Local love story (Part 2)...

One morning I text my local boy to say hi.

We made the usual chit chat that's become more and more flirtatious. I've still got that little flutter in my stomach and a smile that slips onto my face every now and then. In short, I've got a huge crush on this guy.

My phone buzzes and I pick it up, expecting to see another cute message from him. Instead, my heart falls nearly as low as my jaw sags.

"So...I have to be 100% honest with you, since you're a really really nice guy...but I have a bf."

Fuck. Off.

Really?

I mean, really God? I do hope someone out there is getting a laugh at my continual expense.

After a minute or two of hearing ringing in my ears and grasping for something to say, he sends another message. "Please don't hate me"

So I do the gentlemanly thing, and tell him I'm happy for him and hope that we can still work on a friendship since it's nice to actually meet someone new in small-town-bum-fuck-nowhere. Oh and by the way, why didn't you tell me this when I asked you fucking out?

"Well I was going to say something but my bf is a huge asshole, he's a gym nut and really jealous."

Again, lacking in the logic department, this answer seemed as good as any. The subtext was simple: I'm having fun flirting with you because I can't stand my boyfriend but that's all there's ever going to be between us.

Most of the day passes and I'm still walking around harbouring a bit of hurt. Not hurt so much as let down. For whatever reason, I'd finally met someone practically in my backyard. And we have chemistry. And he's crazy cute. Like the non-cynic that I am (when it comes to love, anyway) I thought that maybe this guy would be different, not screwed up by a life in the city, a million one night stands, cheating boyfriends and all the baggage that most people seem to be carrying around. I just hoped he was different.

How wrong I was.

Things continue to get more complicated. Apparently the boyfriend also lives in said town. What a hoot to discover not one, but TWO local gays! Laws of averages dictate they inevitably should be a couple, or at least according to him.

Strangely, the flirting from him continues. He texts nonstop for the rest of the day, saying things that made me blush and wonder just how serious he is with this other guy. Hope springs again as I fantasize about the possibility he's not committed and that maybe we'll have a shot at things.

I visit him one afternoon and arrive just moments before another friend of his. As he's distracted taking a phone call, she leans over and whispers in my ear, "Steal him away from that asshole!"

Jesus, not only does he sound like he hates his boyfriend, the rest of the world apparently does as well.

It continues over the next couple of days, and I start getting a little more uncomfortable with our textual banter. My ethics start up with a vengeance as I realize that his sexual innuendo could actually lead to something. I don't want to be the 'other guy' in the scenario because I respect myself too much to play that part as much as I respect that his boyfriend doesn't deserve being cheated on. And besides, I don't want to be the 'other guy', I want to be the 'guy'. 

Just as I'm about to go for coffee with him and inform him of my principals and tell him I won't go beyond just talking to him, he texts me. His boyfriend snooped on his phone and saw all that had been said back and forth.

My drama-alarm goes off and I get the sinking feeling that this whole thing just really isn't worth it.

The boyfriend called him a whore and a slut, they got into a huge fight, it went on forever...and they decided to stay together.

Ok, now I'm officially done. With one last long message telling him that I suppose all we're meant to be is friends, and how I hoped his boyfriend appreciated him, and how nice it must be for him to be so in love with a guy he calls an asshole, I bury any remaining thoughts of what could have been.

We're still texting now and then, and I suppose we're working on the whole friendship thing, but I'm more than a little discouraged about the whole affair. All my hoping that dating outside the city would be relatively drama-free and that the local guys would be genuinely both moral and non-cynical has more or less evaporated. Apparently no matter where you are, the gay baggage that bogs down so many relationships still exists.

After a good weekend of venting to a few friends, I feel better about the whole thing and can pretty much laugh it off. But I'm always going to remember the first guy I almost-dated back home, and what a disaster the whole thing was.

(Stupidly) This doesn't mean I've given up on the idea of a straight-shooting country boy.

Local love story (Part 1)...

I met a boy in town.

I've been living at my parents since the big breakup a few months ago, which means a life back in the sticks, far away from culture and other gays. Not that it's a big deal, but just kind of a fact-of-life out here.

But recently I made the acquaintance of a guy who works in town and is most definitely gay. And not only that, I found myself strangely, naturally drawn to him. Not out of necessity or neediness, mind you, but simply out of a natural attraction.

So I've visited him a couple times, and we've talked and flirted and found we get along famously. He's got a wicked grin and is quite possibly the cutest guy I've ever chatted up (mostly because I'm so damn shy about that, but anyway...). There's a spark between us, sexual and personal.

He also happens to be my age, which gives us a lot of common ground, both coming from the same area and both being gay. We've talked at length about growing up in a neighborhood where gay is still taboo and compared notes on how he's survived living out here while I up and left for the big city.

For him, living out here hasn't treated him too poorly. In contrast to me, who's never officially met anyone the least bit gay in the area, his experience has been plentiful, with many a homo chatting him up. "Mostly while their wives or girlfriends are out of hearing range," he said with a grimace. While indeed the closeted non-urban gay isn't a rare creature, he seems to have brought them out of the woodwork.

