Cell phone piss

While I was in the Burlington mall today I made a stop in the washroom. While I was there I heard some guy talking as he walked in. The loser was on a cell phone and I could hear the voice of the woman he was talking to on the other end.

What the fuck is that all about? What was he talking about that was so important that it just couldn't wait? I couldn't tell what he was talking about. He was speaking some Slavic sounding language and that's all I could tell. He was probably telling the woman on the other end how much the bathroom stank.

So then for the hell of it I let out a couple of grunts and flushed the toilet. I don't normally do that while I'm in the bathroom (grunt I mean) but I've heard other people do it so I thought I'd make some noise to enhance to the "atmosphere." I thought for sure that would make him hang up but he kept right on talking like nothing happened. He was taking a piss for god sake and didn't flush his own urinal!

He didn't leave and I realized that he was probably up to something. Something like taking a call from his mistress while his wife waited outside. Who knows? So then I had the embarassing predicament of having to walk out before he left. I'm sure I'm not the first person he's heard grunting in the bathroom so he probably didn't think anything of it. But being a non-grunter myself I felt very self concious as I washed/dried my hands and left.

4some

Get your mind out of the gutter. No I did not get laid. But D and I are meeting the lesbians (Regan and Sarah) for dinner late next week. Apparently they're coming to Hamilton for a lesbian bath house. We've exchanged a lot of emails and we're ready to meet face to face. It's kind of scary.

I'm shocked at the bath house thingy. I'm not a prude (as those who really know me will tell you) but I had no idea that such a thing ever happened here. It's probably a one-night event at one of the established all-male bath houses like pussy palace or whatever the hell it is in Toronto. I'll find out when and where and post it here later (or not, no sense in raising the "Hamilton-Homphobe" alarm bells). Maybe I'll announce it after the fact. That is, if the sex-police don't bust it and it's front page news in Friday's Spectator.

Queers: The New Breeders

I've made contact with a lesbian couple in Toronto who want to start a family. At this point I'm not overly optimistic that we will form a relationship that will produce children. But as I see it, the least I can come away with is experience "negotiating" (for lack of a better word) my position in such a relationship and experience on how to balance the needs of 3 or 4 people who want to be parents together.

I participated in a workshop last year for gay men who wanted to be parents. We discussed everything from co-parenting to adoption to surrogacy. It's so easy for straight men to become fathers. Too easy. If straight men had to put as much effort into becoming parents as gay men, more kids would have good fathers.

The lesbians, Sarah and Regan, want 2 to 4 kids (yikes). If money were no object, I'd say that's great but realistically I'd be hard pressed to provide financially for more than two (unless I make a brilliant career move). They also would prefer a man, or couple, living in Toronto and who would take care of 50% of the child rearing. Living so far away makes the 50/50 split hard and moving to Toronto would be even more of a strain on finances than a third kid.

So even though we all like the idea of co-parenting it looks like we may not be a perfect match. I've curbed my enthusiasm accordingly.

Never do this

As I look out my window watching the Cigarette Stalker make his rounds, I remember the near tragedy that took place outside my building Monday morning.

A woman was riding her bike down the street and some guy opened his car door just in time for her to go through his window. She busted the window and part of the door to shit. But somehow her big 80's hair all stayed in place. It must take a lot of hairspray to withstand an impact like that.

The woman had a lot of scratches on her legs but it looked like she was going to be OK. I felt bad for the guy in the car. He had some kind of problems walking (disability or something) and I think the charges he got was going to make driving more difficult for him.

I keep a cam by my window just in case false-alarm girl feigns cardiac arrest and plants her face in the sidewalk again. So I snapped a few pics of the accident scene. I'll post them as soon as I figure out how to do it.

3 Choices

I have one more customer story today: Last Thursday, the same day I was going to the wrap party in Toronto after work, I had a client call 5 minutes before I had to go home. I'm not sure why I answered. I think sometimes I overestimate my ability so solve any problem in 2 minutes flat.

Yes, he was "concerned" (you're learning fast). He faxed an application to us 3 weeks ago and hadn't heard anything back. I looked everywhere on our systems and there was no sign of it. Sadly, I work in Mississauga and I know the fax number he used. It gets routed to B.C. for some reason. So I was looking on the computer and not actually looking through paper files.

I broke it to him that it wasn't showing for some reason and I asked if he wanted to fax it again or spend some time doing his application by phone. He didn't want to fax it again. He did that once already. He had his confirmation and he wanted to know where his fax went. Again I gave him 2 choices; I could connect him to the office where his fax was routed or I could get someone to take his application details over the phone.

He didn't seem to care or understand. He had his fax confirmation you see. And he wanted to know what happened to the fax. I offered to connect him and that was not good enough. He had spoken to seven people already (probably an exaggeration) and he wanted me to help him. Short of taking the next flight to Vancouver I didn't know what I could do. And I was starting to get pissed because I wanted to go to the party.

