Anthropo-Ethnological Shopping Therapy

This morning I just opened the fridge, I picked up my lunch Tupperware, a fruit, I weighted myself (57kg, I lost weight) I took my bag and I gave a kiss to my cat. This is the way how this Friday started.

I drove to the office at 5C, Ottawa is chilly these mornings, I never paid attention in one corner of the building where people cross, I swear I didn’t see the woman dressed in white, but she was upset (with reason) the short I stopped at the stop sign. Well, I can’t make anybody happy lately. I went to my office, I took off my lunch and…OMG, wrong Tupperware, I got all the Quinoa leftovers, my tuna lunch is still in the fridge.Then,  I decided to print a picture of my cat (technicolor), in the pic, my cat is sitting on a white chair and on the top, there’s a scarf that says “Sens Army”. My boss noticed when he arrived (at noon), knowing he would be late this morning, and since the office is pretty quite I did some interesting things.

I read chapter 5 powerpoint slides the teacher gave us last Wednesday, all related to Book Values, Future Value, Interest per Year and learning how to use my financial calculator….awful formulas. I sent an email to the person in charge of program Forensic Accounting, asking him if despite I doing part-time accounting studies I can take 1 course this Winter (apparently you need a degree and have experience auditing). I’m waiting for his answer. I went to the Thriftstore  last time I was on Tuesday but I read the poster saying today was 50% off in everything. My target was the cd collection. I bought Lenny Kravitz “5”, White Zombie “La Sexorcisto”, Batman & Robin OST, Hole “Live through This”, The Verve “Urban Hymns”, Primal Scream “Evil Heat”, Radiohead “Pablo Honey” a latino classic Control Machete “Mucho Barato” where includes the super hit “Comprendes Mendes” and some others. The parking was full and inside the store full of immigrants, kids and many others. There were differences in this shopping 50% off population. Immigrants with kids usually bought clothes in good shape or new, Canadians were carrying cart full of things they probably don’t need like boxes, decor porcelain stuff, jars, margarita cups. Some Canadian mothers were buying clothes too but mixed with toys and kids’ books. The line ups were long, (I spent almost 30min there). In front of me, a mother and her kid were waiting, the kid of about 9 years old was not looking but starring at me. Why? Why always kids look at me like 2.0 version of ET? There was a moment I was tired of his killer look that I said in Spanish “what?” He just didn’t understand (that was the idea) and turned his face, but then, seconds later, he was hiding his look and was still looking at me…I know I’m handsome but not that much.I left just in a rush, since it was almost 11.30am.

I took my grocery list and in fact, I did my shopping without forgetting to take the list with me. However (yes, however), I forgot to buy lettuce even if was written I wasn’t able to read it…..damn…. at the parking lot, just leaving, I put reversed and I didn’t noticed there was already another car trying to leave, and another on the opposite side, and other in the back trying to leave their spots….I almost hit the car beside me, just in time…ouffffff, accidents happen more often in parking lots than in highways. I came back to the office and I ate my almost everything of my Quinoa lunch….too much proteins…scared of consequences now.

It’s 12.27, almost 1pm, I have still a couple of hours before heading my physio again. I’m using a tape on my knee, I feel like a rag doll. I hope Sarah gives the ok just for going 1 per week.


Pseudo Lesbo Physio

It’s almost 2 months I’m going to physio, so far, I’m doing progress but I can’t say I totally recovered or 100% healed. The kneecap is moving so, my knee has pain not because of the torn ligament, which we guess it’s healed, but because the friction of some bones. I left the physio with the pseudo Hawaiian guy, who in fact was from Philippines, also, his office was under renovations and it has awful been treated there.Literally it seemed like the place was bombed. No space, noise, all the equipment and machines were upside down, wires, contractors and several patients, this entire crowd in a little space available. This guy is a good physiotherapist but he has so many clients and he became too mechanic, same routine, no changes and when he took some days off, when I had appointments with him I met my new physiotherapist: Sara.

