The BGA

My
horoscope in the Metro this morning reads as follows: Your irreverence
will cause others to chuckle. Someone you like is projecting some good
qualities onto you. SO if I make you chuckle, and I like you
send the goods on up. If you’re a girl, hold off on the good vibein’ I don’t
want the boys’ good qualities to accidentally get misplaced cause they got
confused by some woman.  Also, when Avatar Venus wrote ‘projecting some
good qualities’ he meant, call me and shower me in compliments, make me feel
sexy and desired, or show up at my door with flowers, connies and some lube.
My favourite headline today came not from the presses of a gossip rag, or from
a glib to the moment blog report, no my favourite story of the day was relayed
to me by the good ol’ faithful CBC, and by good ol’ faithful i mean : old. The
headline in question reads: Jujitsu
Moves Foil Teenager’s Attacker My absolute favourite part of the day so far
was when the teenager in question ( a 15 year old girl from Dartmouth) told the
cops, she thought she had dislocated the second guys shoulder, they may wanna
look for one guy with a black eye, and one guy who can’t move his arm
properly… he he he.
My second favourite heading was also on CBC "Vancouver sets wet wet wet
record", that article turned out to be way less interesting, something
about precipitation, and sadly not stripping. I guess after five years in
Montreal, I just went all Pavlov when i read the words "WET WET WET!"
in my mind those words are always written in flashing neon lights. I can see
the cartoon dewy dripplets right now.
Gossip wise there’s alot going on today, as far as the celebrity/publicity
whores are concerned, but Christine was saying to me that extra magazine is
essentially a gossip mag for Toronto gays, a.k.a the gossip is about the
locals, and i like it, so i’m gonna shit close to home and hope to god that no
one can identify me by my stench. (Abbas, I chose that scatological analogy
just for you!)
So this week was the last weekend was the Deadly Snakes/ Constantine’s double
bill, It was loads of fun. The mixer at the Horseshoe needs a lesson in levels
(first swing) My bloody ears were ringing for 2, count em, 2 days
following the show, and no, I was not standing next to or near the speakers.
K-OS was in attendance, lurking near the bar with his trademark dingy hoodie
pulled up like it’s his shield from the hoards of Canadian paparazzi that
flank him everywhere he goes (second swing!) I watched him give the skeezy once
over to both my little sister and Kate, I hate to say it Kevin, but both of
those girls are as far out of your league as Pluto is to an airplane. O.k. I
feel a little Canadian gossip guilty. o.k,  - K-Os, I liked 4 songs on
your first C.D. and at least 5 on the second. The Constantine’s were good, but
I was a little surprised to hear Andre of the Snakes refer to them as his
favourite band, including the specification: "not just my favourite
Toronto band." Kate didn’t even believe he had said that and insisted that
he had said "Godspeed", which prompted me to ask, "is that any
better?"
I was impressed that a) the audience was primarily NHL jersey sporting
‘Canadian’ guys, in fact at one point the encore applause turned into
an enthusiastic chorus of "Go Leafs Go!"
b) that the NHLlers were dancing about, and singing along with every lyric… I
think I was standing in front of the world biggest Constantine’s fan, and I
mean biggest.  The fact that he was a chub-a-lub only made it cuter that
he was givin it his all singin those songs, I almost felt like Chubba the Huts
performance is what kept the actual singer going. There’s some more gossip from
that that concert, but it’s the kind of stuff best heard hand to mouth or something,
so i suggest you ask Kate.

The same night as the double bill at the Horseshoe, Vazaleen held it’s final
monthly party at Lee’s. I was really sad to have missed it (particularly given
the crowd at the Deadly Snakes concert, though really nice people, all straight
guys, no fagalags. Straight guys can be really cool and all that, but you can’t
take them home and fuck them after the show) So While I was appreciating music
and sacrificing my crown jewels, all the smart homos were getting it going in an
all you can eat pile on.
so gossip #1. Will Munroe claims he would have had Deborah Harry, among others,
at the party had she not been busy with the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame hand
job, yeah right Will, if I had a nickel for all of your fruitless dreams….
just kidding, Will Munroe deserves a city wide pat on the back for his
continued involvement in what I like to refer to as the Toronto Fun Movement,
but since this is the gossip column I’d be a pussy if i didn’t throw some shit
in his direction wouldn’t I? Will, Will, Will, O.K. So, I randomly started
talking to you on the Ossington 63 a couple years ago… and then the next time
I saw you inexplicably treated you like my best friend, and then my blabber
mouthed older sister sold me out was all like: "My brother has a crush on
you" o.k. So a few things to take into account a) each of these incidents
involve people who are high on drugs
speaking out of turn. in addition to  the question of sobriety is the fact
that b)all of these incidents took place at least 2 years ago, and thirdly….
c)there is no third, I was just embarrassed when my friend Haig was in town and
asked me if I (and I quote) "knew a kid named Will? Cause he said your in
love with him" I told Haig that this love was news to me, but welcome
news, cause until then I had never been in love and surely this milestone was
something to celebrate. But really it was just a wake up call that Mr.
Munroe is not above shameless self-promotion.
If gossip were in a cd store we’d have come in through mainstream hip hop, done
a detour into indie rock, moved on to indie experimental dance/rock, and now
we’d be doing a b-line to Cheese Pop so "Get Ready." Cause Sean
Desman is the next figure to be held up like Harold for The B.G.A. Sean Sean
Sean, you’ve been with my girl Chantal since the eighth grade. I know it’s a
lot to expect monogamy from a teenager over more than ten years, but dude,
Chantal is hot, and she’s fit it’s not like she chunked out or got ugly,
Chantal is cute, hot and funny, so why is it that the entire time I lived in
Montreal different girls (all nasty first year McGill losers mind you) always
going on about how they gave you head in their dorm room? Maybe if it was only
cool girls, or only cute girls, but I’m talking indiscriminate here. My only
hope is that Chantal has been getting some cock on the side, and when I say
some cock, I mean I hope she’s been ho’n it up hardcore, and getting pounded by
the monster cock on a regular basis.

 “For the Record” says Christine as I tell her
about this posting… “EXTRA reports the Gay News” yeah, so does the BJA, I mean
BGA.

p.s.
I refuse to be held accountable for any accusation I have made in the name of
entertainment, if you find what I have written to be inaccurate, you my friend
can suck it. Or post it in the comments.