So I made it very clear to him that he had two choices (2). Either I connect him to someone who will take the application on the spot or I connect him to the office where his fax was sent. "What would you like me to do?" I asked. He wanted to bitch at me because what "we" did was stealing. Apparently we "stole" 3 weeks of his time and that was as bad as people robbing a bank. At that point I wanted to call him a loser for not getting on with his life and waiting for us to call. So I finally gave him a third choice. I repeated the fist two and told him that was all I could do and if he wouldn't let me help him I would be ending our call (more bank code for "you're wasting my fucking time bone head").

It worked. He took choice number two. I wanted to "accidentally" do number 3 but I was a good boy and I got him in touch with someone.

Why didn't I think of that?

I have to start this entry by saying that we treat all of our customers with respect and speak highly of them in the workplace. Hence we use words like "concerned client" to describe genuinely concerned clients as well as people who exhibit regrettable behavior. Furthermore, we don't spend our time nosing about in client files. We're virtually paperless and computers track everything that crosses our desks. If we were to stick our nose where it didn't belong, it wouldn't be long before it would be brought to our manager's attention. Having said that, we do sometimes have a chuckle at a client's expense because some stories are too good not to share.

A co-worker spoke with a client who wanted to apply for a business loan. The client said he wanted to start a business selling his invention that would let people control televisions with their minds.(?) He didn't have a patent and he didn't offer a demonstration. He was politely asked for a business plan but he didn't have that either.

Naturally the application was declined. The guy couldn't understand why he wouldn't get the loan so he accused the account manager being racist. Yah, that's it, if he was white and had a mind control device we'd lend to him. But we won't be helping a brother with the same mind control device. I'm just holding my breath waiting for the Ontario Human Rights Commission to slap our wrists for this one.

That was it. Nothing could be done so the account manager told the client that "the meeting was over." That's more bank code for "I got that crazy bastard out of my office because he scared me." If it were me, I'd have done the same thing but I would at least have given the guy a tinfoil hat with our logo on it.

Shut up people

I get annoyed by loud people. I don't just mean people making noise. I mean people who talk loud and who can't turn down the volume.

I had a friend who was loud (and obnoxious at times, but I digress). We were in a crowded restaurant one night and he opened his mouth and made some comment about getting fucked up the ass. Silence fell over our table and the entire restaurant. However, being the sort of person who only listens to hear his own voice, he didn't seem to notice anyone's reaction. I asked him to keep it down but that only encouraged him to ask loudly what he had done wrong. Then I was told that if I was ashamed of being gay it was my problem and not his.

I was ashamed. He was right. But not ashamed of being gay because my boyfriend and I ate at the same place 2 or 3 times a week and we were well known to the staff. I was ashamed that I brought him there to eat and he was making people regurgitate their dinner.

No, I never brought him back.

There's a guy I work with who is equally loud. He talks loud enough to have conversations with people sitting 20 feet away. In fact he often does. and for some reason he is just as loud when people are standing right next to him. Jesus I hate that.

Being loud is not only about loosing your hearing. It's often about being dominant. I'm not claiming to be an expert but I've noticed that loud people are usually the ones who are always trying to remind you they are still in the room or trying to let you know they are in charge.

I'm a quiet kind of guy who's voice usually gets drowned out in group discussions. I've learned that loud people feel they have an upper hand when you don't match their volume. I've also learned that the best way to deal with loud people is to tell them, loudly of course, to "please keep it down" or to "shut the fuck up" (depending on whether you're at work or not). They seem to respond to the volume and delivery of your message more than the message itself.

It works with the guy at work. As a matter of fact, I only have to give him a certain look now and he turns it down. It didn't work with my friend so I resorted to plan B. I stopped talking to him and let him run out of steam by himself. It only took a few minutes. After that, I would only meet him at restaurants in Toronto's gay village where getting fucked up the ass is part of the dinner conversations at many tables. Finally, I completely stopped going out with him. I guess you could say actions speak louder than words.

Witness Protection

In the early hours Saturday, I could hear some yelling out on the street which grew louder and louder until I noticed a few neighbours looking out their window to see what the hell was going on. At some point I could hear shit like "GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE. GET THE FUCK IN YOUR TRUCK AND GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE. FUCK YOU BITCH." etc. There was at least one woman who was shrieking for someone to stop whatever they were doing and some other noises that made me concerned for someone's safety.

Being the nosy guy I am, I put on my shoes and stepped out onto the street. I made sure I programmed the number of the Hamilton Police into my phone and I made sure the doors did not lock behind me (just in case I had to turn and run my ass back inside).

I could see that at least one guy had been hit in the head because he was bleeding badly and the blood was running down his face. There were at least 9 or 10 people out there who were all involved in the argument and at least a few of them were carrying beer bottles. It didn't look like it was going to settle down any time soon so I called the cops. I guess I wasn't the only one because I was told that they were already on their way.