Sara came one of those days and I looked at her with that look of….”that young little girl, does she know what a torn ligament is?” Well, I thought that because she’s also blond and cute but anyways, I was wrong. It was funny and awkward at the beginning. No woman has touched me, in fact, not many people has touched me, just my therapist with her warm big hugs (it happened 4 times), my Swedish friend, with her granny loving hugs (it happened twice). No human touch as this Canadian society restricts that kind of contact to family and friends. Me?, no family no friends. So Sara came, spoke to me about my knee, I explained how happened and then, she touched my knee, twisted a bit, did different things like the other guy, in some moment she pushed my knee against her breast….what did I feel? Not much. Honestly, a bit sad I guess, that such a wonderful personal trying to fix my screwed knee. She’s talkative, good sense of humour, and knows what she does. I think what surprised the most was she made me feel a special patient, the one and only there, a personal treatment and explained me with details, with graphics, with books, what my knee was having…impressive, isn’t it? I know not many people does it. So, since that time I chose her as my new physiotherapist.

It’s has been like 4 times I’ve been doing the treatment. Last time, she put some tape on the knee cap and the sensation of pain almost disappears. Apparently, the knee is learning how to go back as before the lesion. And every time I go there, I speak more, timidly because my English is rusty and because I’m not used to talk. I’ve been isolated and self-isolated that become social is a hard task to me, I mean it.

Yesterday, while she was crunching my leg, for distending my muscles, she was talking about her little town where she was born, in fact, she was from the QC side but Anglophone. She also had a knee injured, in fact, she injured another part of her body and that was the reason she became physiotherapist, she wanted to save knees! Not kidding, she went to school for 6 years, she talked to me about her school loan etc. I noticed she was wearing 2 rings…fiancée? I asked her if she was getting married, she said “Next June I’m getting married” “And who’s the lucky guy?” I said. “His name is Robert and we met at school”. That was nice. I thought the reason I went to College was also to meet people but…I had no luck with that part. Probably I would have more chances to build friendship if I study full time but that is not an option…I need to pay my bills and I know in full time studies I’ll cost more, plus, it’s full of kids, real kids and some retards. I told her about my hysterectomy surgery, I let her touch my belly because I talked to her about my Osteopath who discovered the fibroid. I put her hand on my abdomen and made her feel that lump there. She was surprised because not many fibroid can be felt in the surface. She said it was compact, and it is, it’s like a baby without kicking. Then, she felt comfortable to touch it without my guidance. She’s a smart girl, and I know she want to be sharp with her knowledge about the human body, I was glad to teach her something else. Then, she asked where I was from and what was my mother tongue. So nice to talk to somebody, so good to feel you’re listened, so great when somebody is curious about you.

I’m beginning to have another friend-therapist. It’s true. If the idea of school, as a place where you can meet people, develop friendship, be in contact with some many different groups, the only space I got, was the space of one. With my therapist and now with my physiotherapist. People who really need to know who you’re and what you’re problems are or how the affect you. Something that in Canadian friendship can take long time. I feel I skipped those steps with them, however, they’re not my friends. In the meantime, this a palliative of friends for me.

Sara tapped my knee again, she suggested continuing my exercises and I got her ok for going to the Gym. The Gym? Yes, there is one in front of the office, a cheap one, so I think I should start in October. It was nice to have a pseudo girly talk. Robert is such a lucky guy.

Lesbo Film Prayers for Bobby

Last Sunday, that means yesterday, I went to the Unitarian Church as usual. After being 2 years as “active member” I know many of them. It was nice talk to each other, make some conversation and find old faces after dead Summer time. I realize the only friend I got is my Swedish one, who went to Toronto this weekend and I missed her.