BGA

"I
don’t mind the Gypos, but I can’t fucking stand the Pikeys." I’m not 100
per cent sure what that means but I gather that it’s pretty racist, it’s the
funny part of a great story Kate told me, (tells me over and over again, at my
request for its repetition…)
Today is the day that the thoughts were sucked right out of my head before even
i had a chance to rush them to press, or rather: rush them to post. Now
magazine has been watching the same fifth estate and receiving the same e-mail
forwards as me it would appear. in this weeks issue, you can find to topics I
had planned to address being extrapolated on by Janis Cole on page 18 and one
page later by Alan Young. In all fairness, Young is about three years late as
far as I am concerned, cause when i  was in third year I took a queer
theory class, and had to come to the defence of, or up against the same sex
civil union legislation that had been passed in Quebec long before the rest of
Canada had even breathed the words. While Crétien was still puttering about
kissing the nut brown to get the votes he needed and trying hard not to offend
anyone important like those fat cat heteros who for some reason think it’s
their obligation, despite their own corruption to be the moral pulse for our
highly immoral culture, but whatevs… anyways back to queer theory 101 and my
lengthy protest against same sex civil union laws. My main point and one I
still hold strong to today is this: Civil Unions are all good, but opening them
up to include the gays and lesbos is the same as what marriage has meant to
heteros for the last century, it’s too exclusive, the civil union act denies
incestual relationships or polyamorous relationships to the same rights it
extends to conventional 2 people (of the non related variety) relationships.
People think polyamory is so frightening to say nothing of the stigma attached
to incest, even ask a gay (a gay who voted liberal mind you) what she\he thinks
about it, most  cringe a bit don’t they. Polygamy is just a different way
of having a relationship. Unless someone really wants you to be in it with him
or her, what’s the biggie? o.k. So here are my personal suggestions, change the
laws and make specific tax breaks that make sense and are fair game for
polyamorous couples.

And
flat out, inter-sibling relationships; you know for like consenting
adults, what’s the big deal? Birth defects, well I want proof that first
generation incest couples of siblings have higher risk of birth defects than
anybody else.
Much like this posting my paper was somewhat disorganised and littered with
spelling errors. It did despite this manage to convey my point and get me the
ones(points) I needed for the grade I wanted. But that’s so beside the point.
Just like the alleged ‘abortion question’ which president Bush promises to
re-open in the U.S. and Stephen Herpes has in mind to do likewise, the question
I always wanna ask is this: where the hell does anybody get off trying to
control the intimate private lives of people who are not them? Like I’ve said
of the overbearing parents before: you only get to live your own life, your
children are not your property, but your potential allies, you have to let them
choose what they want to be to you.
So I think I’ve managed to make myself even less appealing and sympathetic today,
a incest sympathiser and baby killer. Actually I spoke with a pro-lifer once
who was really persuasive using the whole baby human rights and the ‘right to
live’ angle… but at the end of the day I don’t know if it’s that I don’t
think a fetus is a baby or that I really don’t care, or if I’m flat out
offended that the same political leaders who are willing to send young soldiers
to their death, to kill other people half grown children have any moral ground
to stand on vis a vis the" rights" of the north american fetus. I
know that’s not really fair cause many of the people who are pro-life are also
anti-war, but I still think, mind your own fucking business, and to be
altogether fair, I don’t think that anyone in the world is happily
pro-abortion, I think people are pro choice, no one is ever really thrilled
about having an abortion, just slightly less sad than having to carry a kid to
term and then decide what to do, but also I should note I do think putting your
unwanted kids up for adoption is great, if you can make that decision.
So where does that put me now: I hate a) civil unions exclusive rights for
exclusive couples
b) sensational films made from the real life tragedy of teenage girls and
the people who review them, c) anyone who thinks their opinion belongs in
someone else’s uterus,

d)
Puppies e) oh and PETA remember? I hate PETA as well.
I also have a postscript I totally forgot to include earlier, well 3 actually
1. I think marriage should be eliminated from state law and replaced by civil union,
and if religious people want to have ceremonies that’s all good, but it don’t
mean shit in a court.
2. In Touch says Angelina’s having a girl, us weekly says she’s having a boy,
and apparently star says, she hates being pregnant cause she doesn’t like to
vomit. Yeah me neither, except for when I’ve eaten too much, right Ange?
3. Did anybody else notice last night on the news when Peter Mansbridge noted
under his breath, that something like 10,000 or 20,000 more troops had been
deployed to Afghanistan,  two days after the election, I love it.

B.G.A.

I am not shocked and I’m sure no one in the country really is, but i am disappointed. I had this fantasy that at the last minute all of Canada would decide it was indeed time that we give the NDP their fair shot at running things, you know and that at the last minute we’d see them dominating the race with 200 seats, leaving standing room only for those crusty libcervitives. oh well, i guess i can file that beside my other favourite fantasy which involves me naked on a cardboard box in a damp dark alley surrounded by large men who are not waiting their turns to get what they want from me, in a cacophonous orgy of pulled hair, humiliation and bodily fluids. oh, Canada, look at you…
This like so many federal election before it in Canada, was a snoozer, I’m talkin bore-mutha funk-ing! and not for lack of exciting material. The only thrills we got involved adverts that were "never supposed to make it to air", despite the fact that our new prime minister is about as sinister as Freddy Krueger, and as attractive as a piece of burnt toast.
Last night after we voted Kate Christine and I tuned into CBC for some last minute comic relief courtesy of my boyfriend Rick Mercer, and the 22 minutes kids, one of my favourite lines of the night came right out of Belinda Straunuck or whatever her names is’s mouth when she said she:"[had] suggested that Stephen Harper take a Viagra to live things up, but it got stuck in his throat and all he got was a stiff neck." and later on my other CBC boyfriend the ever fromage prep school educated Evan Solomon, he has no lips but his eyes pierce right into my libido,
ever since he used to have that book show when i was in high school. i wanna give it to evan solomon.  I wonder what it is with me and public broadcasting men, I always had a thing for Urgen Gothe as well didn’t I.  I did however draw a line a jonovision’s jonathan whatever.
anyways. we now have a scary and ugly leader, Paul martin has resigned, only like 6 months too late, Jack Layton is a cute little fellow isn’t he, and Olivia Chow with her rolly w’s and soft r’s. Gilles Ducep, well to be frank I couldn’t give a fuck, I never loved him, never hated him, well not that much relatively speaking. 
I think the next 4 years are going to be a blast, and by blast i mean, I’m applying for VISA’s elswhere starting now.
BGA