Then one guy in a black truck pulled out of a driveway and some of the people went up to his windows and yelled some more. He took off fast and sped down the street without his headlights on. Then he turned around and raced towards the crowd. I thought he was either fucked in the head and trying to kill one of them or he was fucked in the head and trying to scare the shit out of someone.

He pulled over like he was going to get out and then stepped on the gas again and raced by me. His headlights were still out but I got a look at him. He was a white guy, late 20's probably, shaved head and a goatee. The kind of guy you would expect to see as a backgound actor on Oz. If I hadn't already made up my mind that he was some kind of asshole, I'd probably say he was pretty hot.

The cops came a second later. To late to catch the Oz prison-bitch making his getaway. I watched for a few minutes as they subdued the crowd then went back inside where it was safe.

By Sunday, I'd almost forgotten about the whole thing. D and I decided to go where all fags go on Sunday: Ikea. We drove up Melbourne and while I was waiting to turn onto Dundurn, I noticed a hot guy putting his dog into a truck. I'd noticed this guy a dozen times over the summer. He's a bit of a porch monkey and often out on a deck chair drinking with the boys. As hot as this guy looks in a muscle shirt and as nicely kept as his property seems to be, I can't help but think neighbours like him bring down the property values of neighbouring homes. He's the type that deliberately puts up an intimidating front. The type that comforts himself by intimidating others. His dog was one of those breeds that looks tough too.

Then I noticed the truck. It was a black GMC with a cap and no license plate on the front. The exact details I noticed on the prison-bitch's getaway truck. It's just too much to be a coincidence; white guy, 20's, shaved head, goatee, black GMC truck with a cap and no plate on the front (not to mention living 2 blocks from the scene of the crime). It was him.

I've been assaulted on the past and been left without recourse. I felt bad for the guy who was left bleeding. So I obeyed my conscience and told the police where the guy was.

If it wasn't him (which I seriously doubt) he'll have nothing to worry about. If it was, then it serves him right.

Three times a Lady?

D called me today and asked me to pick him up in Toronto after I was done work. I was busy at work today and I missed my lunch so by the time I picked him up I was famished. We were close to Church Street and decided to have dinner at Zelda's. We hadn't eaten there since Pride 2003 and I was craving their Pad Thai for some reason.

We sat on the patio and 3 of the ugliest cross-dressers were seated at the table next to us. As men they would not be ugly but as women they were completely unconvincing. These weren't drag queens. They didn't perform. Just a group of like-minded guys who seemed comfortable wearing foundation, wigs and heels in a way I don't understand.

They weren't alone. I started to look around and saw another gent who looked to be in his sixties with a blonde wig and hoop ear rings sitting alone at a table watching the crowd. Another one was milling about from table to table greeting all his (her, whatever) fabulous friends. And finally, one more came in and was seated near us. Wouldn't you know, she was friends with one of the ugly sisters (I think it was Ann) and introductions were in order.

"Oh, Hi Donna. Donna, I'd like you to meet Christie. Christie, this is Donna. Donna, this is Simone. Simone, meet my friend Donna."

Fuck.

Ann attempted to appear polished and proper. But despite her best efforts, I wasn't convinced these were their real names. Maybe it was the way she paused for a half second before each introduction. Almost like she had to remind herself what alias everyone was using before she spoke. These men were wasting more than perfectly good cosmetics and plus-size fashions. They were wasting their mental energy.

I've never wanted to cross dress. I just don't understand putting all that energy into trying to be something you are not. Especially when no one is fooled. After years of pretending I was straight, I can't pretend anymore. There is a sense of relief I get when I don't have to pretend anything to anyone. I don't see what pleasure anyone would get by voluntarily putting on another facade.

There's lots I don't know. Maybe all of these men are pre-op trannies who will one day be Ann, Christie, Donna and Simone for real. If they are, someone should tell them to find a better plastic surgeon.

Open bar

Last night we went to the wrap party for Darcy's Wild Life. It was more relaxed than the wrap parties for some other shows I've been to that seemed like such a scene. I enjoyed the lack of pretense.....and the free booze is always welcome.

Dean Armstrong was there. I recognized him as Ted's boyfriend Blake on Queer as Folk. I'm not sure what he has to do with the production but D tells me he was on set a lot this season. He's a lot shorter than he looks on TV. I'm guessing 5ft 4, 5ft 5 tops and that's with thick soled shoes. He looked pretty good though.

There were some people there that I knew from another show I worked on. So at least I had someone to talk to. D seemed to be doing quite well. Everyone who talked to us went on and on about what a great job he did. Apparently some of them are pulling to get him onto a new Disney show called "Blend" which should start shooting in a few weeks. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Life's better when he's working.