I think it must be the energy between us, because he didn’t like to smoke pot.

So we lean back in our car seats, listening to the music wave over us. Delerium is a journey. It begins at one point, and ends at another.

I felt every note, and the song seemed to take forever.

I looked over at him, and he appeared to be experiencing the same ecstasy of the song. We listened to a couple more. When it was over, he was all smirks, and his body was draped off the seat. I really felt like we had connected.

For me, it was a moment of intimacy. One that I’ll never forget. For him, I don’t know.

(This post doesn't do the experience justice.)

Thank God, the Pope is dead
I can think of very few people and institutions as evil as the Pope, the Vatican, and the Catholic church. George Bush and the U.S. government comes in at the top ten. I am revolted by the news coverage of Pope John Paul II's death - headlines say things like "The Whole World Mourns the Passing Away of the Pope." Bullshit. Only the tiniest portion of the world even cares. The rest are celebrating. There are very few Catholics in the world, compared to the billions of others in different religions.

Take a look at the Pope's and Catholic church's record...they don't believe in birth control, making women second class citizens and baby producers...they believe gays are an abomination and have caused so much self-loathing and self-hatred for some of God's children...look at all the sexual abuse their repressed sexuality has caused for countless boys and girls, men and women...look at the Vatican's wealth - shouldn't they sell all their priceless treasures to help others? Do you think Christ would approve of their hoardes of wealth?...It goes on and on. I'm so irritated by the media's coverage of his death, making him sound like a saint, when I truly think he has been incredibly evil and caused so much suffering and injustice.

Even the concept of a man being the mouthpiece of God is incredibly insulting to my intelligence and the holiness of humanity. The Pope isn't Christ, for goodness sake! I truly wish it wasn't just the Pope who had died, but the whole institution of Catholicism.

Eulogy to Bloggers who have quit, or almost quit

I’m remarkably saddened by the following bloggers who have quit their blog. So this is my eulogy at their untimely and tragic blog deaths.

Space-Waitress: http://space-waitress.blogspot.com

This man was one of the most brilliant comedic writers online, who sadly had to shut down his site because his employers discovered his site. It was fascinating to hear about the behind-the-scenes goings-on as a flight attendant, and also a manager. He had a unique voice and vision. He also had (has) a long-term relationship that has lasted over a decade – which he shared with readers in an unflinching and honest manner.

Cool-Relax: http://www.coolrelax.blogspot.com

Sweet, sexy, hot. He often posts about his ex-lover DJ who is a creep (and doesn’t understand the meaning of commitment and doesn’t deserve him). CoolRelax loves golf, basketball, singing karaoke, has the sexiest mp3 voice you’ve eva heard. He’s smart and has a job saving the environment. Plus, he has great abs and tight bod. My favourite post was his description of having post-break-up anal sex with DJ. It makes me hard to this day.

Addaboy: http://addaboy.blogspot.com/

The belle of the ball, working at a big-time publicity company, meeting stars, going to parties, attracting and sleeping with New York cops. I loved hearing his ambiguous and unclear references to these.

He’s still writing, once a month. Let's hope he gets back on track.

SlimnMuscly: http://slimnmuscly.livejournal.com/

The most fascinating journal of an escort, who’s a talented painter, who spirals downward into drugs and manic depression. And ends up living with his religious parents trying to change his life. I really wish he would blog again – I’m wondering how he’s doing. I hope he hasn’t been “converted.” (I’m talking religion here.)

Toddo: http://toddo.blogspot.com/

Sigh. He’s gone from the blogosphere. He was intelligent, informative, sexy. He rarely told us about his personal life, but when he did, it was fabulous and fucking hot. He’s a journalist and radio-show host. He was ground-breaking, being a public figure, yet sharing his life with others. I guess it got the best of him? He wrote insightfully about all things. I miss him.

Shaved

I had shaved my head.

I had bought one of those shavers, or clippers, that come with various sized extensions. I used it to trim my bush hair. My genitals. I had done this since I was 14. I also trimmed my leg hair, and the hair on my forearms with a number two. I was a hairy fuck, but no one knew, since I had shaved since I started to get hair on me. I used a razor on my chest and stomach, so it was smooth, not just trimmed.

I felt like I was never supposed to have hair. When it started coming, I took it off. It wasn’t just because I was a gymnast, and there’s some unwritten rule that gymnasts must be smooth. (Have you ever seen a gymnast with hairy armpits?) That’s an excuse I used. Before it was even popular to shave body hair, I took a blade to my bod. This isn’t some kind of foreshadowing, by the way. It’s just the truth.

I don’t think even my mom knows how hairy I am. One of our favourite activities, growing up, was to suntan, and so there I was, all smooth, baking myself in the summer prairie sun, with razor bumps. Fortunately, I’m not so hairy that I have hair on my back…well, not until I was older, anyway.

Now I’m 40, and have some back hair. I’m not an ape, but still, there is hair on my back. I haven’t been shaving myself for about a year now, so I am able to reach back and pull and find a finger full. I’m not about to go show myself naked to someone, so after 26 years of shaving, I’ve given up the task for the moment. At least, my hair is a light brown, and fine.

I don’t remember the moment I decided to take the clippers to my head. The deciding moment. That’s lost to me. Looking at myself in the wall-to-wall mirror, the light a blue/white from morning sun mixed with Hollywood light bulbs and white walls, I took the buzzing instrument with a number one extension and glided it against my scalp. I started in the exact centre of my head. Methodically, I shaved it evenly, one stroke on each side, one after the other, tendrils of dark brown hair clinging to my nose and the stainless steel sink plugger. Ceramic white mauled by prickly brown hair chops.

Inches away from my reflection, I stared into my brown eyes. I was still drunk, but didn’t look it. The whites of my eyes were white. My brows framed them beautifully. Although most of my hair was gone I still looked like me, only unadulterated.

Once, on a crowded bus during rush hour in July, I sat next to a 30-something middle-eastern man who smelled of sex and sweat, and couldn’t keep his hands off his dick. Normally, this should be a turn on, but he exuded abnormality. He was wearing shapeless grey sweatpants, in which he slid his right hand down and started jerking. The bus was so crowded, people were standing hip to hip in the aisles, but this didn’t stop him. Maybe it turned him more on.

I think what turned me off is that he was turned on by me. And because I found him disgusting, I turned on him. If he had been blond or something, I wonder if I would’ve helped him, you know? Actually, that’s not the truth – I tend to find middle-eastern men extremely hot. It was his energy of perversion that grossed me out. My older sister told me when I was 12 that if a pervert comes onto you, that you should embarrass them publicly. Perverts tend to be cowards, and when you publicly state their perversion, they stand down. This all comes to mind while I’m sitting next to Mr. Jerkoff on a crowded bus, in the middle of a sweaty summer day, and he’s smelling of sex and perversion with his right hand bouncing up and down in his sweatpants.

I stated loudly, so all the bus could hear, “What are you doing? Masturbating?”

He looked at me incredulously.

“No!” he loudly proclaimed. Meanwhile, he was still spanking the monkey. He was looking me in the eye and denying that he was jerking off. How insulting is that?

“Do you want me to tell the bus driver?” I asked. A lovely blond woman standing in the bus aisle noticed our conversation, and carefully moved away from us.

The masturbator started threatening me, "I'm going kick your ass," etc. He looked me up and down, all over and sideways, his mouth and eyes agape. “What are you? Some kind of plastic thing?” he asked.

Ironically, I was terribly complimented.

By shaving my head I ended up looking even more plastic - like a science fiction, mass produced, in vitro clone. It made me look generic and indistinct.

