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.


On the road …again

I’m coming to you right now from the highway. Which one? Well I’m not quite certain, I don’t really know all the names of highways because I don’t drive, and cycling highways seems almost as scary as pulling a left turn in the staunch parts of the suburbs.

    I’m on my way to Manatoulin island for my grandfather’s birthday. I don’t know him, or anyone else on my mother’s side of the family. But I’m so detached from all forms of family life that I don’t really want to get to know them either. This will be an interesting weekend. Anyways, my grandfather! I believe he’s turning 80, All I know about him is that his wife’s name is Phyllis, they have too many children together and they always offer me horrible toffees.

    On the bright side, I’ve brought my D80, along with my longboard and of course, my Mac. So I’m all set to entertain myself, because I have a feeling there will be a whole lot of that going on.

    On a slightly less illuminated note, I hate cars. Car culture makes me angry simply because it’s just so mindless, overly extravagant, and self-important. 6 hours in a car is torture for me. even 15 minutes in a car is torture for me. Because either way, I know that I could be taking a better route. If it’s 6 hours away, I’ll take a train. And if it’s 15 minutes away, I’ll take my bike. I see the personal car as unnecessary, as a luxury item, no matter what make and model it is.

    On a total side note, just to speak of the devil, there’s this horribly overweight man in a new Suburban rolling up beside us smoking a cigarette, drinking a Coke, and loving every minute of his irresponsible life. I just gave him a dirty look, and apparently I’ve slandered him on the internet now too. A job well done, at least I think so.

    I’m sitting with my mother right now, and my sister’s passed out in the backseat. I never talk to my mother because she’s verbally abusive and has too many ulterior motives for me to deal with, but I have a feeling I’ll be stuck here for a very, very long time. She is excruciating, and after I finish a conversation with her, I pat myself on the back, because I have just survived a near-death experience. My mother and my father have been getting divorced for just under 5 years now, and they’re at that point where they don’t talk to one another anymore (not that they had the best communication before either), so my mother tries to get information on what to sue my father about next out of me. It’s so annoying because I’m on team dad, and she must know it. I’ve been running away from her for years. Then again, she’s big on denial; when my dad first moved out, she wouldn’t park her car in the garage, because that’s what he always did. That lasted two years. Reality, it’s safe to say, is not a friend of my mother’s.

Update! The perks of not always being connected to the internet are increasingly illusive. My mother is the worst driver I have ever buckled up beside. She’s just hit a poor little duck. And if I do recall, on this same highway she once ran over a crossing wolf and other miscellaneous small animals. Scary.

(First posted: 27/06/08)

“He’s taking Ryan to the prom”

I’ve never come out to my mom. She’s just one of those people that it’s better not to confront about these things, you know? There are always those inappropriate places to come out, like in church (because we all go there…?), at the Conservative party rally, in the presence of the old people who are too set in their ways to not belittle you, and in front of my mother.

    To be perfectly honest, I’m not too fond of her, and I know that’s probably a horrible thing to say about someone who brought me into this world, but she’s just such a closed-minded cunt sometimes. You see, prom is coming up, actually it’s tonight (I was planning on blogging about this earlier, but I didn’t want to go into overload), and my mom assumed I was going with my friend Matthew. I spend lots of time with him, and I suppose, in her increasingly desperate denial, she thought we were together or something. 

    “Who’s he going with?” she said to me in one of those motherly tones.

    “Ryan,” I said with the upmost confidence, “Matthew’s gay, Mom, sorry to disappoint.” She sat in the car frazzled for the remainder of our trip together. I am never at a shortage of gay male friends, and my mother is as homophobic as the day is long. If she can’t even accept that I associate with gay people, I don’t think she’ll ever accept me for who I am. 

    If she ever asked me if I were gay, I would tell her I was. But there’s no way I’m going to bring it up. The last time she and I had an argument in the car she drove at ridiculous speeds with the music blaring and almost got us killed. So I know better.

    On the upside, prom is tonight! I’m not all that excited because I was suckered into going by my friends, but I figure I’ll tough it out and such. I’m wearing a dress, too. And everyone knows how much I hate wearing dresses, thankfully Chloe, my volleyball-playing, dress-hating, friend will be there and we can stand awkwardly together.

    & just an update, Toronto Pride kicks off tomorrow, be there or be, a huge breeder? I’ll work on that.

(Originally written: 19/06/08)