time to speak out is overdue...

So, I am stuck with them.

The roomies announced tonight that they were staying until July at the earliest.

What shitty timing.

I could do with a little privacy right now; I could do with an empty house.

I guess not.

In response, I have been planning a trip to Sin Jawns. In July, maybe August.
What I would really like is a couple of days at my parents' cabin.

Alone.

In the bush; on the ocean.

It is a big cabin, but has no electricity or running water. Right on the ocean.
It is the most calming place I can think of.

I would like to get dropped off. A bag of groceries in one hand pushing my bike with the other.

Alone, waiting for someone to join me or pick me up.

Boil some mussels in a fire on the beach. Hell, cook all my meals on an open fire.

God, I need to get away.

Anyone want to join me on the Rock?

It'll hurt, but you will be better for it.

"Tu Eres Caliente y Sabroso"

I am so looking forward to Nacho Libre.

It is not right, my feelings about this movie.

Jack Black, Jared Hess and Mike White.

Cause Napoleon Dynamite rocked and School of Rock, well... rolled!

Thinking so hard on her soft eyes and the memories...

there are many roads around the airport.

some dark and haunted.
others bright and busy.

they criss cross and collect,
following the contours of places
we, mere mortals, aren't allowed to go.

chain link surrounds parking lot,
parking lot surrounds warehouse,
warehouse blocks view.

but the car is
comfortable,

with tunes under control
and the map upside down,

comfortable...

there are no other places I would rather be.

"We are a storytelling people. You call it lying, I call it culture."

overheard on MSN...

spezbaby says:
i used to do a lot of interpretive dance.

but it’s a warm rain says:
interpretive dance? lol

spezbaby says:
hey, i was good

but it’s a warm rain says:
what were you interpreting?

spezbaby says:
many things
it wasn't just once.

but it’s a warm rain says:
are you serious? did you actually do real interpretive dance?

spezbaby says:
i am not sure I should tell you. you seem to be such a sceptic.

but it’s a warm rain says:
well then you'll just have to prove me otherwise

spezbaby says:
i am masterful

but it’s a warm rain says:
did you wear tights?

spezbaby says:
one reviewer said they had never seen a sunrise until they saw me.

but it’s a warm rain says:
lol

spezbaby says:
i don't own tights.

but it’s a warm rain says:
did you keep the clipping?

spezbaby says:
it was online. you could probably find it if you wanted.

spezbaby says:
I haven't worn tights in years.
decades, even.

but it’s a warm rain says:
tights, interpretive dance....
there's a side to you that I never envisioned

spezbaby says:
Uh oh, one of the roomies is stirring
he is up and around
so he isn't dead
he is wobbling towards his bedroom.

but it’s a warm rain says:
no, such activity would certainly indicate he is not dead

spezbaby says:
well, I have seen enough zombie movies to not believe that.

but it’s a warm rain says:
zombies aren't real my friend

spezbaby says:
you've never seen me dance. I could make zombies come to life on stage.

but it’s a warm rain says:
lol

but it’s a warm rain says:
how old were you?
when you danced?

spezbaby says:
mid to late twenties, why?

but it’s a warm rain says:
I'm still not 100% sure that you're telling me the truth. I'm waiting for you to tell me that you're joking! do you have pictures?

spezbaby says:
I take my dance career very serious.

but it’s a warm rain says:
career?

spezbaby says:
no pictures, unfortunately

spezbaby says:
well, at one point I thought of it as a career

but it’s a warm rain says:
ok, now you must be pulling my leg.
career in dancing? Peter?
you now know that I expect you to be a fabulous dancer

spezbaby says:
well, it didn't work out,
but I am not bitter

I shoulda turned back; I shoulda known better

Everything is serene.

One roomie is in his room watching Wonder Woman episodes on his laptop.

The other is snoring loudly in front of the TV in a darkened living room.

I am sitting here, listening to tunes and thinking about things.

A week or so ago, I had an odd conversation with a friend.

She told me everything wasn't always about me.