I
went to visit my grandmother in Hudson (a small town 45 minutes west of
Montreal) this weekend with my mother. During our 2-day stay we read each other
glossy gossip, talked about the candidates and Stephen Colbert and had dinner
with my aunt. I enjoyed myself particularly because we were few people and I
had very few opportunities to loose my temper (which is almost inevitable when
I visit with the extendeds), my mother unfortunately could not make the same
claim. It turns out that my mom and her sister have a rather tense
relationship. As she explains it the three of them (my mom, her elder sister
and their mother) used to have a very charged relationship, with my aunt taking
an authoritative stance, my grandmother doing as she always is doing which is pretty
much everything and anything that can be done, and my mom passively waiting for
her turn. My mom was the youngest in her family and I get the impression that
she found her sister somewhat domineering (for the record I love all three of
them no question) and sort of took to feeling sorry for herself a bit, until
like ten years ago when she decided enough was enough after living possibly the
worst year of her life (she was teaching visual arts in a trash high school in
Brampton and dealing with my and my sisters teenage antics at home and she’s a
Pisces so she takes the general decline of humanity very personally)

So
in the mid late 90’s well into her forties my mother became a woman, a no
nonsense woman that is. Long story a little shorter, her relationship with said
strong character sister took a big hit when Anne (my mom) stopped being
complacent. Fair enough, but you cant blame other people for the roles you
adopt, that is to say, it sucks that my mom felt invisible as a young person,
but she can’t hold other people accountable for her not having spoken up
sooner.

Power
struggle and petty victories among middle-aged siblings are a death sentence to
what may have been your only potential lifelong relationship. My father and his
only sister have been at odds with my father (and when I say odds I mean my
aunt wont talk to him, and will only tolerate conversations with me for a
duration of no more than 5ive minutes) for well over 4 years. After that much
time what can only be described as rancour, self-righteousness, and outright
jealousy has completely taken the place of what seemed to me as a child to be a
remarkable ‘team spirit’ between the two of them. I’m not eager to see my
mother follow the same path with her sister.

My
father and I discussed these relationship landmines today, each of us
vociferously advocating compassion, restraint, honesty and every other virtue
that Oprah’s been sellin’ for the past ten or so, but I get the impression only
one thing really works… sort it out while you’re still tight. Kate and I had a
little five-year itch last month when things came up and feelings were hurt.
But we both knew that if we wanted to remain friends, friends as we already
have been (without ever faking it), that we would both have to at some point
make the effort; be uncomfortable just to be close. And now it’s in the past.

So
here on Friendster, in the moments I’ve stolen from work…

I
promise, to my sisters Christine and Julie, to always be willing to be your
friend, and to try not to be bossy or vindictive. I promise to, given a
reasonable adjustment period, deal with every argument and listen when you
think I’m freaking out. I also promise not to let the financial status of our
retired parents (when they do retire) become a source of conflict. I will try
my hardest not to feel or act as though I am superior. To accept that I have no
say in whom your respective girl and boyfriends are, and that if you love them
that should be enough for me (we’ll see about that one).

Just
do me a favour, try not to tell me I’m wrong, call me a drama queen or diva (Julie
I’m looking in your direction),  or
remind me I have unrealistic expectations of everyone and their grandma. Pay
lots of attention to me, and never let your children call me ‘uncle.’

BGA
xxox, I love my sisters.

p.s.
the last posting never happened so if you read it, pretend you didn’t. And if we
cross paths avoid direct eye contact.

First she stole
Maddox from Cambodia, then she stole Bard from Jen, then she ripped Zaharah
from the loving embrace of her diseased and impoverished biological mother and
now bitch thinks she can steal anorexia from M.K. and Nicole Ritchie. I hear
that they’re none to pleased to share the share the "biggest danger
to themselves” title with UN ambassadors, let alone one who can up the
anti for the war on fat with her will power for two. Angelina is the only woman
who could look even thinner 5 months pregnant. And yes you read that correctly
Angelina Jolie is 5, i repeat 5 months pregnant (this week) as opposed the
three months pregnant she was last week. You’ve got to hand it to these
Hollywood types, they’re own lives take on the warp speed of a montage to show
personal growth, who else I ask you, can gestate for two months in only four
days?