We got an LGBT group at church, who organised a potluck yesterday night and a film screening. I brought some fruits and most of the dishes were vegetarian, thing great for me since I’m in a diet 0 red meat and 10% white meat. I met my lost Summer friend, since she is retired, she’s busier than ever, her partner was with her and we were able to chat, what a nice dinner.The group screened the film  “Prayers for Bobby” a film, based in a true story, from 2009 made for tv. A film low budget, young actors, cliché script, and Sigourney Weaver’s talent save the film. But that is not the point, I mean, the plot of the movie was the core of my post. It’s the story of a Christian family, the mother who’s totally crazy about religion and his son, who confess his homosexuality and the hell-conflict in the family, the mother, trying to “cure” him with the Bible, Christian crap and the stress and incomprehension of the son, who committed suicide because his mother rejected him, lack of love, and being alone. Does remind you the story of somebody?

Many of us, somehow, somewhere, at some point, we have been Bobby. I’m not a person who cries watching movies. The very first time I cried watching something was “The Elephant Man”, a classic from David Lynch. I thought it was fantasy movie, that the creature was surreal, taken from somebody’s imagination. If we part from the premise, this “creature” almost human, half something else, with deep feelings, gentle, with innocence and purity, caged in a deformed body was the perfect metaphor of being different and in world where majority rules and there’s no room for some other “forms” of “humanity”, humanity created under the terms of who ruled the world. The outsider, the persecuted, the different, fighting to claim in vain for his humanity. I cried when I saw the movie because as gay, I was feeling, and my society made feel I was a kind of Elephant Man. Being gay in those years, in the early 80’s in the third world in Catholic country was hard, no, no, it was horrible, a real hell. The Elephant Man existed…as I exist.

Bobby Griffith, who the movie is inspired from, made me cry not because he was a young gay not accepted in his community or family. It made cry for the conflict  he had with his own mother, with the rest of his family was ok,  but her….her was his Calvary and reason to take the drastic decision to die. The mother pushed to go to therapy (to get fixed), to do “man” activities, she tries to do “Bible brain wash” to “help him” and the mothers cites the passages of Bible where have sex with other men is an abomination.To be honest, I used to read those passages too. All that stuff reminded my own mother. Bob’s mom rejected him in the movie, my own mother said the life I chose was disgusting and some other things that she wrote in that infamous letter when I did my coming out. Before that event, she never sent any paper or parcel or postcard or whatever, but after my official gay declaration, sporadic nasty letters were arriving at my place. Most of them, just at seeing who was the sender I put them in recycling bin. Her words, had an special power over me.The power to crash me. That letter questioned myself for the very and last time about my homosexuality. I decided, for mental health reasons, not to talk to her. Sometime when I call home is just to talk to Dad, my Mom knows it and never answer the phone. I’m almost 8 years in Canada, we talked few times, for Christmas and birthdays, no more than 2 minutes, 2 long, painful, silent minutes. There is a joke during the 80’s about the Communism, it says…”The Communist Party leader go to a school, choose an little boy and asks him “who’s your father” the kid “the Communist Party” “who’s your mother” the kid replies “the Revolution” and finally he asks “what do you want to be when you grow up?” And the kid answers…..”orphan!!”. I think being orphan in those conditions are suitable and healthy.

Bobby ended his life jumping from a bridge, a truck killed instantly. I don’t know who many times, since my adolescence, thought what would be a simple and effective way to die. Life was too hard when I was teenager back in those days in Peru. My crazy Catholic mother, the religion, the dogma…few good friends, it was just unbearable. University days were better but still lonely times. Moving to Canada, cultural shock and break up with ex crazy bitch was another hit. Just some friends who I have abroad, who lived alone in other countries, with my Peruvian background can understand that living alone, living with problems, heavy, simple or whatever looks like, is horrible when you live them alone.

Nobody can understand that pain. I understood clearly Bobby’s conflict. I cried during the screening….I was saying to myself…”come on, the actors are bad, the script cliché, you should complain about the quality of the film” instead, Weaver’s outstanding performance reminded my own mother…I think I cried more for that…

I’m orphan….glad to have no mother.

‘Tis true my form is something odd,
But blaming me is blaming God;
Could I create myself anew
I would not fail in pleasing you.

