Tired. And... Tired. And Random.

Please ignore my last post. I was retardedly tired, and because of this my writing was far from being anything but sub par. Seeing that I'm again retardedly tired, I can use this same excuse for this post.

Pride was a blast. The parade was pretty mediocre, though, but the event itself was enjoyable nonetheless. I think the greatest aspect of the entire weekend was the opportunity to hang out with people who I care deeply about, walking around in a loving and accepting environment. Meghan summed it up well with "you feel that you're not the minority anymore; you don't have to have any fear in you because you're somewhat 'different.'" Everyone attending pride was so open minded, and the fact that no one even gave, say, five+ naked men walking around the street a second glance just made it that much more enjoyable-- no one cared how you expressed yourself. Yeah, there was five+ naked men walking around, five+ naked men who should not have been naked.

Anyways, aside from Leah becoming moody in the beginning of the day, Duncan giving off some animosity vibes during the middle of the day, and Scott feeling ill towards the end, it was a great day.

And I've come to the multi-million dollar conclusion that I love wearing kilts. One could argue I was wearing a skirt, but fuck you! It was a kilt! So free and... breezy. Scott and I wanted to get it on while I was wearing the kilt after Pride, but due to his sudden illness that was postponed 'til the next day. And holy crap... getting it on while wearing a kilt is really, really, really hott.

Sadly Scott could only stay for two days, but we made the most of it. I even snuck into bed with him the night he stayed over (and left in the early morning so I wasn't caught). As soon as I was underneath the covers he put his arms around me. That has to be one of the greatest feelings ever.

Bah, there is so much more I want to write about (namely the events that happened this weekend), but I fear (read: know) that this will not follow any coherent pace, so bare with me. Hrm... I think I'll just give the rest of the details in point form in no chronological order. Yeah, that's a splendid idea!

-Katy gave me the "I <3 Scott" pin to put on my bag. 'Tis tres cool.
-Had the most expensive burger, ever. But it was all good due to the delicousness factor of the meal.
-Scott and I were interviewed by a crew doing a documentary on the penis.
-When I returned to my wonderful town, I was asked if I was wearing a skirt by some passer-by in a vehicle.
-Snuggled a lot with Scott as if it's going out of style.

I'm so frickin' exhausted now. This post has taken too long to do. It's two in the morning and I can't think.

I'm just going to stop now, and if something comes up that I want to post about with regards to Pride, I will. And if I forgot anything, just let me know.

Quick Times

This'll be a quick update due to my tiredness. It's fucking 4:22 in the morning and I'm still up. Actually, I just returned back from Pride.
Okay, long story short:
1) Went to Pride and met up with (eventually) Meghan, Dan, Duncan, Patrica, KK and had dinner
2) Wondered around Church Street with the above cast, taking in all the sites.
3) Duncan and I seperated ways 'cuz Duncan wanted to meet up with his new interest. I went with because I wanted to see if this new interest was worth his time.
4) Drank with Duncan, ROb (Duncan's interest), Some annoyign guy (who had sex with Rob), and two lesbians. Actually, only one of them was a lesbian.
5) Caught the street car home, and looked after where Duncan was going to sleep for the night.

I have to be up in less than four hours to meet up with Scott at the bus terminal. I have a headache. I should be sleeping. Now. Go. I'll wait.

This post misses out a lot of occurences, but I'm too tired to care, so ... nerts to you. I'm off to bed.

I'm wearing a kilt the real Scottish way (read: wearing the kilt with no underwear or boxers underneith) for Scott. Yeah, I'm cool. Or something.

SLEEP NOW.

Random

You know you should get to bed when you can hear birds chirping.

No Words

Tonight I saw Fahrenheit 9/11 with Claire, Julia and Veronica. There are no words to express how powerful that movie was; it had me in tears. The facts that Michael Moore brought to the surface were a ferocious cheek slapper. Sure I had some idea of the corruption that went on in the White House, but for as how far the rabbit hole went, I was clueless. I- Just- Wow. No words.

In other news...I am able to wear a kilt for pride! All thanks to a super cool friend who continues to go by the name of The Godfather. I'm ever so excited!

I feel like writing. A lot. Pages, even. This is probably due to my lack of writing in the recent months. I miss Writer's Craft, and, more importantly, my teacher for Writer's Craft. She ruled. She _loved_ my sense of humour, and we got along great because of that simple fact.

Maybe I'll continue to work on the story I started earlier this summer about a well known and well respected patron of a classy restaurant finding out he just consumed 15 grams of pot with his meal. Maybe. Who knows? Maybe I'll start a whole new adventure. And then, if you're lucky, I'll post it on here. But like I said: only if you're lucky.

Let's go over what we've learned. You, faithful reader, should see Fahrenheit 9/11 and I, the innocent bystander, should start writing again. Oh, and I'm wearing a kilt. 'Cuz I rule.

Sacrilicious

I found out that walking to the dentist's office doesn't consume two hours like I had originally suspected; it polished off only an hour and a half. On my journey to the dentist I hoped to encounter some sort of crazy spectacle involving dragons. I realized this wasn't going to happen when I arrived to the dentist's office free from any sort of amusing incident. Upon arriving I reluctantly announced my arrival, to which I was told that I would be seen shortly.