I was at the end of a binge, coming down. It wasn’t the kind of binge where you’re just a little hung over once you woke up. It was the kind of drunk where you’ve inhaled 26 ounces within 4 hours, got blasted, said nasty things, ruined your life, then went to bed, woke up, and floated around still drunk. I was floating when I shaved my head. It’s was a graceful slow-motion episode, and every movement is meaningful and thoughtful. Including the grazing of clippers across my scalp.

It was a significant gesture, one that changed my life, forever. If I hadn't shaved my hair off, I would probably never have met Les...

It's late on Saturday night, I'm a little drunk, but here it goes, with no apologies:

Question: Suppose BC calls me, after two years, and out of nowhere? What should I say?

Answers:
It's entirely unlikely that BC will ever call me. In fact, I should drop the question. He has a history of ex-friends and ex-sex-partners calling him, but as far as I know, he never called any "ex" himself. Therefore, this question is moot.

It's assumed BC would never call me after two years because he wasn't as in love with me, as I was with him. When I think back to our relationship, I see he was very disconnected, but continued our relationship mostly because he got something out of it. It wasn't because he felt attached to me. I realize he wasn't in love with me. In fact, I think he used me.

But just in case he calls me, I need to be prepared.

He'd say "hello," and what should I say?

Here's the fast and positive version: "Hi BC, thanks for calling. I appreciate it. You have a good life. Take care. Bye." This would be a positive conversation, in that I'm not blaming him for anything, but also letting him know clearly that I don't want to speak with him again.

Here's the more complicated version: "Hi BC. Why are you calling?" BC would be irritated by this because I'm not playing by his "easy-going" guy-thing. I'm making it his responsibility to explain things, which he doesn't like to do. But this may be the best option. But his answer would be very open-ended and drab, and not help me at all.

He could call me, and say, "Hello." I could hang up immediately, which is probably the wisest decision I ever make.

But I'm thinking....Suppose he's changed. Suppose he has thought about us, how good we were together, and how much he misses me. Suppose he's been with a dozen guys since our relationship (which is likely), and has realized how terrific I am. So he calls me, a changed man. And then, how do I respond?

Do you allow someone a second chance, even when you know better? How do you manage such a call, when he could be the same person (meaning I should hang up on him) or if he has changed (in which I'd need to have a longer conversation with him)?

Who the fuck knows. It probably won't happen anyway, so I don't know why I'm wasting brain cells on the whole issue.

I guess it's a fantasy that he would call, and I simply need to let it go.

I lost respect for the Trump
I saw The Apprentice last night. I can't believe Trump fired the Bradford! I've been trying to work out the philosophy behind Trump's decision, and am not clear on it.

I admit, I find Bradford very sexy. He looks like my ex - BC - in some ways. The tall body, the cute, kind and sexy eyes. Bradford has a lot of charisma. And I like his ability to be decisive.

When Bradford offered up his immunity...he was being courageous. Taking a risk. In business, you have to take risks, and often you are rewarded for them. Especially when you're as talented as he is.

But instead, Trump used it against him, for absolutely no purpose that I can define. Trump, himself, has taken huge risks, and won. He's got an ego that would win world-wide awards. So what's his problem with Bradford? Why did he "fire" him?

I wonder if Trump is intimidated by Bradford's charisma and loveability. He doesn't want competition in his business. If you notice his two side-kicks - the old guy and the younger blond female - they always cowtow to him. They never say anything that would offend the Trump. In fact, they always manage to say the right thing, that is in concordance with Trump. I think they are "yes-men." I've lost respect for them. I think it's clear, from the second episode, that Trump doesn't want anyone who is more talented and charismatic than himself.

Is it possible that Trump's philosophy is that...when you have a gain on other competitors, that you shouldn't offer it up? It's wrong to make yourself vulnerable when you have something over other competitors that makes you safe? Possibly. Do I think it's right? No.

So, I've lost my admiration and respect for Trump, and I'm seriously considering not watching the rest of the show. Unless there's a sudden turnaround, such as Trump inviting Bradford back, I've lost all interest in the show. It's too bad - I really liked it last season.

So FUCK YOU TRUMP. I shouldn't be surprised. People like him are always assholes, interested in their own fame and fortune, and never really help anyone else to raise to the top.

An impasse

Oh fuck. I just spent an hour typing a profound message. Then IE screwed up and I lost it all. So here's the short form (in much cruder words):

I've reached an impasse. I let go of a prestigious job at a prestigious college teaching a prestigious course, with the possibility of tenure in another year. I'm feeling like an idiot. I've felt this way before - having a great job, not being happy with the SHIT going on, and yet in the past I've always succeeded, getting better work, getting better pay.

I'm scared right now that won't happen. But I need to gather my energies to make sure this happens again, now. I also need to get in touch with what I truly want to do, and make a success of it. So this is where I'm at. I'll let you know how it goes.

Fuck. I wrote such a beautiful entry about my experience, and then IE fucked up, and I lost pages of writing.

I guess, you just need to go with the flow...

Upon re-reading this entry, it is much more to the point! Isn't that positive!

Summer is over, here in Vancouver

There's something about summer that makes me not want to post, or feel like writing. It's too beautiful here...there's too much to do. We've had an amazing, third-year-in-a-row, global-warming, summer. Vancouver is always incredible in the summer. All of our city is out, on the beaches, in the streets cruising, going for coffees, hiking, camping, and mountain climbing. I bought a fan for the first time because it was so hot and humid. I'd take a shower, and drip sweat within moments of drying myself off. This is highly unusual - it's more like Toronto's weather.

It's luscious, sexy (seeing all the beautiful men, shirtless and in shorts) and having outdoor lunches with friends, or going camping on the Gulf Islands.

My idealistic summer was cut short by a phone call, from the assistant dean, of the college I work at, last week Thursday. I was about to start a new term on the following Monday. He had his secretary call me to arrange a meeting.

I asked her to forward me to the assistant dean, to ask, "Why?" The AD (assistant dean) said that there were two student complaints about me from the following year, and wanted to meet with me. Pleasantly, I asked, "why, what happened?"

The AD refused to tell me.

I said, "Yes, I did return the student final marks two weeks late... is this the problem?"

He said, "No, it's worse than that."

I asked, "What could be worse than that?"

He refused to tell me.

Over the last two years, I've had a personality conflict with the new AD. He took over two years ago. He has no educational background, and has no idea of what it's like to work with students or in an educational institution. He comes from Toronto, from a corporate/financial/managerial position. Ever since he's taken over, he's created a very negative working situation - not only for myself - but for other instructors. He does everything by the book, according to union guidelines. At least 14 instructors have quit, in the past two years. Some of the instructors have been at the college for 15 years. I have been there 5 years.

In the past 2 years since he's taken over, I've found working at the college very difficult. No one seems to be helpful. This includes long-term employees, as well as computer staff, and secretarial staff. I have problems booking rooms, getting rooms, getting the support staff to help me, getting my office set up with NOTES and computer access, etc. Before the AD came into his position, I never had any problems.

In fact, due to the AD's incompetence, I taught a course without booked computer rooms for 4 weeks. Can you imagine how pissed the students were? They had no where to go for their lab times!

I decided in the second year, that I didn't want to go through the horror of teaching students at the college, due to this new AD's control. I decided to take a term off - I refused the contract. He ended up hiring a totally incompetent teacher. He hired a previous colleague (who had no teaching experience), who had a panic attack for the first three classes. During his first class, he froze, started hyperventilating, and ran outside the classroom to find another instructor in the college for help.

The poor guy who was hired also wasn't knowledgeable in the areas that I taught, so he made up things. The worst aspect is that he never gave the college students any handouts, or gave examples.

So what happened, in the middle of the term, is that the AD ended up calling me, begging me to return. I did and saved the day!

After finishing the first term, to great success, I taught the second course in the spring, and I thought things were going well between myself and the AD. Until the phone call before the Monday (recently) I was supposed to start teaching.

