Choosing To Die: My favourite death story.

Do we get to choose when we die? Do you really think that our willpower, or lack therein, can affect the time we have on this physical plane? I think, to some extent, it does. And I'm not talking about 'Right to Die' or euthanasia. I'm talking about just letting yourself go, when you know its time.

Last night on Grey’s Anatomy there was a woman who had a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) but the doctors acted quickly to save her life before being told of said request. In the end the doctor who inserted a tube to save her life, had to remove the tube and kill her. This brought up thoughts of her poor dying mother . . . drama ensues. I was moved to tears to see an old woman, surrounded by her best friends and children, happily drift off to see her husband in the next realm. It reminded me of another death story; this one true . . .

One of my best friends, The Teacher (she is no longer a teacher, but she continues to teach me invaluable lessons), once told me the story of when her grandmother died.

Her Grandmother died in her mid-90's. A farm girl from birth, at the wise old age of 5 years old this woman decided to inform her mother that she would only want to die in the summertime. "The Spring and Autumn are far to busy on the farm to have people take off a day to come to my funeral. And I should be there to help with all the toiling and harvest and whatnot. And the winter, well, it's just far to cold to expect my loved ones to stand in the snow to bury me. Nope! The only proper time for a farm girl to die is in the summer, so that's when I shall do it."

Cut to ninety years later. No longer on the farm, the lady lie in hospital for several weeks. Knowing she was close to death, the family visited often; caring and praying for her. But they knew that they had some time. Doctors were amazed at the will of this woman. She should have met her maker by now, but still she held on. What was her motivation? What was she waiting for? Slowly, everyday her little body broke down bit by bit, but she still held on.

Finally she gave in. She let herself go on June 21st, the first day of summer. Just like the proper farm girl had said for 90years.

Puppysitting Day 6: Let's go fly a .... dog?

Okay, so I'll admit that I am often prone to exaggeration. But I swear that I do not in this story. But, first you need to know two things so it all makes sense.

1: Please remember that Jasper is a Shih Tzu, and weighs in at . . . what . . . 6oz? I'm not sure, but he is small. I think he has an eating disorder. He's always talking to M.K. Olsen and listening to Karen Carpenter. Anyway, that's not for here . . . just know that he is light.

2: If you know anything about Toronto, you know that the intersection of Yonge and Eglinton has some weird wind patterns. It could be the calmest day of the year in the rest of the city, but at Y&E you get whipped around like you're in the center of a twister and you can't find Auntie Em or Uncle Henry.

Now for our story: I was taking Jasper up to his real house so that he could visit his brother, Smudge. Smudge is a pretty self sufficient cat who really enjoys his alone time, so I didn't take him into my home. I just go up ever day or so to water him and give him food. This way he gets his privacy so that he can read, catch up on 'The National', listen to his Dolly Parton albums; y'know, Cat stuff.

Today was a very blustery day indeed. The winds were averaging 30km/hr with gusts up to 55km/hr. Poor anorexic Jasper was having enough trouble walking a straight line with the usual wind pushing him this way and that, but as we were crossing Eglinton a mighty gust blew Jasper right off his feet. Quite literally, he cleared at least a foot off the ground. Everyone around me started laughing and one woman screamed . . . actually, that might have been me.

All I can say is thank goodness for the non-gender specific person who designed dog leashes! If it wasn't for them, Jasper would have been blown right into the intersection and into oncoming traffic. And I'd have some serious explaining to do tomorrow when The Philanthropist gets home.

Sorry Jack. We tried.

Well, as suspected (after 8 weeks of no real campaign, just playground name calling and 'he said / he said') it looks like we're gonna have a Conservative Minority Government here in Canada. Lucky us! Not that anyone wanted it, but it was suspected.

It's too bad Harper is such a moron. What's North America to do, now that we have two countries 'run' by idiots? What will this do to our tourism? Harper's so stupid, if he was any stupider his phone number would be 1-800-Ims-odum.