As per usual the hygienist did most of the dirty work (scrapping, chatting, brushing, flossing, flirting, sending explosive shocks of pain through out my gums). The dentist continued his efforts to erode my resistance for getting braces-- each time I visit him he recommends I see an orthodontist to put the metal rail roads in my mouth. I don't think he understands the fact that these braces are not feasibly affordable even when I explicitly say so.

Tonight was fun. Claire, Julia, and I smoked up before heading to Adelphia's with Anna (Anna didn't want to smoke for some reason) for some good dessert eatin'. I swear to god the dessert I was inhaling was having sex with my tastebuds in one huge delicious, lip smakin' orgy-fest. Through out the entire night Anna made it clear that she did not want to be with us; she thought she was better and more mature than us. Bah. The night ended with Claire, Julia and I just sitting in the car in my driveway, talking and laughing, all comfortable and relaxed... the way summer should be. "He's not from Wayne's WOrld! I mean Growing Pains!... Shit! I mean Boy Meets World!" had us all in stitches. I really don't know how this came about, but I remember my sides hurting because of it. How Julia mistook Wayne's World for Boy Meets World is beyond me. Anyways...

I love how easily Scott can paint a smile on my face. God damnit I miss him. But I'll spare you the details...

Verbal Diarrhea

1) Everyone has to go see Dodgeball. Now. Too much funny. Too many amusing cameos.
2) I can't wait for Napoleon Dynamite, Fahrenheit 9/11 and The Anchorman to come out.
3) My brother's commencement was far too long and far too boring. Poking my eyes with hot iron pokers whilst plucking every single hair from my body (not that I have much, but you know) would have been more entertaining and enjoyable than listening to children scream and cheer for whatever reason they were screaming and cheering about. The pain lasted for so long and I thought I was never going to be manumitted.
4) I found out I'm heavily bound to taking electives from a certain list, a list which doesn't allow me to take the courses I really want. So no French, no music, no astrophysics etc. etc. The one course that wasn't axed from my original list was a full year study on film, and, as fate would have it, this conflicts heavily with my schedule. Well, I could go to the lectures for the first half of the year, and then just fail to attend any lecture during the winter... though I'm sure this practice is frowned heavily upon. Oh well. Maybe I'll take nursing-- it's one of the few courses on the damn list that I can take.

Predicting the Future

I think it is safe to say that Veronica and I have predicted the future. After discussing federal and provincial issues and how same-sex marriage is slowly becoming legal due to the Supreme Court concluding that it's unconstitutional to ban such a thing (I would go into more detail, but I'm almost out of breath), we started to sway our conversation into the direction that consisted of future controversial issues. Woman having voting rights and blacks and gays having equal human rights have all been controversial issues that our extremely liberal generation has no problem with. The older generations might have been all WTF over the aforementioned issues, but we just didn't see a problem with it. But, as our seemingly liberal generation becomes the ancient dinosaurs of the lands (like so many seemingly liberal generations before us), we both wondered what the future controversial issue will be, and I believe we have it figured out: Clones.

We've decided that there will be a whole opposition to clones (that is to say cloning becomes legal). To be truthful, I'll be a little reluctant to see clones as anything else but clones. Of course my views will be considered discriminatory. There will be clone rallies, arguing that they're people too. And then the TV-shows will surface, such as Clone as Folk and Will's Clone and Grace, Clonefield and Clonesier, and so on and so forth.

Ah, Veronica rules.

Fuck!

Goddamnit. The dentist's secretary just phoned to remind my brothers that they have a dentist appointment next week. After realizing who she was talking to, she told me I was long overdue for an appointment. Like a rodent's attempt to escape the jaws of life in an owl's claw, I failed miserably to wiggle and squirm my way out of making an appointment-- her schedule was way more accommodating than I would have liked. Thus, I have to see my dentist Thursday at 11. I hate seeing the dentist with every fiber of my being. I hate being propped in a seat with gizmos and gadgets that make scary, life-threatening sounds, prodding around in my mouth making me paranoid to move my tongue a fraction of an inch for the fear that it might be ripped right from the back of my throat. And, you know, I've grown quite attached to where my tongue is currently situated. I especially hate it when I'm told that if I were to floss more frequently, my gums wouldn't be in as much pain as they are now for future visits. This is then repeated every single fucking time she shoves the floss between two teeth causing my gums to bleed. I hate flossing and I hate your advice, so get your goddamn fingers out of my mouth.

Shiggity

I finally have one of my best friends back. Duncan, who I thought I lost as a friend, phoned me up asking if I was up for something. Of course I was, and so we met at Adelphia's. There we talked, discussed issues, and, well, bonded. He insisted he paid for my lunch... to the point where he slapped my hand away when I tried to look at the bill.

Afterwards we went to a pub, where I returned the favour and paid for the drinks. Nothing like drinking in the early afternoon. More bonding was had, and we both got misty eyed. I'm so glad that we're on good terms again. After this we tried to go the the LCBO and the Beer Store, both of which were closed. Disappointed, we headed back to my house to BBQ some burgers and watch Super Troopers, a movie he's never seen. Crazy, I know.

