Detox (Part 1)

I wake up in the motel room on top of the covers, the television is blaring "Good Morning America" and I reach for the square bottle of rye whiskey on the floor next to me, positioned just above my hand. I take a big swig, chugging, while trying not to taste it. I hate rye whiskey. It always makes me feel sick.

I sit up, drunkenly light a cigarette, and take another taste. Like vodka, it burns in a good way on my anestheticized throat, but finishes with an awful taste of brown poison. There's still a quarter of the 500 mL bottle left. The half case of beer sits untouched at the end of the bed - I don't like beer either. I try to remember how many days I've been here in this motel room, drinking my face off. Five, I think.

I wouldn't normally buy rye whiskey or beer, but when I called a taxi at 4am a few hours earlier, I had no vodka left. And there were no liquor stores open. I was hungry, having not eaten for a couple of days, so I thought I'd go to the 7-11 and get something full of carbs to eat. Plus I was beginning to get the shakes.

The taxi guy drove me to the 7-11, which was surprisingly busy for 4am, and I picked up a burrito and some more smokes. On the way back to the motel room my mind schemed on a way to get some more alcohol. From my experiences in Vancouver, taxi drivers were a sleazy bunch, and usually knew where to get anything if you asked. I looked him over - about 40, looking a little beat up himself, a guy's guy. So I asked him, "Do you know where to get any alcohol at this time of morning?"

I'm one of those drunks who doesn't slur or appear as drunk as I am. Unfortunately it lets me get away with a lot more than those who show it.

"At this time? Ah, no." He said, sounding surprised, but not disgusted with my question.

"That's too bad. I could use some," I replied.

He was silent for a while, then said, "I guess I've got a bottle of rye whiskey at home."

"Oh yeah," I replied, interested. I'm hoping he wasn't inviting me over to drink it with him. I stayed silent.

"A buddy gave it to me a few months ago and I haven't touched it. It's a really good quality one."

"Sounds good," I say, then hand him a $50 bill.

Within minutes we stopped at his place, and he came back with the whiskey and also half a dozen beers. What a nice guy! I thought. But isn't it obvious to him I'm an alcoholic and its 4am, and what the fuck is he doing supplying me with all that booze? I wouldn't do it if the positions were reversed, no matter how much money someone offered me. Even in my state I'm seething inside at what a lack of morals he demonstrates, but thankful for them at the same time.

Because everything's 12 minutes away in this small town, I was back in my motel room within 30 minutes of leaving, bottle of rye in hand, trying not to throw up as I poured enough in me until I felt that Glow, and my hands stopped shaking.

I hadn't drank rye since I was a teenager, and worked as a busboy at the Four Seasons. Because it was my job to fill up the flambe carte for the servers, I had access to the cheap rye whiskey they used to make the steak flambe. I drank bottles and bottles of it, until I used to puke my guts up. I remember meeting some gay friends for breakfast one morning after drinking the night away with this cheap rye, still drunk, eating an omlette and puking it up before I reached the toilet, while everyone in the restaurant watched the vomit splash all over the washroom door. No more rye whiskey for me until now.

I'm a confirmed vodka drinker.

It's now 8am, and I look down at the rye, wondering how I'm going to finish it. I'm feeling very sick...not like I'm going to throw up, but more like...poisoned at the cellular level. I crack a beer, sip it, and then smoke a cigarette while trying to get the rest of it down.

I try to remember what I've been doing for the last five days, and when and where I ate last. I seem to be lucid at the moment, but the last several days have been a blur. I search my memories nervously, hoping not to run into anything too embarrassing.

I remember a few trips to the liquor store. There's one a few blocks away, next to the 7-11. The Alberta government privitized all the liquor stores several years back, so now there's one every few blocks, all with huge neon sizes advertising "beer, wine, liquor." I'm always nervous when I walk into one - particularly when I'm drunk. I'm afraid they'll realize I'm drunk and won't let me buy another bottle...but so far that's never happened in my entire life. I remember going in on a Saturday night, and the store was full of early 20-somethings, all full of laughter and party-energy, their parked SUVs out front blasting music. Cute guys, cute girls.

I remember going to the motel's restaurant on the second night and eating something. Maybe it was lunch. I remember going to the lounge that evening. I had just had my hair cut, and I was wearing a nice black shirt and pants, and looked pretty decent. I barely remember talking with a group of young people, in their 20s, buying each other drinks, and them showing me how to use the gambling machine. I'd never used one before, and didn't find it very exciting. (Fortunately I don't have the gambling addiction.) I remember sitting with three other people at a booth - I'm not sure if it was that evening or another evening. I remember the girl telling me that I could pass for 33 years old.

When I tried going to the lounge another evening, the door person told me they wouldn't serve me, because I had offended a couple of their customers. I don't have a clue what I did, but I politely apologized and left quietly. I wonder if I asked one of the guys to come up to my motel room and have sex? I don't know, but it sounds familiar.

I remember watching my favourite shows on Monday night, but I see moments of scenes, that actually look blurred in my mind. I couldn't tell you what happened.

I'm not drunk enough, I think. I go back to the rye, trying to swallow it. I do, but I realize I feel so ill that I simply cannot drink any more. I lie down, feeling pain all over my body. It's not in any specific place - it's all over my body. I realize I've never felt this sick before from drinking, hell, I've rarely ever had a hangover - at least not a debilitating one. I'm scared. I wonder if I've got alcohol poisoning. I know it's from that stupid rye - it always does me in.

I realize I've gone too far with this drinking bit. I sit up, get the yellow pages, and look up "detox centres." I've never gone to one, and it frightens the fuck out of me, but I know I need help. I call one, and they tell me they have room. Apparently I'll have to spend the day and night in their "observation room" on a mattress on the floor until I'm no longer drunk.

I then call my parents and tell them, "I'm ready to go into detox, they have room."

My mother is so relieved, and says she'll be there in 10 minutes. I glide my way over to the washroom, wash my face, comb my hair and brush my teeth. I throw together the few things I have, and wait downstairs for my parents to arrive. I'm not looking forward to it - I'll be there for 7 days, but I'm afraid that if I continue drinking I'll die.

To be continued...

The Sergeants and other stories from rural Australia

I came across the excellent writing of Simon, a guy living in a small town Australia, who has a blog called Homefront Radio. Originally started to document his songwriting process, the blog has developed into a remarkable depot of fascinating and deeply moving short stories about his past relationships, childhood and reflections on Australian culture and society at large. There are too many stories to list that deeply affected me, but here are two with which to start:

The Sarge Series

The Sarge Opts Out (Masculinity Redefined) Part 1

The Sarge Opts Out (Masculinity Redefined) Part 2

The Sarge Opts Out (Masculinity Redefined) Part 3

The Sarge Opts Out (Masculinity Redefined) Part 4


The Other Sgt. Series

The Most Appalling Thing I’ve Ever Done (The Other Sarge) Part 1

The Most Appalling Thing I’ve Ever Done (The Other Sarge) Part 2

I hope you enjoy them as much as I do. Simon's writing has re-inspired me to continue writing, so I shall be posting soon.