It's too bad Martin screwed up so much over the past few years. Way to go on the whole gay thing, but there was so much that deserved a stern finger wagging. Really, you really did start to look silly after a while.

But the saddest thing: It's too bad more Canadians didn't vote for who they wanted, but rather decided to vote 'Strategically!' I talked to so many people that wanted, in their heart, to vote NDP but thought it would only help the Conservatives. They thought it would be like tossing your ballot. Maybe if everyone voted with their heart . . . okay, we still wouldn’t have Jack in the big office, but at least there’d be a hell of a lot more people on our side.

Have we learned nothing from watching American elections (no offence America)? EVERY vote counts. Every single person who is eligible to vote should be at the polls on Election Day, because it’s your bloody country that you are given the chance to change it! You are given the chance to be heard! You live in a free country that actually allows you to vote! Why the hell would you not jump at this chance? You are given a say in what happens to your country; your children; your environment; your fucking taxes! Don’t want to vote? Then move to Berlin . . . prior to 1989 . . . on the wrong side of the wall. You'ld be back to Canada and back to the polls in no time, I'm sure.

With a minority government lead by a homophobic, discriminatory, intolerant, white, straight man, I'm sure we'll be back at the polls by Christmas anyway. Maybe then we'll all be ready to treat our elections like an election rather than a board game. Maybe then a few more people will get off their asses and be heard. Maybe some poeple will actually realize what a great gift we're given in this country.

Oh look, now I've gone and gotten all upset! Sorry for the rant, but sometimes I felt the need to be all political and stuff. Or something.

PS: Please note: I have nothing against anyone who votes for whomever they choose. Whether it is NDP, Conservative, Liberal, Green, Marxist . . . whatever. I applaud you for getting out and voting. This post is pretty Anti-Conservative and very Pro-NDP, but that's only because it's my blog. And that means I get to say whatever the heck I want to. Feel free too post comments though; I promise not to delete any. Freedom of speech and all that, y'know.

A brief history of my career, Pt. 1: The Beginning.

"I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up. I mean, it's high time I start planning my future. I'm just about finished with kindergarten, and with Grade 1 starting up in the fall, people are gonna want to know."

My formative years were plagued with questions about my future. Typical Scorpio, I've always felt the need to be in control of my life. I can remember being so young and spending countless hours weighing the pro's and con's of a wide variety of career choices: If I were a doctor I could help myself get better if I got sick . . . oh, but blood makes me queasy. If I were an actor I'd probably get to see all the movies I wanted to for free and I bet I'd make hundreds of dollars . . . oh, but what if they made me kiss a girl? EEEEEWWWW! If I were an author I could write all sorts of interesting stories . . . oh, but I can't even write my own name yet. Bother, life decisions are hard when you're only 5 years old.

But then, it happened! We were having an activity day for all the grade 1 students. The theme today was "Fairy Tales" (a personal favourite for the cute little homo in brown plaid). We randomly raced from activity center to activity center completing the mindless tasks that were asked of us: Decorate Cinderella's slipper; build a house for the 3 little pigs with lego; make porridge for Goldilocks. A perfect day of school, if you ask me. I ran around the lower level of JH Sissons Elementary squealing like a schoolgirl every time I got one task completed and got it checked off by either Mrs. Morris or Mrs. Berry. I was almost done.

I was just about to complete the list and, Heavens to Betsy, I think I'll be first. Oh imagine the glory that would behold me. I'd be the envy of all the others in the three classrooms that made up my grade. I'd be the most popular girl in school! The world would be mine! Next on the list, 'Braid Rapunzels hair'. Easy enough. I've seen Mommy Dearest braid my sisters’ hair almost daily. I'd be done in seconds.