So I summed up the parts to ask for his number, and he gave it to me.

I think this is the first time on record that I've asked someone out face-to-face. I giddily drove home and started planning what we could do in a town with as many cows as people.

What surprises me most about this is how ready I am to just have some fun with somebody. It's been so long since I've felt that spark of something new, the fluttering in your stomach that just won't seem to fade. I'm not looking for an instantly-serious-fall-in-love scenario, but I feel like I deserve to have some fun with someone I genuinely click with.

What surprises me even more is how flattering this guy is to me! I've never been called cute and handsome so many times. It's a damn fine feeling to receive compliments like that, mainly because I have a hard time grasping that someone could possibly feel that draw for me.

So everything has been sunshine and daisies, and I've put myself out there with the hopes of reaping a reward.

But something happens that puts a cloud in the sky and sends me into an ever-more confusing spiral of circumstance...

Back to bum-fuck...

"I'm home again in my old narrow bed, where I grew tall and my feet hung over the end."

Thanksgiving is upon us. Well, Canadians anyway. We like to be odd, and celebrate in October. You know, keeps space between turkey times...lets you work off the extra ass fat before the Christmas calorie rush.

The drive home took longer than usual. I can't believe how traffic has continued to increase. Watching the scenery change was interesting...why does it feel like I've been away for so long?

Really, I think this is probably the longest I've gone away from home. Some days I missed it, but I was adapting to my own life in Toronto, as unglamourous as it at times is.

But this weekend is going to be sweet. I skipped my classes for the rest of the week, and don't have to be back until next Wednesday morning. And I plan on enjoying this time at home, with my family.

---

I fought the urge the entire ride home to scream, "I'm dating someone!" to my mother. I mean, all my friends are excited...well, the ones who know anyway. A huge part of me is yearning to hear her approval, get a pat on the head for finding myself someone. But I'm scared, too. She's shown though she cares about me, she's not really ready to handle my sexuality.

The plan is to tell her tomorrow. Whatever happens happens, but the whole point in coming out is so I can live my life. I'm not going to hide this from her even if I'm scared she's not ready to hear it.

I've also decided to draw the line about what we discuss. There is a pretty good chance she'll ask if I've slept with him, and quite honestly it's none of her business. I'll discuss the intimate details of my sex life with my close friends, but certainly not my mother. When she asks, I'm just telling her it's none of her business, as hers is none of mine.

---

After dinner (a stupid time of day, I know) I ran upstairs to the bathroom. Slamming the door behind me, I stripped with enthusiasm, tearing everything but my socks from my body.

The mirrors showed me my naked body, illuminated by 200 watts of light. I did a mental grimace, because I really can't look at myself and think, "Oooh, looking good today!"

My toe jammed into the base, and I stepped on. Terrified, I stared straight ahead, back standing rigidly at attention. I counted to three and looked down.

I've lost weight.

Thank God.

We have no scales at our apartment, something I plan to remedy. So I've had no idea what I weigh, or how much I've gained since going back to the land of easily accessible food and beverage.

But my newfound attention to food has done me well, and I almost collapsed with relief.

Now all I have to do is vomit after every Thanksgiving meal I eat (which will be two or more) and I'll be set.

---

The air has a bite I have not felt for months. I think by midnight I may even be able to see my own breath. Without concrete to warm us, the evening truly feels like fall.

For the first time in over a month I have seen stars. Hanging vividly overhead, they are as spectacular as memory serves.

The things we give up to live in a city...

Sirens and bloodstains...

I got scared last night.

The prickly, surreal fright that crawls up your arms and ices over your chest. And worst of all, it was totally unexpected.

I'd been out playing pool with a few friends, and had just stopped in the drive-thru to get a coffee before making the trek home. The drive through sits facing a bank of stores across the road, and as I waited for my cup I gazed through the few fledgling trees to the action on the other side of the road.

What I saw terrified me. Not only because of it's horrible reality, but the fact of where it was happening.

There, on the sidewalk in broad electric light was a guy getting the shit kicked out of him.

I sat, slack jawed as the branches of the tree obstructed my view. Could this really be happening? Have I been reading too much crazy fiction that I'm imagining this?

For a moment I thought of telling the coffee girl to call 911, but scrapped the idea. What if I was wrong? What if that group of guys standing there, yelling and dancing around, weren't actually hitting each other?

But as I crept forward, following the paved path out of the coffee shop drive-thru, I knew I was right. There, two guys were pinning the arms of a third back, while a fourth hurled punches into his chest.

My jaw was still hanging. My brain could not compute what was happening. Such insanity, here, in the town next to mine. The sleepy little town where everyone walks home at 2 a.m., safe and sound. Not to mention the poor guy who was taking the brunt of this mindless violence.

"Christ," I breathed.

Suddenly, a guy flashed in front of my bumper, madly running toward the action. I nearly hit him, not looking forward but fixed on the scene across two lanes of pavement. I braked, then rolled forward, then slammed on the brakes again, completely oblivious to the world around me.

Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my phone, mashing the keys, trying to call CrimeStoppers. For those who don't know, it's a service some municipalities have, an anonymous tip line you can call to report crime, without having to go through the red tape of 911.

My first attempt failed. "Your call cannot be completed as dialed," the stoic voice said. "Please hang up and try your call again."

"FUCK!" I yelled. I checked, and had added a bunch of extra digits to the number. By now my heart was racing, and my fingers trembled as they mashed the keyboard. Finally, after double-checking the number, I hit send.

"Crimestoppers," came the woman's voice.

"I need to report an assault in progress," I shouted. "At the (blank) Variety, across from the Tim Hortons, in (blank)."

A moment passed. "OK, what's going on?" I was too out of it to come back with anything cutting, but if I recall correctly, I just said there was an assault in progress. Kinda serious.

"Uh...some guy is being held by two other guys and being punched, it looks like."

"Oh. I'll get someone out there right away," she replied, then disconnected.

And that was it. The call lasted roughly 30 seconds. Now what?

By then I was sitting in a parking lot a short distance from the scene. Should I go back, wait closer to the store? What more can I do!? I sat for a few more seconds, but realized I was pretty powerless. No other friends to help, no cops in view, no shotgun in the trunk...

Tearing out of the parking lot, I put the windows down listening to the roar of the engine. Cold breeze slapped my face and the radio thumped David Bowie's 'China Girl' as I tried to get my mind back into reality. Jesus Christ, that was insane.

I started to shake, part from the cold air, part from the genuine shock of what I'd just seen. Maybe this is common in your city, or your suburb, but not here. Things like this just don't happen here. What's worse, I knew with sickening truth that it wasn't just a bar fight between two disgruntled guys.

The area has been in a sharp decline over the past two years, with the youth becoming ever more restless and jaded. They dress in homeboy clothes, sit in parking lots blasting rap, smoking joints and cat calling to the girls who walk by. This doesn't include the majority of the young people in the area, really it's a small faction of them...but it's the most volatile percentage. And I was pretty sure what I'd seen was a confrontation between two groups of youths. Like I said, these guys didn't look like they'd just come from the bar down the street, and the guy I nearly ran over was running from the hang-out parking lot.

After I stopped shaking, about halfway home, I started getting pissed off. This isn't supposed to happen in our community, and I'm not putting up with this shit. It's not the majority that's involved, but it ends up being everyone's problem if there are going to be random fights in the streets. And I'm not letting these guys ruin what everyone else has enjoyed for so long.

I still don't know when the police arrived, or if anyone was arrested, or if the guy getting beat on was checked out by a paramedic. Probably, I'll never know. But I know from now on, I'm never going to let this shit slide again.

"I'll ruin everything you are..."

Eggshells...

Everything is walking on eggshells.

Most specifically, it's my 'out' status. I'm out to nearly all the important people in my life, save my father and a few friends. But I find myself walking on eggshells, remembering who knows, who doesn't and who ought to find out next.

What's worse is how my friend act with it. Really, they do nothing wrong, and have been completely supportive and tight-lipped about it. We had dinner in a group last week and I had assumed person X had told her boyfriend and my mutual friend Y, because I never specifically said, "Don't tell anybody!" when I came out to her. So I had a little voice in the back of my head, unsure of censoring some topics of conversation. Since nothing about sexuality came up for quite a while, I carried on the assumption that he in fact might know.

Then he asked me something about, "Women, haha," and I knew he didn't know. Later I asked X if she's said anything, and she was horrified.

"No, never! I'm not going to blab it around town," she said reassuringly.

In many ways, I could not ask for better friends. People who understand that it's a delicate issue, and that it's not something I want to fly through the gossip mill. I've seen it done to another of our friends, and it's just not right.

But at the same time, it feels like the coming out process is being hindered by everyone being so careful about it. Many of the reasons lie in the location right now; I don't want it spread all over small-town-bum-fuck-nowhere. It's more to protect my family than it is for me, because I don't plan on living here the rest of my life.

So will it be any different in Toronto? When I go back to school, what'll happen with my continued adventures in coming out? Do I have to literally greet every friend with, "Good to see you! How was summer? Oh and I'm gay..."?

I always harken back to my belief that my sexuality isn't my entire personality. The people I have gotten to know know me as a friend, not as a love interest, so really my sexual status isn't exactly important to our relationships. Still, if you don't tell everyone, then you are assumed to be straight...

The other weekend someone was at a party with friends from highschool. Nobody was around, save the host, his girlfriend, and my new roommate, and the host asked about me, how I was, was I seeing anybody...was I big on women...

"Why'd he as that?" I said. This is a guy who I maybe talked to twice in school.

"Oh, just curious about you, because we're living together and everything. I dunno, he liked you fine in High School."

"That's because I didn't talk to him more than three times."

"True enough, but aren't those the people you actually still like from high school?"

She was actually going to tell him, "Well, Steve's coming out right now, so he's not really into too many women," but she stopped herself.