I probably deserved it. I think I had just told her that there was an ongoing theme in my romantic life. It went sort of like this:

I fall for women who, through no fault of their own, end up kicking me in the junk.
And I have women fall for me who, through no fault of their own, I end up kicking in the junk.

Simple.

Well, to be honest, my leg is getting tired and my junk need a nice relaxing vacation.

It isn't all about me, but this work in progress needs to start making a little more sense.

So, I'm an idiot.

And when the word gets out it will get old

Just a straw poll, who here thinks I'm dangerous?

Just wondering.

"Like my cat, I would like to find a woman that when I rub her belly she falls on her back and puts one leg up on the table."

Here I am, sitting, enjoying a glass of port.

Tonight, I bolted.

I was with friends at my local and I freaked out.

It was completely internal, but it happened.

I was done.

I couldn't sit there anymore. I had to move. I had to get out and start walking. Some thoughts had to be thunk. So I left, overpaying, but I left.

It is a very odd sensation; the need to be alone. It sneaks up on you, crawling up your spine, giving you the heebie-geebies the whole time. It is almost like some higher power is pulling your strings. You are the puppet; not in control, but responding to what is done.

So, I left. I got up, threw money down and stormed out, poking my headphones in as I took my first steps. And I walked.

It was what I needed. I wandered to quiet places that I found: through Christie Pits and wandered along the base lines, along Hallam where traffic feared to tread, and along the alleys in my hood, trying never to venture on a real street unless I had to.

It relaxed my head. Allowed me to think some thoughts that were long overdue and listen to some tunes. It was exactly what I needed.

On the first day, I was aching...

Passion is weird.

It is one of those things that you can get used to living without, which is a shame, but does happen.

As we get older, it becomes harder to remain passionate about people, jobs, interests. You may not believe me, but it is true.

Without it, however, life pretty much sucks. You might not realize it. It may seem okay, day to day, but once you take a step out and look objectively down upon what is yours, you will realise you have been withering, just getting by.

But sometimes you see the light. You pick yourself up, find your passion, wherever you mislaid it, and take a step forward, wrapping yourself in the warmth of it all. And that is usually when it all starts getting good.

I'm about to crack, so let's call this the comeback...

The other day, I was on MSNger with G.

G is an old friend from home. We don't see each other much as he is now in Alberta, but I digress.

Anyway, he asked me if I was coming home anytime for the summer, a question posed every year, and never answered well enough I've been told. I didn't have an answer for him, but said I would like to. As I said, never answered well enough. He said he would like to see me and that we would have a good time, but if I came home I would have to do him a small favour.

"What is that?" I asked.

"Bring me some Jamaican beef patties," he responded without skipping a beat. "I miss the beef patties."

This caught me by surprise. How could one miss beef patties? They aren't exactly the foie gras of convenience foods. They are greasy, messy and the stuffing reminds me of cat food.

All I could say was, "Sure."

How could I say anything else? A friend made a request. A request that wouldn't be that hard to fulfill, even if the slim opportunity of going home happened.

But it stuck with me. Why Jamaican beef patties? What was the big deal?

A couple days later, I came home and opened the fridge. One of the roomies had placed a small bag containing, low and behold, 2 beef patties on the centre shelf. This generally wouldn't concern me, but after fixating on these little yellow baked snacks for a couple of days, the coincidence shocked me.

What the hell were they doing here?

"What the hell is with the patties?" I inquired as I shut the door.

"It was late. I was hungry. The only thing open was the Coffee Time," he called back from his roost on the couch.

This made sense. He likes his late night snacking. It goes very well with his other habit. Everything is fine in the world.

I took a couple of steps further into my day, when it hit me. You can buy beef patties at Coffee Time. There are about 300 Coffee Times in the world, mostly in Ontario. They sell beef patties.

Actually, if you think about it, which I obviously have, you can find a beef patty (or chicken or veg) at almost any time of the day.

Have you noticed?

