I went to my first Hamilton Pride this last weekend. Considering that the parade route was just a few steps from my front door it was hard to find an excuse not to attend.



I've been questioning the value of Pride parades the last couple of years. The Toronto Pride experience has gone from courageous to nauseating in just a few short years as it's become a victim of its own commercial success. Don't get me wrong, I like to see hot, almost-nude boys dancing on floats sponsored by breweries trying to attract my gay dollars. And the thought of almost a million supporters is heart warming. But when there's such acceptance by the mainstream that that everyone feels free treating the whole weekend like a fuckfest, it sort of looses its magic.

But Hamilton is different. This year, as the parade passed the sports bars on James St., some manly soccer fans shouted obscenities and tried to poke the participants with their Portuguese flags. I always thought that soccer fans look like fucking idiots driving up and down the street with flags. But that's nothing compared to how pathetic some drunken closet cases looked using flags as weapons against some harmless drag queens.

Of course they were the minority. Most people were supportive. And by now, most of us know that the biggest queer bashers are in fact the biggest closet homos. I felt no sympathy as they acted out their homophobia the only way they knew how. For them, I only felt embarrassment because they seemed to be the only ones who didn't know they were gay too. Did they not see the phallic irony as they assaulted the queens with those flag poles?



Anyhow, cretins aside, the rest of the day was great as everyone basked in the sun, ate, drank and listened to some good music. By nightfall, everyone retreated back to the clubs where gay life goes on the other 364 days of the year.

I'm convinced that Pride is still relevant and in many places, still needed. I’ll probably go to next year’s parade to offer my support. Maybe next year, we’ll see the Portuguese soccer fans marching in the parade with rainbow flags.

My new neighbours are butt plugs

A lovely gay couple moved in next door. I would have assumed that was a good thing until I realized that at least one of them has an attitude (two if you count their dachshund).

Within a week of them moving in, both D and I had to go over and ask them to turn down the music. Both times, we spoke to Rapheal (I think that's his name), and he seemed a bit defensive but apologetic and said he'd try to keep it down.

I really thought it was over with until this last Sunday when the tunes started coming through the wall louder than ever. It was some horrid gay-dance-anthem like something that would make a good soundtrack to a queer-themed TV drama. I don't know exactly what it was but I'm sure that if I heard it in a club I would not be running to the DJ booth to ask who it was. But that's not important. What's important is that it was loud enough for me to hear and dance to if I was so inclined.

But I didn't want to dance so I put on some pants and knocked on the door. Raphael's other half opened the door and I tried to start the conversation on a polite tone. I was like "I'm not sure if you know this but that music comes right through my wall." I assumed he'd be as nice as the other guy but instead he told me "I don't think it's loud." He wasn't wearing a shirt by the way, and he held his door open with one hand while he rested the other one defiantly on his hip. He had this "So what are you gonna do about it" look on his face.

I told him he might not think it's loud but I could still hear it coming through my wall and the condo rules say I shouldn't have to hear any noise from other units. Then he got super-queeny on me and said "You can't tell me what I can do in here. I "OWN" this place. Then (with one eyebrow raised and half a smirk) he gave me this look like he was sure he just played the trump card. I paused, then reminded him that I also owned my place and that I don't have to listen to noise from other units (both eyebrows raised and head slightly turned and tilted forward awaiting his response).

I think my eyebrows were way more sarcastic by the way.

I felt a bit bad for him. I'm sure he was all exited about buying a home and he thought I was just pissing on his parade. But come on, does he really think his money is better than his neighbours and that the rules don't apply to him? I felt a bit embarrased for him as it occured to him that this building was, in fact, full of owners and that he was not an owner amongst renters. Yes, shirtless neighbour, we pay a mortgage too.

I tried to tell him once more that I shouldn't be bothered by noise from other units but he said I couldn't do anything because it was only ten and I couldn't complain about noise until eleven (not true by the way, urban myth). Then he gave me some "I don't give a fuck" look and closed the door.

Meanwhile, D was back at home looking up the condo rules (which is exactly what I wanted). I grabbed them, made a photocopy, hi-lited the applicable rule and went next door. I decided that I didn't want to talk to butt plug again so I just slid it under the door less than a minute after he closed it on me.

Sometime later, we noticed the paper had been given back to us (slid under the door). I don't know if he was trying to be defiant but it didn't matter because the music had been turned down. If this guy wants to be queen of the lofts, I'll buy him a tiara. But he will never be a bigger bitch than I can be. I hope for his sake he never finds that out.

Someone stole my coffee mug at work today. How ghetto is that? I went to the kitchen area, filled the kettle with water and left for a few minutes. When I got back, the kettle was still full and boiling but my mug was gone. Looks like someone needed a cold drink.

I'm still on the steroids so I probably let it bother me more than I should. But I'd grown attached to it. It was given to me when we still had our old logo and it was a very attractive mug. A new one just won't look the same. I was tempted to walk around and seize it off the offender's desk or maybe put up a sign in the kitchen with a pointed message about the intregity of bank employees who steal. But I decided to let it go. I took a deep breath and returned to my desk with an unused earl grey tea bag.

So I need a new mug. I can't decide if my new one should be something no one would ever want like something that celebrates diversity in the workplace with a queer-positive message and covered in rainbows. But no, I don't want to out myself with a coffee mug. I want a cool mug. Something with a monkey on it. I'll make that my mission tomorrow: buy the coolest mug.

Sometimes, remembering your dreams is fun when you try to piece bits of them together the next day. Other times it’s just disturbing.