I refused the AD. I said, "I want you to tell me what problems other students have told you about, so I can look up my records, and be prepared when I meet you."

The AD said "No."

The AD was playing things according to union rules (which can be a good thing, but not in this case). So I told him, "Suppose you were being accused of things, without any information, and are asked to go to a meeting without any backup...how would you respond?"

The AD said, "I would show up to the meeting."

In part, he's right. He's right, if I wanted to play the whole paternalistic, unionistic and bureaucrastic game, I would go to the meeting. But the thing is, I don't. In the first three years at the college, I was run by an assistant dean who believed in me, who gave me the benefit of the doubt. He never asked me to follow union rules because he believed in me as an instructor. This previous AD had teaching experience and umpteem years in being a manager. This horrible new AD does NOT!

I told him, "I won't meet with you under these conditions. I won't be put into the position of defense, without knowing what you want to meet me about."

Anyway, there's so much more I could talk about. A couple of things: three highly inflammatory e-mails that I shared with a union representative from the new AD, and they were concerned about - they were willing to take action against this rude AD.

So I told this new AD that I would not return to teach this term. Now he has to find someone new to teach.

I feel like I made the right decision. I will never be controlled, by someone who is not upholding me as an excellent teacher.

And plus, I can make so much more money by doing my own gig.

Update

I can't believe it's been more than a month and a half since I posted my last blog. I'm still here, still alive. But, like CoolRelax says, there's something about summer that makes me not want to post. I'm too busy enjoying the warm summer months. I see there are several other bloggers that feel the same way. I'll be back. Perhaps this post will make me feel like posting again, regularly.

I'm sorry to see that SissySpacechik has gone off-line! How terrible! One of the best sites I've ever seen!

I see that VividBlurry has posted a quote from me, along with several others. This makes me respect him again. I realize...he knows how to play the "media" and perhaps that's his plan. So "I'm loving it" again.

I have so much more to say, yet so little drive, because it's the summer, and I want to put on my swim trunks and nothing else, and walk on down to the beach to watch hot, straight volleyball players in their shirtless attires kick sand. It's the simple things that get me off.

Virtual or Reality?
It's interesting that gay bloggers meet each other, in real life...in person. I've never had this leaning, myself. I express myself too much to want to meet another blogger in real life. I don't want someone new to know what I'm thinking, and what my diary confesses. The blogger would have to be truly special, for me, to meet him in person. It's not that I'm hiding that I'm a fat, bloated, ugly person. My blog is to archive my history, rather than to meet people. I guess I'm odd in this respect.

I wonder what gay bloggers truly think about meeting each other. Somehow, there's an unwritten rule, that you cannot truly say what you think about the blogger, once meeting them in non-virtual reality. In other words, in real life, you cannot express what the blogger is like. I've heard, from good sources, that the blogger is not as goodlooking or as interesting in real life, than they are in their blog. Many bloggers create their own virtual life, via the blog, but in real life, they are dull and boring. Other bloggers suggest they are really hot, but in real life, are fat and/or uninteresting.

So there's lots to think about here.

Reading DogPoet's post about wrestling reminded me of some experiences I had in school. DogPoet has a way of triggering deeply felt and remembered memories at a fully sensory level.

I 'm in grade 6. I've been a competitive gymnast for over a year. I look skinny and not particularly strong. I'm good -looking, and the girls love me. But the boys tend to hate me. They know I'm a gymnast and believe I'm totally gay (I guess they were right - I didn't know it at the time). Especially two boys - one is Asian, the other is white trash.

The Asian boy is known to be the strongest guy in the school. He's a karate expert. He's got a bad attitude to match. Somehow, we decide to compete in an arm wrestle. Everyone is so caught up in the excitement - who will win? I remember sitting at a round table in front of large windows overlooking the playground. Everyone in class is surrounding us, eager to see me lose. Where was the teacher? Who knows! When I think back on my life in school, I really wonder where the teachers are. How come they didn't do more for me? Anyway...we grip hands, across from one another and begin the arm wrestle.

After about 5 seconds of struggle, I slap his knuckles down on the table, with no problem. I was shocked at how easy it was. So was everyone else. So we did it a second time. Again, I bruise his knuckles on the round table top with no problem. I feel like he wasn't even trying to combat me. The girls loved it: the boys denied it. "It's a trick," the boys say.

Then in grade 8, gym class, we're taught to wrestle. I was paired with an ex-friend, named David, who is considered to be very strong and masculine. We were good friend before junior high. We hung out together. He was the first guy with whom I slept over at his place. He showed himself to me naked, got a hard on, and we played with each other's dicks. Even at 12 years old, he had a big cock. It was fun to jerk him off. And he smelled good. Something happened over the summer, and he decided to ignore me. Now we were forced to wrestle each other during gym class.

Like DogPoet expresses, it was a smaller room, with lots of padded walls and mats. So we began wrestling - David was good. He nearly got me. But because of my gymnastic training, I managed to throw my legs over his head and neck, and throw him over, and pin him down. I felt bad about beating him, because I had feelings for him. After all, he let me jerk his big cock. But, I managed to beat every boy in the class in wrestling. Meanwhile, in typing class, I did over 60 words per minute, on a manual typewriter. Everyone was confused.

In grade 9 we were taught gymnastics. I knew, by this time, that being a gymnast was very gay. So I couldn't show off my talents in this realm (I was competing in gymnastics). Also, I was at a different school. So I pretended that I couldn't do gymnastics. When we had to do a forward roll on the mat, I'd make it look awful. When we swung on the parallel bars, I didn't point my toes, and I made it seem that I found it difficult to do (meanwhile, I could do a handstand on them, and many other complicated moves). So I faked it, and made myself look like every other guy in the class. We were measured for fitness ability, and I got grade A marks. I could do at least 40 chinups, and my body/fat was measured at 6%.

Finally, at the end of the class, I told the gym instructor that I was a gymnast, and could do a lot more than he asked us to do. I told him I was faking my ability, because I didn't want to be teased by the other guys. So I met with him, after school, and showed him what I could do. I did my double back handsprings, followed by a full out backsommersault, and more. He was freaked out. But he understood why I hid my talent.

There's far more incidences of me beating "the straight people" with my physical abilities...but I'll leave it for another post.

Semi-Rape Fantasies
I don't think I've ever posted or written about this, but it needs to be heard/remembered, in my blog diary.

After BC went to Saltspring Island with me, one summer, for a couple of romantic months together, we were staying at a luxurious, Italian-inspired bed and breakfast. We were having a great time together, touring the island, making food on the B&B barbeque, slapping back the beers and renting DVDs that we'd watch on my laptop in the bedroom when night arrived. We watched a DVD (I can't remember the name of it) because I fell asleep during the whole movie. I know it had Angelina Jolie in it, and it was very sexual. Anyway, I'd been asleep for at least an hour, when I was suddenly awakened by BC, sticking his huge cock up my ass. Unprotected, and without lube. The DVD was no longer playing. BC decided he was very horny, and wanted to fuck me, even though I was passed out on the bed. But he was hard, and started playing with my butt with his cock. I woke up, was in half-awareness, but, his hard cock playing with my butt turned me on. Eventually he managed to stick his whole dick up my ass, while we were laying on our sides. I have to admit, it was hot. I don't know if he thought I was awake or semi-awake or unconscious...he simply decided to fuck my butt and he was passionate about it, and it did turn me on.

The next time he fucked me, was mostly when I was unconscious, after he returned from Saltspring Island, after having sexual relationships with a gay couple he met there. Again, look in the archives. It's very sad, the whole story. We went out to straight clubs later, with a gorgeous straight woman, then went to a gay club, and BC and I ended up at my place to "sleep." I was ready to sleep - too much booze - but he was very horny, and ended up turning me onto my back, lifting my legs, and sticking his HUGE cock up my ass, when I wasn't really ready. It hurt like hell, but felt good at the same time. He fucked me like an animal. Again, without lube. It hurt like hell, but to be honest, I LOVED it. It was so hot seeing BC get so passionate, about sticking his huge cock up my ass, and loving it.

