“I know gay people!”

I’ve never been someone to hide my gay, I mean, if you’ve seen my haircuts over the past couple years, it’s kind of hard to mistake me for a straight girl. But, once in a while, someone either confuses me for straight, or gets drunk enough to cross their fingers and hope I’m a bisexual. I met one such character the other day at a bar – he was talking about how attractive the bartender was, and he turned to me saying something about how I must not notice things like that.

Unfortunately, I knew the bartender.

And, yes, unfortunately for him, she began laughing hysterically.

What came next is why I’ve been inspired to write again, sexual deviants. I was met with what appears to be the first response of all people in his position: “Oh! My sister’s friend is gay and she’s also nice.”

Gay and nice? Wherever did you find this rare specimen, sir?

I have never been able to fully wrap my head around the need for straight people upon meeting me to confirm that I am not the first gay person they’ve ever met. It doesn’t matter if the only gay person they’ve ever met is barely within six degrees of separation, because need to confirm that at one point or another they have interacted with a member of the LGBTQ community is just too strong.

Now, this topic’s been brought up by every lesbian from here to K.D. Lang (which is now, apparently, a destination), about how terrible it is that we assume we all know one another or that the person in question knowing a gay person somewhere doesn’t make us feel more comfortable. To them I say, “maybe,” and then I would probably shrug.

Truth is, the community’s small but I can safely say I don’t know everyone. I had no idea who the guy from the bar’s sister’s friend was – for all I know she could have been smoking hot, single, and hopefully the girl who just moved in a floor below me, though maybe that’s getting a little too specific.

The point is, straight people are great gay networking tools. Many a straight have introduced me to many a gay, and many of those gays have introduced me to large quantities of booze, bad dancing, and, in one case, their vampire den; but that’s a whole other story. It’s not all bad, deviants, when people offer to introduce you to their token gay friend.

And hey, if that friend doesn’t turn out, I’m sure they know a straight person who may even know another gay for you.


We’re talking family.

‘How funny could this be?’ you ask? Well, we’ll just have to wait and see, I don’t really plan these posts out. You see, Pam was just in town and I love the woman to bits. Pam is Jesse & Renee’s mom, and I saw her a whole lot this week… nearly every day actually. While it is no secret that my biological mother has had as much of a problem with trying to bring about any semblance of maternal instinct as Andre the Giant has touching his toes, Pam has this instinct, and it was weird. Good weird, mind you, but weird. I’m not used to caring mothers; I remember going over to Christine’s for family dinner one night, only to squirm awkwardly in my seat trying to understand the whole mother-daughter dynamic.

I will never be a mother, not in the old school lesbian “I’m not giving birth!” sort of way, but more so because I dislike children, and people like me should not be left to care for things like babies, or guinea pigs, but that’s another story (I’m sorry, Silky). I acknowledge this though, for a long time I didn’t even like people, let alone children; I’ve babysat twice, and it’s really not my scene. I can’t get children to do anything, and when children don’t do what I want them to do, I think about what made me do things as a child, fruitless promises of sips of wine and money. When I was babysitting, I was 14, so I didn’t have any wine. I did have money, but I was a greedy little bugger (plus paying children significantly less than what I would be paid for babysitting them is kind of like sweatshop labour in the babysitting world; except with air conditioning and SIMS). In summation, babies and I just don’t gel. I don’t “gel” with anyone younger than I am, really, though I’m sure that will change when I become a spinster and I start picking up women half my age (money will probably be involved, though they come back for the years of experience, or so I hear).

So what do I think of unfit parents? Yank those kids from them. Seriously, the child will thank you later, aspiring (or currently employed) social workers. Yank ’em. Now I feel bad for saying parents, because I do love my father very much. But if you know me well enough, you’ll know that he’s really more of a close friend than someone I’m forced to talk to because of blood relation. People will, eventually, build their own families, heck, if I can do it, anyone can. Pam is someone who has been built into my family, as have Christine, Jesse, and Renee. And I have to say, I love my family (the created one, of course). But being in a family is something beyond foreign to me, seriously. I don’t understand the dynamic and I’m really taking baby steps with these people half the time, but they put up with me, and my many mistakes. I can’t say I’m the best sibling to have, just ask my bio-sister, Sydney. I don’t know how to stand up for people in my family and defend them as family members, and that’s been one of the weirdest things for me to adjust to. Admittedly, I have some things to get over, but this post is all about admitting, and Andre the Giant, apparently. 

I have said some things I’m not proud of about each member of my family, created and biological. Some of them were, if I recall, deserved. But most of them were not, and I know only a select few family members (and family members in the making) read this blog, so they may never hear this, but that’s okay. I apologize for not standing up for my family when I needed to and playing into people just to see what they had to say. I love each of you dearly, and that is the bottom line, it just took me a long time to realize that was, and is, the case. Sometimes, you drive me nuts, but at the end of the day I don’t know what I’d do without each of you.

