An over due letter.

Behind the curtain it's different. It's obvious to the rest of us; you feel undeserving of all the attention you get-and still, you continue to perform for it. You'd think after all of these years, all of the characters you've become, you would have realized your real disadvantage. Not only your willingness, but your obsession to 'give'. That is not to suggest that you haven't been accused of expecting much in return... Love. And a lot of it.

Seems to me there is no point in resisting, years of smoke and mirrors and distracting have added up. Trying to protect yourself by behaving one way or another ran wild. Though a man with a large vocabulary, vast knowledge of trends and pop culture and a cut throat, witty quip slinging demeanor- emotionally, you are still a terrified teenager, not even much more than a child.

How annoying that you don't get always get your way? How disturbing that all of your methods of persuasion don't always pay off? How discredited and unsexy you can feel based on the opinion or review of another?

Once in a while someone will ask "did he really just say that?"... we both know the answer... 'of course.' Your ability to come up with something to say could only be rivaled by stand up comedians, but when it comes down to how you truly feel, that's off limits. You will gladly write about your crazy nights on the town, what's grinding your gears at that moment in time and how you feel horrible about the end of something in your life. But when you are really down for the count, all you can do is apologize. "Sorry I am late, sorry I didn't make it today, sorry I missed your call". Sorry you spent the day between laying in bed covering your eyes and stumbling back and forth to fill your water glass?

After a medical attention appropriate anxiety attack several days ago, you might start to investigate your options for escape. Just as a country encouraged to separate state and church, personally you must separate yourself from 'the show', and find a creative outlet a bit smaller than the lives of people around you and yourself.

What if everyone knew about the dozens of sleepless nights, waiting for a responding text message to cuddle up to? Springing from bed making sure the Britta had been refilled, the garbage was emptied, your ipod was charging, your work clothes were laid out on the couch, the patio door is secured, all of the dishes are hidden, the ashtray is empty, the plants have been watered, ensuring the guest bathroom is fully stocked, the humidifier is full... and that's just the shit you think about while trying to ignore the real issues. One day after completing all of the tasks, hoping you would be able to finally fall asleep, you fainted. lucky this time that you only hurt your nose and bled for a while. Lucky you weren't unconscious for longer, hopeful that it isn't too late to deal with an anxiety disorder.

They are gonna offer you advice, medication and suggestions on what to 'let go' of. You might learn to forgive not only the people in your midst that have hurt you, but yourself for not only allowing it, but encouraging it. You don''t always rush in with elaborately planned encounters full of candlelight, romantic dinners and designed moments of intimacy. Yet, here you go again. Once more accused of putting someone so undeserving ahead of yourself. Take a look at what's happened on account of your inventions, creations and productions. Take a look in the mirror, wonder why look so tired? Do you ever wonder why you seize up the moment you allow yourself to slip into a memory? Ever asked yourself if you have not only given enough, but your all in vain? Step back, superstar...you're starting to fade.

Ps. You'll never save someone else if you haven't saved yourself. If someone doesn't believe in happily ever after, they won't see it with you. Your audience still awaits, are you afraid you will only disappoint them?

PPS, your work clothes are ironed and waiting for your Christmas Eve day shift.

Baby, it's Cold Outside.

Sixty hour work weeks, unsuccessful gift purchasing, mint tea, children chewing on their mittens at zoolights and copious excuses to have another glass of red wine- tis the season.
Riding out this rollercoaster of a year has been exhausting. I have full intentions of abandoning my seat come the new year. There's a lot of changes going on, everywhere I look. I don't know why I am so frightened of change. I behave asthough I am always bored with the status quo.

When Christmas comes around I want to see distant family members, drink hot chocolate with that special someone... and feel like I am at "home". Here's Hoping.

the affair is over.

Ignoring my journal and forgetting all about this outlet. I feel like I have to give myself permission to express myself. I am afraid of saying too much. Please Stand By.