In the "end" I remember these sessions as being very hot. They're sexual fantasies. It's a raw, but a true, experience.

A run-on sentence of love
today I bought an album that reminded me of you, and when playing it, i remembered playing an album for you, in my car, when we went to saltspring island and were staying at a bread and breakfast together as lovers, and i think maybe we smoked a joint, i can't remember, but i played two songs for your from delerium, which i love, and you listened with me, quietly, without saying a word, and it was just the two of us, side by side, listening, in the car over the powerful stereo at night, when no lights were visible, and i was imagining that you were feeling the song like i was, but maybe you were just being patient or kind, but after the song was done, i felt like you had heard it through my ears, and expressed that you loved it as much as me but since you tended to tell me what I wanted to hear, who knows if you were telling me the truth, but at the time, i thought you told me the truth and it made me feel so close to you and so now, even though it's almost a year and a half of not talking to you, i remember that moment and i wonder if it's true and if you loved me as much as i loved you and you probably didn't. anyway, thank you for that moment. maybe sometime i will be able to experience such a moment with someone.. that is authentic?

what do you do with these moments? were they not important to you? do you not remember them? i guess they're not real for you. were there any moments with me that you can't forget, were meaningful to you? do you ever miss me? i somehow doubt it beause of the way you cheated on me, and met a new boyfriend while we were together. you said i was important to you, but probably not in the way you were important to me, because you could move on to someone else, without a single tear.

anyway, i forgive you and still love you.

Marriage, Salmon and African-American Sex
Cowboy's partner came to visit last week. (Cowboy is my new roommate.) I'll call him "Phil." He's very nice and I'm gave them the whole Vancouver tour. We drove all over Vancouver, and ended up in Horseshoe Bay, a beautiful seaside town and had an amazing dinner overlooking the ocean. I had the 8 ounce salmon, marinated in Maple syrup, with a spicy papaya salsa. Delicious! (My recipe is better though...)

Marinate your salmon in equal parts of orange juice and soya sauce, with a teaspoon of ketchup, tons of crushed garlic, and a little salt and pepper to taste. Bake or barbeque. It is truly the best I've ever had.

Anyway...

Cowboy and Phil got married during his visit to Canada. Phil plans to move here in June and set up house together with Cowboy. I wish them the best.

Phil mentioned he had a couple of black (or should I say African-American?) boyfriends, and for some reason that set me off on a tangent. I've never been with an African-American man. I'd like to be. One of my last roommates was AA, but I wasn't attracted to him. Phil's comment was like an internet virus that got into me. I found myself looking online at AA men, fantasizing. So I decided it was time for me to meet one. So I did.

He is very attractive, muscular and has a nicely sized dick - about 8-9 inches and thick. A sweet guy. Really, I don't know what the whole fantasy was about. It wasn't any different from having sex with a Caucasian guy, with a nicely sized dick.
Not as big as BC, but big enough. I suppose that fantasies are usually more interesting than reality, in general.

I did like his curly black, trimmed underarm hair, and crotch hair. It was cute. I liked his buzz-cut scalp. Thick lips, and small ears. His artful tattoos across his lower and upper back. He was very uncut, and his balls and cock were quite dark. But then, I like lots of things.

I've probably said too much and offended too many people to say anything more. Obviously, I really don't know what I'm talking about, in terms of AA culture, so I need to shut up now. But really, it was nice.

Wreck Beach
At the University of British Columbia, here in Vancouver, there's a world-famous nude beach, named "Wreck Beach." It's only about 10 minutes away from where I live. To get there, you have to walk down a terraced cliff. It takes about 10-15 minutes. You're in the midst of gigantic cedar trees, fauna and flora. It's very beautiful and unspoiled. Once you get down the cliff, you're meeted by a HUGE sandy beach, and the most spectacular view of the ocean and outlying Gulf Islands.

All over the beach are nudists, ex-hippies, hippies, and people of all callings. Both men and women. They're either wearing nothing, or some have a shirt on, and nothing else. All kinds of drugs are sold freely, by people who walk up and down the beach selling their wares, calling out "marijuana brownies," or "West coast mushrooms" or "beer and cola." Sometimes you get exotic drinks, like martinis or Blow Jobs. You can buy marijuana by the joint, or by the bag. Same with mushrooms. Some Wreck Beachers set up tents, where they sell Mexican fahitas, or tofu hotdogs. Everyone is a little drunk or stoned.

It's not legal, of course. But because, in Canada, university lands are only allowed to be policed by the RCMP (who don't show up very often), so mostly everyone gets away with it.

There is a gay section at the main Wreck Beach, by the rocks on the southern side, where both hot and unattractive gay men lay naked, looking to get laid. Or they're admiring the straight body builders who come to Wreck Beach, or the large penises of Wreck Beachers, that dangle so deliciously.

But the main gay area is even more south of the main Wreck Beach. To get there, you go down another terraced cliff. You have to walk about 15 minutes of trails to find the main areas. Here, gay men freely lay about nude, checking each other out. But the whole area around there is gay, and full of outdoor sex. You see guys sucking each other, in the open, or fucking. There are a lot of exhibitionists involved. They enjoy being watched, and often a crowd congregates in front of a couple who are sucking or fucking. There's lots of maze-like trails in the bush, where guys can get it off together. I've seen almost everything, I think. It's not just ugly, nasty old guys doing it - you see hot studs getting off too. It's truly a Canadian West Coast experience.

I'm not into outdoor, anonymous sex myself, but I must admit...I enjoy watching it. And is there anything more glorious than laying naked on a sandy beach, in the hot sand? I think not.

Two Sites that Give Me a Hard-0n

There are two sites that instantly give me a hard-on. One is...Sean Cody. I bought a membership last year, for one month, and watched all the movies available at this time. I was jerking off at least three times a day, as a result. I had my laptop plugged into my highspeed internet connection on my bed, and when I woke up, I watched a movie. Then there was mid-afternoon jerk-off, then of course, before sleep jerk-off. Since I didn't have a boyfriend at the time, it was virtually satisfying.

The site is run by an ex-Mormon, who really knows how to pick his boys, and set up sexually arousing situations with them. And he knows how to hold his camera to get the most enticing shots. I think it's the "uncut" aspect of his pornos that make it so arousing. There's no lighting technicians, or writers, or complicated behind-the-scenes things that keep us from seeing unadulterated sex between "so called straight and bisexual and gay men" who are very hot. I don't care if the men are straight. Sure, it adds a little heightened fantasy behind it. But I love seeing these hot guys suck, fuck and cum on video. It's unscripted, for the most part. So it's so sexy to be a voyeur into this moment, on video.

There's a panoply of men, from a 40-year-old "DILF" to a 19-year-old, all with beautiful bodies, muscular and tight butts, and interestingly shaped and sized dicks, to huge dicks. It has solo jerk off videos to orgies. To one-on-one fuck sessions. From guys who never get fucked, to guys who decide to get fucked, eventually. There's one guy, who reminds me of BC - his name is "Zack." His body and looks are similar. I think his cock is almost as big (but not quite), but I get off on seeing him get sucked and fucked and fuck. A purely virtual turn-on.

I'm not earning any money from telling you about this site. I just think it's the hottest I've seen. If anyone wants to share with me their user name and password, to preview the newest videos, please do! My e-mail.