Coffee Times, Supermarkets (by the box) , Mom and Pop grocery store (how many of them have one of those little ovens on the counter?), bakeries, Caribbean take aways. The list is almost endless.

You can get a beef patty almost anywhere in this city. They have become the ubiquitous snack food of Toronto. I am not sure why or how, but it worries me a little.

Oh, and happy b-day, L!

I just don't know where leading ladies come from...

The magic of it all is present sometimes.

But only sometimes.

A good night's sleep can do wonders.

The roomies paid rent. I was as surprised as anyone. Especially since one of them is in Calgary on business.

The grief they give may actually be worth it on some level.

Now, I just need to get a haircut.

Drivin' down the road I get a feelin'

Tonight I got to walk in the rain, not dance, but walk, slowly, without interest in getting anywhere dry or safe. My feet got wet and my sniffles seemed worse than they were.

The company made it better.

No question.

Good company can do that, make things better.

Sometimes the girl is here; with her indigo eyes

Rumour is a powerful thing. It washes over people like a heavy rain; impacting everything in its wake. It might not hurt, but it certainly leaves its mark. Everyone gets wet. Some don't mind, but others catch pneumonia.

A parapluie would help, but they don't catch everything.

The only thing that works is being indoors during a downpour. Watching the rain hit the glass, smiling because you know you are safe.

But people out there aren't safe. People get hurt.

It would be better for everyone if it was sunny all the time. Just like California, but without the freaks or fault lines.

Grown man tactics; no pediatrics

The roomies got to me last night. I have been feeling a little under the weather; rundown as it were. So I tried to go to bed at a decent hour last night. IMing with some friends made the hour a little less decent then I hoped, but I was in bed by 1:30am. Decent for me.

Read.

Fell alseep sometime around 2am. Which is good, 'cause I haven't been sleeping very well lately.

A little after 3am, the roomies struck. I am woken to a heated argument about which hamburger is better, McDonald's or Burger King. Goddammit, I say to myself while I lie back and wait for it to end.

The argument continues. The patio door opens long enough for the argument to blow outside. Then back in again. Wait a minute. There are three voices. What the hell, who else is here?

Close to 4am, I have had enough. I stomp up, put on my robe and head down the stairs.

Lying in wait, perched at different points on my sectional, are now three old friends from home. All pretending to be asleep. Then they start to giggle. Three grown men, all in their thirties giggling like characters from a japanese cartoon. They can't stop.

"Its his fault. He's loud" one of them says between giggled breaths.

"Boys, you had to pick this f'in room. Ten feet below my head"

More giggles.

"Any other goddamn room."

"Its good to see ya, Pete." the new arrival says holding out his hand. "Its been a long time. Sorry about this"

I haven't seen him in 10 years.

"F' this," I say shaking his hand before I stomp back upstairs.

The next morning I come down for coffee before work. There he is, the newcomer, passed out on my other couch.

Like a hung-over cherub in the fetal position.

Godammit, they're breeding.

"Old people do that. They cut up jokes and keep them."

Things I touched tonight:

Frisbee
Blanket
Cheese
Strawberry
Grass
Wine
Olive
Earth

"Chill out! He's only trying to build bridges, not lay pipe."

Strange things are afoot at the Circle K.

Roomies are asleep. Work has started so they are always tired. I haven't actually laid eyes on them in a couple of days. They are still here. The smell of pot and empty beer bottles and take away containers strewn throughout the kitchen prove that, but it is almost like I have gremlins or a poltergeist ('80s movies rock... and roll!).

I never see them, but everything is slightly different everytime I come home. Things are moved barely inches. Sometimes the place is tidied. My cat always seems to be locked out and hungry. It is like I have a mischievious yet under-motivated spirit living in my space. This phantom isn't like any other ghost. No, this one is content. He doesn't have an axe to grind. He isn't trying to avenge some regretted wrong. No, this spirit drinks my beer, smokes weed, watches a lot of TV and laughs alot, but never in my presence. Almost like my presence would banish them to spirit world, never to enjoy the pleasures of this mortal coil again.

