Return of the stalker

I had almost forgotten about the cigarette stalker. It's been weeks since I've seen him. The Charles Manson wanna-be vacated his apartment a while ago and I was starting to think the two of them had left together. Until now.

I only saw the stalker outside while he paced around the neighbourhood. He went inside often enough but I'd never see any lights come on when he did. I wondered what he did in the dark. I'm disturbed this evening to see that he smokes inside as much as he does outside.

He hasn't turned any lights on but from across the street I can see his blinds are open. He's lighted 9 or 10 tea lights and spaced them evenly along his front window ledge. They share the ledge with his unusual collection of glass vases which are scattering and diffusing their light.

I've been at my computer for an hour and a half and he's been pacing his living room and chainsmoking the whole time. It's really distracting. He's like a zombie. He's got this pot belly that makes him look about eight months pregnant and he has his arms folded, resting over his gut while he paces back and forth staring straight ahead. His pace is pretty slow until he lights a cigarette. Then he begins to pace faster and faster and sometimes he'll walk in circles. His right arm mechanically brings the cigarette up to his lips every few seconds but he keeps staring straight ahead even while he's taking a drag.

I still think he needs a TV or something but it looks like he'll have to get electricity before he even thinks about getting cable.

I can't help but worry about Pedro who has to walk under the stalker's window to get home safely. I think I should tell him to start walking on my side of the street.

A Prayer to St. Martha

I'm a bit of a food snob. I give in to cravings for KFC and other junk food now and then but I'm pretty fussy about restaurants and made-to-order food in general. My snobbery doesn't cover home-cooked fare. It's the meals I pay for that I critique. And it's not so much as the dish itself as much as the cook's skill (or want of) , the ingredients and the all-important presentation.

I worked in a restaurant for a while where I learned a lot about cooking. It was one of those rare places where nothing was bought pre-made and absolutely everything was made from scratch. The chef was a genius and a perfectionist and there was nothing we wouldn't try to make no matter how difficult. I'm proud to say I never broke a mayonnaise.

After working there, I've always looked closely at what I'm eating in a restaurant. I notice if the lettuce in the salad was torn by hand or cut with a knife. I appreciate home made pasta over the dried variety. And I can tell a powdered soup stock a mile away.

So every day I go to the cafeteria at work and more often than not I'm disappointed. I know they try hard. It looks like the kind of place where they only hire people who have some kind of diploma in culinary arts to flip their burgers. So even though I'm probably not qualified to run the dishwasher, I can't help but critique the menu.

Every day they put out a display of all their specials (I think they should invest in some plastic food for display because 90% of what they serve is always the same). Recently they've tried to make some of the plates more interesting by getting creative with their garnish. Their favourite trick is to take a squirt bottle of mustard and decorate the edges of the plates with stars and squiggles. I'm wondering who's seven year old kid thought that up?

I feel sorry for some of them. You can almost feel their broken spirits as they realize they went to college to get a job making grilled cheese sandwiches and fries. The only ones who seem fulfilled are the mentally challenged people who bus the tables. I really admire their determination.

Those poor cooks must know how to make a bechemel. They must dream of they day they can open their own restaurants and serve soup made with real stock. They must pray some mornings to St. Martha, the patron saint of cooks, that today will be the day they will be able to serve quality food.

I know I do. But it seems like Martha's got other priorities.

Damn! I feel like a woman

My engine light has been coming on for a while now and I've been ignoring it because it's supposedly not a huge deal unless it's flashing. I took a few guesses at what the problem was but I had no luck. Until today, when I lost my power steering on my way to work. It wasn't a huge ordeal, just a bit difficult to get around corners and park.

At work I asked a friend where the closest Canadian Tire was. She gave me easy directions which I only listened to with half an ear (I was trying to multitask at the time). So I had only myself to blame when I got lost in suburban Mississauga without power steering.

I found the store eventually. Of course I didn't ask for help from any pedestrians. I couldn't bring myself to asking for directions because it would be too embarrassing to learn from a stranger that I was only a block away from my destination. So I took the long way there but I arrived at my destination with my pride in tact.

Thank god some parts of my male brain are wired properly. I had never been in the store before but I was able to walk straight to the automotive section without having to ask anyone where it was. While I was there, I decided I'd need rags and a funnel to top up my fluid. I started to feel handy so also decided to pick up a new signal light and some new wiper blades while I was there.

I had no trouble at all topping up my power steering fluid but that was about all I could do. The signal light requires a full set of screwdrivers and an undergraduate degree in mechanical engineering. The windshield wipers were equally challenging and I could only change one of them. My puffed up male ego was quickly deflating.