If you’ve been
keeping track of "the bga", you’ll no doubt remember several entries
regarding the merits of confession in a blog and my personal inability to be
honest… you’ll also remember empty promises for the juicy goods and
subsequent ignorations, well I’m about to do good on all of that missed
humiliation right here right now. None of this wait till tomorrow when I’ve had
a chance to reconsider.
First I should say that my reason for self censorship has everything to do with
a massive fear of people knowing my business and judging me, but Rose says that
these things (blogs) are only good when the reader has some kind of inside on
or emotional investment and the narrator allows for personal humiliation. And
since enough has gone down vis a vis this up until now private part of my life,
for me to have accumulated at least a couple amusing anecdotes, now is surely
the time to come clean…
So my clean bill of health. It’s brand new. For the last 8 or 9 months my
health has been a little nasty at the edges ‘if you know what I mean.’  If
you don’t I will spell it out for you. Last May I found out I had caught a
dirty sex disease, one that I could have had in me without a symptom for as
long as ten years, given my inauguration to dirty sex was in ‘97 it could not
possibly have been more than 9 years old, but really I think it was a baby, I
think it was at most a month old.
It Started off like this. When I was like 19 and even less sexually experienced
than I am now, I started carrying on with this guy who we’ll call: ‘Hal’ for
the sake of anonymity. It was real simple I was young and insecure; he paid
attention to me and really wanted to have sex with me, which was more than enough
for several months. Then I admitted that not only did I not like him all that
much, but that I had a serious chip on my shoulder and thought I was way better
than him, so having sex with him lost all of it’s appeal. we parted ways.
For the next 4 years every now and then we’d run into each other and star
fucking again. no relationship, strictly booty call once a week fuck fests, and
I’ll tell ya, we had some pretty nice chemistry most of the time… there were
of course those moments where the sight of his naked body would make me cringe
and I’d be out the door before he could say: "my turn" but mostly we
felt comfortable with one another and the sex was good.
Last winter after the two of us had ran into one another at some random party
we took up again, and on one ill fated night we were doing it in the back from
at his newly purchased place of business and I noticed/blocked out of my head a
little inconsistency on his skin. When I try to remember, you pull up the image
in my mind I cant see anything, like I made it up, which I accidentally do
sometimes (no seriously, I’ve had to start prefacing my stories with: "I
think this is true, but I might have just invented it…. I’m not sure
anymore"), anyway so I think there was this weird thing near the skin of
his ass, I think, I don’t know, regardless, I stayed pretty far away from
it…I think. I’m including this part of the story for one simple reason,
prevention, for y’all to keep this from being your fate. so if you think maybe
there something weird on your partners body, even if you’re just using them for
sex, take the time have that hard conversation with them, and let them know. So
I went on my merry way. And then like a couple weeks later I feel something
funny, but really small (in my ass hole) and so I’m like ‘oh it must be an
ingrown hair or something disgusting’ you know, cause I get them on my scalp
all the time and they swell and hurt and all that, and cause denial knows no
limits.  Anyways I guess now’s a bit late to say that I had been having
what turned out to be clairvoyant premonitions of my ass becoming a site
for contamination. In late January 2005 I made an appointment with my GP in T
dot cause I was having phantom ass issues, phantom cause I could feel in a
somewhat abstract way that there was something wrong with my cullo. My Dr.
checking it out and she was like all "no, you’re asshole is just fine,
mighty fine if you ask me’ and I was like: "No one did Cheryl so put a lid
on it.” She had blood work done just to be safe, and as far as she concluded
last winter I was a clean boy in good health who needed to give up smoking.
Also to be noted, I have never once in my 9 years of minimal sexual activity
had penetration sex without a condom. O.K so I get back to MTL, from the Dr’s
office and she’s like all you’re healthy but I was still scarred, and to be
frank I have never been a huge proponent of the take it up the bum, I leave
that for Jessica Simpson. Truth be told, I think the idea is real hot, I love
givin the poo stab, but taking it just hurts too damn much, I swear it sounds
like a good idea, but I always end up hating it, so when I started suffering
from anusparanoyus attack of the ass phantom I said a big old N.O. to up the
bum… so chronologically speaking, the moment that i contracted the dirty sex
disease was in fact 8 months after the last time I had even considered a dick
in my shitter (and that lasted a whole minute and a half before I freaked and
was like "get that thing out of me and never, ever, ever do that again."
So after 8 months had passed and ‘Hal’ and I had a regular Monday night date,
things were getting very spicy, infact I would say we were having the best time
together that we’d ever had and I start having vivid dreams/nightmares of Kate
reaching into my ass pointing in and saying (I kid you not) "That’s not
good. I really think you should have that checked out" so I told Julie and
Vanessa about the dream and the potential pimple in my hole and they’re like
"oh, I’m sure it’s nothing go get it checked out” so I do and the
doctor is like oh that’s something, you have a dirty sex disease and no you’re
going to have to come here ever week on your day off so I can look inside your
asshole and  "treat" your disease.
Let me tell you, it was awful. First off when I found out I took it real
dramatic I cried a lot, I told my parents I told my boss. I told my old lover…
well the ones who names I still knew anyways and the I told ‘Hal’ who did a
real good job of making me feel like apiece of shit, needless to say we have
not done the wild thing again (despite his rather persistent efforts) I knew I
wasn’t going to die, but I really wanted someone to be like "oh it’s all
just a big mistake you’ll be fine, it never happened, you never made that
mistake, it’s a big fat ugly lie"
So what I thought would be 2 maybe 3 treatments and then my release into the
wild ended up being a regular weekly date with  a doctor in Montreal, and
a whole new level of hatred for the Québequoi bureaucracy. I basically spent
every single one of my days off in the waiting room at the doctors office, and
then doing my best not to sit down on my poor raw and destroyed anus. Things
only got worse. The disease proliferated spreading up down and INWARDS!!! I
freaked and made an appointment with a specialist in Toronto, I came back had a
little visit with Dr. Byrne (my new favourite doctor) whereupon he seemed
rather optimistic, he treated my insides in his office and sent me packin. Back
in Montreal I continued with more and more aggressive treatment and more and more
subsequent pain. The doctor also gave me a massive list of restrictions I
should try to respect. For instance, do not drink, do not smoke, do not do
drugs, and do not go in the sunshine. I wasn’t exactly a dream patient with
respect to all that but I tell you, when you have an STD and can’t have sex and
it’s late July, you got to do something to numb your senses.
Whatever then comes moving day I am only too happy to leave and I have a