Update to last post: Life gets weirder.

After the big discussion with my family regarding Dr. P., and then my brother-in-law "coming out to me" and my sister trying to convert me to religion to get over being gay, I found out another shocker. I was telling my sister G. about the event, when she told me my 15 year old niece is a lesbian, and she's known for a couple years already. Hmmm. I didn't know that. I guess my sister M. and her children are always "testifying" about the Lord's grace to her, and it drives her nuts. Anyway, I'm glad to know I'm not the only gay one in our family.

The other thing I didn't mention is, because it's so creepy and illicit, is that I find my brother-in-law "Trevor." very attractive, and have for a while. As I've mentioned previously, my ex-boyfriend B.C. is Dutch, and tall, and well hung. So is Trevor. I know Trevor is well hung because my sister M. who is married to him, told my sister G. So that just adds to my fantasies whenever I look at him. Then having him intimately confess to me he's obsessed about gay sex just fuels my very wrong fantasies about him even more...of course, I wouldn't act on them, but it's quite uncomfortable. Nevetheless I can't help noticing his beautiful blue eyes, perfect skin (it's so polished and perfect - you can't see any pores on him), his super long legs, athletic body, etc.

I also don't know if I mentioned that my sister G. is divorcing her husband who has admitted to being bisexual, and he was always overly interested in me and when visiting me in Vancouver wanted me to take him to a gay bar. Hmmm.

Anyway...I've been hired by an advertising agency here in Lethbridge. I've become its new creative director. It's been keeping me very busy. I'm in the process of designing stuff for a new company, so I went with the marketing director to a printing shop in town to check out their facilities and to get a quote.

I was there for about half an hour talking with the owner about his equipment and our needs for printing. He's quite tall, and blond (of course), and I also noticed that he appeared to be well hung. There was a sizeable, hefty and heavy looking bulge between his legs, even though he was wearing big, shapeless jeans. He looked to be about my age. I didn't recognize him at all. Just before leaving, I picked up his business card from the counter with his name on it, and I freaked out. I recognized his last name. It's an unusual last name, and the only family in town with this last name. I had a conniption because I used to work for his parents when I lived in Lethbridge, and I caused a scandal because I got caught having sex with one of their sons in the backroom at work. I was only about 23 at the time. But I remember the son as being very good looking back then, very tall, and being hugely hung.

The details are very rusty - I think I've blocked out the incident. I've got a flash of trying to choke down the guy's gargantuan cock in his car on a date, a flash of doing him in the backroom at work, and a memory of his entire family - all his brothers and sisters and parents - finding out that we were having sex.

Let's say the printer's name is "Jake." The son I remember having sex with was named "Blake," according to my poor memory. So I wasn't sure if it was this guy that I'd had sex with. I said to him, "Uh, I think I must know you. I worked for your parents a LONG time ago." Jake said he didn't recognize me, and I said I didn't recognize him either. Then it became very awkward and I left with the marketing director.

Later, I looked up "Jake" and "Blake" on the internet, and fortunately found his brother "Blake" living in Calgary. So it wasn't the printing shop owner I had fooled around with, it was his twin brother "Blake." I really hope there aren't any Lethbridge guys reading htis blog (other than you, Brian, and I hope you keep this confidential) because Lethbridge is so small, anyone who lived here would know all that I'm talking about. Actually, I'm going to change some details here so it makes it more difficult.

There were only two guys I ever had sex with in Lethbridge. Blake, and my first partner Ed. So it was an unusual situation.

I'm sure my blog has become incredibly uninteresting since I've moved from Vancouver, and I've been celebate in the last while. So let me fill it in with a sexual fantasy I had last night.

The job I hired Jake for is complete, and he asks me to come and take a look at a printer's proof for approval and sign-off. Even though it's already nearly 5pm, he wants me to come down tonight, because they're running the 40,000 copies first thing in the morning. I'm irritated because I've had a long day dealing with deadlines and clients, and the last thing I want to do is jump in my car and go down to the industrial area (even though it's only 12 minutes away) to proof the work.

It's already dark outside, and I pull into the large parking lot. The building looks dark, except for some outside lights. There's only one other car in the lot. I get out of my car and ring the doorbell outside. I'm wearing my new pants from Wal-Mart. They feel like a light brushed suede, are dark blue, and I'm wearing a tight, white, long sleeved t-shirt from Vancouver. Even though I haven't worked out in a while, it does show off my nice chest, perma-erect nipples and rounded biceps. It's only about 5 degrees celsius outside.

Jake opens the door, says hello, and I walk in. We chat for a while. I notice that he's still wearing those baggy, formless jeans from the other day, and some other ratty, non-descript t-shirt. It's dark blue, so it plays off his blue eyes, which sparkle. He never really looks me in the eye very long - instead, he glances at me, talks, then looks away from me, almost shyly. While I notice the resemblance between him and his twin brother, he's not quite as handsome. He's more rough at the edges, less polished.

He leads me down a maze of hallways that veer off into offices, and we finally get to the warehouse that contains the large printing machines. A special fluorescent light illuminates a station, on which my documents sit, printed, ready for approval. I look through them carefully, and see that the colour is fine, and everything is ready to go. Jake asks me to sign some papers, leaning over, accidentally touching my arm, and hands me a pen. There is a silence, while I sign the papers. The silence lasts a little longer than it should. I look at him, and say, "I thought I knew you, but I realize it was your twin brother, Blake."

Jake looks away from my eye contact. He looks down. He's embarassed. Silence. He doesn't say anything.

I'm silent also, because I don't know how to deal with this situation. I'm so bloody horny, and yes, I'd like to unzip those baggy jeans of his and give him an excellent blow job on his huge and majorly hung dick. I don't know what to say. I'm in a dangerous situation. I'm with some straight guy, and I've had sex with his twin brother, and he's my printer, and, and, and... Even though this guy isn't Vancouver-beautiful, not well dressed, his haircut is awful, his clothing from a farm, I am so horned out, and he looks so hot to me. And plus, the poor Lethbridge guy deserves a good blow job.

I don't say anything. I hesitate, then go for it. I unzip his baggy, formless jeans, furtively. I'm too afraid to look at his face. And thank God, he doesn't stop me. And "boing" - just like his twin brother Blake, he's already semi-hard, huge, thick and hung. My mouth envelopes his semi-hard dick. The interesting thing with very large guys is that when they're semi-hard, their dick still has weight. I wrap my lips around the head of his cock, then pull forward, to draw more of his semi-hard cock into my mouth. I do this a few times, until he gets harder. He's big. He's as long as BC, but not quite as thick, but almost.

Choking on his big dick, I give him my expert blow job (see previous posts). He's no longer "Jake" - he's not even "Blake" - he's a big fat honking pre-cum leaking fucking hot stud.

So I blew him, the twin brother. I knew I'd done something bad, so I feel deeply guilty. Yet I felt so good.