After I gave up on the wiper blades, I got back in my car and cleaned the dirt off my hands with some moist towlettes. I started my engine and the bloody warning light still stayed on. I was seriously starting to doubt my mechanical abilities at that point. I guess I make a better banker than a grease monkey. I'm glad I have an appointment Saturday morning at the dealership to get some things looked after. Not only will everything be done right, but I'll get to admire his cute butt while he works under my hood.

To beard or not to beard

I haven't run out of things to say. I've tried a couple of times to put posts up in the last week and for some stupid reason my words get lost by blogger. It pisses me off when I take the time to write something and it just evaporates for reasons unknown. Rather then try to reconstruct what I wrote, I just turn my attentions to downloading porn or turning off the computer all together.

I'd been growing a beard for a couple of months. Some would say I hadn't shaved. But I don't see it that way because it makes it sound like you've neglected some duty. I prefer to use the active verb "bearding" which sounds more like you're achieving something.

I noticed in the last couple of weeks the beard seemed to take on it's own identity. It changed my face and because I wasn't 100% used to it, it would startle me a bit to see it in a mirror. I've always been more of a goatee guy. Every year or so I try a beard and I'm usually not happy with the results. This year was no different so yesterday I put my beard trimmer on #2 and buzzed it down to almost nothing. I feel more like myself now. When will I ever learn?

FLG (Flatlinegirl) invited me over last night to play video games with her and LSP (Live Semen Pellet). We played Grand Theft Auto and I sucked. I stopped playing video games around the time they were played with either joysticks or paddles so I'm a bit slow to learn how to use a control with 20 knobs and buttons. I was better at the arcade games within the game than at the game itself. They were easier. But LSP still kicked my ass on them.

LSP is also "bearding". He's been doing it longer than I was and it's getting quite bushy. I'm not sure I could have let mine go that long. I had planned to let it go all winter but like I said, it had it's own identity and the power struggle was making me uncomfortable. I wonder how long LSP can hold out before he brings out the razor.

I borrowed a copy of Spirited Away from FLG. I enjoy anime and I was looking forward to seeing this one. I showed D this morning and he gave it a funny look and said he didn't want to see it. He doesn't want to watch a cartoon (?). I explained that anime was different from Western animation but he didn't care (and apparently he knew that already). I think it's funny that someone who works in the film industry would say something so silly. I'm a bit pissed off at him for being so closed minded. But I'm going to wait a bit before I tell him tactfully that he sounds ignorant.

The worlds most trusted news source......

can always be trusted to portray any world event in a way that makes it look like chaos is just around the corner. CBC reported Yasser Arafat's death with a relatively recent picture of him smiling. BBC showed the pensive looking face of a young (and rather attractive) Palestinian man as he pondered the leader's death. CNN's coverage was accompanied by a picture of people burning tires in the street. If CNN was my only window on the world this afternoon I'd have thought riots had broken out. What losers.

Women

For the record. It seems that lesbians are not men with vaginas. One of the dykes we met with was pretty macho (bullish?). She had a near brush-cut and talked about how she used to work on a construction site (which was totally cool). But under the leather and the persona, there was a woman. A woman who gushed over a bit with her ideas that were mysteriously connected. A woman who got pissed off with men who could not read her mind. You know how women are with men. They want men to say something, won't say what it is they want, they get pissed off when the men don't exhibit ESP and they refuse to say what's on their mind. Lesbians can be like that too.

It makes sense. After all, gay men are just like straight men in a lot of ways. They are as horny as hell. They say what they have to so they can get laid. They don't call when they promise. It's why gay men and women can sympathize with each other so well when they complain about their love lives. So I guess I shouldn't be surprised that lesbians can be as difficult to deal with as other women.

Dumped by Dykes

I was going to write today that I still hadn't heard anything from the lesbians. I was going to write about my policy of meeting silence with silence and how I intended to forget about them because I had left the ball in their court as far as I was concerned. But I decided to check my email before I wrote in my blog and learned that they finally wrote back.

It was a lot like getting dumped. They say D and I are "nice" enough but they don't feel a connection. Which is fine. But it still feels like being dumped. Yet unlike your girlfriend who dumped you when you were eighteen, the dykes have asked if I would like them to mention my name to other lesbians who want to be moms. Being turfed in high school would be so much easier to deal with if the person who dumped you felt an obligation to hook you up with someone else.

