These four walls...

Why is everybody I know buying houses?

Seriously, more and more of my close friends are suddenly purchasing their first real estate. Granted, some of them are a touch older and wiser, and have a little more in the bank than others. But my best friend, who is all of 24, just purchased her very own place alone, without a boyfriend or roommate.

I guess we all have different priorities. I've been part-home owner my whole life, dealing with the million and one things that come with being responsible for your property, and I'm sick of it! My aim is set on a nice, cozy one-bedroom apartment somewhere downtown, not on a semi-detached dilapidated wreck of a house, complete with knob-and-tube wiring and an ancient furnace.

Of course, when they tell you about it, it all sounds peachy. "My very own house!" is the typical ecstatic line. It's an incredibly exciting and nerve wracking prospect, but more of my friends are taking the plunge and planting their own white picket fence.

Not that I'm afraid of commitment, but owning a house is so... permanent. Unlike an apartment that you can leave at practically any time, trying to sell your house is not exactly the most painless process. That coupled with the insane 30-year mortgages people are signing is enough to keep me a renter for the foreseeable future. (Well, that is to say, I'll be a renter when I finally move back downtown.)

Like many milestones, these first homes are lampposts on the path of life. I guess it's just hard for me to reconcile the fact that we're growing up and settling down. I've been mature practically my whole life, but I haven't reached the life-stage of home ownership just quite yet.

So for all you new home owners, congratulations on your success. I'll gladly come to the housewarming, but please don't bitch to me when your toilet is stopped up, your water heater breaks, your windows need replacing and the driveway need re-surfacing.

Ok, we all know I'll grudgingly be there to help when I can, pulling the best Mr.Fix-It I can.

But it's not my fault you had no idea what you were getting into.

$15 for your thoughts?...

It's always amazing when you call someone with your own troubles, only to have them superseded by theirs.

That was the case last night at around 8:30, when I called a friend to complain about our final assignment, and exams, and studying, and laundry, and a bunch of other things that were happening. She let me ramble on, talking about this and that, and about this cute boy that I'd taken a shine to from a class. I finished my complaining for that moment, after asking her for some advice, and then dropped the usual, "And how are you?"

"I'm late."

"Late for what?" I asked...then said, "Ohhhh...shit."

As it happened, she was late about five days for her period, something that always comes to her like clockwork. I went through my limited knowledge of the menstrual cycle. Her stress levels have been high, she said, thanks to family and school and problems. So maybe it could be that, she guessed.

"But I don't know what to do," she said quietly.

Truth be told, neither did I. Not like I've been having my period since I was 14 (is that even when they start?) and not like I've ever really asked Mom about periods and the woman question. I asked her if she wanted to wait a few more days, or talk to a nurse, or another girl, or maybe try a pregnancy test.

"I just don't know what to do," she said again.

"OK, well, sweetie, do you think that doing the test will make you feel better?"

A pause. "I guess so?"

"Alright then," I said, "so a pregnancy test. Easy stuff." As far as I knew, but what the hell do I know about women?

We talked about doing it for a few more minutes, and I asked her if she wanted to come over and do it here in my bathroom. "No, that's OK," she said. Her boyfriend wasn't going to be by for a while, so she would just do it herself.

"Are you sure about that?" I said. I didn't want to push her into having me help, but she seemed half-gone at that moment.

"No," she said, starting to cry.

"Do you want me to come over?"

"Yes," she said almost silently. I swear I could hear the tears by then.

"OK, that's what we'll do. We'll just have to go to the pharmacy and get one, and then pop back to your place."

"Where do they have them?" she asked, "and how much?" There was another pause. "I guess I could just go get one myself..." she said, her voice trailing off.

"No, no. I'll just pick one up on the way," I said. "Sit tight, I'll be there in 15 minutes."

My trip to the pharmacy was embarrassment free, which didn't really surprise me. I walked to the condoms and cleverly underneath was a row of pregnancy tests. I took a brand name I recognized, looked it over, and went to the pharmacist to pay. No questions were asked, until I asked about a girls period being late. She told me it could be anything from stress to illness to physical changes, but that it was a good idea she do the test anyway.