'Start with 2 sections and twist. Hmmmmm, no, that’s not working. Maybe I'll twist the other way. No, that didn't work either. There's got to be something wrong with this yarn. C'mon Lance, the others are gonna see you doing it wrong and they'll all laugh at you. You can do this one. 2 sections - twist. Of course, it should be 4 sections. Shit, that didn't work either.' Okay, so apparently I couldn't braid. Somehow I was genetically unable to form the same hairstyle that made it possible for Prince Charming to rescue the real Rapunzel. I had to do the unthinkable . . . I asked for help. Mrs. Berry came over and showed me the secret that has been passed down from X chromosome to X chromosome for millenia . . . 3 Sections. Now that I had this figured out I was able to complete the activity effortlessly.

I ran home after school and showed Mommy Dearest what I had learned. Then my sister. Then my sisters Barbie collection. I would become a braiding master; it was written in the stars. The next day at school I offered complimentary braiding services to all of my girl friends (note that was 2 separate words). This went on for months.

I had found my calling.

I was going to be a hairdresser!

To be continued . . . . .

Puppysitting Day 2: I killed the dog!

The Philanthropist has left the city to complete a few bits and pieces in Yellowknife, and has left his charming little Shih Tzu with Uncle Lance. Jasper and I get on really well. We spent a lot of time together anyway and so this week will just further enhance our bond.

That is, if he lives throughout the week.

As I took him for his walk this morning I allowed him to say hello to (read: Sniff The Butt Of...) another dog. I guess they didn't get along too well because after five seconds or so new dog (I call him Chompers McStupidhead) tried to bite off poor Jaspers head. I thought, 'Great! How am I gonna explain this? Text message his Daddy? 'Hope work is well. The dog got eaten. Having gr8 weather. C U soon!' Fortunately I was able to pull Jasper out of the clutches of death . . . thanks to Cousin Julie and my workout program.

We made it home with all limbs attached and heart pumping. Apparently, this is when I decided that I ought choke Jasper. I suppose I was holding him wrong when I was drying his feet and he started making this awful noise. "Hhhhgghgghgck Hhhhgghgghgck Hhhhgghgghgck!" Yeah, it was real pretty. Just then, Tzarina (The Empress) called and wondered why I wasn't at work yet. He missed me.

"OMG OMG OMG!! The DOG'S DYING! WHAT'S HAPPENING? AHHHH AHHHH. LISTEN, HE'S CHOKING OR SOMETHING. WHAT DO I DO????" 'Hhhhgghgghgck Hhhhgghgghgck Hhhhgghgghgck!' "OMG!! WHAT'S HAPPENING? AHHHH."

Laughter. Snickering. Eye rolling.

The Tzarina has two Shih Tzu’s of his own, and apparently they have a soft palette. When they get too excited it might collapse and you just have to rub their neck and calm them down and all will be fine. It worked. All is fine for the dog, but what about me? I didn't know you could have a near death experience with another's life. Jaspers whole life flashed before my eyes; all 10 months of it.

Happy to report that all is fine in Cabbagetown. Japer is healthy and . . . well, right now he's sleeping again. I should go check his breathing. Yep, all is fine.

Mourning the Death of a Friend.

A few years back my best friend and I were at our favourite lounge in Yellowknife talking to our waitress about smoking . . . remember this was a few years ago, when you could actually smoke in bars. Our waitress had just quit smoking a few weeks prior and was telling us how it felt like she had lost her best friend; her little 4inch friend that was always there for her when he was needed, always ready to help relieve her stresses.

Cut to a few years prior to this, when my C.A.L.M. (Career and Life Management) teacher in High School broke down in tears on the second day of her quit, after smoking for thirty years. The topic had come up and she ended up having to leave the room because she could not contain herself. The next day she apologized saying how she had no idea what happened, just that since she quit she's had no control of her emotions.

I mean, c'mon! Honestly, these women need to calm the hell down and get a reality check! Your Best friend? Involuntary emotions? Are you crazy? It's just a harmless little bit of tobacco. And besides, I'm young, I can quit anytime I want to. I'm not 'addicted' to smoking, I just like doing it and I can quit anytime I want to . . . without the craziness that you are all talking about.

So that was me about 9 years ago, around the time I first decided to quit smoking. I know I can quit, I've done it about 20 or 30 times. I've been quitting since about a year and a half after I first started. I now realize how difficult it really is.