Through out all of this we discussed the various issues bothering him. He apologized for everything and told me what was going on in his life. He told me that he still had some minor feelings for me, and he wishes he never said anything in the first place. Well, long story short, Duncan and I are on good terms (like I said), and everything is good.

I would write more and I would write in a better fashion, but I'm ghastly tired and falling asleep at the keyboard, so I really don't care at this point. That said, I bid you good night.

Lovers in a Dangerous Time

Before I go and clean up a house that is in a dire need of cleaning up, I shall post about the weekend's events. But, I'm in quite the predicament. I mean, where do I start? Do I start where two people, both in moving vehicles, called Scott and I, and I quote, fucking fags? Both instances were seconds apart, no less. I was so embarrassed. I really didn't want to bring my boyfriend into a realm of ignorance, but that was indeed the case. No matter. Scott and I discussed the pointlessness of their comments. It's funny how people think that calling us what we are is some kind of insult. Damn us for holding hands. Or something. I couldn't help it that the remarks got under my skin and started break-dancing. I probably wouldn't have cared so much if I was on my own, but since Scott was there the remarks kind of hit me a tad harder than I should have allowed it.

As per usual, Scott was a friggin' sweetheart the entire weekend. He bought me dinner down town when he arrived on Friday, right before he almost passed away from starvation. After we made our way back to my somewhat humble home, we made plans to hit-up the Waterfront Festival with Brian, Claire, Erin, Julia and Feraz (Erin's boyfriend). Bars succumbed upon our arrival, Ice cream parlours dispensed ice cream, and an insane amount of laughs were had. At one of the bars we were at, Scott had his arms draped around me. One guy approached us and said,

"Are you guys, you know, out. Have guys you come out."

in such a way that he raised his voice after each sentence. I guess this was some sort of question, though not a question that deserves question marks. Scott and I were taken aback by this, and proceeded to say "yeah." What a retarded question to ask. No, we're not out. Please don't tell anyone that we were kissing, it could shock the nation. Oh, the scandal of it all! He then asked us how old we were before heading out of the bar.

That night I also ran into a monkey handful of friends, one of which tried to scare Scott. And I must say, she did a very good job.

Saturday my parents, and one of the two brothers I have left the premises for the rest of the weekend, leaving the house practically to ourselves. Matthew was left behind, but he kept to himself upstairs, allowing Scott and I to have... alone time. Yes, that should hold quite nicely. Not the Hoover Dam hold I'm looking for- more of a chewed-up piece of gum stuck to your shoe kind of hold.

That night Brian, Claire, Erin, Julia, Patricia and Feraz came over for my first "Sick Jam" of the summer. Poloroids were taken. Pizza was ordered. Oh, and not just any kind of pizza, the four-for-one kind of pizza. You know, the one offered by Pizza Hut. My god, whoever came up with that idea is a genius. Instead of four hens bickering about what should go on the pizza, we all got our own way with the four-for-one. /ad

After some time, everyone but Claire, Julia, Scott and I left the house to call it a night at around 2, 4 hours before we had to be up. Claire and Julia were staying over because Claire was nice enough to drive Scott to the bus terminal to catch the earliest bus possible on Sunday morning. If that wasn't the case, Scott would have had to go home Saturday night.

Sunday morning. We were up at the ass-crack of dawn, groggy as ever, speeding down the Gardiner after a delay at McDonald's, trying to get Scott to his bus on time. This was an adventure all on its own. The Gardiner decided to close itself down for some of the way (a liberty I clearly didn't grant), causing a traffic jam at 6:30 in the fucking morning! After a nail-biting car ride against time, Scott made it to his bus with about -5 seconds to spare. Yes, that's a negative sign in front of the number, meaning that the bus waited for Scott to buy his ticket. I felt so bad 'cuz, even though Scott didn't look it, I didn't want to make him extremely nervous for making his bus. Close call that was, but fun times regardless. We all laughed about it, and I'm sure Scott raised an eyebrow or two upon hearing some remarks coming from Julia and other drivers. Good times.

After Scott was safely on his bus, Claire, Julia and I went back to McDonald's, the one that caused us our first delay in the early morning travel plan, for breakfast. I probably should note that, before this, Claire, Julia and I sang "happy music" on the entire trip back from Toronto because Scott made his bus. Cool, we are not.

And that, my friends, is the close to wicked-bad weekend.




It's funny. Even after all this time spent with Scott, I still get a tad nervous about many things. These things range from "I hope I'm not acting like an idiot" to "I hope I look okay". Though this is far from an accurate spectrum, it'll have to do. *coughlosercough* And, mind you, I'm not saying this is a bad thing.

Picking

Upon reading an entry done by a certain someone, things started to buzz and whirr and do other mechanical-sounding things in my head. Not literally of course-- that would be kind of weird if that was indeed the case.

Let's make up some ambiguous characters using letters like one would use letters for variables in a math equation. Let one human being be represented by the letter 'X', and another human being be represented by the letter 'Y'. Still with me? Good. Let's say that X and Y were going out, and they were both in love with each other. Now, to further the equation, one of them, X, starts to think that s/he is becoming too dependent and needy, and begins to hate her/himself for it. [edit: the X and Y does not stand for Scott and I]

And now I sit and stare at the monitor with the cursor laughing at me in little blinks as I fail to write what I want. This may have something to do with the fact that there are now more than one person reading this thing. But hey, this is my journal. I should be able to write whatever I please, right? So tally-ho, as they say.

