Swimming mentally

I have such a bizarre cross section of thoughts tonight that I do not even know where to begin.
First off, I buy cologne as a result of guys that I have dated. It seems to go hand in hand that the ones I actually date smell good. So, I borrow (steal) their colognes, not literally, but I purchase them later and claim them as my own. But, instead of just enjoying a scent, I am riddled with memories of that person. I always thought that I was the guy who became the most nostalgic from a temperature. I mean, crisp autumn days remind me of so much of my childhood it's sick. But, I think, on board with my friend Dan, I get sucked into smell too. My father recently purchased a cologne called 'Hummer', and I have been borrowing it on nights out. I had the unfortunate experience of having a dude come up to me at a bar and compliment me on my cologne, and then ask what it was called. I had to say that it was 'Hummer', in a gay bar, C'mon, there's some irony in that! So, I decided then to get myself a new scent. I bought 'Issey Miyake' (forgive my spelling) and have worn it for two days. Instead of enjoying my new cologne I am bombarded with memories of my ex. Not like I want to rekindle, but, like those years have been playing back as a movie, in snipits. Odd. I need my own signature scent.

Karla the Kunt Homolka gets out of prison this weekend. She has tried to put a muzzle on the media to stop them from reporting on her every move. This is being sought after as Ms. Homolka "fears for her safety". My guess, is that she will never feel fear the way that Kristen, Leslie, Jane Doe and her own sister have felt. I couldn't kill her because I couldn't live with the guilt of taking another persons life. I'm actually kind of scared of the people who say that they would kill her given the chance. How many steps above her are they in their ability to kill? I hope her life plays out daily as the hell that she had created for her victims. I hope she never sleeps a full night again. But I don't want to see it. I don't commend the person who 'offs her'.

Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes are 'dating'. The latest rumor that I heard was that Rob Thomas from Matchbox Twenty had his wife walk in on him and ol' Tommy Cruise having sex. She freaked! So they are paying katie holmes to be Tom's beard. I have heard other homosexual rumors about Tom in a sexual relationship with some European porn star. None of it materializes. Leave the poor fucker alone. Maybe Michael Jackson and Tom Cruise should date, they both know what it's like to be the centre of unwanted (and bias) media attention. On that note, Martin Bashir is a loser! If he is gay, he's gay, let him suck subtle cock until he's ready to admit it, I'm speaking of Tom now. If he is straight, let him make wild love to the former star of Dawson's Creek. Just don't remind me, because the thought of those two humping makes me want a week long vacation in solitary.

LAND OF THE DEAD. Yup, saw it tonight, if you haven't seen it, I suggest you don't read what I am about to write until after you get the chance to take it in. First off, I fucking love George A Romero. I think the dead trilogy is pure genius. Sparing a slight fuck up with 'Day Of The Dead', left a little to be desired there George! But, I for real have been waiting for some continuation to the story since I was a puppy. Tonight, I got it. I wanted to love it, run from the theatre and sing this movies song in the hills. I just can't. It's a fucking ZOMBIE movie, not a platform for socio-economic and political messages. It was not what I expected. I wanted a small group of people on an island using what they had to survive a dark force. Not a movie about a vicious entrepreneur, who houses the rich and casts of the less fortunate. I hate to use words like predictable when I watch movies I am not in support of, but, it just fits. I actually feel kind of sad. There was so much more he could have done, and he didn't. I don't blame only George, I blame the team. Would I recommend seeing it in theatres? NO! Although I was pleasantly surprised that I paid a mere $9.95 to get in on a Thursday night, I'd still wait for the video. It was better than 'Day' and worse than the others, remakes and parodys included. AND.....What the fuck were the casting directors thinking when they gave a role to a somewhat recognizable Canadian actress? I wanted miscellaneous dead, not the fucking PEAK FREEN ZOMBIE!!! That almost killed it for me, if it weren't for the mensa zombie I may have given up all hope that a rotting brain was useless!
Big fucking fart at Land Of The Dead.

This Christian girl I used to work with got knocked up by her god fearing husband after an intercourse session, and then started buying every book in sight that dealt with the issue of pregnancy. One in particular spoke of food cravings that pregnant women experience. It said that some of the cravings could be out of the ordinary and if you were to experience any of them, to consult a doctor. It meant you were missing something in your diet. The foods they spoke of;
1) Laundry Detergent
2) Dirt
Ahem, okay, so, maybe I guess. I once wanted a steak and kraft dinner sandwich, but I am not pregnant.
The dirt thing has stuck with me though. I actually even think about it when I stroll by a garden. I picture a bunch of ladies 'with child' down on all fours and swiveling soil into their mouths. It's one of many things that come into my mind during a day and make me laugh out loud.
Again, I have formulated a short list of things that are out of the ordinary that make me laugh.
Shall we?