I've not had a cigarette in 19 days and last night it all came to a head. I lost it. I've been getting progressively more and more anxious. I've been super irritated at work. I've been getting annoyed with friends. And I've now got all these conspiracy theories as to how all my friends are against me.

I've never realized it before, but suddenly I realize that The Boyfriend never really loved me and wants out. I realize that my friends never really liked me and purposely do not invite me out for their fun. I realize that I've suddenly lost all semblance of talent and my clients won't be returning; actually, the only reason they come in is to see who else they will book with next time they're in the salon. My landlords are planning something, I just know it. Everyone is against me. And of course, I'm completely rational in my thinking. Its not me that’s crazy or off-balance, no. It must be everyone else on the entire planet.

There's been a few times when I've been at home alone (oh yeah, The Philanthropist and I have decided that all of January there would be no alcohol and no eating out. It's fun to take on a lot all at once) and these ideas just stew and stew. Now I realize what Mrs. Code and Lone were talking about. There's absolutely no reason for these feelings, but it does feel like you've lost your best friend.

So I must apologize to everyone. I don't mean to be as crazy as I am, and I really hope that my neurosis will go away soon, but you'll have to bear with me. Everything is magnified right now and I'm a little off my head. I hope to come back to earth soon; I miss normalcy.

Dinner with the Princess

Last night marked the last business dinner I would have with my boss, The Princess. For reasons I will later go into, I have decided to leave my post as Regional Educator for American Crew / mop: Modern Organic Products.

As I said my goodbye to her, I wondered if this might be the last time I actually ever see her. Sure, there was talk of meeting up whenever we're in the same city, but would it happen? Or was it just the usual pleasantry that we all feel obligated to do, so that it takes the pain away from actually saying 'Goodbye'? Something that allows us to never have to actually use 'The G-word, and feel the emotions that coincide within it. Can't life just be a series of 'See you later!'? It's a damn good thing I was with The Boyfriend and The District Manager. Had I been alone, I think there would have been a crying queen on Queen Street West.

So just in case it was goodbye: To the Princess, it's been so great having you as my boss. You've done so much for me, most of which you will never realize. Thanks you for always being there when I was needy. Thanks for always finding out where the hell my paycheques were. Thanks for always taking my side. Thanks for dinner. I'd like to think that if everyone were a little more like you, then I'd probably have a much higher opinion of the human race. I'm gonna miss you baby. I hope that I still get to come to business dinners just so we can hang out.

Lots of love,
Donkey Boy.

PS: But please change the damn spelling of 'Mukluks' on your website already!

At The Late Night Double Feature Picture Show!

In the past six months I have done some extensive travelling. I've been to New York City more than a few times. Japan three times. India. All over Europe. British Columbia. A Few African nations. And pretty much across the entire North American continent.

You see, The Boyfriend and I go to a lot of movies. Like, a lot. I'd say we average 2 a week; sometimes more, sometimes less. Now it's not that we have nothing better to do or are so bored of each other that all we can handle is sitting in a dark room, surrounded by 398 of our closest strangers starring at a screen larger than both of our apartments combined. No, it's not that at all (is it?). We both just really like films.

All kinds too. We often double date with another couple (they're a boy/girl couple, but we won't hold that against them) to see all the new horror flicks. All the homo boys get together for all the gay films. We'll go see the foreign, comedy, drama, independent films together. And if it's an action film, he goes with Cousin Julie or straight Mark. If it's a musical then I go with Cell Phone Boy or the Philanthropist. With all the genres covered, we ought to buy stock in Paramount.

The past few months have been filled with an incredible amount of great films. The Aristocrats; Brokeback Mountain; Hostel; Memoirs of a Geisha; Proof; Redeye; Rent; Water; and most recently Transamerica. Not to mention all that were rented or watched at home. Now, please don't look at the list and judge my judgement. I really enjoyed all of these films because they were all successful in creating emotions. I think that any movie that makes you cry, scream or laugh till you pee must struck a cord with you, otherwise you would not have reacted in such a way. And isn't that why we go to films in the first place?