feeling it’s only a matter of time before some doctor in the Big Smoke will
cure me.
I make an appointment to go see my new love Dr. Byrne and he looks up my bum
hole, washes his hands, sits me down and takes hold of my hand and says:
"It’s really bad (i had imagined as much, by this point walking has become
somewhat painful) It’s gotten worse on the outside and consequently so has the
inside…. I think the treatments you were getting in Montreal may have been aggravating
the situation, and now the only feasible option will be to surgically remove
them while you are under general anaesthetic." This is late September. I
begin an aggressive telephone campaign with the surgeon’s office trying to get
myself an appointment to be assessed for surgery. It takes the entire month for
the Doctors office at Mount Sinai to even get in touch with me to schedule an appointment,
which will take place one month later if there is a cancellation, two months
without. so finally sometime in mid December I get an appointment for
assessment and by that time i have had no choice but to be so good to my body…
Murphy’s law, things have gotten considerably less scary down there, in fact it
feels to me like the problem is even less severe now than it was in the
beginning.  So The surgeon takes a look and says "oh that’s not so
bad, I’ll do it in a day surgery next Tuesday, see you then" this only moments
after she has entered the room and mistaken my actual condition with HIV and
given me the scare of a lifetime.
Leading up to surgery there was a lot of, no eating to drinking no smoking and
whatnot. and there was also a caser or two of the crouching surgeon, hidden
intern if you know what i mean. So I end up being examined buy a certain Dr.
Jackson, a certain really cute Dr. Jackson, who i think is probably not much
older than i am, when he tells me I should quit smoking I look into his eyes
and say I will believing that this hollow promise will be enough to change his
mind about the gold wedding band on his ring finger. At first I am apprehensive
when this young attractive almost Doctor asks me to undress from the waist down
(because he’s cute, and because by this time I have had to start wearing panty
liners in order to salvage my already blood stained knickers) but I get over it
by telling myself, ‘if nothing else, this is the first time i have been groped
by a hottie in 8 months’
Tuesday the 19th of December finally arrives and i go in for my surgery. After
sitting buck naked beneath two strategically placed sheets in waiting room full
of geezers for several hours i am escorted to the O.R. where I sign a release
for or some shit like that. This nurse comes up and is all like:” do you understand
the procedure you are about to have?", to which I reply "yes"
"you have not eaten or drank anything in the last 12 hours, is this
correct" again I reply "yes"
and the she gets all sneaky and pulls a " you are aware that Mt. Sinai is
a teaching hospital, and you have no allergies to medication?"
incredulously I blurt out:  "a teach what now?"
Slowly she says it again, "a teaching hospital", I look at her a
little miffed that I’m finding this out minutes before I am to be sliced and
diced. "So basically what you’re saying is there may be a class of
students looking on as the doctor cuts up my anus…. great" with an
empathetic smile she replies "well maybe not, it is so close to the holidays."
Yeah nice try you fucking liar.
So they get me in that O.R. bed, and all I can think is where is Juliana
Margueleis and Noah Wyle, I’m freakin out. The anaesthesiologists are really
sweet and start hookin me up to all that crazy tubing shit and putting suctions
on my chest. The Surgeon (the one who had accidentally told me I had H.I.V.)
re-introduced her self and her companion Dr. Michelle or some shit who was
going to help with the surgery, and I like fine 4 ands are better than 2, and then
I notice the back door of the O.R. opening and like nine scrub clad twenty
something making their way in, and then out of the corner of my now petrified
eye I see Dr. Jackson, WITH SOME OTHER GUY!!, I say a groggy hello to him as
the anaesthetic begins to take effect, and just before I’m out the back door
opens again and more of them pile in…
I wake up suddenly and feel like I have not moved an inch, my arms and head
were all in the exact same position this seems weird to me, as my ass is
killing like a mother fucker, and I can’t figure out was strong enough to roll
me over. They take me to recovery where they give me a perkacet (hello!) and I
proceed to clumsily expose myself in order to obtain some kind of sanitary
napkin to catch the streams of crimson goop coming from my just surgified ass.
I get home, put on Mary J Blige (which I have purchased that morning before I
went to hospital) and lay back with some veronica mars. The next two weeks are
spent constantly changing my panty liner, smoking pot, and eating soup. Oh also
… having never before been constipated I had no idea what I was in for when
my bloody ass went on strike. So like 8 days after my surgical intervention, I
still haven’t pooped and I am so full of it that I cannot eat. What’s more, I
can hardly move either, fearing the worst I start popping those T3’s like
they’re the secret cure, which of course their not, if anything their the
secret aggravation what with all that codeine but you know what’s a story
without a little drama, so day nine I wake up at 6 am in a cold sweat, frantic
and not knowing what’s going on my stomach hurts and I’m afraid to I run to the
bathroom, and well you can just guess. I cried, I moaned, I screamed, I nearly
passed out and when it was done, I practically fell asleep right there on the
toilet.
In the beginning of week two of recovery I was still in a great deal of pain
and was quickly running out of painkillers. I called the hospital to get a
refill in my prescription and who should be on call? none other than Dr.
Jackson himself. So I get him to do the refill, and then I’m like can I ask you
a somewhat unrelated question, he laughed a bit, and I started, "When I
came to after the operation, I felt as though i hadn’t moved… and then when I
thought about it I wondered about all the apparatus attached to me and all, and
I just wanted to know how my body was manoeuvred." This time his
laugh was even more nervous, he replied "Well, it didn’t feel like you had
moved at all cause you didn’t really, when we put you out, we lifted you legs
in the air, while they were up we did the surgery and then before bringing you
back we lowered your feet." the thought of this creeped me out enormously
and I said "Dear god! Well that must have been nice" and left it at
that, thanks for the pills doc see ya!
Anyway so the epilogue to this tale is that yesterday I went to the hospital to
have my final meeting with the surgeon and have her look up my ass. She gave me
a clean bill of health and said I can resume bum sex as soon as I want, and it:"shouldn’t
be painful" which I corrected "shouldn’t be more painful than
before" to her amusement. I was glad to see her smile. Actually that’s a
big fat lie, this cunt not only scarred me into thinking I had HIV, then pulled
a fast one by inviting all of her students to watch me do a floor show that
would make a stripper blush, and who then in my final appointment, that has
been scheduled one month in advance the fucking woman can’t even be on top of
her shit to at least have brought her own surgical report on my operation, and
when I start asking her the questions I have compiled to try and keep as safe
as possible the women cannot even answer me. Good one Doc. I wanted to see her
get embarrassed at being so unprepared, instead she made me feel bad for having
needed a surgery in the first place.