1) A co-worker who is particularly lousy, unloads her ass between unloading boxes at work. I seem to always stumble into the washroom after her. Guaranteed, there are shit streaks tracing the path of her turd down the drain, and the very recognizable smell of stewed tomatoes. It always smells like stewed tomatoes. At the time it's awful and I consider giving up the fruit that so many mistake for a vegetable. But, the wounds heal fast, and I laugh in the pantry, and the canned food isle!

2) Pubic hair stuck to the soap bar. It used to really chap my ass, but I've embraced it. It's funny to me how people refuse to use washcloths, and just jam the poor ivory (99.44) into their crack and dark spots, and then don't even wash the evidence away. Ok wait, that ones not so funny. USE YOUR FUCKING HANDS. (need some more counseling on that one.)

3) Paris Hilton and Le Tigre working on an album together. What else can I do but laugh. First it was the cell phones, now it's Paris Hilton.

4) Puberty, lately I have found the whole process of moving into adulthood to be quite a laugh. I mean, I work in a trashy part of Ontario, pretty low income, so, a lot of the patrons at my store look as if they've styled their hair with a piece of buttered toast. They're children look even worse. There was one girl who came in with her mom (a biker/spinner) and she was maybe 11 years old. She had little acorn boobies, I call them that because when I was a kid I used to shove acorns up my shirt and amaze my friends with ho much they looked like the developing breasts of the girls in our classes. Anyway, she was wearing one of those shirts that are tight on your boobie region, and then flare out all over right below your ta tas. They'd make even Karen Carpenter look chunky. That's beside the point. This girl was walking around with her chest out and kept pulling at the shirt to ensure the tight spot stayed over her barely visible mams. I saw a young boy walk by and she actually hiked her shoulders back and stuck out what she had. He noticed too, and they both smiled. I was ecstatic when I got my first pube, so it's not too odd for me to see proud kids. But, it is damn funny. Looking back on it, I was fugly, wore bad clothes and got geeked about the first hair that sprouted near my dink. I was a big dork. These kids are big dorks. But they are so completely clueless to their lack of cool, that I laugh heartily at their expense. Try it sometime, kids who hit puberty go insane for a few years. Good times.

Hi

I started something tonight
with no real end in sight
all of it was in my grasp
like floating epitomes that hung by me like mosquitoes
I swatted them away
not that I didn't want them
I didn't want to confuse them
losing one brilliance at the overbearing heart of the other
it was tragic to sway one in light of another
but I fought to remember them
classify them, have a word that identified them
a clue that would trigger me to remember
like dipping my hand in hot chili and hoping I picked the right bean
and we never do
and that moment is lost, and it is forgotten
and sometimes we never get it back
in a shadow that passes we enlighten and forget
and these thoughts
that only my indecision allows me to have
I come back
again and again
and try to feel like the thoughts perfection
and I only have a day pass.

Private Shit

For everyone who knows me, they know I have bizarre issues with 'going # 2' in public washrooms. I hate it, and often hold it for as long as it takes until I reach the warm and comforting arms of my bathroom at home.
I have left restaurants, bars and parties to go home and make a dirty, and then return to the event at hand.
At work (a retail store) there is a staff and public washroom, side by side. I don't have too much of an issue with going there now because I have been working for this store for far too long. But, I have equipped the facilities with all the necessary amenities to make sure my experience is a good one (cologne to spray afterwards, extra toilet paper, a toilet brush and a door jam).
Yesterday I went into the staff washroom and seated myself for my daily release.
There was a knock at the door after the point of no return.
My face went red, I mean, if you try the door, and it is locked, there is a pretty good chance that someone is in there, so whey then is it necessary to knock.
"Yup, someone's in here", I said.
'Someone', like I wasn't exactly sure who was in there, or like I wanted to remain anonymous? I'm surprised I didn't disguise my voice.
"Yeah Der is somevone in here dare dare".
It was Suzanne. She's new, maybe a month under her belt.
Suzanne is the type of person that Saturday Night Live skits are based on.
She is a very nice girl. From a small town. Grew up on a farm.
One day she came to work looking like a Mennonite. Long flowing skirt and long flowing white blouse over top, hair in a pony tail and not a stitch of makeup.
She's one of those people who refer to their parents as mom and dad when she's telling you a story.
"I was gardening the other day and Mom drove in and was pretending to hit me with her car, so after she went inside, I filled up my watering jug and I dumped it all over her car".
(Insert creepy giggle here)
Very, very sweet girl, but pretty eccentric.
"Do you know how long you're going to be?"
I sat there, mid shit, thinking to myself, 'no, she didn't just ask how long it will take me to finish shitting'.
I was stunned, all that I could get out was
"Umm, what?"
Then she said it again, only louder this time, because I guess she thought my misunderstanding was a volume problem and she needed to speak up so I could hear her through the door.
"DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG YOU'RE GOING TO BE?"
By this time my face is burning red. I have never been so embarrassed while having a bowelmovement in my life, and believe me, I get easily embarrassed when it comes to anything that goes down in a washroom.
I sat on the toilet wondering why God was doing this to me.
I hummed and hawed and couldn't think of an appropriate response.
'Well, at the current force that I am pushing I estimate that all solid waste should have exited my body in approximately 3 and 1/2 minutes'.
Nope, that wouldn't work.
I was speechless.
Thank God Suzanne was there to help me.
"If I come back in five minutes will that give you enough time?"
I looked for a rock to crawl under, there were only logs.
"Umm, Yes"
Then she said goodbye and I heard her leave the area where the washrooms are.
I finished.
Washed my hands and ran away from the toilet as fast as I could.
I saw Suzanne in the men's denim section.
"All done?"
I just kept going and she walked into the washroom.
I wanted to go back and knock on the door and ask her if it smelled badly in there, and if I could do anything to help.
But, I realize that she is just very innocent.
I guess maybe back at the farm her family is all about estimates.
So, I left her alone.
BUT, I think I might be back to holding it for a while, I have a comfort level that was just blown right the fuck out of the water!