"I just didn't know if that would be ok," she said. "He wouldn't gossip about it, and it was only the three of us there, but still it's kinda personal..."

Very sweet of her to keep it under wraps, but ultimately is it helping my situation?

Being at whatever stage I am of the closet, I'm getting more and more frustrated. In many ways I just want it to be over, to be out and to actually maybe finally carry on with 'normal' life. But I still have reservations about broadcasting it on Facebook, or telling every person I know, or having others spread the news.

Hell, I don't even know where I stand on the 'out' scale. Obviously I'm out to some family and close friends, but that's where it ends (I think, anyway). So how 'out' is that? And what do I have to do next, so I can walk confidently into the next stage of my life, not tip-toe, afraid of breaking any eggshells?

Fighting whores for cigarettes...

Mmmmm....saw Hairspray tonight.

It was actually a pretty nice, uplifting movie. Fun, a good message, lots of eye candy...ok, maybe not lots, but watching frame after frame of Zach Efron did not hurt me in any way.

And when he's lying in bed singing to Tracy's picture...so hot. And when he winks at the camera, fully close up...so hot.

Apparently I was not the only one in the theatre to think so. The two 14-year-old girls sitting in front of us squealed at various moments when Zach was doing his sexy thing. Now, I'm not one to squeal in public (or private for that matter, save nocturnal activities) but I agreed with them completely.

Strangely enough, he never took his shirt off...something tells me in his next movie there will be some unabashed marketing of his body. But damn he looked good in those tight pants...

...what was I talking about?...

Ah yes, the movie. Overall not as 'amazing' as I thought it would be, but lots of fun. The singing didn't thrill me to death, except Queen Latifah who was brilliant. Same on the acting score-card, even though people turned in relatively decent performances, there was an air of "We're making a fun movie, and we know it!" that showed. Kudos to Michelle Pfeiffer and Allison Janey, who's turns as uber-bitches went over smashingly.

I left feeling pretty good, and I still have a tap in my toes. Dropped off my friend, and headed to another friend's birthday thing at one of our few bars. Nice to see people from high school who I don't ever call up outside of these types of functions, and apparently people were glad to see me, which always makes you feel good.

The thing that first grabbed me is how good people looked. Of the 4 guys who were there at the time I was, all had lost weight since high school and looked pretty good. Not that anyone was overweight, but they've all gotten a little slimmer than before. What was great was, I've lost weight and look the best I ever did too...

But of course that brought on the inevitable, "Do I look as good as they do?" Nobody commented on how everybody looked pretty damn good, because, you know, straight guys don't go in for that shit.

I stayed for a while, had a beer and caught up with the people I knew. Finally, I packed it in, because the 'party' was dying off. Overall a fun night out, and different from the one's I've had recently.

What to do next...

I finally finished my essay writing, and now am once again free.

Not that it really kept me from doing anything to begin with. I'd get up, do nothing until I felt awake enough, then sit in front of my computer randomly looking at the following: CNN, BBC, porn, JSTOR research archives, porn, Microsoft Word, JSTOR and porn.

The life of a student is so fulfilling.

Every semester I promise myself to get more organized about essay writing. I'm not bad at doing the work at all, but I get very unmotivated when I actually sit down to get busy. When I'm not attempting work, my stomach stays slightly constricted and makes me aware that I have a pressing deadline to meet, and that walking around the house is not helping me research the French resistance during World War II.

So every semester, after I push the pencil as far as possible, I resign myself to the need for change. But change never happens...I think part of the reason that is, simply is because I don't know any other way. We don't get taught how to structure our time, how to research and start writing short bits weeks in advance. Besides, I never like writing the same thing that long, I much prefer to sit down and hammer it out, at least 1200 words a day. I 'spose if I even do an 'essay outline' next time, that'll help me know what the hell I'm doing.

Also, it wasn't very fun to have parents around while you're writing an essay. First time I'd experienced that, and I'm not looking to repeat it. When I'm living at school, nobody asks you several times a day how your essay is progressing...we all just complain about it, nobody needs to ask anybody. Plus I have the freedom to disappear for hours without eating, working madly while I have a creative streak.

Now that it's over, I feel at a loss for activity. Strange as it sounds, I enjoyed mentally exercising myself, and now that it's over my empty days seem even more monotonous. I live in mortal fear that I'm misusing my last month of utter freedom, but when I think, "What else should I be doing?" I draw blanks.

I had to take my paperwork to the post office, because this professor doesn't want emailed assignments...for some reason. So I got to spend $7.84 on priority mail to have it delivered by tomorrow morning. What a waste of money, considering he could get them all in his e-mail for free.

The highlight of the trip to the post office was feasting my eyes on a very cute and suspectly gay guy walking across the road from where I stood. He looked to be mid-20's, average height, light brown hair, wearing jeans (an obvious sign in these parts during summer), and a flattering green shirt that clung close to his body. I stared openly at him for several beats as he and his companion, a blonde girl, walked by. First time I've laid eyes on anyone from around here that set my gaydar flickering.