The cinema is a great place where we can go to lose ourselves for a few hours. It's a magical place that can take us to the widow hostels of India; the biblical land of Narnia; late 80's Manhattan, minefields in Cambodia; and eccentric torture factories in eastern Europe . . . if only for a few hours at a time. I defy you to name a travel agent that can do the same for under $20.

No matter the genre, film has a wonderful way of making me feel better about my life. Whenever I'm feeling low or sad, I just think, 'Hey! At least I'm not a Pre-pubescent Hindu Widow being raised to be a Transsexual Geisha by my senile mathematician father who is HIV+ and has locked me in a gas chamber of a house with 8 strangers who are trying to kill each other to find the vaccine, so they alone can survive only to get kidnapped by beautiful busty women at an Eastern European hostel.'

Life is good, n'est pas?

Here we go again....

Just over three years ago, I had a great roommate who was a nurse / personal trainer. When I realized how much weight I had gained in the previous year, I decided that I would enlist her help and get back on track. Twelve weeks later I was about 25lbs lighter and, for the first time in my life, possessed a little thing called 'definition'.

Well over the past three years I've maintained my body size, but haven’t really advanced at all. I've convinced myself that I'm just skinny and slim and will never really be able to change that; It's Gods Devine plan, or something. But, apparently I'm just lazy!

I'm back at the gym after a 3 month hiatus, and have been challenged to put on 15lbs. Easy, I thought. Quarter pounder w/ cheese. Supersized fries. Vat of wine. Heck, I could even go for 20! Oh . . . they meant 15lbs in muscle. Oh bother, this is beginning to sound like work.

Enter Cousin Julie (Personal trainer; Good friend; Sister of The Boyfriend; Not my real cousin). Cousin Julie has agreed to take me on as a client. Poor dear, she has no idea she's just signed up for 5 months of constant phone calls and text messaging. . . 'I'm not getting any bigger!', 'Am I allowed eat this?', 'I don't wanna do legs today!', 'Why can't I just take steroids?'; 'This Dr. Ho might just be on to something!' To hell with it. I suppose I'll just do the work.

So I write it down here for everyone to read. I am giving myself 21 weeks ('bout 5 months) to build up as much size as possible. My goal is about 10lbs, but we're focusing more on size than we are weight (Typical fag . . . always going for size).

I will regularly update all my measures (let's say every 4 weeks or so) and possibly add a photo or two. So, without any further ado, here are the opening measurements of my lovely manly lumps:

Chest: 37 inches
Shoulders: 43 inches
Arms: (Right) 11.75 inches (Left) 12 inches
Waist: 34 inches (This one is okay to go down)
Hips: 38.75 inches
Thighs: 22.25 inches
Calves: 15 inches

Fingers crossed! Of course, there is a possibility of laziness taking over and me just deleting this entire post one day as I sit down with my Quarter Pounder w/Cheese, Supersized fries and a vat of wine.

Great Scot!

Yesterday morning, The Great Scot came in for a haircut and we sat around and chatted before beginning the service, as is custom with me . . . chat now, work later. First item of discussion: the terrible car accident that he was in the week before. Not just a fender-bender either; he actually though he was going to die as another car was headed right for him. Luckily he made it out alive, unfortunately the car did not.

I have known The G.S. for about a year and a half, since The Boyfriend and I first got together. I took to him and his then partner very quickly. Our friendship has grown quite strong over the past 7 seasons and I'm so grateful for that. However, due to logistics and scheduling, I don't think I've ever spent time alone with The G.S., not counting haircuts. Plus, we're both Scottish, so even if we were alone, we wouldn't talk about feelings. We'd just boil potatoes and play "Danny Boy" on our bagpipes. Several months ago I was talking to Cell Phone Boy about this. I wondered aloud if The G.S. though I might not like him as much as other friends. And I hope that this has never crossed his mind.