Table for two

I have always been skeptical of people. Always assumed that they were hiding something, pretending to be someone or distracting from what they actually are. Working in business that is hospitality is a constant reminder of the fact that nothing is what it seems. The typical restaurant is just a smaller version of all of those escapes created and beautifully marketed by Disney.

The seats, the floor plan, the characters and costumes. The way the lights hit certain areas and cast showdows on others. The first person you see, the last person you remember talking to. It's all part of the beautiful veneer of dining out.

Expensive wine, pretty girls, and steak with all the trimmings. Comfortable chairs, forgiving lighting and a font that makes you think you understand what the menu is offering. The bartenders pretend to give a damn about who you are waiting for, what you are going through and your idea of the perfect cocktail. The hostess pretends that she cares about where you want to sit, who is joining the party soon and that you'd rather 'hold on' to your jacket; not check it.

Your waiter hates you. Trust me. You can make friends with them, tell them that they remind them of your son/nephew/grandchild... it doesn't matter. They know what you are here for, and you are just buttering them up. Thankfully, this approach goes both ways. I let you believe I am the least bit concerned about your fake allergies when I know you are just watching your weight and making a bigger deal about it. I play along with the fact that you are your fourth highball, bottle of shiraz on the way... after all, you deserve it. I allow you to think I am actually taking care of you, when we both know it's an illusion. I put my two cents in, and expect twenty percent in return.

the thirty minutes before work

I could run another bath, i could smoke a few more cigarettes. I could listen to more sad music, I could find myself in an emily haines ballad. I could call you, and wait for you to answer, knowing you probably wont. I could do another load of laundry, I could start writing you another letter; only to throw it in the pile of the others left unsent. I could call my mother, but I don't want to hear about another failed relationship. I could finally start to cry, but my eyes would be red and puffy on the bus. I could do some banking, but I know there is nowhere I want to put my money right now. I could look for a new place to live, but I don't know who I am anymore, or where I'd want to be. I could pretend that I am doing 'fine'... and trick everyone else into believing it too. I can distract and dismay with my humour, interject with some witty quip about something. I can make sure my hair looks presentable, I could try to figure out why I am in need of so much caffiene just to get through the day, why I am a zombie stummbling to the coffee pot..... back and forth, back and forth... waiting for the telephone to ring... it won't.

after a year like this one

After a year like this one
I'm surprised I do not hate your guts
And after a year like this one
I'm surprised I still love music just as much
After a year like this one
I'm surprised I did not eat my young
After a year like this one
I'm sorry if I'm not cordial to everyone
After a year like this one
I'm surprised I'm convinced at all
And after a year like this one
I do not roll my eyes at the synagogue
After a year like this one
I can't help but wonder how they've been
And after a year like this one
I think I'll lease it all to my next of kin
After a year like this one
I'm surprised we're not all bleeping drunks
And after I realized this one
I want you to choose the restaurant
And after a year like this one
I'll need a good whole sixteen months alone
After a year like this one
I think I'll make the west coast beaches my new home

SECOND TO nONE

I didn't want it to be over, but I knew it was. The sound of his voice, the smell of his skin, late night adventures around the neighbourhood, moments by candlelight had all been halted.

Maybe I will someday find someone who appreciates my desire to build a life together, who won't bounce at the sign of trouble and understand the basic foundation of a relationship, and it kills me that this person isn't you. A resident of reality who understands the power of emotions and knows what meeting halfway means. Perhaps, one day you will be able to reintroduce yourself. Maybe you will become a tax paying, vote casting member of society who says "hello" to passersby on a sunny afternoon stroll. Good luck with your studies, don't give up on that too. Take your time with your baby steps, just don't be surprised when it feels impossible to "catch up" on other things.

Sometimes, it just is.


I'll miss ya mister.

turkey day reflections

I didn't have the usual turkey dinner this year. Though, on the drive back to my place with my mother, an exhausted positive outlook and a deli chicken I thought it was just as good. The separation on the parental units is still something chipping away at me when I stop worrying about something else.