Oh, and I finished Harry Potter finally, nearly vomiting from the cliched epilogue...but whatever, Rowling is practically God, she can do whatever she wants in this world and nobody's going to complain too hard.

Well, now that that excitement's over...

Farmboy Guilt...

Some of you may have actual experience with this, but even if it's not Farmboy Guilt, everyone has something that tweaks their guilt strings every now and then.

For me, it's all about the changes over the past few years. I packed up in 2005 and headed for the big city, glad to be having a change in life and scenery. I've lived in the same small-town-bum-fuck-nowhere my whole life, and there's no way to break away unless you simply leave. And so I did.

Not that I didn't miss being around my family, and my pets, and acres upon acres of free space. But I certainly didn't miss the insanity that is farming, and everything uncivilized and uncultured about it. I'd done enough of that in my formative years to last me a lifetime. Don't get me wrong, I think everyone should be exposed to some part of this side of life. It's a great way to keep humble and make sure your head doesn't get too big. But at the same time, I can imagine how stifling it must be for so many people (my father included).

So when I moved to Toronto, I was overjoyed by the freedom from farming. Because, quite honestly, I don't like pounding posts for fences, or stacking square bales, or driving a tractor up and down, up and down for hours on end. It's boring, unstimulating, and psychologically unsatisfying. No more would I have to suffer the horrors of agriculture, now that I had started life in the city. I had friends who actually wanted to visit art galleries and museums and listen to jazz music and embrace culture.

When I visited home, I would fall back into some sense of farmiliarity. I would help my father on Saturday afternoons, or lend a hand with my Uncle. After getting back to the city, I would joke about how strange my life was; one minute shoveling shit, knee deep in the stuff...the next shopping on Bloor Street in Yorkville, in some semblence of style. Truly this could be deemed a magical time, getting just a dash of the farmiliar while at the same time spreading my urban wings.

This summer I had no intention of doing any agricultural work. None. I'd had my fill, and I wanted to get a real job, and actually be challenged, as opposed to simply picking up the pitchfork and doing the same old routine. I'd had enough of the stupidity of my Uncle and cousins and their backwards outlook on life.

One night a few weeks ago, before my parents left on vacation, I went out in the evening with my dad to give him a quick hand. The sun was setting and the sky was a firey orange, casting long shadows from the towering trees. Birds sang softly, and the wind played with the corn stalks, rustling them quietly in the twilight. As we worked, I gazed longlingly down the rows of corn, watching the stalks shiver in the now cool night air. The stars winked into view, and the last rays of sun disappeared in the western sky. And I felt guilty.

There I was, actually missing farming. For those few minutes, I was enamored with the beauty of nature, and the overwhelming urge to jump on a tractor and start working invaded my brain. I felt guilty for begrudgingly agreeing to help my father, instead of doing my duty as a good son and offering to help before being asked. I felt guilty for turning my back on my past, my roots, and the dirt under my feet.

The next day, I still couldn't believe how I felt once I was actually in the field again. The realization that I really did want to be out there, if only for a little bit to fill some void in my soul, stoned me. But in the hard sunlight of that morning, I understood I had been swept up by my romantic mind and carried away by the few moments of beauty I had enjoyed. After all, this was peaceful natural bliss I had experienced, not anything like a typical day of work. There was no mechanical failures, no Uncle or cousins to drive me crazy, no lack of stimulation or repetitive motions to dull my brain...this was not farming. This was my romantic ideal of farming, something that does not exsist.

Yet here I am, working again for my Uncle, doing the same jobs I used to do, and being bored to tears. Admitedly the first few hours were fun, but as I got readjusted to the bounce of my seat and the grind of the gears, as well as the sun beaming down on me all day, I remembered all too vividly why I don't like farming. So what made me even think of agreeing to doing it just one more time? I'll chalk it up to Farmboy Guilt.

Will I ever be rid of this? Once I move away completely, start life away from my homestead and not return to work, will I be free of the obligation? Or will it morph into something even worse than it is now, a knawing in the back of my mind, as I work on the 32nd floor of an office building, or jet across the Atlantic on a business trip, that I have left my past behind. Will the Farmboy Guilt follow me to the grave?

I guess we all fell a little guilty about leaving our pasts behind. Packing up for the last time, saying goodbye to the house you lived in, and permanantly moving away. After all, this is what you want, to have the life you want. If you make the break really clean, I guess the guilt is minimized, since you're not constantly being reminded what's happening back there. But maybe at some point, when you see a scene that lets your imagination take you back to a moment in your past, most likely fabricated from snippets of truth that combine to make one really rosey memory, you'll have that quiet whisper in the back of your mind...and feel a twinge of guilt.

Hectic...

Now I really wish I was on that vacation...

These past few days have been insane. I've gotten about 6 hours of sleep each night, and thankfully got to 'sleep in' this morning. It all started going downhill after saying yes to my Uncle and starting to work for him, while at the same time adjusting to all the new crap I have to do.

But you don't want to hear about all that.