In a way I can see where X is coming from. But I try to avoid blaming these feelings on things such as being too dependent and being too needy. It's not these things at all. When I look into this picture that's been so delicately painted, I see more of a 'missing' theme-- Talking to a certain someone is the highlight of my day because I miss them, not because I'm too dependent on them. Well, this is what I'm hoping anyway.

I guess you could say that I hate, hate, hate, hate the fact that I feel a part of me is missing when I'm not beside a certain someone. Why does this have to be one of the many side-effects when you're on love? Why do I have to feel like the universe has been caving in around me when a certain someone isn't around, and it's that certain someone who can reverse the agonizing process? It's that certain someone who can raise me to new dimensions of beautiful bliss and hunger-satisfying happiness by just being there. It's that certain someone who puts that fucking skip in my step when I think about seeing him next. It's that certain someone who can make me believe that everything is right as pH-7 rated rain with a simple kiss, or a simple touch. It's that certain someone who fills my stomach with warm fuzzies, or butterflies, or whatever else you want to call it with just a simple passing thought of him. And as good as this seems, it's also a tad scary. Scary because- not something I really want to get into right now, and I'm not perfectly comfortable posting that here. Maybe some other time, some other post.

I finally know why there has been mountains and mountains of songs, poetry, stories, and art on love: there is just so much damn emotion and feelings involved in this simple four-letter word. Or, maybe it's just that you cannot describe what you feel with all the words, metaphors and similes in the world. God knows Shakespeare tried, and since I'm about a good a writer as Shakespeare as the sun is cold, I'm going to stop trying.

Anyways. I watched Monster tonight with Brian. Holy shit. The performances were astonishing.

And Another Thing!

I was just reading up on the big debate, and it's funny how the Liberals are becoming more and more conservative each day. In the short time that Martin was in power, he was all for traditional marriages. Now the Liberals are being a bunch of fucking pansies and are refusing to take a stand on what they support: same-sex marriages or traditional marriages. At least the Conservatives have enough balls to stick to their anti-same-sex marriage stance, however crude and ignorant the stance might be.

It's been a close run for the Conservatives and the Liberals, but with Martin being a complete tool with no balls whatsoever and with the lack of confidence and intelligence (as he clearly showed in the debate, with his rambling and his knack for avoiding any threatening questions), it might push the Conservatives, with Harper's anti-everything, into the lead. If only the NDP could show some fiscal responsibility, then, and only then would they be the ideal choice.

I would really love to vote Green, but I think my vote will be a strategic one, instead of throwing it away, to make sure the Conservatives do not get into power. Though I don't want the Liberals in power either, I fear this may be the lesser evil. Actually, I'm pretty sure I'll vote NDP, the lesser of _three_ evils. Maybe as the older generations die off the Green party will stand a better chance...

Too much rambling for one night folks.

Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones, but Whips and Chains Excite Me

The ever-so-clever title will be made into a button for my man purse thanks to a wonderful gal who goes by the name The Godfather. Though not a lot of people call her that, it's what she insists on going by. I, however, constantly defy The Godfather by calling her Katy.

Today I calculated my next school year to cost me around $14500. That's about $14500 I don't have. Tuition costs, being the $7500 chunk of the overall total, is due August 15th. Again, that's $7500 I don't have. I figure I can scrape by if OSAP cooperates and gives me the maximum amount allowed for a student loan. If all goes according to plan, OSAP will cover the tuition and books and, to continue following the plan, the part-time job I snag for the school year (something I don't really want to do) will cover the rent, utilities, entertainment and food... and alcohol.

On a happier paragraph, I finally have a summer job, and with this I hope I can save up enough money for a small buffer zone, you know, just in case I run out of money or something. I don't know how often or how well I'll be getting paid working at the Molson Amphitheater, but hopefully it's often and hopefully it's decent.

To continue this happy trend, I saw the movie Saved!, which was a great romantic Christian satire. I don't want to give much away, but it was a brilliantly acted and superbly directed film that has a nice, sappy, feel-good fairy-tale ending. In fact, it was so sappy and so feel-good that I got a little misty eyed at times. Also, I never knew one of the cutest boys in the world, Patrick Fugit, was in it. One of his shining moments was when he was wearing nothing but a small loin cloth. Mmmm, Irish boys. I mean- what? Where am I? Who am I? *Ahem* I think I'll be definitely getting this movie on DVD so I can watch it again- and no, not for the loin cloth scene. Though that might be an added bonus, the movie was just that enjoyable to watch again and again.

Decisions times three

I really, really love my friends. Who doesn't like being stood up? I mean, really- who? I think having your hopes of seeing Monster with a good friend crushed like a paper cup in the hands of Hulk Hogan is a fun experience. Sometimes I hate living at home, and the credit is placed with some of my friends putting me in craptacular moods.