The other site which is very hot is Straight College Men. Again, it's a similar theme. Straight guys having sex. Yeah, whatever. I know I'm 'sick.' That's why I tend to be attracted to biguys, and am not currently in a relationship. Anyway, the site turns me on. Especially with the discovery of "Dean." He is so juicy. His pecs, his butt, his personality, his skin, his hair, his eyes...he's so fucking yummy! I personally would love to run my tongue over ever cell of his body, every crevice, and personally penetrate that muscular, tight butt of his with my condomed pinky finger (and more). I'd pay big dollars to do it! Anyway, if you want to share with me your user name and password, to perview the newest videos, please do! My e-mail isclick here.

Aaah. I feel so spent. Now I can get down to work.

Bad Clients

Hi guys. Thanks for your e-mails. They were terrific! I felt good, overall, about deleting my posts. My soul was light. And isn't that the most important thing? I slept well. Sure, I had lots of e-mails saying they loved my sarcasm. On the other hand, I had e-mails from my favourite bloggers saying they respected me. And I have to admit...I'd rather please the bloggers I love. And I love you too, GeekSlut.

Right now, though, I'm in a difficult position. I've got a client who started a job with me five months ago, that's only worth $1800. This is nothing! to me. I can earn more than that easily in a few days. So, this client is like pocket change.

Yet this client is connected to another client who brings in lots of income to me. So there is some shit involved there. Anyway, I underbid myself, in terms of a contract, hopefully getting more work from him. We first met, five months ago. Then it took my client 3 months to get the photo shoot done. Then I did all the work in a week, and it's taken my client two more months to respond, with corrections.

Normally this is not a good sign. When a client takes too long to do things, it means they don't have the money to pay me. Yes, I got the 50% deposit. But really, taking a simple job, making it run over half a year is too much. The ironic thing is, this client is making millions of dollars. It's not that he can't pay me. He's just too fucking slow to care about my work.

So, I was in a really bad mood on Friday, and called my client, and completely told him what I thought about his communications and business practices. I told him exactly what I thought. I told him, I won't finish the job with him, unless I received payment, immediately.

He e-mailed and called me, said he would do what I want. But I still hate him. I guess I need to call him right now to discuss things.

I'm not so good with this client thing. Unless they respect me, as I respect them, I'll give good services. If they don't, then...fuck off. I got a check today from him. So I guess I need to finish the interaction.

Does anyone else have this problem?

Change of Heart

I deleted all offending entries today. I did it for several reasons, which I'll explain. I censored myself. It was entirely my decision. I'm not afraid to take criticism, and I invite it...but the thing is, I had a change of heart.

I received an e-mail from the lovely
Mighty Maloney of The Shower Room. He kindly told me that perhaps "I had gone too far," and possibly appeared "immature and desperate." Then he complimented me, and said, after thinking about it, he "gets my sense of humour." It was Mighty Maloney's comment that, "I had gone too far, with one of my posts about "Blog Terr*orism" that got to me. It confirmed what I was feeling myself, and my conscience was bothering me.

So I didn't sleep too well last night. I kept thinking, "Did I go too far?" I woke early after being out late, and did my Sunday morning reading of local newspapers, including the Georgia Straight and Xtra West.

The first thing I read is Xtra West's Editor, Gareth Kirby, who writes, "It seems to me we spend an awful lot of time bitching about each other when we gather... And I must confess that I sometimes get sick of opening up newspapers and reading about yet another thing gone wrong...in the gay community."

It made me go, "hmmm."

Then I read Ivan E. Coyote's editorial, titled, "Take that: revenge of the high school outcast." Ivan is a lesbian, who looks like a guy and always has, and she finds herself on a plane with 40 teenage girls. When she goes to use the lavatory, walking down the isle towards them, the girls at first start flirting with her, because she looks like a cute boy. But once she gets closer, they realize, to their horror, that "it's" a woman, and they're disgusted. Read it.

The article made me remember being teased at times, as a teenager, and how awful I felt. Am I being the kind of person that hurted me? She ends up confronting them, and even tripping one as she gets off the plane. Not a highly evolved response, but a real one, nevertheless.

Savage Love, by Dan Savage, is the column I next read.

In one of his diatribes, he writes, "...I understand why straight men hold straight women in contempt. I also understand why straight women hold straight men in contempt. And I understand why gay men hold gay men in contempt, lesbians hold lesbians in contempt, and bisexuals hold everybody in contempt. We all have to make ourselves vulnerable to people we find attractive. And making ourselves vulnerable means getting hurt. A cruel sexual putdown, a toxic boyfriend/girlfriend, an abusive spouse, a devastatingly bad breakup or divorce, contracting an STD, a total asshole hiding under the bed - those experiences can be terribly scarring. Even people who haven't had bad romantic experiences develop a sort of anticipatory contempt for the people they find attractive. Allowing ourselves to feel and express a little contempt makes us feel a little less vulnerable. So straight men call straight women bitches, straight women will call straight men assholes, gay men call other gay men whores, et cetera. Everybody does it.

But the mark of all healthy adults - all adults worthy of sex and human intimacy - is that their expressions of contempt are designed to blow off stream, manage their fears, exorcise their demons, and get it all out of their systems before they have to interact with anyone sexually."

While Dan Savage wasn't saying we can't be bitchy, he did indicate that the reason for it is based in self-protection. Of course, we've all been hurt, are afraid of getting hurt, and so putting up a false barrier, based on sarcasm and bitchiness, helps us to feel more powerful.

So, I thought to myself, "I don't need to be bitchy and sarcastic."

What is complicated, though, is knowing when to be bitchy and sarcastic, and when not to be. Dan Savage is one of the most bitchy and sarcastic assholes who's ever written a sex column. But he manages to be entertaining, insightful and honest. Where is the line between being simply honest and being reactive?

Why is it that bloggers are allowed to be bitchy and sarcastic when writing about non-bloggers. But they become so offended when one blogger criticizes another blogger?

Isn't it hypocritical to be bitchy and sarcastic about others who do not have sites, so they'll never know what you said, but it's considered bad blog etiquette to be direct about your opinions about other bloggers, who have sites, and can see your opinions?

Being bitchy and sarcastic is an important aspect to our culture. We're able to critique others, ideas, concepts, politics and so on, in a manner that is entertaining yet insightful. It helps to keep democracy in-line. It makes us laugh about ourselves, if we can keep a sense of humour about ourselves. I guess it's fun to read about others, but never ourselves.

Lastly, I read, a review of the Dalai Lama's "Tips for a Healthy Buddha and Soul." The Dalai Lama visited Vancouver last week, admist a flurry of media attention. So Gail Johnson wrote an editorial in the Georgia Straight about his visit. She quotes him as saying, "Buddhists aspire to cultivate altruistic, awakening minds. The foundation of true happiness is warmheartedness...Cultivate good heart and nurture it. The altruistic, awakening mind will relate to all sentient beings from a perspective of compassion, [will] see the value and preciousness of each living being...By pursuing the ethics of compassion, the individual will attain freedom from unenlightened mind."

I can't argue with that. His statement makes me feel like pure shit.

So, because I genuinely care about the other bloggers I have criticized (even though I thought I was doing it humorously)...they were hurt...I don't want them to feel hurt...I deleted all those entries. I'm still not clear on the ethics of when to be critical, when to be sarastic, when to be bitchy. There's much hypocrisy involved, that still hasn't been clarified. There are benefits to being a "snarky cunt" (thanks to 'you know who' for that fabulous term) because we let off steam, and hopefully open ourselves to intimacy.

I can't say I won't ever be sarcastic, critical and bitchy again. That's my right (and it's so much fun and satisfying!) But for today, this is the right decision for me. Let me know what you think!

Intertextual Drag

How it happened.
I've never been interested in drag. But one Halloween, three friends of mine convinced me to dress up in drag, along with them. "It'll be fun," they promised. None of us had ever done it before. So I went to a costume store, and tried on several dresses, and I just looked horrible! My body is more square, than curvaceous, so I just looked like a guy in drag. I wouldn't be caught dead in public looking this bad.