Which just goes to show, DO NOT VOTE FOR THE PROGRESSIVE
CONCERVATIVE PARTY, THEY WILL FURTHUR DESTROY HEALTH CARE!!!!!! Vote NDP just
for me, k?
bga, p.s. this stays between me and you…. and you, and you and you……..

Apparently DJ AM and I have a lot in common: we both love attention, we both love music, we both used to be fat and are now thin (by suspect means albeit) with stretchy skin from our former obesity, and most importantly we both think Nicole Richie is going to die…. soon. It seems he’s been begging her to pull it together and give up her obsession with emaciation, nose candy and paparazzi shots with laxatives in paper coffee cups. Well Adam, I wont say I told you so, but if you read my blog from 2 days ago you’ll see, i totally told you so. Good luck with operation save inexplicably famous rich girl who has everything except an appetite.

So controversy has been swirling around the sponsored adverts for the upcomming Canadian Election, and i have two things to say, first: Finally! second: Though i certainly will not be voting Liberal (NDP get’s my $1.50) I LOVED the add that sent mouths flapping. I think the best part about this whole advert freak out is that it gives a negative slant on the political platforms of the conservative party, and Stephen Harper in particular… I hate Harper but that’s not why I love this… Canadian dirty politics involves being honest about a candidate’s foreign relations. not their illegitimate children, or the manslaughter they accidentally committed during a hazing ritual in military college. And of course Harper who paved the ground, or tore it up rather, for mud slinging with his own parties nasty ads, not to mention his inability to keep focus off of the Liberal scandals, no one could forget even if they tried, in the debates (We wanted to hear affirmations about your politics, not the inane rantings of a jealous child! we all know the liberals are shit sucking losers.)
Anyways when all of the things the Liberals and NDP and Bloc keep warning us about in the Conservative party come true, I’ll send all of you first time Conservative voters a bill for my ticket outta here, deal?

Also, have i ever mentioned how much i love Vincent Gallo?  O.k. so i found brown bunny way too boring to watch and totally skipped to the cook sook, but i mean at least he put the cock, and the suck in it, and cast chloe sevigny in her most believable role yet.  I had visited his web site a while back, i wanted to find out what his photography looked like… of course that whole part of the site is "under construction" what is not, however, under construction, as page 6 points out is Gallo’s gift shop where among other things Vincent has put a price on his seed. Yes, seed, cream from the main vein! but not to black people…. page six says it way funnier than me here’s the link. The Jew part is my favourite.

and in  the snap snap "Oh no she di’ent!" news, both Hillary Clinton and the mayor of New Orleans are certafiably outta their respective minds. Last night John Stewart and the Colbert Report both pointed out the crazy shit these two were talkin on Martin Luther King Jr. Day.
We’ll start with Hillary cause i still cant even belive that a potential candidate for the presidency would even… so she’s giving a speech and she full on busts a , and i quote: "the way the House of Representatives has been run, it has been run like a plantation. (dramatic pause) and you know what I’m talking about."   
because it’s not exactly evident and i heard the accompanying sound bite like 5 times yesterday i will guide you in the intonation… so start off like this, Hillary has a nasaly soutthern voice thang going on, so try it with a bit of a drawl.. o.k now when you get to the last part: "and you know what i’m talkin about!"  imagine Claire Huxtable commisserating with Cliff over the misadventures of one of their children, while wagging her index finger.  Goerge Bush doesnt care about Black people, and Hillary Clinton knows all about workin on the plantation. good one Hill. One of her advisors ought to tell her that the old addage " When in Rome.." does not apply to speeches made from the pulpitt of a baptist church. Hill’s point was a good one, views and opinions contrary to those of the governing party (you know who) are being squashed before they see the light of day in the hose of repps… there is no room for criticism, which is, you know true, but save the "and you know what i’m talkin about"’s for TLR.
Crazy New Orleans Mayor claims God is punishing Americans for among other things the war on Iraq, he also said that New Olreans ought to be rebuilt as a "chocolate city." The idea of course, is that God wants New Orleans to be a chocolate city, and was none too thrilled by the vanilla icing. Hasn’t God ever had Vienetta?
"How come no one was ready to deal with Katrina?" How about the fact that the elected leaders are MORONS!

This afternoon is my final post surgical assessment, so cross your fingers i get a clean bill of health and some lube.
BGA

I didn’t watch the golden globes last night, cause really who gives a shit…  but if you really want to know what happened this is what i have gleaned from other blogs… 1. it was long and boring. 2. teri hatcher is a sleezy lady, who likes to attend formals comando, so when it comes time for a boozed up fondle-a-thon backstage she’s ready at a moments notice. 3. Sandra Oh, used to be this sweet cute sincere canadian actress, who chose good parts and seemed down to earth (double happiness anyone?), Now she’s been living in L.A. for like a decade and she’s lost all of her body fat, and gets hysterical at the drop of a hat, in fact thats kinda the role she plays now isnt it, "quirky aisian best friend, prone to inexplicable outbursts of freakish enthusiasm" 4. I didn’t see any of the movies in question, 5. Scarlette "Bloddy Cunt"  Johanson is an asshole. 6. According to Kate, Guinky Poutrow has made another red carpet mistake (remeber that hidious pink princess Ralph Lauren Oscars contraption?… well apparently this is equally bad, and she looks like a lard ass. 7. George Clooney is apparently a) a drunk, & b) a fun drunk. 8. Drew Barrymore has huge tits 9. Celebrities are more interesting when there’s an open bar. 9. The Oscars are going to be boring.