Anyways... I've been looking at a handful of potential courses for my electives for the coming school year. There are so many courses I would love to take, but having such a busy core-schedule as it is with engineering chemistry, I'm limited to one full credit or two half credit courses. Actually, I'm not really sure what the number is, but it's very small. I'm like the fat kid who wants every desert on the menu but is limited to only one due to the strict parents. I would love to take a course on astrophysics, a course on film studies, an introductory course on French (I can't remember a thing in French. Well, I can, but it's not very much), an introductory course on music studies (learning how to read music and the like), a course involving the history of math (a course my old math teacher recommended to me which I found really intriguing- I swear I'm cool!), an introductory course on psychology- and the list goes on and on. I think I'm going to definitely take the course on the French language. That takes up the one half credit... I have about as much of a clue on what I'd fill the second half credit with as knowing the secret to how do they get the caramel into the Caramilk bar. Damnit. I do wish I could consume everything on the menu instead of being limited to an appetizer.

Calm, Cool and Collected

There are few things that surpass the fascination of this feeling: I just smoked a small bowl, and am now currently listening, nay, living the music that is violently flooding the sound waves. I love the ability to be able to detect every minute note and small music capsule, each of which has a unique sound from the past and present sounds. Every single one has its own distinct volume of pleasure, and this is collectively built up upon hitting the ear drum. The accumulated euphoric bliss breaks, and is diffused through out the brain, slowly placing itself in nice, warm, cozy crevices like fire hiding out in a forest. There it burrows deeper into the forest-like brain, spreading more contentment to wherever it settles. The pleasure burns down trees of pain and suffering through the mere seconds of bombardment, causing it irrefutable damage. Soon the giant trees grown in an anguish-rich soil are all scarred irreversibly with burn marks, and are blackened with the fire’s trademark. This is left for eternity as a reminder of the ferocious pleasure that spread with ease through out the brain, all caused by the simple sounds and fancy silence flowing through the airwaves.

I Hate Titles

Well, this weekend, like the any other weekend/time spent with Scott, was wickedly delicious. And before the question “how can a weekend be wicked? Or even delicious, for that matter?” pops into your mind, read on and then ask the question. If all goes to plan, the question posed will already have been answered. This way we can avoid the awkwardness of the question-poser being a nosey ass.

If someone posed that question before I met Scott, I would have been as clueless as a pre-historic ape with a bone before he realized it could be used as a tool. Scott has this way of making the simplest things magical. He adds this whole new playing field to menial tasks by just being himself. It would then be safe to say that the ‘fun’ things that we get up to are just that much more enchanting or “delicious” if you will. Now if you could be so kind to replace the string of words that read “that much more” with the word “wicked”, we’re set. Now you know how time spent with Scott can be wickedly delicious. And finally we can move on. Well, I can. I don’t know about you, and frankly I could care less.

Because Toronto has the most retarded transit system ever and because there was some crash involving a stolen SUV on the highway, my bus was late to arrive in Peterborough. Due to this single circumstance, I was hungry. Scott shed light on some delicious pizza joint where I wolfed down a slice of pizza, and this was the start of a dream-like weekend.

I would spare some details of this weekend, but because I want to remember it in its fullest I shall fail to do exactly this.

You know what’s a terrible movie? Spartan. You know who’s a terrible actor? Val Kilmor (I couldn’t care less about spelling his name correctly, he’s just that bad). You know who was in Spartan? Kilmor. And he wasn’t someone who died off early in the film - oh no, far from it. He was the MAIN CHARACTER! Who in their fucking right mind casts Val Kilmor in anything but a role where he is simply killed for sport? Anyways, this quickly vanished from thought when the sex started. And you know what’s awesome? Handcuffs. Scott was extremely worried that I was going to scream, but I kept my itching vocal chords under control.

The next day we found out that Katy wasn’t going to join us in Peterborough. This was due to her being a jerk or something to do with her allergies. I’m going to go with the former excuse here, due to it fitting nicely. (I <3 you Katy) The next day also involved eating dinner with Scott’s father and step-mother. It was enjoyable, minus the part where his father went on and on and on and on about his ear-wax build-up. Not exactly the dinner conversation I had in mind, but it was dinner conversation nevertheless. I also found out that dinner that school doesn’t start up until September 15th. This is fantabulous news due to all the wickedly delicious time that can potentially be spent with Scott come the end of August.

Following dinner we went to some party at some house. There were two anti-social people there who looked really uncomfortable for most of the night. This might have been due to Mike coming on to one of them in his sort of Mike-coming-onto-unsuspecting-people-making-them-feel-really-uncomfortable way. Everyone at the party was nice enough to give Scott and me a closet to sleep in, which was lacking pillows and a mattress. I must say sleeping on the floor is very, very uncomfortable. I found it kind of funny how they were shoving us back in the closet. There we got shouted at with “OH MY GOD!” by Mike who ran by us in the peak of us “getting it on”. Scott wasn’t impressed, but, due to my sense of humour, found it kind of funny. More irritating than funny, mind you, ‘cuz it’s sort of a mood breaker.