Every one's away for the weekend;the artist is up north visiting family and the starlet is spending the long weekend on the island with her kid sister. Mr Brooks returns from Peru tomorrow at some point, and the boyfriend, well it's hard to really know where he is.

Distance has a funny way of showing up when I least need it.

I have started looking around at apartments back down in the core, excited to once again start fresh. Three years in this house, and I had a lot to be thankful for. The parties, all of them. Hollywood, Studio 54, Hero's & Villains, and the Emergency Room. The various roommates with handfuls of compassion, hilarity and annoyances. All of the big family dinners, with a sense of purpose and expression. The late night bottles of wine and a joint. The moonlit adventures in the surrounding playground. All of it... all of these things. It was an era, but I am ready to slow it down, back to the fundamentals for me.

Still, I would have fancied a piece of homemade pumpkin pie.

for all the sheep i quit counting...

I have been having trouble sleeping lately. Some days felt like the whole world was on my case. My dreams were suspended, and it was as though I had forgotten all that I had made of myself.
Bouncing between uncertain reality, fantasy and a list of what ifs--I was a mess.
When you start to boil yourself down, it can quicky turn into a downward self-depricating swirl down the drain. I exhausted myself, and was on the verge of a total self destruction. I recognized all of the signs, I had been there before.

Fuck You Rev O

Well, well.
If the saint of the modern day collesium hasn't struck again.

This time she and John Travolta closet case are abducting three-hundred people to Austraila (the country of convicts).
With only one season left to infiltrate every living room in North America with "The Oprah Winfrey Show", the cult leader of Harpo Productions is surely pulling out all the stops.

If being President Obama's backbone wasn't enough, now she is attempting to be an international ambassador... just waiting for the crazy bitch to announce her intentions to become the first female president of the America. Expect it.

if you really knew me 6.0

If you really knew me, you'd know;

-I don't enjoy scary movies, but have cringed and closed my eyes to appease the mister.

-I am once again in the middle of a big change.

-I often wonder if my house is haunted.

-I drink eight glasses of water a day. (still from the water bottle that came to me by way of a moonlight requisition at a reception)

-I am planning a chili cook off against the roomie. (she has no idea)

-I am wondering what's next?

-I recently visited Vancouver Island and fell in love. (again)

-I have come to terms that I really have no idea why I am here. (in front of this computer, in Calgary, in Canada, on this planet)

-I wonder if the marijuana has anything to do with my panic

-I have learned how to rebuild my own computer (thanks to a partner in crime)

-I feel like feeding my appetite for vengeance.

-I recognize the tenancy of that requiring an "I do what I want" campaign, and promise to tone it down.

-I am used to being told to tone it down about one thing of another.

-I often wonder about a lot of people lately, and feel a letter writing storm on the horizon.

-I am currently more concerned with who will show up at the VMAs this year than who will be voted the next mayor of this godforsaken city.

-Last night, I had a terrifying dream involving a mermaid, being forced to quit smoking and a burlesque girl.

The breakup

After dealing with one of the dumbest, most senseless, insecure excuse for a woman for six months; it's over. To say I was asked to leave would be a lie, the hatred was immediate and thoughts of vengeance raced through my mind hours prior. The relationship had soured sometime in May. Could it be explained by her inability to listen? She stopped returning phone calls and texts, ignoring emails and disappearing before I arrived. She is a manipulative liar; her twelve years my senior left a dozen birthday wishes for her to finally lose her conscience. I guess at 38, the wish came true.

The starlet once told me "even if you can see the train coming, it still hurts when it hits ya"; and she was right.

I knew for a few months that there was a case being built against me. I had already come to terms with fact that she wanted more control and I was in her way. Her motives were obvious, ever since she was caught hiding facts about the sale of the business. Her lies were spread around the room combined with fake smiles, less than charming words of support and backstabbing manipulations. She had everything that she wanted, but she needed more. Inept decisions, emotionally driven desperate grasps at success and a very obvious premature midlife crisis were her legacy thus far.