So that's my fantasy. Iis it real? I'll leave that up to you, readers.

Culture Shock

The first impressions I've had about Lethbridge, after 5 years of absence:

1. Britney Spears. Nearly all the women are blond in Lethbridge, and they all have Britney Spears hairstyles. After sleeping poorly for a day after arriving, I was forced to go to Park Place Mall with my mother and sister G. to go shopping at "Winners" - a discount store that carries everything from men and women's clothing to housewares. I'd never been to one before. Having been in Vancouver for so long, I'd completely forgotten how homogenized Lethbridge is. There are few ethnic people here but they are rare, and when they appear, they stand out as if they are holding blazing neon signs that flash "I'm ethnic." So going to the mall was very strange. I felt like I was in the United States in some backward town in Ohio.

There are so many blond people here, all with the same colour of blond and same hairstyles that I'm unable to differentiate them from one another. The reason I kept noticing blond women is that they all looked like one of my three sisters - who are all blond with blue or green eyes. In Vancouver, my sisters would stand out, because they're so blond. In Lethbridge, everyone looks like them! So I kept thinking - "Oh, there's G. Oh, there's M. Oh, there's J." But they were just one of hundreds of blond girls that look like my sisters, with the same haircuts.

The hairstylists in Lethbridge obviously learn the same techniques and use the same bleach and haircolouring on every blond Dutch, German, Scandanavian and Mormon girl in Southern Alberta! They all have long blond hair, permed (I don't think anyone in Vancouver gets a perm - please let me know. I was of the impression that perms died out about 10-20 years ago?) Then, if they have their hair permed, they use straightening formulas and gadgets if they want a different look.

Normally don't notice hairstyles or hair colours or hair on women whatsoever! I could care less. But in Lethbridge, seeing the same thing on every female made me aware of female hair. On New Year's Eve, I was at my sister G.'s house, and she was using a flattening curling iron on her highlighted bleached blond hair, and asked me to get the back of it with the iron. I just don't get it. I never had any blond girlfriends in Vancouver, and I doubt that any of them ever got their hair permed. It was totally creepy. It's almost as if every female has been inducted into some kind of blond, permed, Britney Spears cult. When I lived in Vancouver, I thought Britney Spears was cute. But imagine an entire city of Britney Spears, and you'll understand my shock of Lethbridge.

2. Gigantism. The blond, bleached, Britney Spears females of Lethbridge are also exceedingly tall. I'm not joking. I think there's something weird going on here, and scientists need to check it out. I've never seen so many 6 feet plus females with blond hair anywhere! And they're all 14 years old. My niece is 6' tall and 14. My other niece who's 15 is 6' plus. My parents took me to the All-You-Can-Eat Pizza Hut luncheon special (another very un-Vancouver type restaurant), and we were served by a pretty blond 16 year-old Amazon, at least 6'3". I'm teaching two 13 year olds, who are 6' (female) and 6"2" (male). My brother-in-law grew 5" from ages 20-24, and he is Dutch, blond and so therefore my very tall. My niece and nephews are likely to grow super tall too. I asked my sister "M." why do the Dutch people grow so tall here? She joked, "It's from all the hormones in the Alberta beef."

Some of the men in Lethbridge are hot. I saw this one stud at Winners - only "stud" can fully capture his sexiness. He was a young guy, maybe 23-25, wearing these completely unfashionable tight levis jeans with a bootleg cut. He was wearing cowboy boots. Please! He's not even at a fetish-wear party or a rodeo. But the way his jeans and cowboy boots hugged his sexy big muscular butt and thighs. Holy fuck! And he was walking around proudly, like a buff gay man at a country-western disco party, down the "Winners" aisles. He had a fresh, flawless face, with short blond hair. I bet he was a virgin. That's the thing about Lethbridge - there's so much religion going on, that a lot of these sexy guys are virgins and don't even comprehend the sex-energy they're giving off. And the guy who installed my high speed internet was extremely gorgeous - short buzzed blond hair, tall, athletic. Obviously Dutch (and you know what that means!). But I wouldn't dare come onto anyone here because Lethbridge is such a religious hot bed.

3. Gossip. Everyone here knows everyone else, and everyone loves to gossip. Most conversations people have in Lethbridge are based on gossip. Because the city is so small, and so many people are related to each other (those Dutch and German families here are huge and have hundreds of relatives). Even my parents gossip non-stop. We were driving past a restaurant, and my parents told me the story of the woman who used to go to their church who owned the restaurant with her husband. She worked for a bank, and somehow managed to embezzle like $40,000 from it. She got caught and was charged, and her husband left her and her daughter. This is typical of the stories I hear daily from everyone.

Ever since I arrived, my mother has been complaining about my father's doctor. She can't stand him - he thinks he's a huge narcissist and not a good doctor. I guess he's made some mistakes in treating my father, including renewing prescriptions for him that were incorrect. It didn't make sense to me why she was so angry about him, and why she doesn't like him so much.

So yesterday afternoon after church, she was complaining about my father's doctor again, and she mentioned that after 18 years of marriage, the doctor left his family - his wife and two daughters I believe - and my mother was saying how sad she felt for her daughters - one of them is university age. I asked my mother what his name was. She told me "Dr. P. " Anyway, that name didn't sound familiar to me.

Then my mom said that he and his family used to go to our church. Apparently his wife and kids still do. And that he had caused a huge scandal when he left because he came out as gay.

I nearly dropped my plate when she told me this. I asked her what he looked like and my mom said, "Oh, he's old, and has baggy eyes."

I told her that I think I had heard about Dr. P. from my friend A., because he's dating A.'s boss. I got to hear all about Dr. P. and A.'s boss and their scandalous relationship from A.

Anyway, this freaked her out, and me. It also bothered me because I realized one of the main reasons she doesn't like him is that because he came out as gay and it hurt his family.

Anyway, last night my sister M. and her husband of 20 years came over and we had this huge discussion regarding Dr. P. coming out, and me being gay. I explained to them that no one enjoys coming out, and that I'm sure it was very difficult for him.

At one point M.'s husband asked my mother, sister and father to leave while he shared something with me. He told me at one time in his marriage he started to have thoughts about being with men all the time - sexual thoughts. He was really worried and concerned about it, but then he prayed about it and gave his life up to God, and it hasn't been a problem since.

I nearly shit myself! I kind of think he was making it up, and I told him so. He was serious though. He was suggesting that all I had to do was "give myself up to God" and it may help me too.

I live in such a crazy family! I'm not sure what to think about T.s confession to me. Maybe it's normal for some straight men to go through a period of fantasizing about gay sex?

Happy New Year/New Life

The 10 metre diameter pumpkin glowed bright orange in the night. It was the only thing visible, for miles. An anomaly, yes; but even a tree would have been unusual in this flat and barren landscape. It had a stupid, grinning mouth, drawn in black. "Happy Halloween," it said to me.

"No kidding," I think. I'm not only about to don a new costume, I'm about to wear a new life.