As kind as it was, it feels like a consolation prize. But that's OK. I liked them but they weren't ideal. So I guess it's for the better. And I do appreciate the offer for them to do some networking because I don't know many dykes.

No Reply

After our baby date last night I sent of a quick, polite email telling Regan and Sarah that we enjoyed meeting them. They haven't written back. I know Regan works on computers all day so she must have read it. I think they are feeling awkward.

I just wanted to meet and see how we got along. I found it a little bit like a job interview that I hadn't prepared for. I was taken aback by a couple of questions and I think that may have annoyed them.

Even though we're fags and they are dykes, the evening was filled with the tension of a straight-date where everyone is wondering if they will get laid or not. I expected that and that's why I wanted to get to know them, their communication styles etc, before we talked about anything really hard core. But no, they were a bit impatient. I think one of their biological clocks was ticking loudly so I shouldn't be surprised.

In the end, we confirmed that they want more kids than I feel comfortable supporting. They also want someone close to Toronto because they want the dad to be involved fifty percent of the time. Call me selfish but I've been expecting that a lesbian couple would want the fathers to have less involvement. I don't mean no involvement. I just mean a weekend kind of dad who the kids can stay with for extended periods when the mom(s) need a vacation. I have no problem with paying for half of everything and saving for their education. I just feel the kids should have a primary home where they spend most of the time and that's pretty hard to accomplish if each parent wants them half the time. I've kind of warmed up to the idea of being a dad and having some freedom too. So I find the idea of sharing 50/50 between 2 households a bit daunting and possibly hard on the kids. Especially if those households are in different cities. And I didn't even bring the subject up of buying real estate together so we could live in close proximity.

I haven't written them off. Like I said, I kind of liked them. But they have to decide if they can handle having their 4 kids with 2 or more dads (I'd be ok with that as long as mine were smarter and better looking [kiddding]). It looks like it's a choice they will have to make because they say all the men they meet want just one or 2 kids at the most. That could present more issues if both dads want different levels of involvement. And how would we handle living arrangements? It would be a bloody commune for christ sake.

Straight people have it so easy. Maybe I just should have pretended I was straight and filed for divorce afther the kids were born.

Baby Date

I'm back from the baby date. The lesbians were nice. Not unattractive at all and very easy to talk too. I actually liked them. I'm not sure anything will become of it. They live in Toronto and want someone to share custody of the kids 50/50. That can be hard while I'm in Hamilton.

Did I mention they want 4 kids? I like the idea of having a lot of kids but I'm not sure how I feel about the expenses. But we'll have to see how it develops. I've learned that they are baby dating several men so there's no reason I shouldn't be talking to more lesbians.

Mission Failed

I picked up the DVD today and watched it patiently hoping to see Colin's goods. But I'd been misled. There was no money shot. I'd waited all weekend and now I feel ripped off. If anyone knows who has a copy of an R version, please let me know. I beg you.

I hope that's the worst of my luck this weekend. D and I are on our way out to meet Sarah and Regan. I'm hoping I like them and that we can move toward some serious discussions about co-parenting.

I'll write more later to let everyone know what happened.

Quest for Cock

We bought our DVD player today and went out to get a copy of Colin Farrell's new movie. We checked 3 stores and no luck.

I guess we aren't the only fags in town who want a closer look at the object of our fantasies. We saw a couple we know who came into the store just as we were leaving. I have not doubt they were there for a peek at Colin's private parts too.

You can bet that we will be at the video store before noon tomorrow. And I won't leave until I get a copy. I want that man's cock in my living room now.

Kiss my face

I came across an old commercial for KISS face makeup. I'm not sure I remember the commercial from it's first run (I might be too young for that). But the kids look the way kids did just a few short years before I went to high school so I'm sure it's something me and/or my friends wanted for Christmas one year. I thank my parents for having the wisdom not to buy it.

I think it's impressive how this makeup alone helps these boys get in touch with their inner glam-rocker. Neither unflattering hair nor off-the-rack wardrobes from Sears can stand in the way of a home rock concert that can repel even the most jaded suburban house wife.

Click here to see how you too could have been transformed into a memeber of KISS.

Colin Farrell - uncut

I don't own a DVD player. I almost never rent movies so I've never felt the need for one. Until recently I've always been able to find a title I want to watch on VHS. But I've noticed that it's getting harder and harder to find stuff that's worth watching.