The blues, is a low-down shakin' chill...

I have been told that my last entry didn't make any sense. That it contained english words without any attention paid to the rules of grammar. That it was insane.

This may be true.

The intent wasn't for everyone to understand. It was for one person. And I think they did. If not, they will get in touch.

On the house guest front. New developments. Tonight, I walked into a house so blue with smoke I wanted to butcher it and put it on the grill (mixed metaphor?). It reaked of skunk. To my surprise, moving into the sitting room, I found the two of them fast asleep on my couch. One, upright, jay in hand, waiting for a light. The other stretched out, hoodie up over his head, waiting for something exciting to happen on the chat line infomercial.

I stood there for minutes. Waiting.

They could have been dead if I wanted.

Until one of them awoke, 'Hey man, you just getting home?'

'Yeah, you been smoking in the house?'

'Nah, man, that is just residual off us.'

'You sure?'

'Yeah man'

'You want me to turn the light off?'

'Alright'

'What about the TV?'

"Nah man, we need some sound'

Day four.

But they tidied.

Dangling cherries and my asses of myself

Things are never as bad as they seem to that one person that thinks. Never.

But you, generally, can never tell them that so they believe. Which is totally unfortunate.

You just have to say, "Today, I am going to be good and piss off all the people that think otherwise."

Otherwise, you're done. There is no point in languishing.

Ever.

Hey sister are you all alone?

Recently I had the sweetest convo with a friend about the early hours of the day. I proposed that 3-4am was the best time in the world to wander any city's streets.

She, on the other hand, thought that 2-3am was the best time to ride a bicycle through the same streets. Her belief being that bicycling while dark and uncrowded was an incredibly catharic experience.

Until tonight, I didn't agree with her.

Somehow, I had forgotten those easily misplaced sensations: the wind blowing past your face, the sound of the air, tires and gears; rubber on ashphalt; the control you have on machine; the speed you can ride when there isn't a car on the road.

It is incredible. A freedom not known by many; reserved by time and place. But so accessible.

I can hold on; as sure as I'm strong...

Infidels.

I have just put my second house guest to bed. The first dropped horizontal about 15 minutes ago, now I am alone for a few hours until we go for breakfast.

30 days, or so, was bandied around this evening. Then we went for drinks and dinner before they went to the peelers. Four days on the road makes a fella' strange. 30 days of having two extra bodies living in my house. No chance of inviting someone home, because it's not that big of a house. It is pleasant and I like my front room. It is a great front room to entertain in. I love to show it off at the end of a date. Visitors appreciate it. Comfortable couch, arm chair, lamp. Indirect lighting and quite homey. It rocks.

Now, I have two beasts, albeit rent paying beasts, ranging from corner to corner. Looking for beer, rolling, picking things up and putting them down 2 feet further on. Two beasts leaving their mark, not drinking my port, but leaving their mark nonetheless.

But, God, it is good to have them back in the city.

But her eyes glaze over like she's lookin' straight through me...

People!

I am beginning to realise what people offer; what they contribute. The connections I have made in my life mean more and more to me each and every day I breathe.

I am not sure when this change happened. Not truly sure when I started to value those around me and tried my best to stop taking them for granted. Maybe it is a sign of growing up, finally. Maybe it is just a residual effect of harm done. I am not sure, but I like it. I like the smiling I have been doing lately. I like how I care and how it informs my decisions.

I blame Ganso*.

I think I need a T-shirt: W.W.R.D.

*psuedonym

I’ve acquired quite a taste for a well-made mistake...

New work is very different. That's about all I can say at the moment. It is slower yet more intense and quite a change. We'll see.

Someone needs to remind me of all the parties I need to attend this week. I don't have ready access to the bulletin board anymore.

I have houseguests arriving tomorrow. I had one leave today. I could really use some alone time in my house (read: monastery), but that doesn't seem to be happening anytime soon.

Anyone wanna put me up for a little while? ;)