Sticks and Stones

Well, they have all kinds of names for gay men. Here, i break down a few of them, and make a small tootie in the mouths of homophobes all over the globe.

Faggot
Faggots were bundles of wood used to start the fires when burning homosexuals and witches at the stake. Barberic? Certainly! But, I am not a bundle of wood, however, gay porn gives me a woody. So, if we must incorporate lumber into the context of the homosexual lifestyle, I prefer it is in reference to my penis.

Queer
Queer defines what differs from the ordinary in some abnormal way. Therefore, Rum and Raisin ice cream is queer. I am merely a homosexual. Comparitively I am much more normal than the repulsive flavour of ice cream that can be found at Fortinos. Fortinos must be queer too.

Homo
A combining form from the Greek meaning same. "Hey LeRoy, look at a dem sames there in that same pride parade. I says we go kick some same ass". Hmm, does make me wonder what the fuck Homo milk is, does it mean the whole carton is from one cow, or the same breed of bovine?

Gentleman of the Backdoor
This one is great, not widely used anymore, but when I hear it I always picture myself in a top hat and tails drinking brandy in some British parlour. "Right-O chap, me and the Gentlemen of the Backdoor are going to swing by the pub for a warm pint. Toot toot."

Cocksucker
Well, duh! It bothers me about as much as if I were to call a straight man a 'pussy eater'. Buttfucker, fits nicely here also.

Butt Pirate
Aye Matey! A pirate is anyone who uses lawless methods to gain something. I have never stolen a piece of ass, but I may have downloaded a few. Ass Bandit could fit in here also, that one's funny too, I see myself riding horseback into the sunset with a bunch of theived bums slapping around in my saddle bags.

Gay
It used to mean happy. It is my moms maiden name. She used to tell her co-workers that she was gay before she was married. She let everyone at K-Mart in on the joke when rumours of her lesbian tendencies got out of control. I'm not sure why Gay means homosexual now. But, I think it's supposed to be one of the good ones.

Friend of Dorothy
Ok, this one is supposed to be because all gay men idolize Judy Garland. Who doesn't love The Wizard Of Oz? C'mon, Dorothy is everyones buddy.

So, there's a few. Just so you know, they don't sting anymore. I can handle all of em, and hey, if I've left out anyones personal favourites, let me know, I'm always up for some good slang. But please, keep it dirty.

A Dream; To the best of my recollection

I had a dream that I was at a comedy show, maybe 'Yuk Yuks' or something like that. I remember laughing in the dream. There was this Comedienne who came out and did a bit about flowers. As far as I can remember, this is what she was saying;