I was about to give up when I read an ad in Xtra West. A local, well-known drag queen would do a "makeover" for a fee. I contacted him, and wow, did he deck me out! I went to his apartment, along with my boyfriend who documented with photography my transformation. At first I thought I'd made a mistake. The drag queen smothered my face with cream, then dusted a white powder over my entire face and neck. I looked near death. Then he drew in eyebrows, cheek bones and an Angelina Jolie mouth. It was when he stuck on the blond wig that things came together. Then he lent me a crystal encrusted necklace and earrings, a sequined dress, fishnet stockings, and pumps. Last to go on were the long red nails.

I looked like my sister wearing too much make-up!

It was the oddest experience. I now realize why gurls want doors opened for them. They're in pure hell, wearing high heels while fearing that their dress is out of place. I couldn't open doors without breaking nails. I could feel my flashy earrings bounce every time I moved my head.

I tried calling my friends to meet up with them, but couldn't get a hold of them! I went to one gay club, and the drag queens there looked me up and down. One said, "Nice, you're new, aren't you?" I couldn't find my friends. I walked down Davie Street with people whooping and hollering at me. When I drove in my car, and ended up at a red light, the people in the car next to me would be staring at me.

After spending a few hours getting dragged up, I never got a hold of my friends, so I went home with my boyfriend, who photographed me. Finally, I got rid of all the drag shit, took a shower, and had man sex with him. By the way, the first picture is titled, "Me and my pussy." The second, "Wife beater" (I'm holding an egg beater).

I had a wonderful long Easter weekend, here in Vancouver. Gorgeous, temperature-breaking weather, being on the beach, hiking and exploring the mountains and hugging giant cedars.

When I got back I read my favourite blogs, and had to physically stop myself from responding, in very "German-style" comments. Germans, from Germany, tend to be very direct in their comments. I'm from the West Coast, so I've learned to stop myself (usually) to responding and being truthful. So all of my favourite bloggers have angered and irritated me with their recent bloggings. ("How can you be so stupid?") I was about to post my honest opinions about what you've been up to, and stopped myself! So I've probably won popularity votes but not honesty votes. I really want to tell all of you how fucked up you are!

But then I remembered...I'm just as fucked up. I've made all the same mistakes. Who am I to pretend I'm better than you?

I can't. All I can do is thank you for your honesty. Smooches.

The transformational experience has faded, so I'm back to my normal self...I think.

My first gay boyfriend came for a visit to Vancouver, and we had a great time. We have a lot in common, and get along very well. He cheated on me when we were together, so we broke up, then he went to grad school in a different city, but somehow we've remained best friends over the past - oh my gosh! - 17 years!!! That number is scary. Keep in mind that I'm counting from the date when we first met.

He's still hot, even though he's 46 years old. He's 7 years older than me. He has NO gray hair, has never coloured his hair, and his body is still flawless - it looks like a 25-year-old. No wrinkles on his body, no flab, perfect skin, hairless. It's truly phenomenal.

I've joked he has a painting in his attic, somewhere.

He slept on a mattress in my bedroom, and walked around in his boxers, so I got to see his body. He always had the hottest butt, and seemed to keep bending over around me to show it off, so I slapped it several times. But I'd never have sex with him again. It's odd - he can be attractive but repulsive at the same time. Maybe it would seem too...intimate...to have sex with him again? It's been so long. I don't think I'll go there.

We had a great time exploring Vancouver, going to art galleries, walking on the dozens of beaches. The weather has been remarkable - sunny, warm, few clouds. It was ideal.

While he was here, I had dreams about all of my three other boyfriends - deep dreams...the ones you wake up from, and remember, and affect you emotionally. The kind of dreams that make you remember why you loved being with him. I must have been doing a boyfriend-spring cleansing in my psyche. He left on Sunday.

I've got an amazingly hot student in my class. He's Italian. He's got charisma. He's strikingly intelligent. He also has the most sparkling, light-reflecting, glass-cutting blue eyes you've ever seen under long black eye lashes and bushy brows. He knows he's better looking than Tom Cruise. Well, maybe he doesn't know it, but his energy is pure sexuality, that makes even the best looking guy feel inadequate. I had him in my class last term, as well. He's so HOT that he doesn't seem to have made close friends with any of the females or males in the class. He's so sweet looking, but his energy is intense. When you're around him, you just feel like mush. How can you have a conversation with him when your mind has crashed and you need to reboot?

When the instructors met to grade his term project presentation, all of us - both male and a female - kept going on about how gorgeous he is. It was difficult to differentiate between his intelligence and looks. One of the female instructions kept swooning when talking about him. "Blue eyes, blue eyes" is all she said. She's married and a professional. They're not your usual blue eyes - these are like sapphires. Just so you know.

He speaks from his groin. When he talks to you, you feel a tingling in your groin. It's deep, powerful and confident. He could be saying, "Where is the pop machine?" and you get turned on. His voice rumbles in your body, causing vibrations in your groin. This is what I had to deal with on Monday. I was talking with all the girls during break, then he came out to talk with us, all on his own. It seemed like he wanted to connect with the girls, but they were all ignoring him, probably because he's so overwhelmingly attractive. And my student girls are SEXY.

So I started a boring conversation with him, lost my mind, sounded stupid, and nearly got a hard on. I think that's how people interact with him. He could tell I sounded stupid, silly and turned on, and he's used to it, and basically fluffed it off and repressed his awareness of it.

He's a bit tragic, being so HOT, everyone afraid to talk to him, and that somehow adds to his attractiveness. Also, I do know about another tragic event that happened in his life over the past four months, which makes me want to coddle and nurture him. And everyone else in the class knows about it, which makes them uncomfortable and want to comfort him.

I tried my best to interact with him. He got bored with the sexual tension from me, and all the girls. And casually went back to the classroom. It must be Hard to be so HOT.

I bought a lip moisturizer called "Modele." It cost me $40. It's supposed to thicken your lips, like Angelina Jolie. I'm applying it, obsessively, several times a day. I have a bad habit of biting my bottom lip when I think, so it has restored the moisture to my lips, and hopefully, will restore my lips to their true fullness. Check it out at http://www.modele.nsp.ca

Words without a meaning, just fading away
I just spent three hours, crafting a blog, that attempted to explain the rich personal experience and transformation I've gone through in the last few days. I've decided to ditch my attempt. Sometimes, words have no meaning. Only silence must be heard.

A Messy Situation
My new roommate has arrived. He seems very nice. But I found out that he left his boyfriend of three years, back in Ohio, in order to pursue a more prestigious job here in Vancouver. They weren't breaking up...I think Cowboy thought he'd be happier in his new job, and could eventually apply to have his boyfriend immigrate to Canada. As a result, Cowboy is very depressed and lonely without his boyfriend. And so far, he's bored at his new job. He told me he'd give the job two weeks before going back to Ohio.

There's a significant difference between the East and West Coasts in terms of work attitudes. Here on the West Coast, we go much slower, make decisions less quickly, and things take more time. There's too much natural beauty here, by which to be distracted. So far he hasn't done any work, and he's been in his job for a week.

Cowboy left to work on Monday morning, and I was at my computer. I thought I'd do a morning jerk-off, watching a little porn flick, before I had to shower and go teach. There's something about this porno that really turns me on. It's rather rude to discuss. But I will, anyway.

A very hot looking Italian guy, with muscles and a hairy chest is being sucked off by a muscular bald stud, while being held from behind by another muscular dude, who is playing with his nipples, and is slapping them, then rubbing them.

In the next scene, the Italian guy is bent over and the bald guy is fucking him from behind. He's got great technique - slow, then fast, pulling out and so on. The Italian guy is groaning and hard and is obviously loving it.