I love him dearly and think he is such a generous and loving person. He gets so animated when he goes off on his rants (the woman in the grocery store is still my favourite). One tries to be the mature professional that he is, but still you can find him sitting backwards and upside down on my satellite chair as if he's a three year old, still trying to discover the world. Just look into his steel blue eyes and feel the warmth and tenderness that pours out effortlessly.

I realized that I

may have lost him without him knowing how much I respect and admire him. Donny, you're a great friend. I hope that I get to keep you around forever.

Much (heart)!

Tan Line Rant!

Those who know me know at least one thing. I (heart) Underpants. I love 'em! Don't know what it is, but I just think that cute underpants are a must for any occasion. For the most part, it's only you who knows what you've got on, but hey . . . aren't you worth it, to have the best and cutest darn underpants covering your bits?

I was on the verge of writing a smart, clever and oh so funny little post all about the wonders that are underpants; the origin; the material; the style. Everything one must know about the most intimate of intimate apparel. Pre-writing, I was searching for a fantastic photo to go along with the post and then I came across this. . . .(See photo).

Now, don't get me wrong. I think tan lines are H-O-T! In fact (and this might be filed under the 'Too Much Information' category) but I'll even wear my underpants in the tanning bed for 3/4 of the time, so that I get a nice, crisp little line, but still maintain some colour on my buttocks (tan lines are Hot, but white-ass Wally is Not!).

However, I think one ought to 'tan line' with caution. If one is going to possess said tan line, then one ought to wear underpants that cover it until such time presents itself to present the line. Alternatively, one might decide to go without underpants at all; not my personal choice but I hear it's gaining popularity in many Canadian cities such as Moosejaw and The Greater Metropolitan area of Flin Flon.

Whatever your choice, one must never EVER have a tan line and then wear underpants that do not even come close to covering. I mean honestly! Look at this fool. WHY? Why would somebody do this? Who thinks this is hot? Really, it makes no sense. He would not make it across the threshold to my boudoir with that unsightly line . . . not to mention the really bad animal print (um, I think that went out before I even left High School).

So please remember. Friends do not let friends tan line drunk!

I’m sorry, I’d love to have dwelled more on my original idea, but it’ll have to wait for another day. I have to go bleach out my eyeballs.

OH MY G-D!!!!

Wow! I just got an email from Cell Phone Boy with a link to a Christian Family website. More specifically, he wanted us all to read an article by a Good Christian Woman addressed to all the Good Christian Wives on our wonderful planet. The article was very clear (because otherwise women wouldn't be able to figure it out?) and was to help women learn to 'Appreciate Your Man'! I'm glad I read it, now I know that to make sure The Boyfriend is happy, all I have to do is ask him to glue a chair leg and build him up in front of the kids. And here I thought relationships were hard!

Intrigued, I click-click-clicked my way about the site, wondering if there was an article to men on how to make their women feel appreciated. Oddly enough, there was no such article. But I did learn many things about my brethren: I learned why we like fast things (because they go fast); Why we need not and do not cook breakfast in bed for our significant others (cause we don't want to burn bacon or spill milk and ruin the whole thing. Best we leave cooking to the women folk. They enjoy it so!). But the most important thing the Good Reverend taught me was why we leave the toilet seat up....

". . . The answer is simple. We’re trying to be consistent. You’ll find seats up in every public men’s room across the U.S. and around the world. Besides, chances are good that we’ll be the next ones to use the facility, so why waste the motion returning the toilet seat and lid to their proper position? It’s all a question of efficiency. That’s the secret right there. If you EVER wonder why a guy does what he does, efficiency is usually the answer. We simply want to be practical. No wasted effort on unnecessary niceties. This explains why we don’t like to fold our sweats that are balled up in the corner of the closet. It’s much easier to pull them on without worrying about all that unfolding. Again, efficiency is the reason. It all makes sense now, doesn’t it? . . ."