I'll definately recount the more interesting parts of the past few days though. First off, the Stevie Nicks concert. Oh...how I love Stevie Nicks. Fleetwood Mac is my all-time-favorite band, and naturally that love extends to Stevie. Her concert was pretty good, not the greatest thing I've seen or heard from her, but it was also only the second show I've seen her in, so I wasn't complaining about getting the chance to listen to her in person.

Sadly, the crowd sucked. Nobody near me was moving, dancing, singing or really showing the slightest interest. The couple in front of my seat were constantly typing on their BlackBerry and practically ignoring the show. The only saving grace was the 50 people who had approached the front of the stage and stood dancing and waving through the entire set. They were great fun to watch, as was the two guys in front of another row. They would intermitantly get up and dance their asses off, but ultimately never got anyone else on their feet. I'd like to appologize to Ms. Nicks for the horrible audience.

I also decided on the drive home that if I ever turn into a drag queen, it would have to be one modeled after the Welsh Witch herself. For the second last song, she came out in that top hat with a huge white feather, and just looked so damn cool. Not that I have a vested interest in becoming a drag queen...but if I got to run around looking like that for fun once in a while, it might actually be ok.

The other interesting event was my beginning working for my Uncle. Not 2 hours after I'd dropped my parents at the airport, he'd called me wondering what I was doing the next day. I agreed to do one job for him, and somehow that has snowballed into working every day since. It pisses me off to no end that he continually manipulates me into working, but at this point I need money, and didn't realize how much time I would need to keep up with everything else I need to do, and work. That explains why there's been no posts recently, because I really haven't sat down except to eat and sleep.

Taking up working for my Uncle did give me an interesting experience earlier in the week. He's in the agriculture business (I'd say more but I'd prefer to keep it vauge) and was hired by a couple to do some odd jobs at their farm. Naturally, that fell to me to do. My Saintly Uncle is always pleased with himself about these clients, because he's the only guy that will do work for them in the area. You see, they're a gay couple.

So there I was, listening to my Uncle and cousin and the other hired help go on about how I needed to go up to the "fags" place and do some work. They made a few jokes, including wondering if they were going to Pride this weekend...and I sat stoney faced and very unimpressed. My Uncle now fancies himself a humanitarian because he'll work for these guys when others refuse to because they happen to be gay. Even though that means he makes about a million gay jokes and really doesn't have any respect for them. Every time I needed to talk about going up there, I simply kept conversation to what needed to be done, and never acknowledged there was any difference with them than there would be working for anyone else.

My cousin dropped me off, and on the way up their drive reminded me, "Don't make any jokes about them going to the city this weekend..." Right. Like I'm the one that needs sensitivity training.

I actually got to meet both guys, and they were quite nice. Of course, I was given the impression they were flaming hippie queers, and why I believed any of that I'm not even sure. The one was obviously gay, but wasn't throwing his arms in the air and screaming "Oh, dahhhhling!"

His partner actually was an even bigger surprise for me. He was in really good shape, and wearing some very fitted clothes. I couldn't help but check him out, and I'd even go so far as to say I was attracted to him. There was just something about him, he was just hot, what can I say? It must have been the heat, and my undersexed self simply got carried away...

They were both really nice guys, offering me cold drinks while I was working away. I found myself desperately wanting to tell them about me, to let them know I wasn't just another idiot hick who would be going home and sniggering about the homos I saw today...but in all honesty, what kind of a conversation would that have been? And what really did it matter, considering I was polite and engaged with them, never saying anything the least bit uncomfortable or insulting. I just hope they realized I was a little different than the ones that usually came around.

So there's my exciting last few days...now excuse me, I have a date with a pillow and blanket that I really don't want to be late for.

Out of time...

I'm facing somewhat of a dilemma.

Ok, it's more than somewhat. It's nearing a full-blown crisis: my employment status. Before I went away, I applied to a handful of good jobs that were in my area. These weren't jobs at the iced cream stand, or shucking coffee or burgers or something...these were decent student jobs that I felt really qualified for.

Through a set of circumstances which leave me wondering why Fate doesn't want me to have a good job, I was never hired by anyone. I wasn't even called for an interview. When I did follow up with on particular job, the woman told me I had a stellar resume, but that she didn't call me because she "thought (I) would want something better than her job." After smacking my forhead a few times, I began packing for France and forced myself to not worry about getting a job.

While I was away, for the most part I didn't dwell on the job thing. Every now and then we'd get into a discussion about what everyone was doing for summer jobs, and I would painfully recount my story thus far. Everyone was sympathetic, and agreed that I am always getting screwed with the job thing. Near the end of the trip, I would fall asleep with the doom and gloom of what I had to look forward to when getting home: moving out of my apartment and finding a job.

Still, I kept a positive attitude, and even applied for a few jobs the day after I got home. And still, nobody has even bothered to call me back. I'm now really, really screwed, because all the jobs that were 'good' are gone, and I'm faced with finding another to desperately start saving for next year's tuition.