Her parting words of wisdom actually went on the 'Things I Learnt Today' list: Girls can actually have their periods change if they start hanging around with another group of women. I kid you not, their bodies actually tune themselves to each other so they all get bitchy and bloody at the same time. I shook my head, paid the $15 bill and headed out.

This would be my first time ever having to fulfill the role of 'girlfriend'. I mean, I'm there for my close friends, but I've never been asked to do that whole 'girlfriend' thing, to fill the shoes of the more experienced woman. Hell, I'd come prepared with a 5 minute crash course in periods, pregnancy and the hCG, dropped $15 on a test kit and powerwalked ten minutes to confront a girl about her sex life and talk periods and menstrual flow.

To say she was cowering in her room would be an accurate statement. For some reason she never likes crying in front of me, so the tears had stopped, but she was still in a state. I gave her a hug, and she squeaked out a, "Thanks for coming."

Why do people think they are so totally alone in these situations? I would move heaven and earth to help the people I love, and I don't think a second thought about it, yet people seem so surprised that you would be willing to help. But she seemed so generally happy that I had taken the time to buy her a test kit and come do it with her, as if the possibility that I wouldn't come even existed. It's almost like people expect you to tell them you're busy when they need to go to a hospital or are getting divorced or have just accidentally drown their significant other in the coy pond.

All I know is, I really have faith in my friends, and if I ever asked for help I sure hope they're there for me too. I just hope that faith isn't misplaced, because everyone other than me seems to be surprised at my random acts of kindness.

"OK, so bear with me," I said as I pulled open the box and read the leaflet. "I haven't done one of these before, for obvious reasons." Why not insert a bit of humour? It's not like we might have an newly minted mother on our hands.

We read them through together, and I asked her if she needed any more directions in my best doctors voice. She said no, and I went back to the page.

"Sometimes I wish I was gay," she said, exhaling on a laugh. "You don't have to deal with this."

I tried as best I could to keep my forehead from launching off my face. "Well, yeah, I guess you're right," I said. "We just have to worry about, you know, that test that you can't take back."

We both laughed, but I think I got my point across.

"Right, so now you've just got to go wee on a stick, and we're all set," I said.

She looked at me. "Wee on a stick? What the hell is that?"

I glanced over at her. "Well, come on, I haven't done this before. The only experience I have of pregnancy tests is from Bridget Jones, and that's how she described it," I said, in mock defence. "Jesus, besides, they at least had a bottle of wine on the go...what do I have!?"

She stepped out of the room and I sat staring out the window, mind ablaze. Not that I really believe she was pregnant, but still, there always is the freak chance...

...and as I was finishing that thought she came back in the room and slammed down the test on the chair in front of me.

"How could you be done!?" I asked, "you just went in there! Did you, uh, get it on the strip?"

"Oh yeah," she said, "easy."

We both sat there. A pink line appeared. "Don't worry, that just means the test is working," I said, still staring at the line. Don't you fucking move, I mentally chanted to it.

To break the ice while we waited, I asked if she had told her boyfriend what we were up to. She had said she was 'concerned' but didn't come out and say it to him. I then asked if she would be telling the boyfriend if it came back positive, and got an 'I don't know' answer. Probably best to stop there.

After a few more minutes, I realized we'd forgotten to check the time. The test was supposed to show within 10 minutes, and we were pretty sure that over five had already passed. We waited a few more, then she breathed deep and said, "That's it then, I guess I'm not pregnant."

It was very anti-climactic, really, because I didn't get that rush of 'ahhhh' that I expected. Probably due to the fact that I 'knew' that she wasn't pregnant, but still, we both felt a sense of relief. I packaged up everything and put it back in my bag, figuring it best not to leave a spent test in her garbage can for prying eyes. Around that time I realized my head was pounding, so I got some aspirin and a glass of water and we just sat there shell shocked.

A few minutes later, we Facebook stalked a cute boy in a class of mine, to get her opinion, and then I decided I should make my exit before the boyfriend came by.

"That's it, I'm never having sex again," she said. "Never, never, this is crazy. I'm done." I contemplated the thought of 'never never' having sex again, shuddered, and told her she'd be back in bed with her boyfriend inside a month. She rolled her eyes and called me oversexed.