If I could reach from pole to pole
Or grasp the ocean with a span,
I would be measured by the soul;
The mind’s the standard of the man.

 —poem used by Joseph Merrick ( The Elephant Man) to end his letters, adapted from “False Greatness” by Isaac Watts

Caturday in Ottawa

It’s another Caturday or Saturday in Ottawa. It’s has been raining almost all week and last week. Summer is officially gone and I’m ready for a small balance of that awful season.

I don’t know you guys but in Summer all services are dead. So if you need information about things, the responsible or contact person is on vacation. Ottawa is not the exception. I moved, I left the Poutine Province, I found a “cheap” car insurance for 1100$ per year, I changed all my information, credit card, provincial, federal taxes, health care, driving license, hydro, I got a family doctor, I got a ligament almost healed, and a big surgery scheduled for next year. Moving was the hard part since looking for a nice and affordable (because the word cheap doesn’t exist in Ottawa) took all my time and energies. Tons and tons of papers, I was taking 2 courses at college so I was busy, no fun time, budget was tight because of the moving, no activities apart from that, chatting with my friends in France, no friends in Ottawa yet, not idea who my neighbors are in this small building but there’re several resident cats here. After my courses were finished I had like 3 weeks off of studies and I didn’t do anything that Canadians call “fun in Summer”. However, after seen the butcher or pseudo gynecologist, I decided to live, which means spend money and do social life with real sectarians groups in town. The sensation of feeling outsider is still there, but at least, this time I’m trying to go out, despite I can’t stay awake so late and despite the sensation to be old is always present.

I started a new obsession after seen the movie “Forks over knives” and I’m out of coffee for almost 4 weeks, 0 red meat, 10% of chicken and tuna as much as I can eat when I want to change taste of food. With that diet I lost some kilos, I want to lose weight before starting the shot that will induce me my artificial menopause. The bunny diet, so far, good.

Against odds, I took another course at college, Finance I, the teacher is just weird in all senses. He has a MBA but if all MBA graduates are like this, finance crises will come faster than we imagine. Anyways, I got hope my Summer courses will be reimbursed at work. I stopped visiting that site Plenty of Fish, the lesbo meat market was just discouraging until paroxysm. I don’t know where I could find friends. Since my knee is healing I’m planning, if everything goes well, go to the gym in October, burn some calories, fortified some invisible muscles and continuing my crazy obsessions.

As every weekend, I went to my favorite second hand store. I found The Black Crowes ” Shake your money maker” and ” The southern harmony and musical companion”. And today, in the Ottawa side, I found in the other second hand store some jewels like the soundtrack of Trainspotting, Mettalica “Load”, Nirvana “MTV unplugged” and interesting cd of Kiri Te Kanawa, despite the name sounds Japanese she’s from New Zeland. I didn’t know that country has a long tradition of sopranos singers who came from Maori tribes. In that cd she sings aboriginal songs, very cool. That reminded me that movie “The Whale Rider” about a Maori little girl who became , despite the gender division in tribal groups, be leader in the town. A budget film but very well done, watch it please. And after that visit, I went to the library. I noticed there’s another small second hand store, and guess what I found? Jesus Jones “Perverse” and a 90’s compilation. But what shocked me the most is I found a Guide to Forensic Accounting Investigation, 2006 edition for….1$!!!! That book is expensive even as an old edition. The 2010 edition is required for Forensic Accounting certificate at the same college I go, I was planning to take 1 course next year, everything is online, I bought it because I wanted to read and know more about the subject….for that price….I can’t believe it. There are some nice surprises in those stores.

My cat is sleeping in her chair, beside me. The rain stopped….city outside my window looks not that bad…a perfect Caturday.

The Lesbian and The Zombie Dices

It has been a rock n’ roll week, that’s why I was quiet without writing, also, I’ve been busy reading interesting books and taking decisions at the very last minute.