I'm a passenger in a brand new Mercedes-Benz G500, driving along a dirt backroad in the middle of nowhere, located just off the main highway. I'm in Southern Alberta. I'm 1200 kilometres east of Vancouver. I'm a few miles north of Lethbridge – my new home for the next several months.

We left the lushly landscaped Pacific Ocean, drove through the arid vineyards of Central BC, passed through the death-defying curves and zero incline cliffs of the Rocky Mountains, and now we're in the flat, treeless plains of the Bible Belt. The place where religion grows unfettered but nary a bush blossoms.

My two sisters caught a plane to Vancouver, rented the Mercedes, helped me finish packing, and drove me home. It was my rich, but crazy sister G. who insisted on renting the Mercedes-Benz G500. She loves driving and wanted the best. She drove the whole way, except for the last one hour, when my sister M. took over. Unfortunately M. nearly fell asleep at the wheel, and she stopped at a church in this off-road, dirt-road place to walk outside and get some air. But we still made it home safely, to…

(Add a red-necked, blue collar twang to the following…) Lethbridge. A city of 77, 202 people. It's one of the sunniest and warmest cities in Canada with close to 2400 hours of sunlight a year. It's also the frequent beneficiary of a phenomenon called the chinook, a warm west wind providing above freezing breaks throughout the year.

(my voice) The place I lived before moving to Vancouver 14 years ago.

(twang voice) It's also home to folks of every religious persuasian. We've got lots a Mormons, Hutterites, Lutherans, Dutch Reformed. Just 'bout everythin' you can imagine here, in Lethbridge.

(my voice) So here's the plot. Gay male son of retired Lutheran minister father, who escaped Lethbridge 14 years ago to "make it" in Vancouver, returns to small town, and lives with his religious parents, and close to his two religious sisters. His third sister, G. who lives in a suburb near Lethbridge, isn't religious, but is a bit crazy, in the medical terminology way. She's the rich one.

Due to events beyond my control, I've given up everything I own, and my life in Vancouver, and have moved back to Lethbridge. My plan is to totally redesign my life. A fresh start. I'll tell you how I try to achieve this, in upcoming blogs. It's not going to be easy, believe me! But I intend to make my new life everything I imagined.

Roommate returned today, alive

My new roomie returned today at around 5pm, thank goodness. I guess he decided after camping in Kamloops to "camp" in a friend's room at UBC while finishing his last paper for his Graduate Degree. It seems a bit odd to me, but oh well. He told me he "is like that" and not to worry if he doesn't show up for a while.

I'm thinking he's an Aquarian. He's totally into intellectual things, and yet freedom is his major thing. I'll try to ask him soon...to check out my theory.

I was sure he was abducted by aliens, in Kamloops, or some similar form of life that lives there.

Missing

I seriously need your help and opinions and advice. Am I just freaking out?

I got a new roommate on August 31st. He moved in his stuff and we talked for about an hour. He then slept over at his old place at the University over night, then dropped by for 30 minutes with more of his stuff the next day. It was a Friday, I think, and he told me he was going away for the weekend to Kamloops.

It's now been 10 days and I haven't heard from him or seen him since. Did he just extend his time in Kamloops with his friend? Or should I be concerned?

Since I don't know him, I don't know any of his friends, and I don't know his family, and I don't know who to call. He doesn't have a cell phone. I used to have his email address, but since I changed over to my old computer, I don't have it anymore.

I actually called the police last night to report it, and they said that since he's 25 or older, they won't take a missing person's report, nor will they release any information they have on him.

Perhaps he'll be back on Sunday?

I'm just freaking out, right? I've watched too many CSI episodes? What would you think?

MacFucked

I've been trying to sell my G4 Powerbook for the last week - it's an older model, but has a 15" screen, 644 megahertz with an airport and a rewriteable CD drive. It's been great for me - I don't find it slow, but then I don't do video editing with my Powerbook. I've used 1.14 megahertz and find it slightly faster, but for the work I do, it's not enough to get all excited over.

I've only had this computer since January of this year. I bought it used for $1500 CDN - I realize now that I was majorly ripped off. I wasn't knowledgeable about Powerbooks and iBooks until I tried to sell this one.

First, I tried to sell it for $1500 - the price I paid for it. I put in "or best offer" in the ad. I had a flurry of Mac geeks email me and ask for more information...at that point I didn't even know about processor speeds and stuff, so they thought I was offering them a major deal. After talking with about six of the Mac geeks, I learned that my Mac isn't worth that amount of money. Especially because it has an older version of the input thing - it's not a DDI.

So I lowered my price to $1350, then $1300, then $1200 and $1100. Throughout this I had people call me or email me and say, "I'm totally interested, blah blah blah." Then I'd get an email from them the next day saying, "I found a Powerbook with identical specs as yours, and I only paid $950 for it." So I called a used Mac retailer, and they told me my model tends to go for $995. But if I sold it through them, they'd take a 20% fee.

Yesterday I had an Australian woman named Catherine (her real name) who lives in Whistler call me, extremely excited and interested, and she thought $1100 was a great deal (partly because I've got every graphic design program known to humankind on my computer). She said she'd call me back because she just saw my ad online, but would get back to me later that day.

The next day, she calls me, and says, "I can't go into Vancouver until next week, but my friend is coming into town, and he said he'd pick it up for me."

I said "great!" She said she'd call me later to tell me when he'd come by on Saturday (today).

Catherine calls me later on Friday evening, at like 10pm, and says, "I just went to the bank, and can only withdraw $1000 unless I use my credit card - would you accept $950 for it?" She needed the extra $50 to party that evening.

She sounded so cute and excited that I agreed. I wanted my computer to be used by someone who would appreciate it. Although the price suddenly went down from $1100 to $950, I thought, "What the heck. I need the money."

So today, she calls me at 10am, and explains that her friend Rob (his real name, and he lives in Whistler, and is English and owns a shop) would be in town and would meet me at 11:30am to pick up the computer. Rob wanted to see a receipt though, to make sure it wasn't stolen. Catherine said, "I trust you, but he's so anal, you know?"

I said sure, "I'll show you the receipt I was given when I paid for it." Catherine also gave me Rob's long distance phone number in case he didn't show up.

So it's now 1:00 and Rob hasn't called. So I call him and said, "Hi, blah blah blah, I thought you were supposed to be coming by at 11:30, are you still showing up?"

Rob says, "Oh, I'm behind, I'm sorry. What kind of computer are you selling again? And do you have a receipt from the person you bought it from before?"

I said, "Yes, I have a receipt, explained my Powerbook's specifications all over again (fuck him, he already knew them, I felt like he was testing me and treating me like I'm some fucking thief)."

Rob then said, "Oh, Catherine asked me to stop by the bank to withdraw the money for the computer, but I'm not sure if I can withdraw $950 at once - isn't the maximum $500? And I may not get there until 2pm."