Then the bald guy pulls out and immediately the muscular dude comes in and fucks him, without hardly missing a beat. He fucks fast and furious, and the Italian guy is bouncing back and forward.

I always come at exactly the moment the second guy fucks the Italian guy. I'm not sure why - perhaps I'm twisted, a little. But the idea is getting me off right now. So I came (furiously) while sitting at my computer, and my love potion spilled out on my keyboard. Now my numbers 1, 2 and 3 don't work.

I thought, "ew, gross" and didn't want to clean it up, because I was running a bit late. And forgot all about it.

Later in the evening, I was home with Cowboy, telling him about a Web site he should know about. He sat down at my computer and started typing in the site address when his fingers got all wet and sticky...

What can I say? It was a messy situation. And very embarrassing. Boys, remember to clean up.

Public Transit
My car ran out of insurance and it needs a tune-up, even though I got one just six months ago. So I'll need to wait a few weeks before I can afford to buy insurance and afford garage work. What a drag! The scorge of being mostlyself-employed and wanting to avoid credit! (i.e. cheques come in two weeks from clients.)

I started teaching a new course today, and had to take PUBLIC TRANSIT to get to work. It takes me at least an hour or more to get there by PUBLIC TRANSIT. No more waking up at the last minute to shower and jump in my car...listening to music while I drink my morning coffee, casually. I have to plan ("what time does it arrive?, when does it connect?, which skytrain must I take?"), wait for PUBLIC TRANSIT, sit and interact with hundreds of germy, viral other grimy transit passengers. I must grasp onto stainless steel poles when the bus lurches, picking up the colds, flus and other nasties that have contaiminated it. Sit next to lecherous, smelly and coughing passengers who aggressively take over the seating, making me sit half on my rear, the other hanging off, so I don't have to touch them. Feeling guilty when a senior citizen gets on the bus - I end up standing to give them the seat.

So I armed myself with a CD player, some great tunes, headphones wrapped around my ears to tune everyone else out, and...wow, taking PUBLIC TRANSIT was F-U-N-!

First of all, at 8:15am while waiting for the bus, was the 6'3" blond boy with blue eyes, recently short cropped hair, naturally big muscular thighs in jeans wearing a t-shirt, who was listening to his CD player. He got on the bus with me, and I bet he was about 23. I sat behind him, salivating. He opened his school work, and it was musical scores. I got the impression he was listening to the musical scores of the CD he was listening to, because he seemed to get into it, occassionally, by nodding his head. I noticed he had large hands, long fingers. He had short-cut nails, and his index finger nail (on the side) had a bit of blood coagulated on the side of his nail. His upper body was slim, but his legs and thighs and feet were huge. He wore big hiking boots. He looked both delicate and masculine simultaneously. Sweet and hot at the same time. It engaged my attention the whole trip to the skytrain (which in Vancouver terms means the subway).

Then I got onto the skytrain (Vancouver's subway). A 6'4" German god was already on the train. Standing up. He looked about 30 something. We kept looking at each other, surreptitiously. He looked like my first lover - Stu (see past posts). I saw him standing from the back. His perfect athletic body. His golden wheat coloured hair. Square-curved butt. Then he assertively turned around, looked at me, and sat down with his huge thighs, widely parted, facing me, only a few feet away. He kept looking at me, furtively. I looked at him, furtively. He looked at me, furtively. I looked at him, furtively.

Then he got off. The skytrain, I mean.

I taught my seven hours 'straight' (with school, I mean), then got back on PUBLIC TRANSIT.

And was entertained by 6'3" dark haired, classic, jock boy. He was with a young Asian female, who was probably his lover, because he had his arms around her. But I didn't care. He seemed to notice me anyway. You know what I mean? There's hot "straight" guys, who notice "hot gay guys" on the level that makes me think they have:

1. gaydar
2. are somewhat gay themselves
3. love being appreciated by guys

Whatever the case, I noticed he had those very short socks on, underneath his Nikes. He was so tall and so godlike, that when he sat down, his very short socks revealed his sexy, athletic ankles, because his jeans kind of like, edged up toward his groin. I'm sure it wasn't intentional. He also had no hair on his face, no hair sticking out anywhere, his arm hair was well groomed, he was pure gay sexuality, unless straight guys are getting WAY better looking.
WHATEVER.

I had a good time going home on PUBLIC TRANSIT. There were so many sexual innuendos - I've only mentioned three - there were so many more - that taking PUBLIC TRANSIT, almost makes it worthwhile.

Ephemera

I was 28 before I realized that once every month the moon is invisible in the sky - I think it's called the "new moon." I was shocked!

My favourite flower is the tulip. The gorgeous colours, the fleshy moist petals, the protruding thingys that stick up, and they smell incredible. I was amazed when I found out that many people believe that a tulip has no scent! It has the most wonderful, delicate and sweet tulipy scent.

Every spring, I'm amazed by the number and variety of flowering flowers, trees and bushes. There are incredible pink rose flowering trees, outrageous yellow tree blossoms, snow white droplet trees, African-inspired, exotic, red, blossoming bushes. 17th century skirt-inspired flowers on hedges. Burning violet-purple bushies. Delicate and transluscent Hawaiian flowers. Every spring I think, I've never seen them before, and how wonderous they are. It's like spring is saying, "Hello! We're alive and we're beautiful - isn't life beautiful and precious? Let's burst full of life and all engage in its sumptuousness!"

I didn't learn about luminesence until I was 28 - just like the "new moon." Isn't it awesome?

I didn't realize that so many guys love being a bottom until I was 28. In fact, they're proud of being a bottom, and self-identify as such. I love 'em.

I didn't learn how to suck cock well, until I was 35. How weird and unfortunate is that? BC (10") taught me.

I've never used a dildo on myself, and never will. I want the real thing. I like using them on others though, if they find it exciting. But usually they like my real thing.

This is weird and embarrassing, but I will admit it. I have lots of pre-cum. My first three lovers didn't like my pre-cum. They complained about it and made me feel bad about it. Like I was disformed, or something. But BC LOVED my precum. Since then I've discovered that many guys like pre-cum. It's fun to play with and rub with. So now I feel great about my pre-cum. Yea!

That last confession suggests I should write about my uncut cock. First of all, I didn't think about it at all for decades. No one brought it up. I don't have a lot of foreskin. When I'm hard, you can't see any foreskin. Perhaps I'm semi-uncut? I don't look like those European or Brazilian guys. Then there's this whole issue with keeping your uncut cock clean. I've never had an infection or any problem with it. So I really don't know what people are talking about. Does it make me more sensitive? I don't think so. I think that's a myth. A good blow job is all you need, regardless if you're cut or uncut. I have no preference, unless the uncut cock is "stuck" to the penis, and you can't move it. Which my third partner, the Stone Angel, had. It was yucky.

There's so much ephemera that I could write about, but that's probably "too much information" for now.

My Perfect Match
I tried the quiz from Match.com's physical attraction test, mentioned by Mighty Maloney. It was fun to do! And I think it's quite accurate. It gave me the following two pictures, and yes, I'd have to say, I find these two guys extremely sexy. It surprised me, because I've never dated anyone who looked like this (although I've fantasized about it).






Here's the rest of the information they gave me:

Favorite Looks
A subgroup of men you picked can only be described as "Hunks." They have a clean-cut, "All-American" look. They're very handsome, without being either "pretty" or overly "rugged." Their face shape and jawline are typically very masculine and strong, while the "inner face" brings more delicate features like a small to medium nose, beautiful eyes, and full lips. It's a balance between the masculine and the feminine that make these guys so irresistible. In fact, these guys have been chased after all their lives, by 1 in 3 men (35%).
You also liked guys that could easily pass as "Football Quarterbacks." They have strong, masculine faces, framed by a square jaw. They're also obviously strong guys with muscular necks. Still, they have a clean-cut "All-American" look and are handsome enough to shine on camera after the game as well! About 1 in 4 men (28%) found this "look" especially attractive.