Last week I spoke to my Swedish friend in a very entertaining night about politics and how the prime minister in Canada is destroying the country. She lend me a book called “The Armageddon Factor: the rise of Christian nationalism in Canada”, crippy book about how the “new born again” people, evangelical and fanatics are taking important positions in government. When I went to the Madonna concert last weekend, I was checking in Google a place where to be closer to the Arena without paying parking fee. I got in shock when I realized the quantity of Evangelical, Mormons and other Christian churches were in the area, at least, just around the Scotiabank Centre there were like 5. It’s not casual last year, a teenager gay commit suicide in the surroundings victim of bullying. I can’t imagine the environment where this feminine boy was exposed. I had to stop reading it because it was too much, sometimes the information was far from my imagination, it was real. Churches that were against abortion and gay marriage, the fundamentalism revealed publically, the rallies, cry outs and the ways they performed services against these “abomination” reminds me that documentary “Jesus Camp”. And Canada is not that far from that.

The library sent me a notification that the second book of Alison Bechdel, the one who wrote “Fun Home”, the book that blew up my mind in pieces, was finally available. The title is “Are you my mother?” Longer, complex, dense, ambitious and with a psychoanalytic heavy weight content let me speechless. If you check the reviews in Amazon you’ll read things like “not fluid” “too into psychology” and so on; which is true, if you’re expecting something lineal, easy going, from point A to B, isn’t the classic comic strip book you’re expecting for. There are 3 main stories: Alison and her relationship with her mother (or invisible mother), her relationship with her therapists and therapy itself, and the analysis with psychoanalytic tools in order to decoding her life and other relationships altogether. Complex, intimate, deep, despite she decodes personal information, the book is coded. Super interesting but you have to have a background in classic literature and feminism without mentioning basic psychology books and authors like Freud, Winnicott, Jung and of course, Virginia Wolff, a lesbian icon.

Some parts of the book reminded my own therapy. I miss my therapist but not therapy…not really. In this book Bechdel says therapy is something that helps in short term while psychoanalysis goes into the deep conscious-unconscious and that take years. I was shock, that’s why sometimes in therapy I was feeling fine but with the sensation in my mouth things were always unsaid or unheard remained. After all, my therapy was more counselling or coaching. It helps in short term, but when you got a big depression the root of that it can’t be found in the shallow grave of your consciousness.  Well, I finished it in 2 days, trying or avoiding not dragging me down like “Fun Home”. So far, nothing has happened, just the sensation of missing my mother or missing my therapist in this case, missing her as a person.

My last minute decision last week was to register myself in the Finance I course, at Algonquin College here in Ottawa. I was planning to have a Fall break since I took 2 courses on Summer and I’m fighting at the office to be reimbursed because this course with the book costs 600$ and the 400$ I haven’t finished to pay it  in my credit card for the Summer, everything together jumped to over 1000$. And I haven’t done shopping for my shot for my surgery. I’m crossing the fingers for the reimbursement, it would be a relief.

Last Thursday I forced myself to go to a burlesque, drag show. It had to start at 9pm. I waited outside until 10.30 and there was nobody. The club was empty and I didn’t go inside, it was useless and pointless. In my way back I got the newspaper X-tra, the gay journal. I sat in the car, I start checking it and….OMG, OMG, OMG, my picture was there. The picture was taken while I was marching at the gay pride. Well, finally, I’m out, and very out, at least for the Ottawa/Gatineau. I can’t deny I was happy but after I got a bit scared knowing my ex in Hull reads religiously this newspaper. I don’t know what could happen, she’s a pro stalker, crazy bitch and the worst, an excellent researcher. So, she could find me, another reason to cross my fingers.

