The New Me

I’ve been very busy lately and also tired. Basically tired because I’ve been clubbing or just out out until 2am. But let’s back in time…like 3 weeks ago.

It’s a humid and wet Summer…in other words, it sucks! If you don’t have air conditioner you will react like my cat…losing hair everywhere. I’m losing hair but at least my hair is growing and now I’m facing the problem to go to a hairstylist. And here I’m. At Second Cup near a big avenue in Ottawa..I bought a cheesecake and a coffee…and now that I’m comfortable with free AC, I will write better.

Since I hung up more and more with my gay friend Jeff, but old bad coffee habits are back, thing I don’t regret that much as I should. There are no girls night out in July, reason why I feel the moral duty to hang out in the Ottawa gay microscopic universe. Jeffrey organized a gay Man of Steel night with half of male gay community. In the same raw I sat with Seamus, also know as Shameless, Eric, Kevin and many other I have no idea. The only thing I will say about the movie is…I didn’t like, I didn’t fine the actor hot as Christopher Reeve and….it was mix of an alien invasion and some other crap…it’s been years since I don’t go to the movie to watch something so….pop…I just watch Cannes or festival films nomination…call me snob but I got little hamster on my brain rolling a wheel of knowledge. I found this event good because now I’m becoming more flexible with myself and with others who don’t have the same movie preferences as me.  Jeff just came from a pool party where Shameless, a tiny skinny gay sold many desserts…the left over were consumed during the movie…he said “Oh come on, this is Ottawa, you can bring your food at the cinema!”.    When the movie finished it was almost midnight, we made a standing circle asking about the movie…everybody said it was ok (geezzz I felt the moral pression and I said the same…but the movie sucks), then, all the guys were saying what they’ll go for vacations, some inside Canada, others around Europe renting some aparts there, living la vida loca…Jeff and me we went for a coffee and long walk at Elgin St, were now became our Head Quarters (you’ll know soon why). We went to Center Pub, also known as CP. I was with Jeff and we went to dance, music wasn’t that bad but it wasn’t good either. The population there is masculine and majority old, you’ll see some twiks but few. There I met Glen, a nice guy gay, Jeff’s friend since a while. After this little party time, we went for a walk. While walking around there Jeff met another gay voleyball man guy, they talked for a while, then he told me all the places he used to work on Elgin St., the flower shop (that looked more like a plant shop, no flowers on exhibition, a little restaurant, a video store (yes, Netflix didn’t kill all video stores in town), resisting miraculously to the power streaming of internet, resisting to die…and with an incredible international movie selection…I felt like fish on the most flamboyant sushi dish. Jeff was telling me all his experiences with his lover at the time and talking about his personal life.

The next day, that means, just hours later my outing with Jeff, I had dinner with my “foster mother”. In fact, she is my ex therapist which I keep in touch and I trying to develop not a friendship but a mother-daughter relationship, since mother role never was the best, well, the model of a mother for me is somebody despotic, manipulative, passive-aggressive. But just before my therapy finished I asked if she could “adopt me” thing she was pleased. Since then, every time I needed to be lifted I called her and she was very supportive or other times she was just listening to me on the phone. Because she is like healthy mother to me I invited a dinner for mother’s day, the problem was she was too busy, I was at school some nights, when she was available, also, her birthday was coming and she took vacations ….anyways, our dinner took like 2 months to be set up. I suggested the College International Restaurant where I studied. I picked her up and I drove her there. My ex therapist got some issues with cars, so I asked her to feel free if she had any problem the way I drive. She said it was ok, as long as she doesn’t take the wheel. The dinner started at 5.30pm and finished at 7pm. I was very open about my feelings…and what was going on with me. I said basically “I changed my life and because of you, you helped me to get out of the hole.You’re like a mother to me, even if you don’t noticed it, with you I’m doing the things  should have done or said to my real mother”. She was very happy, she is a person who really gets happy with simple things, you should see her face when I give her flowers. I added “It isn’t me who gives you the flowers but a kid of 5 years old looking for mommy”, of course I love her but it’s an innocent and pure kid’s love. I’m 39…and yes..somehow, mommy’s research is over with her. Well, not over, I’m learning, thing that I told her “as long as I don’t built that healthy mother-daughter relationship I won’t be able to build or to have a good relationship with any woman”. This is true, my real mom’s and ex’s behavior are pathologically the same…I need to change that pattern…in fact, I’ve already started. After all those personal revelations she started talking more about her personal life. While dinning I offered a glass of wine…but she asked to the waitress for a full bottle…I got a bit nervous, since I don’t drink that much I had to pay attention to my driving but also…I was scared for the invoice!. Her mom and mine’s got issues, the issue of not being behind the wheel was revealed here. Her father drove reckless (now the guy has Alzheimer and lives in a retirement home with assistance), her mother used to tell her to wear nice underwear in case they had an accident and needed to go to a hospital!!! She used to spend her Summer at her grandparents’ farm. She learn how to drive the tractor…but the very first day she drove the machine, something jammed, another farmer try to fix it and put his arm inside….suddenly the machine started and….he lost his arm. She was like 10 and this was a very traumatic event and apparently, there were many others that she didn’t mention it. She talked to her vacations in Bahamas…and she was telling me she started to drink when she was 8. So, 1 bottle was pretty much being under control. At this point I was wondering if she had a problem with alcohol or if alcohol got a problem with her. Me, with one glass I was already happy but not feeling that freedom to talk about my underwear preferences. Around 7 the invoice arrived….93$, I asked her to leave tip…but wooow, the food was good…but never again I will invite her wine.