I found out my mans been creepin. Mother fucka doing my best friend. I whooped that bitches ass and called it out with him. Then the dumb mother fucka come to my crib with flowers. FLOWERS...like that goona make it okay that he fucked my friend. Who the fuck want flowers anyway, you know how flowers get beautiful, you feed em some manure. That mean, you make those poor bastards eat somethins shit, and then they get beautiful. Why the fuck I want something that eat shit? I don't want no friends that eat shit. What I'm goona do, leave em on my kitchen table? 'Oh yeah grrl, aren't they beautiful, I don't mind they eat turd to be pretty.' Hells no. Get them flowers the fuck outa my face!
Then I got to thinkin, imagine people could eat shit and get better lookin. I got some dumb mother fuckin friends too, some of them bitches try anything to get play.
Like we at a party and one of my grrls been eating turd for a week or some shit, dude comes up to me "Grrl, who is yer friend, she is slammin", I'd be like "Oh her, that one in the green skirt, yeah, that's my friend Janesha", guy be like "Damn, she is fine, you hook me up with her?".
I be like "sure brotha, I'll get her to holla at you. She be fine eh, I'll tell you too, that bitch look after herself, she do anything to look fine". I'd hook the mother fuckers up too. And I wouldn't tell that dude till months later why she look so good.
"Yeah, you guys hittin it eh, Janesha loves you boy, and all that shit eatin keeps her lookin good". I bet that mother fucka wish he never go to that party.
No body wanna hit it with someone who eats shit, so why I want a whole fuckin bouqet of shit eaters?

Poo

I used an outhouse this weekend.
Well, sort of.
It looked like the run of the mill outdoor lavatories that are common place in most parks. Women enter the concrete building on one side, men on the other.
The toilet filled with water, and had a small button to push for the flushing action.
Only, the poop didn't go into a pipe that eventually led to some sewage pumping station, it didn't even go into a septic tank (I don't think).
It seemed to just fall down into a huge hole underneath the building.
Instead of flushing away, the bottom of the toilet, where your turd would sit after release but before the flush, would just sort of open downwards, like a can with the lid still attached by one small thread of tin.
Then, water would swirl around the bowl, and push down all of the 'papier de toilette'.
When this happened a horrendous smell would surface.
Like the clean water dropped into some dank pit and awoke the shit monster who would toss balls of stinky air at you.
It was much worse in the morning. Not from overuse, more from the inability to stomach such odors first thing in the morning.
I tried to pulling my hoodie up over my nose so that I would smell cotton gently stained by campfire instead of turd.
It didn't work.
Yes, there were toilets that flush, but they were a hike from where we were.
These toilets were so close you could see them from our campsite.
Smell them too.
At first it was offensive. Like, you'd be lifting your hotdog to your mouth for a bite, and that fucking shit monster would toss a ball at ya, then yer oscar meyer tasted like burnt turnip and rotting potato chips.
After a while though, it was nice.
Refreshing even. Okay, scratch that.
But it did remind me that I had really gotten back to nature. I mean, what says yer out of the city like a campfire and the smell of mingled shit?
If you walk a dog it will stop to smell any shit that is on the ground.
Maybe even eat it.
I have seen cats do the same, and I imagine the same holds true for most animals.
Myself, as a human animal, felt that this is some sort of ritual that as an animal I should embrace.
So, I went back to those toilets with my hoodie on my chest, I flushed that bastard, and I inhaled the smell balls that the shit monster threw at me.
And you know what?
I feel like a better man because of it.
I feel like I've gotten to know something that maybe I was a little ignorant of before this weekend.
I'm not syaing you'll see me on all fours smelling dog shit on my front boulevard, I'm just saying, I got back to nature this weekend.
And I embraced all that it threw at me.

Deanna and I, (I'm the one in the red sweater with the beautiful eyes). 

Turkey's Can't Point? WTF?

Da Campers! 

First Camp of 2005

Mapquest.ca is a twat.
I always use it to try and navigate trips, and I always end up with some back-ass directions that leave me wondering what is wrong with main roads?
This time, I used mapquest to get us to Turkey Point Provincial park.
This time it was funny.
First of all, I tried typing in the street address that I got from calling the park, and Mapquest fought me on it, and told me it was an unrecognized destination.
So, I tried different variables, same address.
'Unrecognized'!
Then I just googled the address, and got the elusive postal code. With JUST the postal code I got front door to the campground directions.
There was the obligatory side streets, regional roads and 1/4 line roads, but eventually we we led straight to the campground.
Maybe I should reconsider the use of the word 'straight'.
Mapquest didn't direct us to Turkey Point Provincial Park! No no no...
Instead, the directions led us to the front drive of a campground called 'The Point', an all mens campground. And it ain't all mens cause the affluent fellas wanted to smoke cohebas without their 'ladies' complaining of the smell.
Karen and I had left about an hour before Deanna and Gary were able to, it was dusk by the time we got to 'The Point'.
We sat in the car at the front entrance and howled thinking about Deanna and Gary arriving there and hour later in full dark asking the campground supervisor where site #50 was.
Fortunately (or unfortunately for the story) my friends got lost, and had to stop for directions. They missed the Gay campground all together.
But, did Mapquest do this on purpose? Do they know of the Gay campground? Is this the tech geeks way of fucking with Canadian campers?
I was ready to give up and camp there anyway. Fuck Turkey Point, it don't get much better than this. Alas, we trekked on, and found our way to the site we had booked in the proper park.
The weekend was dreamy. No rain. No fighting. No television. Just beer, tents and some campfires. For the first trip of the season. It was a goodie.
The park is actually nice, it was quiet, good sites, pretty private, clean washrooms. The whole nine yeards. No complaints at all!
Except the mosquitos. There were a lot of mosquitos. And it's not bad enough that they have to drink yer fucking blood, but they have to leave behind some god damn venom to make you swell up and itch. They really are the living embodiment of the anti-christ. Bastards.
*Scratching*
My tent is a dream too. As is the new air mattress.
Fine holiday fun!
But, no man of my dreams. Maybe i should have played dumb at the entrance to 'The Point'....
"No, Karen, this is it, look, the map led us right here, lets go get a site!"
:-)