Finally, yesterday Sunday, there was the Steampunk group gathering. Of course I was nervous. The plan was to play social games. I’m so old….my generation was checks and cards. The typical thing happened again. People who know each other, talk and stay in a group. Also, the division was clear, francophones and anglos. I introduced myself like a new member, there were 2 new boys, and we were sitting far from the person who organised the event, Meredith.  It was awful how the 2 boys and me were so uncomfortable, the francos were in their universe and never showed interest to ask us question or to make us participate. After 30 min of suffering, one of the boys left, 15 min later, the other two, both were friends. So, one left, me! I just stand up and I checked the games in the other table. Meredith brought a bunch of them all unknown for me. One franco got one game, explained the rules to his friends and they started to play, everything in French. My curiosity pushed me to choose the Chinese chequers board. Meredith explained me the rules and me and other 4 people, this group was more bilingual, started to play. We learnt Meredith was a pro in Chinese chequers. And after, a guy who came late, brought a game called Zombie dices. Very entertaining, I had fun and I won in that game. I really enjoy spend the night with them, but the very beginning was just horrendous, so painful being social in Ottawa. By the way, the 2 guys who left were from New Brunswick, they made feel totally outsiders, they left without saying bye, at the beginning I thought one was going to the bathroom, but no, that happens all the time. My resistance was a bit longer than usual. Still, awful, the unwelcome sensation is for everyone who doesn’t belong or is orphan without a group in Ottawa.




The Queen Madonna and Her Queers

I bought my Madonna ticket in February this year. I took me like 3 hours be able to buy one. I paid like almost 200$. The night seemed perfect for the concert except….some little details.

Yesterday, at lunch time, I decided to go to the pharmacy and ask about the price the shot I need for my surgery. Guess the price. They told me 475.20$, for 1 shot and I need 3. So…my heart stopped beating. I ask the pharmacist if there was a generic medication for this Lupron Dupot 3.75mg. I made a call to another pharmacy the quote was 411$, and I called another one who wasn’t able to provide the price and I wanted to kill her because she didn’t know how to look in the system without prepare a form. I spoke to my boss about the surgery to be performed in January 21st and the possibility to be out for 3 weeks (despite the butcher, I mean the gynecologist said 5), he seemed ok but not that happy, my contract will finish next March. I left the office earlier to see my Osteopath and after cracking my neck and vertebral column I left his office at 4.30pm.

I took the highway, thing I don’t do that often since I don’t have any purpose to take it but at that hour cars were almost bumper to bumper.There I reached 90,000km in my car (a second card that I bought with 70,000) I drove for 30 min and I left the car at the Terry Fox park & ride station in Kanata, an Ottawa suburb area, expensive houses and the dreamed life for the middle public servant employee in the capital. Too scary if you ask for my opinion, too uniformed, too clean, too politically correct but….too right. When I checked Google maps, looking for a parking spot I found there were so many Christian, Pentecostal  Jehovah witness churches and many other in that area. A gay teenager committed suicide last year victim or bullying in that area. It was creepy when I was sitting at the bus station waiting for the bus. The arriving buses showed me the demographic population. Not many black people, few Indians and no latinos. Of course, not anybody can afford to buy a house there for over 400 or 500 thousand.

Anyway, after talking with a very friendly customer representative of OC transport telling me what bus to take for going to ScotiaBank Arena, where Madonna should perform, my bus 96 picked me up. The driver, a funny friendly guy explained the route and I told him “Madonna concert tonight!” and he said “a friend of mine won VIP ticket in Montreal for the concert here, what a lucky guy, enjoy the concert”. I have never been in that Arena before, I went to Bell Center Arena in Montreal but I got the impression this one in Ottawa was smaller. It was almost 6pm, some limousines and VIP people, over their 40’s were having dinner and drinking. I found the door! that was a big thing because I was following some guys and they were employees of fast food in the arena. I went inside and there was a little line up. Merchandise on sale were in the front, T-shirts at 40$, bags at 60$, little hats at 20$ and some t-shirts of Paul Oakenfold, what? him? what for? why? Well, I didn’t buy anything, it was funny not to have found her last cd on sale.