Now, back to less pressing family matters. How many of you have stumbled across whythefuckdoyouhaveakid.com? Because it’s kind of hilarious. I think I posted about it earlier, but upside of unfit mommies and daddies (never saying that again) in the Internet age is that we can make fun of them with LOL cat lingo. I’m always tempted to put my mother on this site, but I think it’s more teen pregnancy related, and I don’t have any pictures of her getting ready for a porn shoot with me in the background on a baby leash. Shucks, ma!

If you are reading this, and you happen to be an unfit parent, maybe you should be reading less blogs (by less I mean every blog other than mine, of course. I’ll add news headlines and weather and all will be well). You could spend the time it took you to read, say, this blog, to hang out with your child, buy them groceries, divorce your lame husband/wife/partner, search for a new husband/wife/partner on the Internet, or even work from home (taking pornographic pictures while your baby is tied up with a baby leash, or something). 

In summation, don’t have babies unless you want them. And don’t want babies unless you can take care of them. Sounds simple enough to me.

In looking for relevant links, I looked though nine pages of LOL cat photos and stumbled across this:



It’s a wonder I’m single, really.

So, friends?

I don’t know if this is a lesbian thing. Actually, that’s a lie, it’s not a lesbian thing, so everyone can keep reading without having to consult the wonderous world of Urban Dictionary. I’ve never had lesbian friends, because we never seem to stay friends. It’s not that I run away as soon as I find out we’re in the same boat, the S.S. Sexual Orientation, but it’s more so that I find people trying to befriend me so that we will eventually be together. Not cool, ladies (actually, I like the attention, so I guess this is a two lies-that-I-later-admit-to paragraph).

On the other hand, I don’t have many male friends, my straight male friend base can be counted on one hand, actually. So, I’ve surrounded myself with women for the better part of my life (the time in which I surrounded myself with men being the darker days in question), and I come to Montreal and decide it’s time to get involved in the community. It’s not that I don’t hang out with straight women anymore, I do, it’s more so that I find myself almost all the time surrounded by gay ladies (who also happen to be good looking… hey girl); this I don’t know how to deal with. 

What ever happened to being friends? What ever happened to going out for coffee and not having it end in sex? Maybe I’m aging myself (so I’ll keep this up as the opposite tends to happen), but I like having friends with minimal sexual tension. If we end up being into each other, that’s one thing. If you become my friend just because you want to get into my… er, undergarments (you can’t really call them the dreaded panties).

These being the undergarments in question

These being the "undergarments" in question

This, of course, is not an open call for gay friends who aren’t into me. If you would like to be my friend, by all means hit me up! If you would like to be my lady friend, by all means hit on me! But don’t co-mingle the two, because it’s just confusing when it’s not consensual.

Is anyone else having the friend-with-the-same-orientation problem? Or am I just cursed?

The perils of being all over the Internet

Bloggers are everywhere, whether or not people read those blogs remains to be seen. However, I often find that people who have blogs with someone reading that blog in question, have a readership of relatives and friends. Well, when I first started blogging, I thought people would be more worried about the random creeps (of course, none of you fall under the random creeps category, you’re more like “hot bitches with taste”) looking into my personal life, but that was not the case.

My dad found me on YouTube over Christmas and has made fun of me ever since. Sure, it’s jokingly, but he thinks I’m “too gay” on the Internet and that it will hurt my future. To that I say “bah!” and “well this advice came a little late”, the “don’t post videos about sex, of sex, or regarding your sexuality, on the Internet” talk should come right before the sex talk. Parents, put down your cucumbers and condoms, and pick up your keyboards, because your child could be an Internet menace, just like me!

Apart from my dad, there’s always the threat of my other family; especially if we’re talking about my bio-mom (my real mother being Pam). My mother apparently loves Google, but whether or not she’s ever had the brains to Google me, well, that remains to be seen. If she were to Google me, I’m sure she’d find very nice, rosey things, like my YouTube channel, this blog, my Twitter feed, my Identi, knowledge of my Internet activity on Identi, and sites I frequent on Delicious (not that I’m ever at my computer). My mother is too Christian, and I am too gay, which usually works out because I could just pull the “cut all ties” card, but my mother is Christian, mentally unstable, and violent; I occasionally hetero-it-up around her, it’s funny.

My friends have also expressed worry, some because I don’t blog enough (hi Zach!), some because I blog too much about too many “personal” things (this person will remain nameless), and some because I gratuitously link to anything remotely gay. Thankfully, I am about as personal as that darn pancake bunny when it comes to blogging (makes you want to keep reading, doesn’t it?). I will, however, start blogging more, I’ve just fallen off a bandwagon or two. Fret not, avid readers, I will be back and spunky in no time. Plus, lots is going on in my life, so, keep on coming back (and surprising me when you do).

On discrimination

That is pretty much my thought process for all pro-gay comments.