I know Tuesday is the wrong time to start talkin about last weekend but i used monday (the 16th of January) As my New Years resolution day, so Tuesday is as good a time as any to talk about last thursday… poor mans friday. Last Thursday my friend Edward (see my friend list… there’s only one Edward) was in town for two nights, taking time off from his busy schedule as Rachel McAdams and Ryan Gosslings personal food tester. Edward had expressed an interest in beeing around the gays in Toronto, aparently Hamilton’s gay scene isnt all that, and he figured what with me being a gay in the city, I would know where to find them. And of course i know where to find them but so does any preschooler from the GTA, I am just worried that like a preschooler I don’t really understand what it all means. I moved back to Toronto in September. I’ve been going out on average once a week usually with kate to some kind of dance party in our neighbourhood. I have never been the only gay in bar when we’ve gone out, that is to say: gays make their way.
So September to January is like 4 monthes and change, and i’ve been dancing on the same dance floor as the other fagalags stealing ocassional glances and whathaveyou, but I still only know the names of people I knew when i first moved here. This sucks for two reasons, it’s gotten me nowhere with the boys… and I have totally lost my new gay in town novelty and just become (to those few who take notice) that guy who shows up but doesnt talk to anyone.
Edward wanted to talk to men, get some attention, pay some attention, and hopefully finish the night with someone elses dick in his hand. I wanted to stay home so i figured Woody’s would be a great place to go.  Something about Woody’s or anywhere that’s that cruisy makes me feel on edge, not because i have some kind of moral issue, in fact I’m probably more jealous than anything, but everytime i end up in a cruise bar i feel like my presence is telling a lie. Maybe having a lesbian elder sister has taught me about discretion amoung sexual partners and the dangers of the fishbowl effect, or maybe i was just born an outright pussy, somewhere along the line i started to feel like making eye contact or conversation with someone in that kind of environment might as well be a promise for sex… oh shit, i sound so naive dont i, which is maybe the most dispicable of all human traits , I’m having a flash back of one of the first times i went to club stud in Montreal, with my then roomate Bruno, we were there for like ten minutes when some french guy in a muscle tank (and yes he was filling it out to the max) smiled at me. I smiled back and litteraly the next thing i knew hes was toungue kissing me with his mamouth hand down the back of my pants. I clumsily mumbled something that would translate roughly to "This is not my taste" and ran home. O.k. so i’m no dummy I realize that one may expect that kind of a story to come from a teenager (I was 20) and even my retisence towards public pic ups if i were some young dumb thing. but I’m nearly 25 and apparently i’m terrified of strangers.
Case in point, at woodys on thursday there was this guy, I’d never really seen him before but he seemed familiar from somewhere, and apparently he was thinkin the same. So rather than be a big boy and take the attention as just that and maybe even engage in a conversation i freaked out, i fixed my sights on a spot on the wall and avoided eye contact at all costs. I guess i’m not as stealth as the voice in my head would have me believe, cause he didn’t seem too impressed with my juvenile routine. Had he known however that he was not alone on thursday that i had ignored every man, and that i even had trouble maintaining real eye contact with edward than maybe he might not have hated me so much when i saw him again on friday.
Friday night was Sports Pig at the Bright Pearl, Anna VF organises these parties i think bi-weekly? i dunno, but i’ll tell you she throws a pretty fun party, The crowd and venu were good for this last party, unfortunately as was discussed yesterday K-Os mistook himself for a DJ and fucked up the nights musical selections, I’m talking stoppin and startin, musical A.D.D, and then of course it’s lazy cousin Playthetrack Tillitends, and the unforgivable, play the exact same track twice an hour and a half apart. The songs he selected were new and old, but even the new was pretty old. and the old wasnt like really cool ecclectic stuff that is like: "OMG, what the hell is this," more like: "I am so used to that song it had might as well be 1986."
Anyways a good party and shit music. So the guy from woodys showes up, and i’m like mental note, be nice, casue i had felt sort of guilty for outright ignoring him. and when he passes near i try a slight smile. It was either too slight or too late cause he was not havin it, and when he passed by later on Kate was like "do you know that guy? cause it seems like he’s mad atchu."  I felt like a self important creep, the way "bloody cunt" must feel everytime she looks in the mirror, just like "what? you think you’re so godamn special? you think any of those people give a shit?"
This was all compounded by the ‘Object of My Paranioa’, a.k.a. that guy from h&m a.k.a. shut up he’s looking over here…. blah blah blah. So since october I was convinced O.M.P. was a hater, more recently Kate has told me she thinks i am seriously Paranoid, and that he certainly was not a hater at all. so I tried on Friday to show some love, I was like it’s january, time to be friendly, after all I cant be the new guy forever…  and i find an extra drink ticket in my pocket as I’m leaving so i head in his direction and sheepishly ask "Does anyone want a drink ticket, I’m outta here"  no reaction, he doesn’t even raise his gaze to see me speak, his heterosexual conversation companion, an old aquaintance from montreal however is overjoyed at the prospect of a free drink so he accepts my offer, and i swear he comes to take the ticket from my hand and O.M.P. doesnt even look up once, so it’s official, i have squandered my new person caché, my youth and  lord knows what else for my oversensitive pride. Oh yeah, and I’m officially going grey.
Being nice from the getgo seems like the only mature thing to do, and if i really want to become a slut like i said, i should be less scarred of strangers who look at me that way.
If you happen to know someone who i’ve ignored or been evasive to, tell them I didn’t mean it.
BGA.

ney
Who should be hurt, who should be blamed? I am now the same age Aaliyah was when she died, i think. My future is still entirely an abstract concept that promises, sort of, to pass.  On that note I want to make some New Years resolutions. you know, i need to grow and I aint never been a huge fan of abstraction in the first place. Normally i dont make New Years resolutions, I guess i always felt, if you really wanted to change things in your life waiting until New years to do it was a shit idea… also that resolutions were this sort of hollow traditional promise to be better, knowing full well you’ll never be.
But this year resolve is the name of the game, I am 24 soon to be 25 and if Leah Mclaren can have a weekly editorial in the saturday globe, i can afford to have ambition.
First resolution and perhaps the most pertinent, I resolve to be on time, early if i can, but never late. for instance i will make my resolutions for 2007 before next January 2nd. I will dream of meetings with Vanessa to keep myself on track, tardiness is above all a lack of respect.
My second resolution is to be more open…. that is to be a) up front and b) less afraid. This is a biggie, particularly to you my dear blog reader as this will enable you to get to know a whole other level of my dilussion. and to any of the boys who wanna talk ( you can reap the full benefits of this resolve by reding the next blog i post which will feature an anecdote about me being to paranoid to talk to some boy and his ensuing rath)
My third resolution is to never, ever let K-os D.J. again… if I can…. It’s real simple, K-os is a good MC, his songs are fun and cute and relatively ecclectic, his mixing however, not so much.
4rth resolution and the one that will aside from #2 surely give me the most stress I will quit smoking  cigarettes. real simple. I started when i was 14, cause i was fat and i thought smoking would help me make friends at my new school. It worked like a charm and now my popular lungs are black.
my fifth resolution is to completely wipe out any oustanding debt and start an RRSP or some shit, like i said, I’ll be 25 in August, somethings got to give.
my sixth and final resolution is to live up to my slut potential, It seems i can talk the talk, but my walk is sadly lacking, like the notches on my bed post. So slut it up is the name of the game…. in fact i’ll toss all of those other ones just for this…  I’ll show up late, making up excuses for myself, afraid of being honnest about my tardiness, say hi to K-os in his B-boy stance behind the decks,  exhale furitively, the smoke of my freshly lit cigarette. Dodge calls from the collection agaents on my $5000 diamond encrusted cellphone, and get greased up and into position for a 20 man gangbang! happy new years!