See, this is just another argument that the Gay Mafia can use in our big gay agenda. The more gay men and lesbian women there are, the less we would need to explain all of this to one another. When I make pee and The Boyfriend follows suit, he just instinctively knows that the north-reaching toilet seat has nothing to do with my laziness, its all about consistency.

And those witty lesbians would just know when you hold each other and tell each other they love one another and not burn bacon and heck, they could just glue the toilet seat to the porcelain. Hmmm . . . . actually, probably best that they just call one of us over to do it for them.

Onward Fabulous Soldiers!

How much does volunteering pay?

I just had a very very VERY long day! I was at the office at about 10:30am, and left just after 6. Slaved all day, with only a bit if a lunch break. It's been a long time since I worked like this. Great fun too; as it was my first day on the job. Oh but, it's not like it’s a real job or anything. I've just begun volunteering again.

When I was younger, I did a lot of volunteering. My mother is a nurse on the Extended Care ward of the hospital and my sister and I were often up there helping fold towels and feeding patients and what-not. But one too many times I walked in on some 90 year old wanking themselves or spitting on me and had to resign. I'm not sure how nurses deal with this day in and day out, but for an 11year old boy it’s a bit too much.

When I was a young adult I was an extremely busy person and had little time to donate, so I just gave out a lot of money. I may not have been able to go door to door to collect for the Heart and Stroke Foundation, but I sure did give well to them each year. As I’d done with many organizations. But now I have ample time again, and little money so I've decided to start giving my time.

One of my greatest friends ever, “The Philanthropist” recently moved to Toronto and took an Executive Director position at Dying With Dignity, a national organization dedicated to improving the quality of dying and expanding end-of-life choices in Canada. When he got the job, I told him instantly that I wanted to be put onboard as a regular volunteer.

Good to know that I am not the only volunteer. DWD has a handful of people around to do occasional this-and-that. Most prominent are the three...elderly women? I'm not sure exactly how to describe them.

Irene is the mother hen of the group. At 91 years old, Irene has been volunteering every Wednesday since retiring from full time work, 19 years ago. Next in line is Irene's co-worker from the old days, Marg, also 91. Marg started at DWD about the same time as Irene. Then we have the young one; the wild child of the group. Jean is a tender 89 years old and just getting her feet wet. She's only been volunteering with the group for 14 years, so I guess they're still trying to see if she fits. Being vastly younger than the rest, she's able to have more time for the organization. Jean is in on Wednesdays and Mondays. Ahhhh, youth. I'm willing to bet that these three women actually do run the office. What they say goes! In fact, they won't even allow the organization to supply them with a computer do make their work easier. "Now, we don't need some fancy screen for our work. Just as good to type it up on the old faithful typewriter, dear." All of their work is hand typed by them...ALL OF IT! And this typewriter is so old that they have to keep another one around because they can’t get new parts to fix it, should it ever break. The three of them take turns at the typewriter, filing cabinet, ledger and envelope stuffing stations. It's amazing to watch them work.

All is did was organize and alphabetize the entire reference library. Thousands of books, binders, videos, newsletters, magazines and two audio tapes, all restocked and reshelved and ready to go. Well not quite. I estimate about another 6 or 7 weeks of data entry and cross referencing on computer. The Philanthropist was right to hire me. I'm the most Obsessive Compulsive organizer I know. I alphabetize for fun, and I'm not joking. I swear, when that store room is done it'll bring tears to your eyes. But don't hold your breath, I've got several weeks of Mondays and Wednesdays to finish it.

Mondays and Wednesdays? .... I just realized those are the same days that Jean works. Gosh, what if she gets sweet on me in such close quarters. You know those young women, get a few drinks into them at an office party, and watch out!

Jump in! The water's cold, but don't worry. You'll get used to it.

I'm sure I'm not alone in this, but I have fears! Loads of them! GASP!!!!

I'm not even sure of what my fears are. Rejection? Failure? Loss? Death? Life? I fear change, but I also fear things staying the same. I want life to go on with surprises around every corner, but those surprises scare the shit out of me.