I can tell Rob is playing some fucking game with me. And I realize that Catherine is also. I'm getting pissed off. So I tell Rob, in my serious professional voice, "Really? When I spoke with Catherine last night, she told me she was on the way home from the bank, after having withdrawn the money for the computer, and that she would give it to you when you came by on Saturday. Plus, I've been waiting since 11:30am for you to call me and drop by, and now you won't be here until 2pm, and I've got things to do today. This is inconveniencing me, and I'm also getting two different versions of the story." In the meantime I've had two phone calls from other interested people, but I tell them that the computer has been sold!

Rob apologized in that irritating English manner, and promised he would be here by 2pm.

Rob shows up at 2:15pm, and immediately begins picking at the computer. He is anal. There are some scuff marks on the edge of the computer - where you rest your hand while typing. So he calls Catherine, and complains about the computer not being "perfect." He said, "Isn't the Powerbook supposed to be made of Titanium?"

I told him, "I think that refers to the colour, not the material."

He said, "Well, scuff marks indicate how well the computer has been taken care of. I can see that this computer has been in and out of back packs, etc." blah blah blah

Then he examines the keyboard and says, "I see there is some snuffies (in that English uptight anal accent) in there. I supposed they could be vacuumed out."

I wanted to say to Rob, "You're fucking buying a used computer. It's not new."

So after Rob bitches and complains about my Powerbook to Catherine, Catherine decides to "think about it" and she'll call back right away. She calls back 10 minutes later, and says, "I just called such and such used Mac retailer, and they've got the same Powerbook for $700, without a CD rewrite drive, but they can put one in for $150, so I'll offer $850."

A part of me knew this would happen, this morning at 7:30am when I went for my morning walk. I had intuitional "alerts." This couple knew how to screw people.

I said, "No deal." I was thinking...fine, let Catherine buy that other machine, and try to get all the software I'm offering in addition to this machine. Meanwhile, I've paid for 2 long distance calls to Whistler, waited my day, let go of two possible clients, and been manipulated by two assholes.

Other points I wish to make here in my rant:
1. Macs don't work like PCs. When you start up an application or do an operation, it does seem slower. I call it "more fluid." There is a zen-like quality to working with a Mac. It's fluid. It's more user-friendly. When you click on the scroll bar, it doesn't "zip" like high-hell to the end of a document, like a steroid PC does. As a lifelong Mac user, I know this.
2. Rob has never used a Mac. He knows nothing about them. He's a PC user.

One of the callers about my Powerbook this morning, while I was dealing with Rob and Catherine, was really interested in my Powerbook. He told me he was buying it for his 16 year old son, who has learning challenges, and dropped out of school. His educational counsellors recommended buying his son a Mac to do his graphic design stuff, which he has a talent for. I ended up telling him that for his needs, he should buy a new iBook. I am not a barter/negotiation slut. I am an honest person, who offers a good, honest deal, without all that game playing shit.

Yes, I've learned a lot in the process about what my Powerbook is worth. But I realize it. And I'm not about to go MacFuck someone else. I really hope that Catherine is MacFucked though...I'm not that ethical.

9 to 5 - no thanks.I stole this image. I ripped it off from Jason's Room. It just so works for my blog, and I have no idea how he finds such fantastic images. Sorry Jason! Perhaps you could tell me how you find such relevant and beautiful images, so I don't need to rip-you-off!

Since I've had financial problems since a certain client screwed me over for a very LARGE contract, I've been considering going back to work for a company. I've been freelancing for 6 years now, and it suits me best. The last job for which I worked 9 to 5, for paltry money that didn't cover my basic living expenses, drove me nearly insane. Since then I've made a good living teaching, and doing my own freelance work. But since I quit teaching last year, and since my contracts are thinning out at the moment, I'm thinking of:

a. finding a full time job
b. finding a part time job to supplement my freelance work
c. selling my body

I think that selling my body is far preferable to finding a full time job - at least I'd work for myself. My preference would be a part time job, but even better is getting some new contracts in, and fast.

After having gone to school for over 10 years, and being used to setting my own schedules, as soon as I'm put into a cubicle from 9am to 5pm, I feel like I'm in jail. I start hyperventilating.

Actually, another option is:
d. go to jail

Except that options:
a. and d. sound the same to me.

I've never worked full time for more than a year in my entire life. Scholarships, part time jobs, student loans, work on the side have been my entire life.

I've got personality problems that prevent me from doing the reasonable 9 to 5 thing. The first is impatience. I have very minimal skills when it comes to dealing with incompetent and unproductive people. I'm very gentle and supportive the first 3-5 times that I tell someone how to do something, but if they're still uncooperative, I begin to think they're doing it to spite me, or that they simply haven't done therapy. After that, my blood pressure begins to boil, and I often lash out at him or her. Or, if I have an incompetent supervisor, who doesn't listen to my rational complaints or is less intelligent than me, I usually end up telling them so, and thereby breaking the rule of "thy shall not be insubordinant."

I've gotten worse too, the longer I work for myself, and the better I've gotten at my work.

I don't think of myself as a perfectionist - it's taken me years to become one, but I think many people think of me as such. So, I get along best with people who are passionate, smart and into improving their work, which is rare in the 9 to 5 world. I know I'm know I'm not the best either, and if I discover someone who knows more than me in a certain area, I'm a total, gushing, ass-kisser to learn what they know.

Since I work intensely, when I do work, I need a few minutes or an hour, here and there, to go for a walk, make myself some food, clean the dishes, trim my nose hairs, or whatever, in the middle of the work day. When you work in the 9 to 5 prison, you're not allowed to. You're expected to be in the cubicle. So if the manager or boss walks by, and you're not there, it's bad.

The other thing that makes me the angriest is that I am working for a low salary (i.e. under $50/hour) making the company richer, and I'm not sharing that profit. I would belong best in those upstart companies, who share the ownership of the company.

I'm willing to work more than 9 - 5, but only for myself. Unless I'm getting over $50/hour, I'm not. I refuse to be owned. In the past week, I actually worked a couple of 18 hour days. That's fine. Because I'm doing it for myself and on my own terms.

The other personality disorder I have is that I cannot deal with office politics. I just can't. I can't kiss ass just because someone is considered to be more important than me. It's against my nature, and would ruin my creativity and very soul.

So, I may be doomed...unless I can pull it together, very soon.

Wish me luck.

A petition for ancient practices

I've had a nightmarish week. I don't want to get into details, but it involves the lack of money, working 16 hour days and doing a ton of free work. But I happened to turn on the television this morning, and managed to catch the last 45 minutes of the Visa U.S. Men's Gymnastics Championships, which almost made up for my lousy week. Todd Thornton, who happens to share the last name of one of my ex's, won the event (see picture above). What was amazing is that the television cameras managed to catch several gymnasts walk off their event, then pull their body suit down to expose their amazing chests and abs. Normally coverage has been far more homophobic, and they avoid such shots. I wish they'd return to the ancient Roman tradition of competing naked. The competition was good - some outstanding performances - and the gymnastics was good too. David Durante came in third or fourth, but for his show off the competition floor, definitely deserved first or second place (see picture).