There were so many gay people in the line up. Inside I realize they were the VIP. I saw few lesbian couples, straight couples, people dressed like if they were going to the Comicon because were disguised like Madonna in the 80’s, people in their 40’s. I think I liked the concert because all the fans were Madonna’s age. I saw even people in their 60’s. Few young among us…that was nice! The younger ones were dressed or cross dressed as they were going to a Prom party. I reached my seat at 7.15pm…I was almost behind the stage. I was a bit disappointed but some other were far than I was. I was in the corner and on my left there was a big screen so it wasn’t that bad, but the show were for those who paid more than 300$. The equipment and background was very professional. Lots of crew members and security were very helpful and took care of everything like cleaning the stage for performers, dancers and the Queen. The kind of catwalk made a triangle shape space, those were the high VIP. The gay group who was waiting in line up with me where all there.

The show should have started at 8.00pm but at 8.30 lights lighted off. A woman voice said to give a warm welcome to…..Paul Oakenfold. The British DJ, who was wearing a T-shirt of the UK Olympic Logo. I got a CD from him. I was surprised and now I understood why were t-shirts of him on sale !!! He mixed interesting music, from Killers, to Rolling Stones, Eurythmics. The style was kind of eclectic.I prefer Tiesto but it was ok. He tried to make dance to people, since the arena had a little space for people on the floor, it was difficult to dance without not touching your chair or somebody in front of you. He played until 10.15pm.

At 10.30pm the Queen showed up. It started with the simulation of the Santiago the Compostela final mess.Watch the movie “The Way” the final scene looks like the beginning of the show. A giant incense burner pulled by several monks. Madonna on her knees in the confessional booth, making the cross sign and then…The Queen…dressed in black (since I was in almost back stage she came behind in a little bike!!!).

I heard she played in Montreal for just 1 hour and that she was late, here she played 1.30h, big hits, my favorite was Vogue….so elegant, refined…. She was dancing like a teenager. In fact, I saw her tired, her eyes looked like that. When she played the guitar (she did that like 4 times) she had time to rest. For the rest, she danced and performed incredible well for somebody of 54, the synchronicity in the  choreographic moves was incredible. I loved the first one where she shots everyone. She said she was glad to be back in Canada again. She gave a kind of little speech, she asked for nationalities to finally add we are just one family. In other song, there were drummers pulled with strings, there were like 6 flying. There was another performance of dancers they looked as if they were cracking their bones, wearing anti-gas masks.

At some point, with the song Erotic, she took off her clothes and there was a message saying “No Fear” she screamed “this is the most dangerous word”. I was taking pics and I recorded a small video with my camera. She performed with mirrors, there were columns going up and down. Some dancers were dancing on cords, 100% perfect. It was a very beautiful show.

I saw Madonna, I can die in peace now.

Butcher Ready To Chop Off A Lesbian

A couple of weeks ago, I found a business card. The name was Arab so I wasn’t sure if was a woman or a man. I don’t remember where I found it, was it in a pharmacy? When I saw the physiotherapist? In a shopping center? Maybe I’m developing Alzheimer because I have no clue where I got it. The point is that card was in my wallet with my collection of reward cards. So, I decided to call and ask if this family doctor was available to accept me as patient. The nurse or receptionist, ok, the receptionist disguised in nurse gave an appointment “to talk to and know each other”. I told her I was still using the Quebec health card and she said she’d put me in the waiting list until I had my Ontario health card.

I went home that day and in my mailbox guess what I received. Yes, the Ontario card!!! I was happy but the picture was awful and the green color on it reminded me the American working permit, the famous green card. I called again to the nurse (or receptionist) and we fixed another appointment. I spoke to a college about this “meeting” “is it a kind of contract?” I said. Because in my innocence I thought I just make a call and ask “can you be my family doctor….I’m begging you, please?. She told me the new procedure says to meet the patient and talk to know each other.”was is the benefit”? Most of doctors have acrobatic schedules and they’re not available like in the walking clinics. So, if the walking clinics you can see a doctor easily….”why having a family doctor, then?” She explained me is better to have one person holding all my record or history. I was confused. I lived 8 years without a family doctor and it wasn’t an obstacle…in Montreal maybe. Here in Ontario it wasn’t that bad.