When I think back in history (and I mean my history here folks, not world history. Let the world get its own blog!) I often see huge jumps I've taken that have most always turned out better than I could have possibly imagined. With such a great track record, why would I have said fears? Anybody?

I was so optimistic moving to Toronto. There was nothing that was going to hold me back. I had a great job lined up in T.O.'s poshest area; I had the BEST apartment you could ever dream of; I had money in the bank; With Prada on my feet and Kenneth Cole on my back, what could go wrong? . . . . Cut to me 21 months later, a completely different Lance Morrison that the one who boarded a plane at the Yellowknife airport on May 5, 2004. My heart is pretty much the same, but where my mind is, is the polar opposite.

I guess things don't often turn out EXACTLY as we would have liked. But are any of us where we though we would be 5 years ago? 10 years ago? 20 years ago? Most likely not. But how much would we have lost?

Had I moved to Toronto 4 months later, I'd have a lot more money right now.... a lot. But what would that get me . . . more ego, more credit card bills, a better job, maybe longer hair?

But what would I have lost? I definitely would not have met Cell Phone Boy. And I would have missed the cut off for the Lesbians telephone # change notification. Had I not connected with the Lesbians I would never have met The Boyfriend. Having not met The Boyfriend, I'd not know The Boys, Cousin Janet, Cousin Julie, The Opera Singer, etc etc etc. I'd still have The Heteros, and I'll always have Dray-gun. Maybe I'd still be dating The Drug Addict Actor. Or maybe we would have never met. Who knows?

If you get a chance, watch the movie 'Sliding Doors'. Gweneth Palthrow plays the same woman in 2 seperate scenerios. What would happen if she had caught the earlier tube and not had to wait the 2 minutes for the next one? Interesting to think about the small incidents that have shaped our lives. Some thank Harry Belafonte. Some thank God. I'd have to thank my mom for getting me out of bed that morning to help her do some shopping. If she hadn't, I would never have gotten the Video Store job which, I believe, was the first domino in the past 10 years of my life. Thanks Mom! You're the greatest!

Everyone else, how's about we try to do one thing this week that we're unsure of. Let's see where it takes us. Could be fun!

He's a dentist, not a chef.

My friend, cell phone boy, has a perfect roommate. He's fun; he's cute; he's quiet; he's never home; he pays the rent on time. What more could you ask for?

Well maybe he could be a little tidier. And maybe, just maybe, he could be a better cook. It's not that his cooking is terrible; it's just rather ... generic. But it's really not his fault. You see, he's a heterosexual male. How can we expect him to handle meat in the kitchen if he doesn't have a lot of experience with it out of the kitchen?

Let's share a story, shall we? Cell phone boy and I were on our way out for dinner, so I stopped over to pick him up. As I entered their apartment, I could smell BBQ sauce, and was shocked that our cute straight friend was actually cooking something other than Kraft Dinner. I was so proud; I even shed a single tear.

"Marc, that smells great! What are you cooking?"
"Pasta!" was the reply.

Now, by all means, I'm not Martha Stewart, but I think I can hold my own in the kitchen. At least, I do know a little bit about mixing flavors. And I'm pretty sure Penne and Kraft BBQ sauce never should be on the same plate.

I think he must have seen the confused look on my face so he offered his explanation. "I thought I had more pasta sauce, but it turns out I only had a tiny bit left, so I just mixed it with BBQ sauce. They're both red-ish so I figured they would work together. Wanna try it?" Of course, how could I not have ever realized the true secret to mastering cooking? It has nothing to do with flavors, spices, proper timing. As long as the colours are the same, it all works out.

Well, this post is kinda like the cute hetero's cooking. It's just there, but it's not really meant to have a lot of substance. Being my first post, I'm really just trying to figure it all out. Not sure how to do much yet, so I'm just experimenting. If it doesn't turn out right, I'll just dump it in the organic compost heap and start over.

If all else fails, I'll just add a bit of cinnamon and see what happens.