"Thanks for coming," she said again, and gave me a big hug.

"Of course," I replied, and she walked me to the door. A few minutes later I was out on the street, breathing in sweet fresh air and contemplating moving to the mountains and living as a hermit.

---

Of course, no day like this could end without one more little slap in the face.

I smacked the up button in my lobby, blaring music and trying to pretend I was anywhere but there. The door slowly creaked open to the elevator, and I stepped into a car that was already half full.

Within about a half a second, I realized someone who we all know and love was also on board, standing in the corner. He looked as good as usual.

Indeed, Elevator Boy was again locked in an elevator with me, who looked like absolute shit, Carly Simon blaring out of my eardrums and looking withered and washed out.

I made the faintest of eye contact, then glared at the door, cursing my ever-ridiculous situation with the guy. I swear, one of these days I'll actually say hi. Either that, or hope to God we meet through one of our mutual friends. To think, I've gone an entire school year and not even said hi to him...what am I, 12?

---

This afternoon, while walking through the mall, I found myself passing by some sort of drop-in massage place. I had actually walked by it, then stopped, backtracked and read their sign. My back was killing me from what doctors like to call 'tension' and normal people call real life, and since I knew I wasn't going home to Swiss Boy, a hot bath and massage oils, I figured what the hell. For $25 I could get a 20 minute massage.

As luck would have it, there was no wait, and after filling out a questionnaire that asked me everything but did I enjoy getting fucked by barnyard animals, I was introduced to Brian, a middle-aged guy with a strong handshake.

"So, what are we working on today," he asked pleasantly. "Anything bothering you more than other areas?"

"Uhh...upper back?" I said, since I have no real idea what you call where it hurts other than pointing.

"OK, upper back, shoulders," he said, and sat me in this back-rubbing-chair-contraption.

I've never had a massage with a shirt on, and I've got to say I'm not really a fan, but the things that man did to me were wonderful. I have definitely said "harder" and meant it before, but he could deliver.

As he was rubbing away I could actually feel the tension in my body. Sort of amazing what we can do to ourselves, isn't it? As he moved to using his elbows, he hit one particular spot that was the money shot of the massage.

"Mmhhoooo," I groaned in pain. It felt great, but ow, it hurt.

After a few more such noises, I amused myself contemplating how much noise one young gay boy is allowed to make with one older straight man before it raises eyebrows.

As if on cue, he moved to my spine, pushing from the bottom up. A second later, there was a loud 'crunch crack' and he stopped. "Wow," he said, "even I heard that."

"No problem..." I moaned.

---

In other news, the Swiss boy left today. He gave me a big hug, which I happily ate up. Annoying in a way, since he's pretty much exactly my type (except for the straight part). Tall, really good looking, European, intelligent, quiet in a fiercely friendly way.

The hug felt really good...I never really noticed, but hugging boys just feels so much different than hugging girls. I hug women all the time, and boys infrequently, but this felt just nice. I tucked right into him, which annoyed me further, because honestly what kind of a tease is a perfect hug?

He did leave me with one great memory though, a going away picture in my mind. As I was walking to my room, I passed by my roommate's door to see him standing beside the bed. What caught my eye was the blur of motion, as he leaned back to stretch his arms out. With his arms pinned behind him, his newly-bought white Abercrombie tee rode way up his stomach, giving me a brilliant view of his amazing body.

And that's just how I'm going to picture him when I remember him.

We are all family...

I'm not one for sitting around a room, holding hands and singing Kumbaya.

Believe me, I almost gagged in class today when I thought we were headed towards one of those moments. One of those, "You know, we've all got to believe in the better good to come from teaching you guys, our youth, to make this world a better place." I sat there, mouth agape, trying to convince myself I wasn't in Sesame Street 101.

But there was an instance not too long ago that I was deeply touched by, and that I wish every kid, and hell, even adult in the world could experience.

New Years Day saw me coming home to an empty house, a bag of Chinese under my arm and in desperate need of a chair in front of a television. Switching it on, Oprah came up in front of me. Now, I don't really have much against Oprah, but I don't really have much for her either. She does her thing, and I don't watch.