In any case, it stung; it really did. I left for vacation the morning after the axe, and pushed aside the feeling of banishment. I have just begun to look back on it all, knowing I should look forward.

So, what's next Mr. Duncan? What's next...

13.5 hrs

What a fucking shit-show!
After tossing and turning all night, afriad to be late for work I made it with two minutes to spare on only four hours of sleep. First thing's first, coffee.
If only. Instead I notice that the gate is already unlocked, "who the fuck is already here?" I groggily make my way into the restaurant only to find the middleaged HDAD riddled mess of a floor manager frantically rushing around trying to install a new phone sysetem. "Where the fuck did I put my flashlight?" he asks me, as if I could give a damn.
I arrived early to receive a delivery that didn't show up for another two hours. I decided to have a cup of that water dressed in black; no cream or sugar. That morning cigarette did feel like a tiny victory over my spinning head, racing heart and troubled existance.

Things could have been normal, until the mechanic rolls up. He was there to check out the problematic hot water heater.... after I had to google the "literature" that should have came with the "equiptment" I noticed that one of the troubleshoots was checking to see if it was set to the right elevation. Apparently I wasn't the only robot in the place that longed to be on the West Coast.

I had finally gotten one of the two phone lines to work after McGiver left the building, and the lunch rush hit. Table after table of stuck up women 'out for lunch with a girlfriend' strolled in, horrible patterned shawls and jackets alike. Everything was typical, until it was time for the entire establishment to decided they would like to settle their bills at once. 'Communication error, please call' reads both of the portable debit and credit terminals. "Oh, you've got to kidding me?" I say to my morning dream team. After having to explain to several guests who even suggested they would have to leave an IOU as payment that they would need to go to the ATM across the street in order to pay, I felt vindicated, we had survived another mechanical malfunction.

The day began to run smoothely, the remaining waitress made no fuss about having to pick up all of the tables while I ran around calling our plastic paytment providers. She didn't even seem to mind that she would be covering the floor while I was in a meeting with a liquor rep and boss lady. The meeting went as expected, a few really awesome ideas for the upcoming weeks, and a promise of more advertising materials. Just as things were calming down the horrid sound of the the bell ringing against the flung open front door signaled an incoming attack of the lesser kind. The beer rep.

Tall and wirey, a man I would find hard to trust. He attempted some smooth talk about why he, once again, couldn't pull through on a promise. Boss Lady was having none of it. No sooner had he begun his latest installment of excuses and beating around bushes was he gone.

All of this was topped off by a very interesting private birthday, a dad who decided it was ok to change his daughter (or effeminate son's) diaper on a table and the realization that we were out of co2. After the final table of campers, who, by the way, had remained under attack by harsh above lighting and mosquitoes had left, I was all but ready to drink a bottle of tequilla. I mustered the strength to climb the fourteen stairs to paradise to order an old favourite, "double jack and coke please." I sipped this forgotten security blanket of a cocktail, and said a few quick "hellos."

Eventually, I made my way to the street to hire a cab home. Thankfully, he knew the way. I decided not to see the boy tonight. Though things are going well, and we are back together, I didn't think it was a good idea to reintroduce him to tired, irritated and emotionally exhausted me. I exited the cab, climbed a few more stairs to the porch and was greeted by two intoxicated roommates right after I pushed the kety into the door.

The new bed looks comfortable, and I fear that after a day like this one, I could use a solid fourteen hours alone, pipe in hand.

Heartache and The Renegade Wheat Ale

I have been here before. The cloud of cigarette smoke swirling around my head, Emily Haines purring over the speakers and the rhythmic clicking of buttons as my fingers enter words to describe the emotions racing through my head.
Heartbroken, head spinning, stomach turning, eyes swollen and red from uncontrollable tears and a mind full of memories I am trying to forget.
It's hard to imagine how it all went wrong, but one thing is for sure, I will NEVER date younger again.