There really isn't that much available to me here. In truth, I have no good options. All the jobs that are open are things that I can't even imagine myself doing...fast food, coffee places (sadly not Starbucks, but more like McDonalds Coffee Houses), resturants...and Wal Mart.

I don't knock anyone who works any of these jobs. But I also can't see myself donning the blue vest and walking into the world's biggest chain store. It just makes me feel...well, not very useful. I mean, I'm going into my 3rd year of college, I've got a resume that blows many out of the water, I've got citations for academic excellence and references from important people around town...I should be pouring myself into something more worthwhile than pouring coffee.

And it brings up a host of other issues...like can I ethically work at Wal Mart. I don't even shop there, and though I'm no bleeding-heart anti-globalization ultra-liberal, working for 'The Man' that is Wal Mart gives me a queezy feeling. I don't know if I can respect myself after walking in and out of that door with that damn blue vest on.

The worst part is, I'm running out of time. I've been home a week and a few days, and I really need to start working. The forcast is grim...I don't really have anywhere else left to apply except at some chain store for a job I don't even want. But I need something. Now.

What should I do? Am I being pretentious by not wanting to work at a fast food joint? Should I strap on my blue vest and sign up for Wal Mart? Do I keep waiting for something to come along that better suits me? Please, I really need some advice.

Doledrums...

So I've been seriously ignoring the blog, and it's killing me.

I never knew life could be so busy...doing nothing. I mean, in the past week, I've been all around, but it's been pretty boring and really not worth writing about. I went to the dentist. I went grocery shopping. I came out to another of my best friends...ok so that one isn't boring, but the hours have been filled with a steady stream of errands to run.

It hasn't even given me time to think about any issues...not that my environment has helped with that. Here I am, back in small-town-bum-fuck-nowhere, and I'm not inspired to write about anything on sexuality. It's as if sex doesn't exist around here.

Last night was a bit interesting. I had coffee with my best friend from High School, whom I don't really see that often. We kinda drifted apart after school ended, but we both still want to see each other. So we now spend an evening together here and there. Conversation was never dull, but it didn't feel like the time or place to simply say, "Oh, guess what!..." I mean, we haven't seen each other since Christmas, so I didn't want to start on that note.

After coffee, I caught up with Ashley and Laura at another friend's place. They were eating brownies and had been into the wine, and I arrived just as they were getting ready to go to the bar in town. There were a few people at the house I'd never met before, but Laura immediately pulled me aside.

"See! I'm so glad you told Ashley. You have the right to be who you are, and she's happy for you. I am too," she said, swaying from the slight intoxication. Ashley then joined us, and we laughed together. It felt pretty great to know they know, but weren't making a big deal about it. We hugged and headed into town.

Being a Thursday night, the bar caters to college kids who are home for the summer, and it's usually crowded. I happen to hate the charade of the 'reunion' nights, where people from High School that I didn't know or talk to attempt to make awkward conversation with you. Most of the time, they just stare at you, knowing full well who you are but keeping their distance. It's a ritual that I trick myself into participating in every time we come home from school, but one that doesn't get any more bareable.

Not many of the people there I consider friends, and as much as I'd like to embrace those who I barely know from High School, I don't forget how I really wasn't one of the 'cool kids' at school and didn't really get on with any of them. While the guys were out playing rugby or tearing around the school's parking lot, I'd be reading or doing band stuff...yes, I was a 'band nerd' of sorts. I had a great group of friends, but it was the mish-mashed variety of people, and nobody was particularily accepted by the kids in the Billabong hoodies.

So I hung out with a few people I knew for about a half-hour, then checked my watch and was out the door before midnight. The cold air greeted me, and I felt more comfortable in the desolate parking lot than I had surrounded by people I'd 'known' for the 4 years of High School. I drove home with the windows down and radio cranked, singing at the top of my lungs. God, I'd missed that. I'm the type who cannot not sing when I'm driving by myself. I get behind the wheel, turn up the radio, and loose my mind. It's fun, and makes driving all the more interesting.

I'm also becoming less embarassed about it. Before, when I'd stop at a light, I'd also stop singing, instead humming along until I was back in moving traffic. These last few days, I just kinda don't care anymore. I'm sure I look like an idiot to the person who spies me in their rear-view mirror, but I'm becoming less embarassed about it. Until someone I know sees me and laughs. Then I'll be embarassed all over again.

The only gay in the villiage...

Last weekend I was put in a situation that made me realize, however many times I feel like my situation is impossible, I am truly lucky.

On Saturday, once we arrived in Huntsville, the quite cottage town surrounded by lakes and picturesque forrest, we took a walk through the main street. The sun beat down on my skin, warming it after months of cold and sunless winter. I smiled, and had good reason to. I was with my family, the sky was crystal blue, and we were walking in the fresh, clean norther air, surrounded by natural beauty.

Of course, being the kick-off to the cottaging season, my mother needed to check into all her favorite stores, seeing what they had for the upcoming outdoors season. She lingered, talking to shopkeepers, while I daydreamed, aimlessly wandering shops. We came to our last stop, a kitchen/clothing/outdoors store near the end of the strip. Originally we weren't even going to go in, but decided to anyway.