D was out yesterday picking up a movie for us to watch last night. He noticed that Colin Farrell's new movie was out on DVD. I think it's "A Home at the End of the World." I've heard there's some full frontal shots of Colin that were cut from the theater version (ouch) which have been left in the DVD version. Of course they don't have this title on VHS at all. So if you haven't guessed already were going to pick up a DVD player today and then going straight to Block Buster for tonight's entertainment.

To each his own

I was buying my lunch at work today and I overheard some guy ask for gravy on his salad. For real. I felt sorry for the guy who actually had to ladle the gravy on his California greens without cracking a smile.

I got in line to pay for my sandwich and gravy man stood in line behind me. I couldn't help but take a peek at his plate to see what salad greens looked like with gravy. They were a little wilty but otherwise they were holding up pretty good. Then I turned my back to him and waited until I got to the front of the line. For some reason I thought I might have to laugh out loud if I looked at him.

I was putting my change in my pocked when the cashier started to help gravy man. He asked her if she had any peanut butter. The only other thing he had on his plate was some perogies with fried onions. God only knows what he wanted with peanut butter.

Cool?

I don't understand why some people don't vote. Iv'e heard that part of the reason Kerry lost was because he failed to motivate younger people with Democratic values to get off their asses and make a statement.

It's not his fault at all. I've heard countless Canadians say they don't feel like voting for one reason for another. I can't imagine that Americans' reasons for not voting are just as lame-ass. Like the "They all just lie" excuse. I'm not saying no politician has ever lied but I'm sure your doctor has lied too and you're still going to use his services when you're sick. In fact, everyone's lied but that doesn't disqualify us from the responsibilities of life and work. Somehow, life goes on despite our flaws.

And I hate it when people use defeatist reasoning like "My one vote won't change anything." Just what is that supposed to mean? That voting would only be a worthwhile activity if you were the only one doing it and your's was the only vote that counted?

The most pathetic excuse I've ever heard is "I don't want to vote because I feel disengaged from a political system that doesn't work for me." Or phrased another way "I'll get involved with the system when I see that it's working." How does that work? You disengaged from the political system because you feel disengaged from the political system? Did I get that right? And all along I thought you were disengaged BECAUSE you didn't vote. Just wondering.. let's say the system happened to work satisfactorily for you without your vote, what would be your motivation to start voting? The system works for you when you get involved because the system works for people who are involved.

Some people are reluctant to get involved in political discussions or activities (like voting) because it's not cool. It's something they associate with older people or uptight church-going reactionaries. Unfortunately, the old folks and the church-goers ARE involved and will STAY involved even if you don't. When you don't cast your vote, you give their vote more weight. What's so cool about that?

I'm not trying to convince anyone to vote. I'm just saying how lame some excuses are and how costly some mistakes are. I'm sure there's a few hundred thousand people in the U.S. who wish they had gone out and tried to make a difference.

Stupid Americans

I'm not surprised by the U.S. election but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed by it. Just in case the election results weren't enough to convince you they're not too bright, I've decided to share some quotations I've heard on American news programs:

When asked to talk about her experience voting, some woman said "We came to vote and there was a 2 hour line up. I said 'Whoa. I'm not waiting 2 hours.' so we went shopping." The reporter asked how long they had to wait to vote after they came back from shopping and she answered "About 2 hours." Did this woman think they would not let anyone join the back of the lineup while she was away?

Some hick was asked why he voted for Bush and he answered "I just wanted someone who was family orientated and not too liberal." That's not a typo. He said orientated. I would have loved to tell him that he may feel smart using a word like orientated but that it made him sound stupid because the word is actually "oriented." And why the hell is Liberal a bad word in the U.S. anyway?

I heard a woman say "I just voted for the man who I thought the Lord wanted to be president." For fuck sakes lady. If the Lord cared who was president he'd cast a vote. Why do people invoke their god when they win? Like the fact they won proves the existence of their god?

And then some I heard some other loser say "I just wanted to vote for someone who could make a decision and go with it." OK then. Let's never mind that Bush makes the wrong decisions and lets just be glad that whatever decisions he makes, he sticks to! I guess if Bush made a wrong turn and started to drive the wrong way up a one way street, he'd just keep driving into oncoming traffic because it's better to stick with a decision than to change your mind.

As bad as I feel about another four years of the Bush dynasty, I think the Americans got exactly what they deserve.

Ugly Americans

I don't mean every American. Some are hot. I'm talking about the ones I see on news channels talking about the election. What the hell is wrong with these people? Has no one looked in the mirror before appearing on camera and thought "Shit. I need a better haircut."