Favorite Face Type
Faces known scientifically as "Ecto-Mesomorph" repeatedly caught your eye. Men express this type in two ways. One version has a rectangular face shape that is long and narrow. The other type's face shape is often compared to a diamond, because it is wide at the cheeks and then has a sharply angled jaw. All Ecto-Mesomorph men have striking chins that are prominent and squared-off with a crisp line at the base. This is one of the most idealized male face types and can be found on most movie and music idols. It can hold either bold masculine features or more delicate handsome features, or some sexy combination of both. These men also tend to have lean and muscular builds when they're young. About 57% of other men especially prefer men with this face type.

If there's anyone out there that looks like this, contact me!

Predictions
I've had a couple of psychic dreams in my life. The first, when I was about 16 years old, was a dream about a brick wall falling on top of children due to high winds. I dreamt it happened in a shopping mall. Because the dream was so vivid, I told my family about the dream. The next day, the news reported that a firewall (made of brick) fell over due to high winds at an elementary school, killing several children. That freaked us all out!

When I was 28 I dreamt I was watching a tv news show, that reported an earthquake on January 20th, 1994. I was living in Vancouver at the time and was worried about earthquakes happening here. I thought it would happen in Vancouver. My dream happened about a month and a half before the due date. I told all my friends. We were all freaked out when there was an earthquake in Los Angeles on January 17th!

Okay, so here's my prediction. I believe that Mount Rainier will blow, as a volcano, at the beginning of October this year. I felt this very strongly two years ago when I was on Saturna Island at the beginning of October. I looked across the ocean and saw Mount St. Helen, and it "came to me" that Mount Rainier would blow at this time in the next two years. So, it has now been written here, to either make a fool out of me, or to prove that I predicted it.

Another scary prediction was made by psychic Sylvia Browne that Florida would experience a tidal wave some time in May. She made the prediction on the radio show "Coast to Coast AM." She didn't say how it would be set off, but that she felt there was a strong probability. Let's hope it doesn't come true!

Have you ever predicted anything?

My Mom
I'm not sure why, but I've been thinking about my mother a lot recently. I haven't seen my family in over two years and I miss them all. They're all amazing, but I definitely have an amazing mother!

Whenever I think of her, I automatically have a smile on my face, and remember all the fun times with her. She doesn't conform to any typical ideas of a mother. When she married my father she was an unmarried woman with an illegitimate daughter (my oldest sister). She got pregnant from her boyfriend from high school, which was a major shocker back in those days. She was also voted the most beautiful and popular in her high school graduating class.

My father was studying to be a doctor when they met, and after getting married, my dad had a "calling" and became a minister, which was the last thing she intended to marry. She wasn't at all religious. She swears, can be hilariously vulgar, is flirtatious, and speaks her mind. Ironically, the church congregations loved her, because she was so untypically the "minister's wife." My mother is never false, and she lives her life true to her own values and morals.

She talks, a lot. Ever since I was a child when she was pushing me in my stroller, she talked to me. As a teenager, we would suntan in the backyard together, and she'd talk. She's a brilliant and interesting talker - she can make every topic interesting. My sisters talk a lot also, but I was more quiet and introspective. To this day, I love people who are engaging orators. I love to listen. I listen to talk radio, because it reminds me of being with my Mom...being talked to. It's relaxing for me.

My Mom is a super-mom. She's very intelligent and creative (she studied ballet, voice and music), she's a great writer, and everything she put her mind to she accomplished. She has major managerial skills, can organize anything but above all, she loves to entertain and love people. At the same time, she's a perfectionist and expects the best from people.

I remember when I was about 9 years old, us kids had made a mess with all of our toys around the house. She got a phone call from a parishioner who was going to come over within 30 minutes. She didn't want the parishioner to see our place a mess, so she made a game out of cleaning things up. She gathered us kids together and said, "We need to make this place look tidy within 20 minutes!" We were laughing and giggling while pushing our toys into closets, under the bed, putting dirty dishes into cupboards and so on. It was so dramatic! We managed to get the house looking good by the time the parishioner came over.

I remember sitting at the diningroom table with my mom and sisters, while she was sewing. My little sister was just born. But she had all of us around her, while she was sewing, entertaining us with wonderful talk and conversation.

My Mom knew all about cooking, and owned every tool on the planet related to cooking, and she could cook a brilliant meal when having guests. But overall, she hated cooking. When I was a teenager, the favourite thing that she would make me for lunch was creamed asparagus on toast. We shared this special love together.

My mother drove us all over everywhere. All the time, from when we were children to when we were teens. As an adult, I found out that she drove us as kids when her driving license was invalid for several years. Typical of my mother's radical nature. She loved to tease us, by pushing on the breaks unexpectedly, or turning a corner quickly, making us fly around the car, causing adrenaline and laughs. It was like a roller coaster. We loved it.

We loved to hang out with my mother on her bed, watching tv, while giving her scalp massages. She loved having her scalp massaged, with nails, very hard. We also used tweezers to pluck out her grey hairs. She had the occasional pimple on her back, which I'd squeeze for her. She loved it when it hurt. She returned the favour when I was a teen.

When I was sick and stayed home from school, she would let me cuddle up in her bed watching tv, and make us milk shakes and ice cream sundaes with marshmellow and chocolate topping. Secretly, she loved it when we were home from school and had people to talk to.

When my mother was going through something emotionally (she'd never discuss this with us) she'd play the piano for three hours in the evening. I remember falling asleep to her playing Chopin, Bach or many other wonderful tunes. She studied piano at university.

My mother and father never argued in front of us.

When I was 15, my mother found a pack of "cigarettes" in my bedroom. They were actually herbal cigarettes (I can't remember their name now) but they smelled like marijuana, which she had never smoked. She brought them with her to work, and while on her break, she smoked one in the back room. She nearly got fired, because the owner thought she was smoking pot. She laughs about it to this day.

My Mom makes every holiday into a memorable event. My dad, as a minister, was as poor as a church mouse, but my Mom managed to save money all year long, and make our Christmas the most amazing celebration of consumption. We had presents galore, and my father was upset by it, but he always gave in to my mother, because she had strong ideals. We had Lent calendars which started a month before Christmas, with special gifts for each day. Easter, Thanksgiving and Valentine's Day were momentous, with family gatherings and dinner. My Mom made me heart shaped sandwiches for lunch, cut out with her cookie cutters. I had heart shaped cakes.

For birthdays, we were allowed to choose our cake and menu. It was "our day." I loved fruit salads (ha-ha) and Angel Food Cake. So that's what we'd have.

Okay, so now I'm crying. It was something about that last entry that affected me. It's no wonder I don't have a partner. How can any person ever live up to my Mom and Dad? I grew up expecting that others would be as loving and terrific, but they're not. Most of my other boyfriends haven't had such great parents.

Nevertheless, I wouldn't give up my experience for anything.

I love you, Mom.

It's time for a well-rounded blog-comment from yours truly. I've been contentious, lately. As Marshall McLuhan said, "The medium is the message." And I've been manipulated by the medium, known as "blogging," to craft some very one-sided messages.

Originally, what I loved about blogging, was the multi-perspective delivery of communications in which bloggers communicated their lives. What I related to, from the beginning, is how a blogger could be, "good - bad," "moralistic - slutty," "intelligent - stupid," "educated - ignorant," "vain - self-undermining," "sexy - ugly," "Christian - blasphemous," "boring fascinating," "political - social," "sexy - infecting."

What I realize now, is that I honour the fact that there is a dichotomy. Tell me your truth. I'll hear it.