Facebook is fucking creepy.

First, a girl I hung out with when I was years old found me.
Then a bartender at a local bar found me because she remembered my name off an ID card I lost there.
I found that a girl I went to junior high with is married with a child.
Then the piece de resistance - a group has been formed for people who hung out on the steps of a door of my old highschool. Sure, we called ourselves some sort of a crew, but there are pictures on that group from 1986 on. That's fucking strange.

What is even stranger is to do a search for people you haven't seen in years.

Not recommended under any circumstance.

beer good. rock n roll? better.

I like dancing to rock like a complete whore-bag.

Men are intimidated and women start getting a little, well, looser.

These boys scattered when they saw me, and all the women were fascinated, intrigued and then next thing you knew - the whole bar was full of petrified boys pinned against walls, terrified of the amount of women dancing like everyone was watching.

Hair was tossed, hips were gyrated and not one person kept doing the pitiful mosh-like dance. (when i walked in the whole place was full of quasi jumps, little turns and a couple of foot stamps. that had to be stopped.)

20 or so twenty-something girls were toasting each other on the dancefloor with cheap Boreale. We were showing off, we were not giving a shit. We were simply rockin out.

I liked starting a mini revolution on the dance floor.

God I love rock n roll.

there's a haze over the city today
the smouldering whisper of summer smog has arrived

summer despite the sweat and the smog
is sexy

sometimes the idea of piling close to another body
is too much for your body temperature to take
but all you need is to just sit down
and let the heavy moist heat surround you

summer is very sexy
very very sexy

Breaking point.

In the attempt to figure out what is missing from my life, I tried just about everything.

I had flings with boys.
I broke off all the flings.
I messed up my apartment.
I cleaned my apartment.
I worked all the time.
I took time off.
I lived frugally.
I lived like a princess.
I talked to my friends.
I shut myself off from the world.

I read a book. I wrote a poem. I dreamed. I walked. I watched a movie. I watched TV. I listened to music. I made music.

But what is missing is clearly deeper than all that. And it's staring me in the face. It's been lurking for a long time and it is not something I'm entirely comfortable with. It would mean changing behaviour. It would mean changing my outlook. It might mean looking at my past in a whole new light. It might bring a total reevaluation of everything.

I said a while ago, I'm waiting for either a breakdown or a breakthrough. Either way, something is about to break. Something is about to give and I just hope I'm ready for it.

girl meets boy

I met the man of my dreams last night. Well, if I had man dreams he would probably be in it. Actually, in order to meet the man of one's dreams, you would have to be able to imagine that a man like him actually exists. Which is totally inconceivable in my case.

I met a sexy and rich owner of a sex toy distribution website. He was wearing a "take the Pepsi challenge" T-shirt, but that is forgivable. Other than that, he is truly the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.

He had that cleaned up messy look. Slightly pretty but enough scruff to keep him in the "grr".

Okay, so he's a fag.

But imagine this - I still met the only beautiful sex toy specialist. And that in and of itself is remarkable.

Why are the people who sell sex toys so damn ugly? They have great social skills, are completely comfortable in their own skin - and it's just a fuckin shame that the skin they are in is horrendous.

And rich to boot? Often the wealthy ones are not that cute - except for one of the Molson playboys.

So, immediately following introductions to the sextoy man, I shocked the hell out of him. And I can bet that he sees and hears it all. Props to me.

"Sooooooo, I'm like free for the rest of my life."

Followed by earth shattering silence.

Followed by my immediate exit.

I don't know where I get these behavioural issues. What normal human being says something like that? More importantly, how many girls say things so forward? To a gay man. I think I just outmanned a homo.

I'm never caring about hockey ever again.

I hate hockey. I hate that the game stops every 2 minutes because someone broke a rule. It can't be that great of a game if ALL the players want to break the rules all the time. Rules define the game. Boundaries define everything. If the rules are consistently broken, maybe they should make new ones.

I also hate how beer is hockey's best friend. It can't be that great of a game if you have to get drunk in order to enjoy it. And if ALL hockey fans end up getting plastered watching the game, maybe that is a sign that it isn't that entertaining.

I really hate how hockey makes everyone so angry. You see players break the rules and then the fans get angry when they see fights on the ice and the whole thing goes straight to shit.

But what I hate most is how damn patriotic I am, and when my hometown is within spitting distance of the Stanley Cup... well, I turned into your typical hockey fan. Except that most fans of hockey don't engage in blatant displays of lesbianism in the middle of one of Montreal's hockey hotspots.

First I was drowning my sorrows in tequila shots along with everyone in the bar. We were all pissed off that Ottawa lost and when I started making out with a girl, suddenly anger was not directed towards Anaheim... it was directed against my friend and I.

Gaybashing or whatever you want to call it is completely horrendous. And it was coming from drunk hockey fans so pumped full of testosterone and loss.

There were boys and men all over the place who were deeply offended by the fact that two women were displaying affection for one another. I thought Montreal would be relatively safe from that kind of hatred. That ignorance has been relocated for the most part, to the midwest. I was surrounded by french and english hipster types, with not a cowboy hat in sight, and I had to listen to some of the most offensive gay slurs I have ever heard in my whole life.

And I am not even a lesbian. I guess if I were, I would have gotten the memo about where not to show acts of homosexuality or bisexuality. Apparently hockey is no place for a dyke.