Today consisted of eating breakfast at an A+ restaurant called Smitty’s, and watching Young Frankenstein, which was vastly disappointing. Today also consisted of me almost missing my chance to buy my bus ticket home, and Scott giving me a tad anti-climatic good-bye. I guess you could say that I was kind of disappointed over Scott leaving as soon as I was on the bus platform. The bus didn’t come until 15+ minutes after Scott left, and if you take the already mentioned fact about time with Scott being wickedly delicious, those 15 minutes could have been spent making out. Or something.

Anyways, as the bus hurtled me away from a city doused in darkness, my mind reflected on a few (read: many) things. At a time in the newly made past Meghan had asked me something -- a something I cannot remember exactly how it was worded -- and it made me think. The something was along the lines of “don’t you ever think of future plans with Scott?” I was taken aback, and replied with something that wasn’t too far off from “I dunno- that kind of scares me.” Meghan asked me why I was scared, and suggested that it might be due to me missing out on things due to my current attachment. I immediately (and still currently) thought that that suggestion was absurd. I realized that when I’m with Scott I am my happiest, and nothing in the world could change that. I’m not missing out on anything because Scott fulfills everything I could possibly want.

I’ve never been one to plan anything more than a week in advance, due to the knowledge that life never works out the way you want it, but with the case with Scott, he’s always in my future plans that lie a week ahead. I don’t know how much sense this makes, and I can easily blame it on the 4 o’clock in the morning mark on the time-teller. Yes, time-teller. Shut up. That’s why.

Scott told me some things over the course of the weekend, one of which he found rather embarrassing. I, on the other hand, found it really cute. Like, really cute. I don’t know what it is, but that boy can easily cast a smile on my face.

It's funny how Scott and I had to act like secret lovers in his own home. It's the exact same ritual when he's here. The only places we can actually cuddle on the couch and do the things couples do is everywhere but our own homes. C'est la vie, as they say. Who "they" are, I will never know, but I want to find out one day. Maybe it's them who controls the weather. Who knows? 'Cuz I certainly don't.

PS - random memory: Scott's friends gave me two of the infamous sex bracelets, and Scott kept stealing them from me. Good times.

The new and improved something or something

Sing with me now!

Oh,
I found a job
(He found a job)
I found a job
(He found a job)
I found a job so I can have my cake and eat’er


I’m now a worker
(He’s now a worker)
I’m now a worker
(He’s now a worker)
I’m now a worker for the Amphitheater.

I’ll now be shit on
And metaphorically caged
By serving people
(The fuming people)
And it’s all for minimum wage

But,
I found a job
(He found a job)
I found a job
(He found a job)
I found a job to sustain my way of living
(His way of living)

I’m now a worker
(He’s now a worker)
I’m now a worker
(He’s now a worker)
I’m now a worker and now I can’t stop shivering
(He can’t stop shivering)

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Yeah, that’s right. I found a job. Well, I don’t exactly have it yet, but I’m pretty sure it’s a "for sure" thing *knocks on wood*. The interview is on Monday, and I’m pretty sure I can nail it. It’s not like I’m a virgin to retail.

Speaking of virginity, guess whose hair-dying hymen has been torn? Mine! It was all the fun cherry-popping can be with out the blood (ew, I know). Now I’ve never thought my hair could look good, and even to a greater extent respectable, but I think my hair looks great! I’m absolutely in love with the colour, which is now a blue-black or a black-blue or whatever the colour’s name is.

* * *
The knowledge of dying my hair will probably be added to the fire as fuel for “how James’s attitude became queerer than queer” (as spoken by a friend). The more I think about it the more irritated I get by this ignorant comment. When I was officially living under my mom and step-dad’s roof I was very restricted to what I could and could not do. One of the things I wanted to do was to dye my hair and to get a piercing or two. However long and however much (which wasn’t long or much-- there is a reason for this so read on) I pleaded with my parents to be a tad lenient for my piercing and hair-dying cause, I never won a match. They immediately black balled it. If you really know my parents you would then know as soon as they black ball something it’s never, ever up for discussion. Period. Not a comma, or semi-coma, or colon, but just a period. Actually it’s more like the pre-mature end of a book. Now that I’m no longer officially living under the roof of my parents, I’ve been able to do things I’ve wanted to do for a long time. My official coming out of the closet coincided with flying out of the nest, and so the things I got done (hair dying and piercings) seemed to a lot of people (more or less one or two friends) that I was only doing this because I was gay and that I’ve completely revamped my attitude because of this.
* * *

Anyways... I guess I can thank my hairdresser for being the Jesus Christ of my hair. She showed me the way on how my hair can actually look good. While dying my hair we talked about a lot of issues, like same-sex issues, and we agreed on some things like how the gay community shouldn’t be in an up-roar about the catholic religion not wanting to marry gay couples, it’s simply against their religion. Granted the religion should change for the times, it’s just not in the Catholic religion’s doctrine or code of conduct. It’s like wanting the Jewish religion to start believing in Jesus. Well, not really, but you get the idea. The Jewish community still accepts the figure that Jesus is to a lot of people, but they just don’t believe in him.