Then I went for a walk through Kitsilano to get a coffee, and it seemed to be a day that all the most gorgeous, beautiful men decided to parade down Broadway, sit in cafes, and sun themselves on benches. I really need to "lose my computer" for a while and get out of the house more often.

Finding a new roommate is hard work

I haven't blogged in a while because I've been preoccupied with finding a new roommate, and new contract work. It's been an interesting experience. In the past, I've advertised my room for rent, and it's gone with the first or second person. This time around, I've had to email, talk to, and show the room to dozens of people before finding the right person (well, only 8 people). But I've finally found him.

It's been a great experience. I've met so many fascinating and interesting people, who are truly international and have tons of education and travel stories. All of them were attractive (as people), except for three gay guys, who saw my ad at the gay book store in the West End. All three of them ended up being lonely guys, living alone, looking for someone to connect with. Eww! Sorry, I'm not the guy for you. Instead, I met fascinating straight men and women, who were comfortable living with a gay man.

So my new roommate is a straight man, 28 (I think), with tons of education. He just finished his graduate degree at UBC. He also speaks Japanese, Norweigan and Spanish. He's nice looking, not my type (which is fortunate) and we can talk about many things. He's lived in Japan for four years, has travelled around the world, and originates from Minnesota. He also wears very nice socks and running shoes. He's got these shortened socks - I don't know what they're called (I'm no longer that trendy, but believe me, I'm going to get some) and his running shoes are way cool.

I also met a fabulous international woman, who has lived in Europe, Toronto, Los Angeles, etc. and has decided to live in Vancouver. She's got degrees in both Finance and Visual Arts. I met an even better looking guy than Chris. He was 6'6", dark brown hair, emerald green eyes, and studying geo-chemistry at UBC. He had to almost duck under the doorway when he came into my home. I met a sweet Japanese girl, named Reiko (ray-ko). I met a sexy Vancouverite who was straight, and also very cool and creative. I met a young, nervous Middle Eastern guy, who seemed nice, but unusually nervous (don't know why). And I met an incredibly charismatic French Canadian, Ph.D. student at UBC, who is pure fun and lightness, gorgeous, with a brilliant mind. He may still end up living with me for half a month in August (I can't wait to party with him). I also was trying to sell my car, and met a beautiful blond middle European guy - his name he spelled as "Andrey" - I'm not sure where he's from. But I think it begins with an "A." He had a strong hand and strong handshake. (I was willing to make a deal with him, if you know what I mean, but it didn't happen.)

So, it's been a positive experience, except for the gay guys. The gay guys were all desperate. The straight people weren't. Isn't that icky? Any comments or insights on that? Is it because I'm so darn good looking that I attract icky gay men, even though they haven't seen what I look like? Whereas intelligent, international, educated, multi-lingual straight men and women could give a shit about my sexuality or looks? Je ne sais pas.

Au revoir.

Looking for a Roommate

I decided I wanted to rent out my second bedroom again. It's been five months since I had a roommate. So I started advertising quite late in July, hoping for someone August 1st. I advertised on two online sites, and put some posters up at a local college and at the gay bookstore downtown.

Yesterday I showed my place to a young guy named Chris. He told me he was moving here from Calgary, to study acting. When I answered the door, standing before me was a 6'2", blond, blue-eyed gorgeous man, wearing a muscle shirt that showed off his amazing physique. I was so shocked, I nearly forgot to say hello. Then he moved aside and introduced me to his parents. I was so nervous that his mom and dad would see me drooling over their gorgeous baby son. I didn't know they were coming. They had driven him to Vancouver with a few of his furnishings, and were helping him to find a place.

All of them were very nice - in that Southern Alberta, small Christian town kind of way. Chris was just bouncing with enthusiasm. He told me he worked at Gold's Gym, in their supplements department before moving out here. His mother told me he cooks very healthy, using his special wok. Anyway, they were all complimentary, and told me they would call me today if they were interested. So far I haven't heard from them and it's already 3pm. So I'm afraid he won't be my new roomy. It's probably for the best - I might start obsessing about him. I'm certain he's straight.

At 4:30pm, a young 21 year old girl, who's coming here from Washington to study ballet is visiting with her parents. It seems freaky to me to have such a young little girl stay with me. I'm going to feel like a father or uncle or something. I'd rather not live with a female, but we'll see how it goes. She said she's gay-friendly (obviously, being in ballet).

Another guy named Nick called me last night, saying he saw my notice at the gay bookstore. He was creepy right away - he kept giggling and trying to say funny and suggestive things to whatever I said. It felt like he was flirting with me, but at first I just put it down to him being friendly. So after telling him about my place, he told me that he was living in Richmond in a 3600 sq. ft. home. He had 3 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, a jacuzzi, etc. I asked him why he'd want to move into a 900 sq. ft. place with an 8' x 9' bedroom. He said he was lonely, and that he worked at home all day at a stock trader, and it would be wonderful to have someone to hang out with and talk with, especially since I work from home.

I could tell that this guy was desperate. I told him I'd prefer a roommate that wasn't home all the time since I am. He then asked me if I went to the gay parade, and I said no, I went to the beach. He asked, "Was it a nude beach?" I said, "No." He asked, "Do you like to go to the gay nude beach at Wreck?" Now I was totally revolted by this sleazy creep, who doesn't even know me, and is asking me personal and inappropriate questions. I quickly said, "I don't think this accommodation will work out for you, and good luck," before hanging up. Gross! He was using for rent ads as a dating service.

I'll let you know what happens with my roommate situation. I hope something positive works out.

Vancouver Gay Pride Weekend

I won't say much about this weekend's Gay Pride in Vancouver. I personally don't enjoy it at all. I do appreciate that many people love the event, and it does serve an important purpose for social and political purposes. I've never found parades to be that interesting in the first place. But I find that the rest of the events are basically an excuse to party, spend money, get drunk, meet people and have sex. Not that there's anything wrong with that - I can do that any day of the week.

I realized that if I were going to Montreal's Gay Pride, or Toronto's, I'd probably enjoy Pride a lot more. It would be a new experience again, and there would be thousands of people I've never met before. I'm sure there are thousands of gay men I haven't met here either, but having lived in Vancouver for 17 years, it all seems so familiar. Plus I'd have to run into: 1. People I was once friends with and no longer am friendly with; 2. Ex-lovers; 3. People who have been rude to me and have hurt my feelings; 4. People who have slept with my ex-lovers; 5. People paying attention to me that I'd rather they didn't; 6. People who I've slept with and no longer remember their names.

I've also never had a good time at any Pride events in the past - even the expensive, big parties at special venues. I'm glad I did it. But that's just it - I've been there and done that.