The doors were swung open, letting the hydrocarbon-free air inside. Standing at the counter was a guy who must have been my age, and very cute. He looked...bright. His eyes were alert but smiling and warm, his clothes trendy but tasteful, and his mouth creased into a smile as we walked in.

The usual plesantries were exchanged, and my gaydar flickered. "Hmm," I thought. "Maybe?" After all, a guy my age working in a kitchen/clothing store?...but I tried not to think too hard about it. I gave him a smile and some eye contact, and shrugged it off as a mixture of me being oversexed and full of false hope. We walked through the store, and I wound up in the men's section. For being in cottage country, I was stunned to find their selection included a small but well-suited Lacoste section.

A few mintues of browsing later, and who should come up to me but the guy from behind the counter. The store was pretty dead, and I was off in my own little world walking around, turning to face him as he approached. He smiled, genuinely, but it felt like there was something more behind it.

"Uh, if there's anything you need help with, you can let me know," he said, still smiling. I held his gaze, desperately trying to think of a question to ask him to get into a conversation, but failing miserably. After all, what did I have to work with? Other than asking him if this color of shirt would look good on me, I could come up with nothing that didn't sound utterly stupid.

So I simply continued smiling, and said thanks, I'd be sure to let him know. He said he'd be over at the counter, and turned and walked away. Of course, in retrospect, I wish that I had the courage/balls/whatever to strike up a conversation with this guy, maybe even go so far as to try and have coffee with him after his shift, to "farmiliarize myself with local culture" etc. etc. Unfortunately I'm not that confident yet, nor am I naturally really able to make friends/pick people up off the street.

I ended up buying a shirt, and my dad bought some pants. The guy rang it up, which gave me more time to stare...with some attention being returned to me. I think, maybe I was just being overly hopeful again...He popped the stuff into a bag, and turned to me.

"Well I guess this is for you," he said, and stretched out his arm. I took the handle from him (and in another moment of retrospect, wished I'd had brushed a finger against his...) and we turned and left the store. Once we were outside, I shot another glance in to the register, and a smile.

Once I was firmly planted in a deck chair, sun streaming over my pale (and not-yet-yellow) skin, my mind drifted back to the guy in the store. I thought of how hard it must be, up in such a small community with no gays (at least not many who would be out), and no young guys for this guy. I thought how difficult it might be for him at night, lying in bed, thinking he's the only gay in the villiage. Who know's he's gay? And are there any other gay guys there for him to meet? Does he feel alone?

What does one do in situations like that? Obviously this condition must exsist for hundreds of thousands of gay youth throughout North America. Small town, not near any cities, conservative and closed-minded...

Not unlike my hometown.

Thankfully I have an outlet, by living in Toronto I have access to a huge number of gay things. I could haunt the Villiage if I wanted, or meet people online who lived only 15 minutes away, or go to a gay club and be surrounded by people who don't really care about sexual preference. But for these people, stuck in small towns with no way of accessing other gays...life must be difficult.

Not to mention the fact they might not even be open with their sexuality. Everyone knows that news of an openly gay son would spread like wildfire across a small town, and it would make long-term living in the town difficult.

Maybe I'm wrong about all of that. Maybe the gay youths like the guy in Huntsville have met others their age, and are making out just fine in life. Maybe they're happier, more successful homo's than I am. But maybe they're struggling with an impossible situation.

So that afternoon, and tonight, I counted my blessings that I'm able to live (for the most part) in a city where I know where to find guys, where I can actually meet someone in person whom I meet online, and where I can (hopefully) live my life without being stigmatized because of sexuality. And I send up prayers for all the guys who feel alone in their towns, with little hope of meeting another like them.

And a Happy Easter...

I haven't fallen off the face of the earth. After all, it's Easter weekend.

Lisa ended up coming to my place for the long weekend, since she lives across the country and isn't going home for the weekend. My mom is away on a trip, my grandparents are gone, and all that's left is me and dad, and now Lisa. Needless to say, it's been a quiet weekend so far.

I hope we haven't scared her too much at how slow (and boring) life can be out here. Yesterday we didn't get up until 10 a.m., then did nothing for an hour and a half, showered and finally got out the door to do grocery shopping. We had lunch along the way, and really just took our time, finally getting home at about 4 p.m. By the time everything was away, it was starting to get late, and we just did more hanging around and relaxing.

All of this sounds boring, and it was. At the moment, it's the fun boring, the 'lets relax and enjoy some downtime' variety. But if this is a forecast of things to come when I move home officially...wow, I'm going to need to find lots of things to occupy my time.

David Update: He wrote on my Facebook wall last night "haha Monday ;)" which I take to mean see you monday. I hope. But why you already have to be laughing is beyond me...oh well.

Everyone have a Happy Easter and enjoy your weekend. The cold snap will end sometime here in North America and we'll finally get some warmpth and sunshine, maybe someday soon.