We both talked about the controversial issue of the high school student wanting to take his boyfriend to the prom. We both agreed that he shouldn’t have taken the issue right to the supreme court of Canada. The Catholic school system obviously follows the Catholic religion, which doesn’t believe that two men should be together in any way but friends. If he wanted to take his boyfriend to the prom he should have realized that he should have gone to a public school to do so. I think people don’t realize what the gay community is really fighting for: acceptance. Just because a Catholic someone doesn’t believe that same-sex couples should get married doesn’t mean he can’t accept the idea of a same-sex couple and tolerate them. The one thing that I do advocate strongly, however, is the separation of church and state. Just because a group of people under a religious umbrella fails to believe in same-sex marriages doesn’t mean the entire state has to believe that as well. I don’t hear of the Jewish community fighting long and hard to make it illegal for Jesus paraphernalia, or anything Jesus for that matter, to be illegal. I’m not sure how well I connected the dots on this, but I hope I got the majority linked.

You know what’s funny? That Ashley and Madison commercial (the dating service that is actually promoting affairs and cheating between couples) being played during the Jerry Springer show. The world we live in.

Yesterday I ventured down town TO in the ferocious heat with Scott, Gabe and Katy. Fun times were had by all. The highlights of the trip (aside from seeing everyone) included a lame, lame trip to York’s campus, and various sex shop visits. Scott and I invested in a pair of hand-cuffs. I use the word “invested” not because we’ll make money off of this, but because the pleasure that will be made will be unfathomable. I think it’s extremely cute how Scott can be sort of reserved about these sorts of things.

God damn I love my hair.

The formula for FUN!

Whoever decided on the formula for a funeral got it all wrong. When I attended my uncle's funeral and burial every person I saw was having the worst time, ever. They were all ridiculously hot, ferociously uncomfortable, piercingly sad and each and everyone one who showed up was dying (no pun intended) to get the hell out of the church. Granted it's a funeral and that atmosphere is the norm, it's still unnecessary. This is where I'm going to come in, and totally revamp the way funerals are done. Well, at least with mine.

Instead of having a priest you can barely hear and who looks like he's on his last dying legs, I'll have- actually, I'm going to scrap the priest all together. Why the hell would I want someone who couldn't care less to be there talking about Peter's letter to Joseph? And how the deceased aren't really dead, but actually they're just on some wild vacation in the clouds? I think life itself is some wild vacation - though it's not always a bowl of cherries, life is still usually one hell of a ride.

Next is the setting. I don't want people who come to these dreadful things out of respect to be sitting in pews; everyone who's anyone who sits in a pew is always shifting from ass cheek to ass cheek trying to get comfortable. I want love seats. I want lazy-boys. I want expensive leather chairs. Kick back and relax. Instead of having the funeral in a church, how about it takes place in, oh, I don't know, my house. That is to say I have the said comfy-chairs conveniently located in my house. If not, I guess we'll have to go to plan B and hold the funeral in some sort of fancy-dancy banquet hall. I want the setting to be more up-beat, and not so much with the sobbing and the crying and the oh-i-wish-he-was-still-here-why-isn’t-he-still-here-come-back-you-sonovabitch. Sure, the church setting is somewhat nice, but when people think “church”, they think “fuck.” The same people also think “church services are callously boring”.

Now instead of going through some formal script that was written a thousand years ago on how a funeral should take place, I want family, friends, and acquaintances to come and relax and remember the ‘good times’. Scrap the gospel-speak. To loosen everyone up I'll make sure I'll spare enough money for an open-bar, where the guests can drink as much or as little as they want.

Have you ever noticed how badly the music sucks at a funeral? I know when I'm there I don't want to hear about the Lord being my shepard and that's all I want -- I don't think anyone wants just that, but that's neither here nor there -- I want a more up-beat, happy-go-lucky, yes-this-is-a-sad-time-but-let's-remember-all-the-good-times kind of atmosphere, and best way to achieve that with an A++ is with decent music. I think before I die I'll make a mix-CD that encompasses my favourite music, or music that you can remember me by. It'll be catchy music, maybe even music that you'll tap your foot or nod your head to. Yes, yes, I’ll have some gospel music swimming around somewhere on the airwaves, but only the nice, sweet gospel music. Maybe I’ll get Whoopie Goldberg to come and direct some church choir… Maybe.

Now I know flowers are provided to mask the smell of a rotting corpse, but fuck that. I'll have them febreeze me. Not only is it cheaper, it would probably do a much better job. I don’t ever remember hearing how flowers ABSORB the odour. Instead of flowers I want pictures. I want mountains and mountains of pictures that people have of me with others having a good time. I want these pictures plastered around the banquet hall so everyone can go up to them and be like "oh, I remember that! Good times and all that jazz" (not like they'll say "and all that jazz", but you know what I mean).

Once everyone is liquored up I want people sharing stories of their favourite moments with me, may it be one or twenty. Yes, I'll allow people to cry, but it better be tears of happiness. I want it to be tears due to the fun times we've had instead of tears due to my eternal absence. You see, if you can become all nostalgic due to sharing memories with friends/family/acquaintances, then I'd much rather you cry over that.

Yea, I'd much rather have someone walking out of my funeral with fresh, forever lasting memories, a good song stuck in their head, rip-roaring drunk, and them thinking "wow, he really knows how to throw a party".

Taking the "Fun" out of "Funerals".