That is pretty much my thought process for all pro-gay comments.

You know, since coming out, coming to Montreal, and well, coming into my own, I’ve gone through quite a bit of shit. And it’s hard, don’t get me wrong, to find yourself only to realize that no one wants you to be that person. Recently, however, I’ve made a friend or two who are not exactly in my position, but they make me feel very at home. Xan, yes, the infamous Xan, has become an anti-homophobia warrior recently, and I love her for it. And Jesse, well, she and I have long talks about discrimination, double standards, odd language conventions, and everything that’s strange-yet-socially-acceptable

    While my new friends aren’t exactly picking out floats for the parade, their actions, involvement, and general lack of ignorance have led me to this conclusion: straight people are not the enemy. Straight guys who persistently hit on you at bars even after you’ve told them about your orientation, maybe. But not all straight people think that I am an S&M-loving, water sports-loving, kinky corrupter of once-Christian daughters, no matter how easy it is for us to slip into the community and slip out of the heterocentric “real world”, we can’t just shut these people out. If the gays are going to shut out the straights, then we would just look silly. 

    “I don’t like you because you like members of the opposite sex.”

    Way to set us back a movement or two, guys. And I know, I know, I leave for a little while and I suddenly come back as the (platonic) lover of the straight folk. Maybe my thinking is shifting, but I’m slowly starting to realize that the people who are out to hurt me aren’t doing so because they’re straight. Think about every gay person you know, and you can’t tell me that you’ve never come across one of our own who is so self loathing that they make whatever uninformed remarks “the heteros” spew out look flowery.

    So today, I urge you all to go out there, and make friends with a straight person. If you haven’t already, call up your token straight friend, and talk about an issue which really matters to you. It’s time we gave them another chance, just as long as they don’t rain on my Prop 8 protest.

[ First posted: 16/11/08 ]

Party logic

Did I ever tell you I could read thoughts?

Did I ever tell you I could read thoughts?

With four-day weekends come four-day benders. And I have recently become a testament to that fact. Yes, my hiatus has had nothing to do with my sex life, rather, it has to do with the fact that I have some crazy friends, some crazy get-togethers, and some crazy-high alcohol tolerance. This past weekend (and when I say weekend, I mean Wednesday evening through to Sunday night), I partied to my heart’s content. Conversely, I also partied to my liver’s discontent

    Between the underground clubs, the bar hopping, and piling all my friends into my apartment, I can say that I know what makes a good party. If no one has passed out or thrown up, by the end of the night, you probably didn’t have enough booze to go around. Either that or I haven’t challenged the newcomer to drink-for-drink. The latter is actually quite probable, and thus I won’t leave it out. At each of this weekend’s adventures, someone seemed to be passing out. And that someone always seemed to be Renee.

    Renee is Jesse’s little sister, granted she’s still older than I am, she’s kind of the group baby, she has recently been brought into our little group. And no, I didn’t play drink-for-drink with her, come on, guys. We were at The Pound on Friday, and Renee, after singing an incredible (and incredibly long) set, passed out on the stage; mic in hand, empty glasses all around her. It was pretty epic.

    On Saturday, I hosted what was supposed to a champagne and Breakfast at Tiffany’s party. We watched 20 or so minutes of Breakfast at Tiffany’s, drank many a bottle of champagne, downed bottles of wine, and a 1.4 L bottle of vodka, and everyone else seemed to be doing recreational drugs. I, as the group prude (I know, right? I don’t know where I find these people either), did not participate, rather I ended up going for a nap, only to have Xan to forget to wake me. In all fairness, I’d been running off four hours of sleep from the previous night’s/morning’s party. Xan and Jesse did eventually wake me, however, to announce that they were going and that Renee had puked all over my couch. It was awesome. I, still half a sleep, wandered into my living room, to find my couch covered in baking soda paste, Renee teetering around, and just general disarray. I repeat, it was awesome.

    The morning after, or afternoon rather, as I was awoken by Xan’s frantic phone call at 1:30 p.m., involved much cleaning, eating, and many phone calls. It seems everyone was up in arms over my couch, while I was only up in arms over my bathroom. You know that girl from The Exorcist? Imagine if she were a wine-o. Yeah.

    Anyways, everyone was calling, feeling bad about certain goings-on, and what I don’t understand is why they were so worried. Yes, my couch covers will be out of order until I get them dry cleaned (for free, none the less), but other than that it was a good night. People are far too preoccupied by the negative. So many things happened that night which  were positive. She puked, so what? As previously stated, if no one pukes or passes out, I consider the party to be an epic fail. And I was just glad it was Renee, or else I would have had to take one for the team, or something. And that would just be embarrassing. 

    On the bright side, I like having friends that I can take a nap around at a party, without being worried about waking up with poorly drawn peni(?) on all my visible skin

[ First posted: 24/11/08 ]

    Life is good.