Normally at years end i make predictions, but this year we switched to resolutions following a  prediction I made that Vanessa’s youngest brother would be licking dick by the years end… before i could tell her that the second half of that prediction was that I would spend the next 6 monthes plying him and inviting him to my place so i could show him "What life has to offer" Obviously Vanessas little brother is way too young for me, maybe, and not even for sure gay… although the bum rush he put on me at his cousins wedding was enough to have me convinced… whatever, it’s in Gods hands now isnt it. 
my other predictions involved me getting rid of a few pesky pounds through dehydration and regaining them in the first 2 seconds of a compulsive eating binge. I also predict Katie Holms will realize what a fucking mess she’s made of her life after it’s too late which is really any time now and try to revive her career alongside James Van Derbeek and Joshua Jackson in the big screen adaptation of the story that launched their ill fated careers Dawsons Creek; a home at the end of the lane. A touching story about how Joey, Dawson and Pacey, once and for all, resolve thier love triangle by having a threeway relationship and lots of babies.  Katie Holmes and Joshua Jackson will both momentarily feel their careers heat up only to once again become hollywood punchlines, James Van Derbeek will realize the full potential of his gay fans and cash in by playing Colin Farrells lover: a young writer who can’t seem to keep his pencil to the page and has affairs all over the place. He will helm a star studded cast including the likes of Vin Diesel, Russel Crow, Matt Damon, Rob Lowe and Simon Rex. I will forget this movie came out and opt to see the 19th intallment of Harry Potter the Harlot of Raskaban, instead when i go the the multiplex.
Sienna Miller will become even more annoying than she already is. She will continue to copy Kate Moss’ style and try to act as though it’s hers, which will inspire Mossy’s new BFF %100 Lindsay Lohan to spread viscious rumours and tag bathroom stalls across North America and Europe LiLo’s actions will spark an out and out war amoung the glittery drug addeled starletts, the line coming right down between the self important (Sienna, Scarlette,Jessica Alba, Paris…) and the actual cool ones (Lindsay, Mischa, Kate) The war will reach a pivotal turning point when a difference in opinion causes a rift between the Olsens who fall on seperate sides of the war (you know which side Mary Kate ends up on) at which point Meryl Streep, Susan Sarandon and Sally Field interveen and try to show these girls how to get along. All the while Meryl’s eldest son and aspiring documentary film maker will document and chronicle his mothers efforts with the troubled actresses. He will win countless accolades for his presentation of: Mean Gilrs 2; the bitch has bite. He will also marry MK Olsen, they will be happy.
I also predict that Nicole Ritchie will have a minor accident like a stubbed toe or hangnail, which will lead to a huge medical scare, a.k.a she stubbs her toe, the stress on her frail body sends her into cardiac arrest. either that or she’ll die of starvation.
and last but not least i predict that Dov Charney will hear the sound of his own voice being interviewed and will barf to death.
here’s to hopin’
BGA

Happy
New Year dear reader, I hope your holiday, if indeed you got one, was nice.

I
spent the those two weeks bleeding out the ass for a slow paced recovery,
catching up on things like O.C. season two, not nearly enough lesbo action,
Project Runway 1, again… not near enough lesbo action. And cinematic
masterpieces like TROY, not enough lesbo action.

I spent a lot of my convalescence day dreaming of my
un-sick body and cursing people under and over my breath. My bitterness and
spite seemed at the time like just what I needed to save my blog, which was
dangerously close to becoming a boring waste of time, I had titles like: “Walk
right stand left, you fucking cunt!”, “Santa who? It’s time to ditch the creepy
old middleman”, “How a twelve dollar bottle of red can ruin a $10,000 carpet”
and the list goes on… I was wrong. The
thing I really needed to save my blog was an Internet connection. It seems that
my household has been able to sustain itself on a pirated connection via
wireless, and when our only non- password protected neighbour left on vacation
we were cut off. So as the story goes I lost the ideas and spent more time
reflecting and was ready to through in the keyboard and sarcasm.

But
then this morning on Page 6 something so big happened I ad no choice but to
postpone giving up.

So
just a bit more preface before I get to the gory deets. So despite my many
character flaws there are a couple redeeming qualities I can be proud of and
one of them is what you are all about to witness. If and when I am wrong, I
will admit it and re-asses my position on any given thing, for instance, I can
now admit that Sienna Miller isn’t ugly, I just hate her. I am also easily persuaded, Julie and Kate
call me a Fairweather Fan, I say I don’t hold a grudge. That in mind…. Here it
comes, double whammy time

Confession
from a fair-weather fan, I like Lindsay Lohan again sort of… I don’t hate her,
I don’t know if it’s the drugs or the eating disorder but she’s managed to
squeeze that skeletal frame of hers back into my heart somehow.

Second
and this is a biggie, So you may recall a Private Karl Lagerfeld Fashion show
where an Olsen made an ass of herself and Blohan was suspected to have been
made the new face of Channel (taking up where Kate Moss’ cancelled contract
left off) there where also rumours of the Blohanna and Ms. Moss being new BFFs
and of Lindsay gleaning style tips of Kate, I scoffed at the notion that Kate
moss would even know who Lilo was….

Evidently
I was wrong, so now as I set the record straight

1. Lindsay
Lohan will appear in several print adds for Channel.

2. Kate
Moss and Lindsay Lohan have been spotted together repeatedly and are apparently
new BFFs

3. Last
night after partying it up in NYC Blohan and Mossy went into Scores, a strip
club I had only heard of before cause it’s a favourite of Ben Affleck’s.

4. They
sat in the champagne room consuming loads of shots and other fancy expensive
starlet drinks, and then!!!!!! Kate gets up on stage in front of 400 leering
stripper fans and starts to rub her cooter on the brass rail… Wait it’s not
over… LiLo jumps on stage to join her bosom buddy as they gyrate in unison on
the pole and hold one another at the waist and proceed to gently kiss and
caress for the patrons enjoyment… I shit you not follow the link. Page 6 mutha
fucka

Also, we can thank the dedicated staff of 25 white people and one P.O.C. (person of colour) at Gawker media for this juicy piece of info… The night prior to Lilo and Kate Pussy Party they went to a bar called Dark room, also in NYC, and apparently at one point Lindsay, on one of her many trips to the bathroom asked the other ladies in line for a stall whether anyone had a sharpie, a girl named jenny did and Lindsay proceeded to write "Scarlette is a bloody cunt!, L, peace and love (something they couldn’t make out) Fucker!"
I’ve gotta hand it to her, Lindsay is smart enopugh to know that writing about paris or an olsen or any other of the teen girls would be typical and expected, but involving someone as condescending and self important as Scarlette ‘bloody cunt’ Johanssen is rad to the max,  so between befriending theworlds most stylish woman and giving that bloated big tit loser a new knick name, one has no choice but to aknowledge that team Blohan is in the lead with 2 points.

So I
guess I’m back in business by default. Maybe.

BGA