I really, really, really, really, really (read: really) hate going to wakes. All everyone does is stand around awkwardly and uncomfortably, all brought together because of something that everyone tries to avoid in conversation, but that certain something that people are trying to avoid is only feet away from them evoking a waterfall of tears that people are trying to fruitlessly hold in like a couple of toothpicks holding back the Niagara falls. *breathes*

When I die I'm going to make sure that I don't have a wake. I do not want a bunch of people coming just out of respect to stand there with there arms crossed wishing they were anywhere else but the current coordinates that they are standing. Or, if I do have a wake, I want it to be fun. I'll make sure it's in my will to bring in a juggler or something.

Tomorrow is the funeral and burial. Two other events I can really do with out. How is shoving someone in a 7-foot hole celebrating their release from this insufferable world? I don't get it. I probably won't get it. I just know when I go I want my ashes spread around _everywhere_. Maybe I'll try to get my ashes in space. Yes... That'll work quite nicely.

I was supposed to get together with two of my friends after the wake. I phoned them to tell them that I was going to be a little later than planned, but as luck would have it they were both out for the night (as told by their parents). My friends rock, really. Yay for shitty moods. Or something.

Surfin' On Something

In two years I've had two sets of unneeded drama on Livejournal. Both times friends were lost. Fun, I swear.

I was told that the past few years [with me] have been a complete waste of time. Though he told me he wasn't sure if he meant it when I asked him what he was implying by that statement, it still hurt. A lot. Basically the gist of the conversation was that I've turned into a tool, he's not the only one who feels that way, and he's not sure if he wants to continue being friends.

I asked another friend if I've changed, and she said I have a bit, but it was a change for the better. Since I've come out I've been more fun. So I really don't know... I think that my friend hates my journal and not me. Granted I write it, I just think I come off different (as everyone does to some extent) online. I don't know. I really don't know where to go from here. When I told him that I've scrapped my journal due to the drama, he went offline and hasn't been online since. So yeah.

He told me that he misses how things used to be. I do too. I told that kid everything, and now I'm sitting here slowing breaking away at the fact that we might not be friends anymore.

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Anyways... I have a wake to go to tomorrow, and a funeral to go to the following day. I really, really don't feel like breaking down to tears in the next few days. Does that make me selfish? I don't want it to make me selfish.

I want to do something stupid. I want to get a piercing, or a tattoo, or smoke a lot of pot. I'll probably go with the latter. But probably not.

Annoyed at 34th St.

Tonight was Erin and Kiera's birthday dinner at jackastor's, and holy shit! That place has been totally gutted and then re-gutted. It's like jack astor's is trying to be a tad classier. So to do this they decided to get rid of that all-you-can-eat garlic pan bread, which was the only thing they had going for them.

Patricia and I left early so we could catch the rest of the hockey game at another party and to ditch people we didn't feel like seeing. The party was kind of weak due to the lame people that were there. Though I did spend some time talking to the guy (called Jordan) who I first came out to last summer. I guess you could say he was the ... third? fourth? Person I officially came out to, and he was only an acquaintance. Patricia made some remark about her being jealous that I came out to him before I came out to closer friends. I just responded by saying the fact that he was the only one who asked me, and the only one who didn't constantly poke fun at the fact that I was in the closet. True story. Jordan wants to meet Scott. He wants me to bring him 'round to another party. Jordan also told me a story how he got in a fight with some dick-wads on my behalf because the dick-wads were making fun of my sexual orientation. Though Jordan might exaggerate, he's still a pretty good guy.

Anyways... After some beer and some time shivering in the cold and some time looking for someone's glasses which were lost in a garden, Patricia took me home.

New Home

After a lot of shit I've come to the conclusion that this will be the new home for my journal. I'll get into what that shit consists of, but in the mean time I have to mention this: while privatiz-ing my journal (again, this will make sense later on) I came across a post that was entered on November 22, 2003. The post mentioned on how I knew the name of the guy who I thought was cute as fuck. The name I called the guy Alex, but little did I know his real name is Scott. After that mix-up was settled, I knew I was crushing over a guy who went by the name Scott. I know that my little crush even went earlier than that.

What's my point? There isn't one. It's almost four in the morning. I think my point has something to do how my feelings for Scott have only gotten stronger through out time.

Now to get into the aforementioned shit!

I found out today, and only today, that some of my friends thought I came off as a huge-ass tool on my Livejournal. Apparently my posts have been rubbing them the wrong way for some time. The thing that gets me the most is the fact that they had failed to fucking mention this whenever it started happening. But yeah. I think I've lost a friend over this. I mean, what the fuck. Now I'm pretty self-conscious about anything I write now, fearing I've become this tool that my friends speak of. And because of this I made every single jounral entry from my Livejournal journal private, where only I can read it. All 300+ of them. Up with censoring myselF!!

I love it: More than one person felt this way, and they all discussed this behind my back instead of saying "hey, James, just so you know we think this." I hate when people make me feel inferior, and this is exactly what they're doing.

I'm tired, cranky, and gassy.

I saw Harry Potter today. From the first scene I could tell the difference in style. It was good, but far from anything spectacular. The plot line was choppy as shit, and I hated the fact that you could so blatantly tell Daniel Radcliff was acting.

I'm going to bed before I start sounding like a tool again.