Finally, the appointment day arrived and I was ready to launch my artillery of questions and I thought the doctor would ask me to sign a contract or something like that. I went to the office and…a woman with hijad appeared. OMG. She looked like in her 40’s, wearing glasses and and with a form she would lately she filled out. We shake hands…my hand was firm, hers was like trying to grab a giant gummy bear. She started the conversation asking me with a big accent “why do you need a family doctor?” Ok, my boxing gloves weren’t ready for that kind of opponent. I said “I don’t know, since I’m here in Ottawa everybody tells me and asks me if I have one, it’s been 8 years in the country without a family doctor, I guess is important” She was smiling, and she started the formal questions like “any allergies, any heart disease? any operations?” The conversation was fluid and believe me, I was having fun, fun to talk to somebody and to be listened. Then she asked me about my sexual life…ok, ok, ok, when I said my boxing gloves weren’t ready is was about this. To an  woman Arab? are you serious? I said to myself, if she change her body language I swear I’m going to talk to Doctor’s association and send a formal complaint. Well, I said I was gay. She said “you’re gay, do you have sexual activity?” without changing her tone or body language she continued to ask me more questions about it because she wanted to set up a test. I said “no, no sexual activity since my break-up” “when was that?” I said “4 years ago” Now she changed her face she was surprise “you didn’t have any sexual activity?” I said no again…come on, I didn’t want to tell her that I was having fun with my hands and free porno online! Well, there were many reasons I didn’t have any interest in relationships or casual sex (read the old post of my blog please, I want to avoid details here). She took my blood pressure and she asked me where I was from. I said Peru and I asked her where she was from; she said “Iraq” “No way” I said, she said “why?” “Because is a country with little troubles” “with big troubles” she added and laughed . She told me I was funny. I told her I had to see the gynecologist next day, a surgery would be performed on me soon. We shake hands again and she gave me a big smile and asked to schedule the annual check.

Today, I went to see the gynecologist. I saw her like 2 times before. A real butcher, no manners and I made feel like a freak because I was gay. I don’t know why, maybe because before she was booked with too many pre moms or whatever, or her students trying to touch my belly, because the fibroid is too big. In fact, there aren’t many patients with a fibroid like mine of 28cm, from hip to hip and that looks like 5 months pregnancy (those were her words). The IMR was to determinate if there were any concern about …I don’t know, I knew I didn’t have anything wrong but she insisted. I waited 7 months to have the IMR. She was in a good mood (probably when I saw her before she was struggling with her premenstrual symptom) and she told me “good news, you got nothing wrong, no cancer or any trouble” Heyyyyyy man, wait a minute. She told me IMR was to see if there were troubles with the hips and veins…no cancer thing. Anyway, she grabbed a ovarian graphic and explained my 2 options. The first one it was about….I was still processing in my mind the word cancer so I didn’t listen very well, in general it was to keep the “baby” there with things attached, something ridiculous. The other option was and is hysterectomy. So, my avalanche of questions started. My legs were shaking, I was nervous: what about the periods? what kind of incision will I have? recovery time? who’s going to take care of my cat?. Well, no periods, because the surgery won’t touch my ovaries (which produces hormones). Because the “baby” is too big, bikini cut will be performed, although, with the anti-hormones I will be received, the size could be reduced and a perpendicular cut. Anti-hormones? Yes, I will need 3 shots, 1 per month that will induce an artificial menopause, less blood for the baby and eventually shrinks its size. She asked me again if I wanted to have kids….no way, I got an Android phone, who needs a baby? Not me, I can’t hardly bare with my own life alone in this town.

I set up another appointment for my first shot in October. I was still nervous, I drove work with shaking hands, a bit confused. This butcher will perform the surgery January 21st 2013. She said like until 5 weeks of recovery will be necessary. A lesbian will be chop off. And who’s going to take care of the cat?

What was the lesson of all this? The stereotype of my Arab family doctor was broke. She was so cool and opened minded and the native Canadian was the opposite. Sometimes you got surprises while you wait for some people’s reactions.