Well
Here I am on the morning of June 3rd, 2005, and in a few hours I will be embarking on the first camping trip of this fine summer.
As per usual, planning has not gone smoothly, but I maintain my optomism, and actually, have been stricken with the trots. It's part of a juvenile inability to deal with excitement that I have never quite been able to get over.
Anyway, this trips venue...Turkey Point Ontario.
I know, not very outdoorsy as we're booked into an electrical site, and within walking distance to flushable toilets, but hey, I like tents and campfires, not bears and shittin in the woods.
The weather is supposed to be nice too, warm, sunny.
My optimism does end with the weather, if it doesn't rain at least once I will be shocked.
Now, I have a bunch of shit to do, including but not limited to grocery shopping, packing, trying to remember everything, and hydrating myself to counteract the beer and sun.
My hopes..
Well, that we're not stuck in a site that is bordered by teenagers who are getting drunk away from the watchful eyes of their folks.
That we're not bordered by families with children or dogs (Deanna is terrified of dogs, although it is comical to watch her run screaming, it is annoying for her).
No rain.
That an impromtu gay weekend is planned that we are unaware of, and I meet the man of my dreams and set out on a new life of domestic bliss.
The food doesn't rot and then make me sick.
My airmattress holds me off the ground for both nights.
Karen is over her snoring thing.
We don't have to play cards all day.
I win at Bocce Ball.
I remember to buy 'Powerade'.
No bears, snakes, bugs or vagrants.
No one steals my shit.
I get some sun, and turn into the bronze god I have always imagined.
So, those are just a few of my wants. And what about my wants? When do I get what the fuck I want? :-)
I'll let ya know on Sunday night how things went.
Off and camping!
toot toot

NO...I WANNA BE YOUR JOEY RAMONE!!!! 

Gay Cinema

No, I am not talking about 'Dawson's Crack' or 'Doing Private Ryan'.
I'm talking about the movies that strive to be a little more enlightening, or at least entertaining for the gay community.
There's only so many 'When Harry Met Sally's' that a queer can stomach before they start wondering why Sally isn't meeting Thelma, and Harry isn't reforming a male hustler into the ultimate lover.
I love my suspension of disbelief. It is fine tuned. The same is true for all queers or we'd never feel anything towards mainstream media.
I can cry at a movie where a man and a woman overcome obstacles to form a loving union at the end, I'd just rather it be a movie where the subjects are both men.
Why?
Well formost because I am gay.
But, more importantly, even than that, is because it is time.
It's time 'Hollywood' added gay characters as leads. Not just comic relief or as extras in the hairdressing scene.
There are a lot of independent films that do focus on homosexual relationships and the lives of us gays. But, they're hard to find at the local Blockbuster.
Maybe because they were never blockbusters, of course not, that kind of subject matter on the hot new release wall?
Sure, if the main character grabs yer heart as he battles AIDS and eventually succumbs to the disease with the once homophobic character at his bedside.
So touching. And so done.
I know it's a long shot that any acclaimed mainstream producer/director would handle queer subject matter in a realistic format, so thank god for TV.
Will and Grace single handedly saves the reputation of the gay community.
It is like a teachers aid to inform the straight community of how the gays really are.
*vomiting*
I like 'Will and Grace' as much as the next homo, but, again, it's comic relief.
There is a serious side to the gays (and one outside of STD's).
Maybe I'll write a sci-fi queer movie with undertones so breathtakingly full of empowerment and pride that 'Stone' will be calling me begging for the script.
I'd give it to him too
if he sucked my dick first!