It's not that they are ugly in the Quasimodo sense of the word. I mean they're aesthetically challenged. Especially in the hair and makeup department. Everyone looks like plastic because they have too much makeup on. It's bad enough they are all wearing patriotic blue suits with white shirts and red ties. But the plastic doll-heads make them look like and army of androids.

Makeup tip: I know it's expensive but don't be tempted to save money by applying makeup to the front of your head only. It leaves a tell-tale line down the sides of your face that whispers "incompetence."

Then there's the hair. I've seen more wigs and toupees on TV tonight than I have in my life. The men are the worst. Just give it up guys. It's OK to loose one's hair as long as it's done with dignity. Look at Peter Mansbridge. And if you're going to dye your hair, don't dye it so it looks like a wig. Try some hilites.

And one last word. Never, never let your wife cut your hair. I don't care if everyone in your congregation does it. There's limits to what can be accomplished with a Flo-Bee.

Devil's Night

I can't believe I'm writing this. But I think "Devil's Night" is the most stupid thing I've heard of. Basically, it's a poor excuse for some punks without a life to be vandals.

I used to be one of thos punks. But seriously, when I did shit like that I would do mostly harmless stuff like soap windows or throw toilet paper in trees. I did go through a phase when I made pipe bombs with friends but we always set them off in places where they would only wake the neighbours and not damage any property (except for the one time we hurt a mailbox, but I didn't light the fuse on that one).

Some morons decided it would be funny to walk down Locke St and tip over anything that looked like it wasn't bolted down. The fuckers tipped over a park bench, dumped a couple of concrete planters and tipped over a concrete garbage can breaking it to pieces. And that's only what I could see from in front of my building (not to mention the egg that now covers my front window). I'm wishing I'd seen who did it. Those little bastards need a police record.

Still here

I haven't written much for the last while. Actually, I wrote quite a lot one day and lost it all when the blogger fucked up. I was a bit pissed so I decided to lay off a while.

Not much has been going on. Darcy is growing fast and she's a little bugger around the house. Our furniture is still covered with accents of tinfoil and two sided tape but as least the cat is not clawing the shit out of it.

The weekend here was another exercise in wasted time. My neighbour upstairs, Mike, decides he's going to have people over after midnight Friday and that they're going to smoke up and play some tunes. I'm tired of his shit. He was one complaint away from being evicted for noise but I agreed to give him another chance. He promised he would turn down the tunes if I went upstairs and told him when it was too loud. The problem now is that he just blasts his tunes whenever he wants until I complain. He doesn't give a fuck if he's woken me up at 12, 2, or 4 am. But he turns it down (a bit) if I go through the trouble of getting dressed and going upstairs and pounding on his door.

He was a bit of a loser Friday. He was stoned and he tried to be all tough and smart with me. He said that he's friends with the tenants in the other 3 units in our building and they're on his side so it's basically 3 against one (how pathetic). I told him it was one against one and that anyone else who has anything to say about it can fuck themselves. He tried to tell me that he used to be a legal secretary and that he'd been keeping notes about every time I went up to his apartment to complain about the noise. I thanked him for keeping records that prove my point. Then I told him I'd just talk to the property manager.

He got scared because he started to change his attitude then he insisted I come in for a beer. He tried to tell me that both him and his girlfriend make over 100 thousand per year (why he thought that was important I don't know). He says he manages all the Kelsey's and Montana's in this area. If that's true, I suspect he makes a lot less than what he's claiming. I told D about that and he just laughed. Apparently D was cleaning up some garbage downstairs after the racoons got into it and he found one of Mike's pay stubs. I won't say exactly what it said but even if he's had a promotion since that time I doubt he's making half of what he claims to be making. (I feel a bit bad knowing that but it wasn't me who was nosy)

He asked what I did and his eyes bugged out a bit when I told him I work for a bank. He seemed relieved to find out I didn't work for his bank. After that he made quite an effort to tell me he pays all his bills on time and everything is up to date (as if I cared). He even told me he pays his rent in cash despite our landlord's complaints. Maybe it's the banker in me but people who insist on paying cash for shit like that are probably up to something. Either he's up to something or his credit sucks and he can't open a bank account anywhere.

Mike also told me he was a graphic designer. He said he had four computers but I only saw one. Maybe he's got 3 in his bedroom. He also told me he used to drive transport. That's a lot of work experience for someone who's 25. Maybe he has a business for himself on the side but I still think he's stretching things a bit. I don't care either way. As long as he learns to keep the fucking noise down.

We agreed that I would not talk to the property manager. He said he would turn the music down if I called. I have his number now and I hope for his sake I don't have to use it.