Soccer Guy


It was Shigeki's fault. I was chatting with him during the afternoon, when he mentioned that he decided to have a couple of drinks of Scotch after work. I haven't drank in quite a long time, and it sounded like a nice idea. So I ran some errands, picked up a bottle of Vodka, and had a couple. At about midnight, I was feeling good, and decided to get something to eat at a pub just a block away. It's a pretty cool place...it always has interesting people, and their food is good. I sat at the bar, because all the tables were taken, and ordered the Shepherd's Pie. I had nothing on my brain except to chow into the the pie.

I didn't even notice anyone around me. But the guy sitting next to me to my left, said hello. I looked at him, and was stunned by how good looking he was. Dark brown hair, smokey eyes, a well-trimmed goatee, and a deep voice with a beautiful British accent. We got to talking, and I found out he is a professional soccer player from England, and was here to play a game. I know nothing about soccer, so I didn't think to ask him what team he played with, what position he played, etc. Anyway, we hit it off, and were soon talking about all kinds of deep and interesting things. I loved listening to him talk in his deep, sultry British accent. He's married, and I believe he told me that his wife is from Vancouver. I don't remember clearly because he kept buying me beer after beer, and offering me Guitanes cigarettes (they're good!). I was surprised at how 'deep' and serious he could be, so I asked him his astrological sign, and of course, it was Scorpio.

At one point he asked me if I was gay, and I said, "yes." He seemed totally comfortable with that. Finally the bar closed at 2am, and I asked him if he wanted to go down to the beach and hang out for a while. He said, "Sure, sounds great."

I stopped by my house first (it's only a block away from the pub) and picked up the rest of my bottle of vodka. So we went down to the beach, in a very private area (often there are people partying, with a fire going). Anyway, no one was around. We sat and drank and talked. A guy walked past, and we invited him to sit with us and have a few swigs of vodka. He hung around for a while, and then he left.

Soccer guy suddenly decided to tear off all his clothes, and run into the ocean! I couldn't believe it - the ocean is cold (and probably dirty). I noticed what an amazing body he has. At one point he dove under water, and I didn't see him come up for almost a minute. So I ran into the ocean, up to my crotch in water, yelling, "Hey, are you okay?" I was thinking I'd better rescue him. But finally he surfaced, and was fine.

Believe it or not, but I didn't even have sex on my mind. But he came out of the water, naked, and sat on the log. He was shivering, and I rubbed his back trying to warm him up (he didn't seem to mind). In hindsight today, I realized he probably wanted me to make a move on him - after all he's hanging out with a gay guy, naked, drunk, and on the beach at 4am with no one around. But it honestly didn't even occur to me at the time! I wasn't thinking of him as a sexual object, like I do with most handsome, sexy, hot men. Also, by this time I was totally drunk and not thinking very well.

Anyway, that's the whole story. He put on his clothes, and we both went our separate ways. It was a great evening. I probably won't see him again, which is probably good. Because next time, I'd do a lot more than just talk.

More on Canadian Idol

Canadian Idol continues every Tuesday and Wednesday nights. It's such a different experience than American Idol. There's definitely a different cultural taste in music and singers, and much more creativity and originality.

Vanguard went to a concert in which one of the singers he saw (and loved) was from a previous Canadian Idol. He says, "Who would've thought this woman had begun as one of the losers on the 2003 season of Canadian Idol, which seriously seems like an oxymoron to me, eh. I mean Canadian and Idol in the same sentence?" I'm not sure what he means, but I think there's a lot to idolize about Canadians. Not just our laws - such as same-sex marriage, absence of the death penalty and health-care system, but also our embrace of a multi-cultural society, not participating in the Iraq war, and lack of guns - and so much more. We also have, for a small country, an amazing number of world-wide reknown talents in all endeavours - especially music.

Here's a review of a few of my favourites in the remaining 8 contestants. My favourite is Rex Goudie. He was born in Dawson Creek, BC, but now lives in Burlington, Newfoundland - a tiny farm town in the middle of nowhere, and works as a mechanic. He is so hot! Not normally my type, but he's so natural and comfortable on stage, and exudes charisma. Completely unaffected. He also sings rock, which I mostly don't care for, but he does it so well. For such a laid-back guy, he puts his entire body and soul into singing. The judges never have a bad word to say about him. After singing his song, he sat next to the host and put on these round, bottle thick nerd glasses. Very funny.

Amber Fleury is my second most favourite. She's from Calgary, Alberta, and is 26. I was surprised she made it, simply because she doesn't look like Britney Spears or other skinny, pretty pop stars. But Canada doesn't care about those things - she's in the top 8. Her voice is unbelievable - it makes you shiver. As one of the hosts said, "Your voice is as close to being holy as is possible." She nearly makes KD Lang sound hoarse.






Suzie Rawn is from Kamloops, BC. She's another rocker. Again, I don't care for that kind of singing, normally, but she does it well. The main thing is she's already a well-produced product. She's got her style worked out, tons of stage presence and looks ready for the big time. While she has that irritating rocker chic attitude, it's tempered with a sweetness and sincerity that makes her likable.





There are two extremely affected guys, who make my point - that Canadian Idol is so different than American Idol. One is Jeff Palmer, from Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. He's creepy, like Michael Jackson and Prince. His vocal stylings are inimitable. But he's interesting to watch, and manages to pull off his weird, jerky movements and extremely fey mannerisms. I hate his fashion sense - wearing a winter scarf in the middle of July? Another time he wore what appeared to be a Michael Jackson military suit jacket with metal hooks up the front. His hair is awful, his teeth need to be bleached and fixed, but he has a charm and rather beautiful green eyes. I simultaneously like him, and yet feel creeped out. I'd like to see him make it to the top 8 in the U.S.!

Another strange guy is Daryl Brunt, 16, of Sudbury, Ontario. The poor kid is so awkward, and appears so typically gay, I feel sorry for him. He's also so skinny it's painful to look at him. But his singing is excellent (although the judges mostly don't like his singing because it does sound very pop and lacks soul). But he reminds me of a better sounding Pet Shop Boys or Simply Red. He does the high ranges fluidly, with perfect tone.

The rest on the Canadian Idol team are mostly gorgeous female pop singers, who are remarkably classy. There is a Rueben-like fellow named Aaron Walpole, who is quite good and the judges love him, but he does nothing for me.

I think Canadian Idol is a bit of a national obsession, which is very unusual for Canadians. I guess we're proud of our talent, and our differences.

The Annual HSBC Celebration of Light

Every year in Vancouver, we have the Celebration of Light fireworks competition. It's down at English Bay in the heart of the West End (the gay area). It's a perfect place, because you can see the fireworks from English Bay, or across the bay from Jericho Beach and Kits Beach, or even from the East End near Science World (that's the lit dome you see in this picture on the left side). It's the most well attended event in Vancouver - an estimated 1.4 million pour into the city to watch it. All of the streets in the West End and surroundings are cut off to cars, so everyone pours, en mass, into the streets, and it's very festive. Hundreds of boats and yachts gather in the bay to watch from the water. The fireworks are unbelievable and are set to music by each country participating. You can tune in your radio and listen and watch the fireworks at the same time. It happens on Wednesday and Saturday nights, until the finale, where all three countries put on a display.