Today was something a little different. I caught her just as she was speaking in between a filmed piece, saying something along the lines of, "These kids were, for the first time, breaking down barriers between themselves and their classmates." I was mildly interested.

As I watched, it became clear that this was video from a high school gym during some sort of seminar. Kids were throwing their hands in the air, twisting their fingers into some symbol and nodding along vigorously with whatever someone was saying.

The bottom line was, this seminar was all about tearing down the stereotypes and prejudices of some of the most impressionable people in society: high school kids.

There was a fat kid who was sick of people making fun of his weight. There was a black kid sick of being discriminated against by the white jocks of the school. There was a gay kid, who said he cried himself to sleep every night because people went out of their way to call him a faggot.

This is nothing new. Kids have always been torturing other kids. I myself was more often than not the victim of hurtful comments (and this was even pre-gay!) during elementary school and through most of high school. Anyone a little different was ostracized. However, in this seminar, the goal was to bring these kids, and their bullies, into the same room and try to really humanize the situation.

And it worked. I sat speechless as I watched the events unfold, how those who were hurt explained how it felt to be centred out and so mistreated for nothing more than being a different sex, race or orientation.

I don't really know how the instructor got to these kids, but in each case he would bring up the person being mistreated and get them to really explain how much it hurts them to take such abuse from their peers.

Of course, I identified with the gay kid. He was just an average teenager who happened to also be out in his high school. He talked about being spit on, about how he was called out for being gay and different, and about his nights alone at home, crying, in such pain, because these jerks just wouldn't leave him alone.

"I'm gay. We have feelings too, and you have no idea how much you have hurt me," he said.

One of the kids got up. "I...I've called you those things before," he said, reluctantly. "But, I'm sorry. I didn't know they hurt so bad," he said, and they hugged.

Sounds corny, right? I mean, come on, they're just playing nice for the seminar leader.

The final one was the most touching. It was, naturally, the horribly racist football jock, who was tormentor to anyone who wasn't white in school. He erupted into tears in the end, begging for forgiveness and promising to tell his family that racism, "Isn't where it's at." He then gave a big hug to the black kids sitting next to him.

Like I said, I don't know how this all came about, and how this instructor managed to really get to these kids on such a fundamental level. But they were changed. Sure, they might still hold on to some of their hatred and fear of those they don't understand, but I really believe that something inside of them changed for the better.

Of course, Oprah could barely keep herself from all-out bawling, but I don't blame her. It was, without exaggeration, beautiful to see the hate taken away. "That's how you do it," she said, "one person at a time."

It got me thinking about our world, and our high schools, and even our universities. Most people I know are pretty damn accepting, colour blind and sensitive. Even as I embraced myself over the last year, I've become ever more sensitive of others around me, of how my actions and behaviour effect them. And that's not to say I've just gotten good at not saying certain words or making certain jokes. I'm not perfect, but I really fundamentally believe that I love pretty much everybody, no matter race, creed and certainly no matter what orientation. I'm not a heterophobe now, and I have a lot more understanding for trans folk. I like to think of myself as colour blind.

This isn't to say I don't dislike certain things about certain cultures. Believe me, I hate oppression in many cultures, how they treat certain people in society and their expectations for men and woman. But I give everyone the benefit of the doubt, and often in the people I encounter their morals and the way they lead their lives and treat others around them pretty much agree with mine.

The bottom line is, I wish every kid in every school could go through what I saw. To sit down with their classmates and get everything out in the open, to really show how much it hurts to be singled out, sometimes for no real reason, and tormented by others their own age. People who are supposed to be learning to be better than that.

What kind of world would it be if everyone had to go through this? Maybe kids wouldn't cry themselves to sleep at night, and adults wouldn't develop real problems stemming from the torment they suffered as kids, and even in the workforce.

Now, I'm not saying that everyone who was ever called a mean name is fundamentally fucked. Every kid goes through a bit of teasing. But when it gets to the point of consistent torture, and especially over something as trivial as race, orientation or size, it's unfair and wrong.

I probably sound like a bleeding heart by now, but I cannot say enough about how I wish every kid was brought up with a bit more understanding of themselves and the world around them.