The issues ranged from one of us being hyper dependent, emotionally unstable, afraid of commitment, full of darkness and unable to communicate to jealousy.

There were no angry words as I returned keys to that dingy and dark downtown dwelling. There were no real words at all, actually. Just a series of suspicious sighs that seemed to be something he wanted to say desperately being held back.


All photos have been deleted, the 'like' notes have been burned, and rest of "his stuff" is in box, waiting to find out how it will be delivered to the defendant.
The search for an empty box ended up bringing me a lot of clarity and a beer, so things are looking up.

As I was looking for a box to put the remainders in and was starting at an empty case of beer from last night's celebration of who I am, and who he thought I was. Would only myself and Christopher find it hilarious to send the remaining articles of screaming insecurity encased in a yellow beer box? Distracted, decided instead to collect the empty bottles (a really fun problem solving challenge and easy enough to accomplish to restore self-esteem). I had collected 11 bottles, and was quite positive that we had polished off before I turned to the whiskey and vodka. This renegade beer bottle had induced a substantial panic attack (had I lost control of everything?) I gave up, and decided that a glass of water would calm my nerves, I opened the fridge door, and there it was, between the mustard and vinaigrette, a full bottle of grasshopper.

Finding a full bottle during a search for empties is not uncommon. However, finding an unopened bottle in the refrigerator is a motherfucking miracle!


Moments of Clarity:
1) There wasn't as much stuff here of his as I remembered there being before. Flashback to last week when he was barely noticed by me collecting all of his dvds. Those kind of details that you only recall after the fact. Hmm, that should have been suspicious.

2) Fuck, I thought I was having a stressful day. Imagine all those poor bastards down at the stompin' grounds of Stampede scurrying for shelter. Interesting how the animals weren't allowed to pay for a ticket to that new rodeo event.

3) All panic attacks are best treated with an ice cold beer, I don't think I will be winning an Eddie for that concept.

Toothache

With Trina blaring in the background, I have decided to dig up this old blog, and bring it back to the roots of intention and expression. Last week was tragic!
My days off were spent lying in bed with a killer toothache, finally, I forced myself to the dentist. This was devastating on multiple levels. The price to remove my wisdom tooth was the least of my concern once I realized where I was. The only dentist close to work that could take me was in, ahem, Forest Lawn. Imagine rows and rows of beat-up cars, strip mall after strip mall offering payday loans, the chance to pawn off your belongings for a fraction of the price and I am sure plenty of opportunity to take up a meth addiction.

I entered the clinic and to my delight I was in line behind Mama LaKota and her tribe. I could also overhear a Lebanese man telling his wife that it might be beneficial to remove all of her teeth instead of paying for the root canals. I managed to find a quieter place to sit, only to be startled by the blood curdling scream of a toddler from the operating rooms (read halfassed cubicle).
Finally, my turn to be examined. After explaining the pain, the location and what I thought to be the problem, dental hygienist (who was once refereed to as nurse by dr.obvious) suggested that it was my wisdom tooth.

One hundred dollars later, and I was told that I would need to get the tooth removed and given not only two prescriptions, but a pretty copy of my x-ray as a souvenir.
I made my way to the closest pharmacy to trade that little piece of paper for two tiny containers containing pain killers and antibiotics. As I was entering the supermarket the security officer (with his billy club and his notebook) ordered me to check my bag at customer service. (WHERE THE HELL AM I?)

I check my bag and head over to the pharmacy to claim my prize when I noticed that there was women everywhere carrying their purses. "Interesting", I said out loud and right then and there I decided to take out the days frustrations on whoever was imposing this ridiculous rule. I was a rebel, with a very pathetic cause--but I was a rebel. While waiting in line (that's right), to retrieve my bag with the little coat check ticket I decided to ask some very simple questions to Customer Service. CUSTOMER SERVICE.
"Why is it that I was asked to check my bag, but there are ladies all over this place with their purses? Are you guys then liable for any loss or damage?"
"Take it up with security, my break just started"
"CUNT!"
The look on her face amazed me. I felt that my mother was going to come out of nowhere with a bar of soap and a look of disapproval. She didn't, so it became a win-win. I had taken my anger and frustration and doubled it enough to certainly ruin her little "break", possibly the rest of her day.