Even where I live, in Kitsilano, people gather all along the beaches, and parking is impossible (and if you park improperly you'll definitely get towed).

My favourite memory of the fireworks is when I met Les, my second boyfriend (and most favourite). We were attending a fireworks party at someone's penthouse in the West End and had the most perfect view from the balcony. This happened just after we had met each other, and both of us were feeling the strong pull of intense attraction, but neither of us knew if we felt the same way. We were on the balcony together, watching the fireworks, with the music going, and at one point it became so moving that tears came to our eyes - it was a nice moment. Very intimate. I wanted to press my body against his and start humping. I remember the electricity that flowed between us whenever we were close to each other - especially in the elevator on the way out.

Another time I was invited to another fireworks party, at another penthouse, and met the hottest and cutest guy. Very intelligent, buff body, blond. We totally got into each other and there was a strong chemistry. Then I found out he was leaving the next day to go to school in the UK! Shite! Nothing happened and we were both disappointed. But it seems like that often happens - you meet someone, just as one of you are leaving. It must be a spiritual test, or just bad luck!

The fireworks is one of those events that just invites romance, and a feeling of togetherness in the city.

Jericho Beach

Just ten blocks away from me is Jericho Beach - just one of the dozens of beaches that wrap around Vancouver. It is my favourite beach. I took this picture of it last April, on a cool day. It looks as though you're miles away from the city, while in fact you're in the midst of it. The mountains you see in the distance include North Vancouver, and if I panned East, you'd see downtown Vancouver. If I looked West, you'd see open Pacific Ocean, with a few islands. That's what's so fantastic about Vancouver - you're never far from the ocean or the outdoors, even in the city.

Here's what it looks like in the summer looking East - you can see downtown Vancouver. I like Jericho because it's so large that it's rarely crowded - you can always find a space to yourself. I prefer it to Kits Beach. Kits Beach is only a few blocks away but it is the "beautiful people" beach, full of 20 year olds strutting around looking gorgeous. I go there when I need eye candy. Otherwise I like the more adult environment of Jericho. In some parts the water is quite shallow so it becomes as warm as bath water. You can also watch people do sailing and sailboards.

I didn't go to Jericho last year, because I didn't want to run into my ex, BC. It's his favourite beach too. In fact, he has to drive about 6 km from the East side of Vancouver to get to Jericho. When we ended seeing each other, I asked him if he would go to a different beach since Jericho was my beach, and I didn't want to see him. He said, "No." So I avoided it last year. Fortunately I haven't seen him. He's probably hanging out now at Wreck Beach - the nude beach at the University of BC, where he can get into all kinds of slutty action.

Bags are the new blog


I discovered that Trent of Pink is the New Blog happened to do his own "What's in your bag?" blog. He saw a magazine story on "What's in Joel Madden's LV Bag" and created his own photo essay, "The 4 Things in Trent's Bag." It's all Louis Vuitton baggage - I'm not sure if he was being honest, or fantasizing. Nevertheless, there's an obvious synchronicity happening. Check out his blog (scroll down to nearly the bottom of his entry), and spread the meme!

What’s your baggage? The CSI.



(Click on image to see it larger. I just discovered I can upload photos for free with Blogger - duh!) Possibly the only thing more interesting than reading another person’s “diary/blog” is seeing what they carry around in their bag, purse, wallet, coat pockets or your car's trunk. Shigeki of Tokio Bleu, started a meme, based on his entry "My goodies."

My digital camera was stolen, so I used Photoshop to make a collage what I usually carry in my work bag when I meet with a client. Not very interesting is it? I bought the The Modele Collagen Lip Enhancer after reading about it - it's supposed to make your lips fuller. I haven't used it regularly enough to find out if it works, because it's packaged in a gold lipstick container, and I'm too embarrassed to take it out in public and use it. After staring at a screen all day my eyes are usually red, so I bring along Visine to get the red out, so that I don't look like I'm suffering from a hangover. "Was he born that way, or is it Maybelline?" The coverstick I hate using, but if I've had too many late nights, it hides those undereye circles. I don't usually get blemishes anymore (thank goodness) but I'm prepared if I do. The Kleenex is a bit of a lie - I usually stuff paper towels I steal from bathrooms in my bag to wipe my sweaty face before a meeting. It's just that Kleenex looks nicer. Unfortunately we don't have those hi-tech Japanese wipes here. I left out the muffin crumbs, loose change and lint.

Here's Shigeki's call to action: Links and Meme. I'd like to tag someone, but I doubt anyone reads my site! If you do one, let me know.

A Great Chef

I feel so thrilled – a local bistro chef asked me for my opinion on their new entry! And the chef listened to me!

I’ve lived here for nearly 3 years, and have gone to her bistro for about the same time. She honestly serves the best food, for a bistro, in town. It’s French (and many other cultures), down-to—earth, simple and yet so delicious, it can make you HIGH just tasting it. I think they’re the best kept secret, in terms of a bistro, in the city. And they’re only a hop-skip-jump away from me.

Their most fabulous secret is their breakfasts. (They serve the best eggs and baked potatoes you’ve ever tasted or seen – they’re perfect technically). My favourite is their baked garlic with pesto scrambled eggs. Secondly are their fresh-baked breads (do I want their sour dough, their French bread, their honey wheat bread, or their full grain bread? I can’t decide). Thirdly is their yummy food, that ranges from Mac and Cheese to blah-blah-blah-blah-blah! I don’t know the names, they’re too complicated for me. Often it contains that purple egg-shaped vegetable…you know what I mean. (Egg-plant) Nevertheless, everything I’ve tasted in the last three years has been perfect!

Recently they’ve introduced pasta to their menu – it’s only available from 3-9pm. So I thought I’d try it tonight.

When I first walked in, I saw the owner, and she said hello. We know each other because I’ve been there so often. I ordered a pasta – some pollo con something with wine, and the pasta was my favourite shape – the penne. Remember, I’m not a food expert at all. It included a little chicken and broccoli (very little) and some dried red tomatoes. But lots of wine and spices.

When it came to my table, and I ate a couple of spoonfuls, and she pulled up a chair to find out my opinion! I was so pleased and complimented. I told her that it tasted too “acidic” at the moment. I offered her food from my plate to taste. She realized that it was due to too much wine, so she called one of her waiters, and got some more freshly grated parmesian cheese. After adding three teaspoons, the dish tasted perfect, and entirely cut down on the acidity!

Where else can you get that type of service? I only ate half of it because I was so full, and was so perfectly satiated. The waiter packaged up the rest for me.

I could go on and on about her and her food. I’m wondering…where else could you get such service, other than in Kitsilano, Vancouver? Have you ever had the chef sit at your table and taste your food with you, and correct it and make it taste better?

I don’t know…it meant so much to me, that she listened to my opinion and actually sat down with me, and cared about my dinner so much that she heard me and made my dinner taste much better. I’ve never had that happen before.

I love her.