So I ask you, while you interact with the youth in your life, try to open their eyes to the fact that disliking someone because of a physical or sexual difference is fundamentally wrong. Prove them wrong when they say that someone is an idiot because of their race, or effeminate because of their orientation, or whatever. Show them that it's OK to just be who you are.

Maybe this world will change. I guess it's happening, slowly. And as a firmly-planted realist, I know you can't change the world in a month, or a year. But if this kind of acceptance really starts taking hold in high school, things may just wind up alright after all.

Unreliable...

Is it just the reality of the 21st Century that people are unreliable? Has it always been this way?

I pined all last night when my internet went out, wondering if the guy who I'm meeting tonight was trying to get in touch with me. I checked to see if I'd gotten any text messages, but sadly there was nothing.

Finally I got back online when I went to class today and immediately checked my messages. Nothing. I sent a quick e-mail asking if we were still on, and then later (at about 4 p.m.) a text to make sure that he knew I was expecting him.

At 4:56 p.m. I got a text back...that he might not make it in time but to call him tonight.

Ugh. Why does this have to happen? I set myself up to be supremely disappointed, got all ready for him to say he couldn't come, and yet I'm still a little sad that he's not going to make it. Then the question is, when will he be free? Tomorrow? Next week?

I'm going to the Lindsey Buckingham concert tomorrow night, and am seriously considering inviting him along (I have a spare ticket). That way, we get to spend the evening together, and if things go well he can stay the night (since nobody has school on Friday). But at this point it's all wishful thinking and bullshit. I'm alternating between pissed off and genuinely disappointed.

So my question is: Are all humans unreliable? Does anyone actually come when they say they will, do what they say they'll do, or call when they say they'll call? Or is it just young gay guys who are constantly letting me down these days...

We've all got to go sometime...

Death is a funny thing, something that I never really felt one way or the other about. I've had deaths in the family, been exposed to deaths on TV and in the newspaper, had health scares with people I love...but I've always maintained a fairly positive outlook on life.

I realize that we could all be gone in a moment's notice. Randomly, unknowingly, and certainly unwillingly deceased by simply going to the grocery store, or the bank, or even by doing nothing at all. Our bodies are ticking time bombs it seems, but it's just something I've come to accept and not obsess over.

But it's hard not to take a harder look when another person dies that shouldn't.

In this case, it was a bank teller named Nicole. She worked at the branch in the town where I went to High School, and was a singularily wonderful person. She had the greatest smile, best attitude, and generally healthiest lifestyle of so many people that came and went through the doors. She was 52 when she died last week from lung cancer.

Now, Nicole never smoked. She was an avid cyclist, worked out nearly constantly, and took great care of her body. My mother and her were very friendly on professional terms; it's hard not to be when you've been going to the same bank and the same teller for 20 years. I remember last summer, sitting in Tim Horntons (coffee shop chain) with a friend, and Nicole walking through the door, fully dressed in cycling outfit, with a handsome man with her.

That man was her new boyfriend. After being divorced only a few years before, she'd met her new beau through a fitness contact, and the rest was history. That man had also just married her a few weeks before her death.

I was pretty shook up about Nicole being gone. After all, us youngins are being told to expect to live well into our 80's, if not longer thanks to new medical technologies. But it just seems to happen that these things still occur, that the wrong person drops dead from a disease they never should have had.

When I think about death, I don't dwell on it. But I don't dismiss it, no matter how convenient ignorance might be. I don't want to die, but if my number comes up I guess I don't have much choice. What scares me more is that someone else I know and love might be next, and I'm not ready to loose anyone just quite yet.

We have no choice of who stays and who goes. Sure, our lifestyle dictates some things, but on the overall we don't choose to make ourselves targets. I shudder to think that my friend may be run over on the way to class, or my father drop dead of a heart attack, or my mother's cancer return and spread through her body...

I'm not being morbid here. My point is simple, and probably already well understood by so many people. Cherish life, your friends, your family. Enjoy every second, no matter how mundane or simple it might be. Even if you do this subconsciously, at least tell yourself once a day to remember your dreams and desires for tomorrow. And never let go of your memories.

Goodbye Nicole, where-ever you are.