An appointment next week will take care of everything, so I hopped on the downtown express bus and was rushed into the core.

It's that time again

Cowboy hats, daisy dukes, farmer tans and debauchery.
The Greatest Outdoor Show on Earth has resurrected once more for it's annual assault on this poor city.
The animal rights groups get their panties in a knot, everygirl dresses as though auditioning for "Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy" part deux and every guy, regardless of age, race, financial situation and acne believes that this is finally the year he is gonna 'smash some box'.

The city is plastered building to building with slogans such as "YAHOO! and YEE-HAW!, and it's begining to look a lot like Texas"

older....

I am not nineteen anymore. I can no longer fully function or even appear to be a on Monday after a gongshow of a weekend. The four hour shift began shortly before 5 PM, and from the get go, I was a no go.
Exhausted would have been an understatement. The bags under my eyes took on a racoon effect, my eyes could barely stay open, and it was painfully obvious that my feet hurt--my voice did too.

Revelling after work until all hours of the morning is something I recall being so fond of. It didn't mean I was going to feel like I got hit by a city bus at full speed. Yawn.

Coming Home Quietly

It turns out that the more you drink on the weekends--the more money you are bound to find in your pockets before laundering.

The sober me waivers between tidying, organizing the coming days and daydreaming about nothing and anything in particular. (What will the weather be like tomorrow? Will the work week resemble an almost carbon copy of the previous? Where's that roommate been for the past few days? The sun never hit that part of the backyard before. Hmm, that grass needs cut.)

The drunk me enters the house "quietly" as to not disturb the sleeping beauties upstairs.
In this sense "quietly" means trying to tip toe but sounding more and more suspicious and loud. Usually followed by a stumble into a lamp, slam of the cupboard, fridge, freezer and microwave door or a combination of the four.

The climb up the stairs can seem like the Vietnam of balance games, I've succeeded this task hundreds of times in the dark before. Now, however, it's about the angle of the incline, the speed of your jaunt and length of my feet.
Slam bathroom door, run sink really loud, wash face, stare at myself in the mirror, wink, laugh and mutter whatever words of the English language I can string together to myself before entering my bedroom.
I then "Quietly" close my bedroom door. Unbuckle belt, take off shirt, drop pants with pockets full, look in mirror, wink, smirk do some drunk math in my head and take the next coma nap until morning.

A funny thing happens when I drink. The drunker I am the more I try to deny it. I've got it together a few times, but there has been many a time where I got carried away. Imagine it as that drunk friend of yours who swears they are not too drunk to drive and proves it by showing off their brick breaker score. Thankfully I am usually too tired from the 11 hour workday to bother staying up much later to cause any trouble.

Lucky for me my intoxicated actions tend to result in the finding of money, unwrapped chewing gum, my passport, the ipod and a pocket mirror (REALLY?) No.

keep

He with a wavering integrity.
Yet still, a Show-Stopper.
Grand Marshal, Lead Role, Headliner.
Wise Guy, Smart Ass and Shit Disturber.

New Life on Lease.

Today was spent tying up loose ends with the former roommates and landlord. I followed through with my decision to stay in this crazy city for at least six months. I was shuffling through countless memories of this four bedroom kingdom up on the hill, hand shaking as I signed my name on the dotted line.

The parties, they mayhem, the constant celebration. It ended with several longstanding feuds, and I can only wonder if the one relationship will ever be repaired. I learned that an overwhelming amount of compassion can be lost when it comes to money.

I have no idea what to expect in the next six months. I can only trust that I will certainly find a direction.

And Then There Was One.