In one part of a dream I remember from last night, I was either a corpse or some kind of accident victim and at the same time I was either an undertaker or doctor. I had to assemble tattered bloody bits of me together on a table. Some parts were warm and gave me hope that if I worked fast enough, I would be able to save myself. Other parts were so cold and mangled that it was clear nothing could be done.

In the next scene, my stomach split open below my belly button and my small intestines began to fall out. I was because I had been bitten by a caterpillar. One of the black fuzzy kind. Someone (either D or my sister) squished the caterpillar with the end of a broom handle as it tried to leave. Clearly they had everyone’s safety in mind but I felt bad that the bug got squished.

I haven't been bitching here much recently. I was torn trying to decide if putting my rants etc. into written word was really venting and had some value, or if it was reinforcing negative feelings and patterns. I can say with certainty that both are true. Sometimes it's good (or at least it feels good) to write shit down as you work things out. And sometimes it's a waste of time because, in the end, nothing changes until you change it.

But I do miss the complaining. I also miss writing some random observations as they occur to me. Flatlinegirl's Le Chateau bag in a tree reminded me that there's a lot of things to complain about that don't necessarily distract you from having a healthy perspective.

I'm also feeling a bit less like I need to complain. I think I'm over the worst of my steroid-induced mood swings. My doses are getting lower and I'm feeling a bit more normal. I went shopping yesterday and noticed I didn't want to shove confused seniors out of my way as they shuffled up the aisles.

Recently, my doctor changed my diagnosis from colitis to Crohn's disease which is supposedly not a good thing. The good news (if you can call it good) about colitis is that it could be "cured" with surgical removal of your colon.(?) That would be good news if you were bleeding to death but most people I know wouldn't consider that a miracle of modern medicine. Crohn's disease has no such "cure." So I guess it fills the future with a bit more uncertainty but since there is little I can do about it I'll just take things day by day.

In the meanwhile, I'm taking Imuran now. It's an anti-rejection drug that's normally used for transplant patients but it helps with Crohn's too. It takes a long time to work. I've been on it for a month now and getting weekly blood tests and so far I'm tolerating the drug OK. It doesn't seem to be helping yet but it can take months to have an effect. I'm hoping it starts to work by the time I stop taking prednisone so I can get off it and stay off it. I'd like to be not-bitchy and not-sick when summer gets here.

The only thing I'll miss about prednisone is the hair growth. I swear that some thin spots on my beard have started to fill in and my chest hair is a bit more dense. Having the thing for body hair that I do, I'll miss it if I loose it.

Things that piss me off

Prednisone is a wonderful drug. It controls my illness better than anything I've tried so far. But it's starting to make my face puffy and it fucks up my sleep and gives me weird dreams (unless I take it early in the morning). Did I mention that it also gives me the worst mood swings. I've learned from experience that when things are starting to bother me, I have to say so right away. If I don't, something snaps, I loose my temper, and then the cat gets upset with me.

Going out in public can be a chore. I was shopping in Longo's yesterday and it was all I could do not to tell some old ladies to get the fuck out of my way with their shopping carts full of red meat and herbal tea. No matter which way I moved, someone else got in my way and everyone was taking their sweet time poking around. I almost had to abandon my shopping cart and leave before I assaulted someone with a tin of frozen fruit juice.

So that's number one on my list of piss-offs....people who mill about and get in my way.

Number two is my upstairs neighbour who has to drop shit on the floor every fucking night. I'm serious, if she's not clicking around in her hoochie-boots she's dropping pocket-change, silverware, her remote control, marbles or something. I want to go up and ask her what the fuck is wrong with her. But if I do, I'm afraid she'll tell me she's got ALS or something and I'll feel like shit.

Number three is people who don't listen. I don't mind helping people at work. But some people have thick skulls and I get pissed when I have to repeat myself. I'm starting to get a bit rude with some people. I mean, if you don't understand English, I can't help you.

Four - the vague feeling I'm being judged or criticized. I don't normally care what people think and I can usually let stuff go. But these days I have zero tolerance for anyone who thinks they know better than me. About my own life that is. There's a lot I've lived through and a lot I live with that makes me who I am. I'm one of the last people to judge others. So if you don't like something about be, just fuck off. Don't stand there waiting for me to tell you twice....FUCK OFF

Five - shitty porn.

Six - bad strippers. Especially ones with flat feet. You shouldn't be stepping on stage without good arches.

Seven - Stephen Harper. Or anyone else who looks like they're wearing a hair piece and lip gloss.

Eight - The middle aged women who giggled during scenes of Brokeback Mountain with man-man sex or intimacy. I found it kind of hot but a group of sex-deprived housefraus thought it was all funny. If they think that's funny I have some porn that will have them rolling on the floor.

Nine - People who piss in my alley and the smell of urine that sometimes makes it's way into the garbage room downstairs.

Ten - People who have nothing nice to say.

Ya, so, I'm still here. Haven't written much recently for a couple of reasons. First, and most importantly, D was checking out some website and got lured into downloading some strange shit that totally fucked up the computer. He trusted the site because it was mentioned in a print publication. I wouldn't expect someone to promote a site that installed malicious software. But believe it or not, that's what happened.

The other reason is because I was on vacation for a week and I had a couple of long weekends and I had a very long to-do list. I've been busy. But now the ice maker works on the fridge, my dishwasher works, the cat's been spayed and declawed (poor girl), the curtains are up and....the computer is fixed (somewhat), etc, etc.

I've still got a lot of stuff I want to get done and I'll be a couple of weeks doing it all. It's suprising how productive I can be when I'm not looking at dick or writing about it.