The Sensitive Artist and Starlet have moved out. And so ends an era.
The separation was, in no doubt, the best thing that could happen. It meant that the Starlet and her flame could move in together in the crystal ball version of marriage. It also meant that Missensitive could start the next chapter in her life a little earlier than anticipated.

I looked around at several apartments, entertained the idea of abandoning Calgary all together and considered six more months of purgatory. I went with the later.
I spent the better part of today sweeping, scrubbing, mopping, vacuuming, dusting, polishing and downsizing. I organized all of the mail addressed to former occupants, finished the invitations for the Club's private Vegas theme party, and took Mother's puppy for a stroll. I was meant to be locked up in boyfriend's apartment, but he was hit with the flu.


Between ignoring the sounds of the birds all day, and following around little puppy-pee-alot and responding to work emails, I decided to ventured into the room that used to house the Starlet; empty. I refocused, rounded the corner, down the stairs, 14 to the bottom, sharp left, through the laundry room, click the light on, adjusted the knot in my throat, held the railing and entered the basement.

There was absolutely no sign of the artist... the empty wine bottles, shelves and shelves of fabric, art books and stationary and the long black cable running across the shag carpet to the bedroom were gone. As if she had suddenly disappeared as well.

It's true that I haven't been left alone in this house that was once the "home" of two of my best friends, the blonde has decided to stay. Something that both terrifies me and makes me feel like the party isn't over. I don't have the same desire to be out every night until the sun comes up. I can't be bothered rushing from one lame night club to the next, flirting with strangers and jagermiester, slamming a red bull, inhaling thrills through twenties and dancing with every possible suitor in the room.

That die hard partier within me is on hiatus, and may be permanently.... I wonder when her number will be up?

All of a Sudden/Hello Vodka

It was last call, and then it was all of sudden after three o'clock. Jesus Christ, did I black out? "No sweetie, it's the start of daylight savings time," says the redheaded coworker, dressed as cowgirl, with a splash of vodka.
Being several margaritas, three beers and an inhale of two of the mysterious joint that appeared I was at the comfortable state of buzzed, but teetering. The work weekend was much more profitable than had been anticipated, and I was looking for a good time.
I barely recall the cab ride home, but stumbling into the kitchen I soon realized that the party was far from over.

Enter two drunk roommates and a very loud accomplice. Polish off a bottle of wine, and soon we were all doing shooters of Baileys; an entire 40 ouncer. I remember all of a sudden hearing the front door open and close. I started to shush the girls; my boyfriend had arrived.
He usually enters to find me asleep, the the rare occasion waiting up; but never in the midst of a kitchen dance party at five in the morning. To make matters even more interesting, he was sober; stone sober.

I had just wondered where this party monster in me went... and all of a sudden... out from hibernation he came. See you later sanity. Hello Vodka.

The Revival

There are many reasons I haven't been writing; but I am back now.

The Queen and I

I remember the first encounter I had with a drag queen, it was my very first time in a gay bar and I was in the washroom and in walked what appeared to be a woman wearing a lot of makeup. I remember thinking that maybe that is just the way it worked at gay bars. It really didn't hit me until this "woman" approached the urinal, unzipped and said "kinda fucks you up, huh?" that I realized it was a man in drag.

I now find myself surrounded by drag queens for the better part of any given weekend... and they aren't so scary after all.

The Apology.

Ryan wants a Sunday kind of love
Ryan is awaiting his special delivery..
Ryan is aged to perfection.
Ryan's punishments are consequences.... deal with it.
Ryan is at work with the mastermind..
Ryan is smoke free, and published again.
Ryan is experiencing technical difficulties, please stay tuned.
Ryan has watched the video of the pope getting knocked over about thirty times...

8 Facebook status updates and several short journal entries is all I wrote in regards to personal writing in over a month.
I began to feel nervous and somewhat guilty for abandoning this outlet, but I knew why it had happened.

I met Kyle; he made me smile- and still does.

I am choosing not to subject our relationship to my personal Roman coliseum--this blog.

I will however, continue to chronicle the craziness of my day to day.

Stay tuned..