The week later, I told Jeff, there was a guy gathering in a gay bar downtown. We met there, all people were public servants, Jeff knew most of them, some of the volley group or  friends of his friends. Also, Eric was going and his birthday was just a day ago. Jeff bought him a big chocolate and a card…Eric, who is more effeminate than me was almost on tears…so sensitive guy. Jeff went to say hi to other people and me and Eric were there with our drinks when Eric asked me….”so, are you gay?”….well, I was perplexed and I said “yes, I’m, doesn’t look like?”…he said “well, you never know”. I wasn’t upset but I don’t think I look feminine either, so, until know I don’t know if I should take it as compliment or insult. After being like less than 2 hours, we left and Jeff told me it was Shameless birthday party that night. So, after a little home break, we met again at Elgin st to going to the party. Seamus or Shameless was just turning 50. His background is Scottish but he is such an old lady!!!!. All the stereotypes of a gay guy lady were available at his apartment in downtown. He made a center table with little mirrors, another square furniture also with mirrors, he bought lighting balloons all on the floor, he put candles everywhere, inside glasses, or square glasses, floating on water, in every corner of his apartment, red candles at the kitchen, he put silver fold paper as fake curtains and the music was all 70’s…well, he was 50. He cooked the most orgasmic chocolate brownies you could taste. I’m not a chocolate person, I really don’t like chocolate but I tried because I needed something sweet….it was just unreal that thing. Jeff was cooking and I helped to make potato salad. There I met Michael, originally from Jamaica, another crazy flamboyant pseudo drag queen. Michael was making the punch drink with strawberries and no alcohol. Jeff was looking for more vegetables on the fridge when he found something….Michael pulled it out and screamed like a real woman in shock….”what’s that!!! Oh my God…a sex toy”. Yes, it was a gay toy in the fridge, a kind of anal rubber tube. We were laughing and laughing, Seamus wasn’t that happy…and we were talking pictures and Jeff put some on his Facebook, in fact, he put a banana on it….Seamus had to clean it again and said…”be thankful that it was clean!!!”. That made our night….Jeff had to go and I stayed there. I met Basha, a gay from Iran, who works sometimes in USA and Canada and a Polish background lawyer, I don’t remember his name. We were talking until midnight when we sang happy birthday. The cake had a pie inside, full of chocolate…it was good but the brownie was much better. In total we were like  people and Seamus prepared food for 15. Not many people come but we had fun.

Last Friday we decided to go to a Lesbian night at Look Out bar. I knew people there were very young…but I wasn’t expecting a kindergarden either….it really was. People under 25 wearing caps and “yo” look. Geez, there were like 2 old ladies sitting in the bar and a group of hetero ladies celebrating somebody’s birthday. The music was so…yuck but I just was there for dancing, I didn’t care….Jeff wanted to see his kind of boyfriend (now he is in open relationship with him) and left for a couple of minutes…I was in the balcony and witnessing how Ottawa was so empty in a Friday night. After that, we went to Mercury Lounge…great music, people here were a bit older but still young, group of friends…but really quiet. And finally we went again to CP, nothing there, empty too…so we called Glen and Eric and we met in a patio at 1 am and at 2am we went to Elgin st for having something to eat..There, Jeff said openly to try to find a match for me. Glen said asked me what was my type…butch or femme. I said femme, and he said..I got a friend, she is gorgeous…he showed me her picture…and it was ok but she wasn’t a beauty either. I said I just wanted to meet people and to discover if I had chemistry with somebody. Eric asked “do you want kids?, because I got a femme friend with 2 kids”. Well, I think gay man don’t know much ab out what I’m looking for….they’re already marrying me!!!!. It was a bit difficult to explain at 3am int the morning in a crowed place full of partisans they I wanted to be in a lesbian group, in order to not to be isolated….it was funny.

Since a couple of months, I’m daring more and more…Jeff told me he saw me as mouse…shy, moving slowly but daring, trying new things…this is my new me…I want to explore, I want to be happy, I want to live my gayness…I want to be me.


Drag Queens in Navarra?

I’m drinking my second Cappuccino coffee (a.k.a. French vanilla for the Tim Horton’s Canadian coffee standard). I feel hangover. In fact, I AM. Since I’ve been training, dieting and on top of that, drinking my protein shake after my workout at gym, coffee is out of question…but today is a big exception. I must say the shakes are working. Every glass contains like 60gr of pure protein, I can feel energy and improvement on the treadmill. Also, when you drink that, basically you don’t feel hungry, the liquid stays in your stomach and you got more time to do other things.

But since this week, specially at work, things aren’t going well with me. At work, I’m replacing somebody who took vacations, I’m doing other kind of “new” things . The boss of that section is a fake, chubby, square blond head. Do I hate her? Not yet, but if she dies tomorrow, I won’t cry for her. So, I can quote one of Morrissey’s song “why do I give valuable time to people who don’t care if I live or die?”. That’s my new philosophy. Last Tuesday she sent an email to me and my real boss asking to meet her. So, this is not good. I thought she wanted to complain about my work. I knew she was a bit crazy and obsessive. ok, ok, a real control freak. I work in Finance, so controls and verifications are part of my daily life, but when somebody tries to control ME, that’s different. I’m not an invoice or a fake cheque. I’m not a fishy transaction, I’m kind of transparent. She started saying “I got the impression you hate me”. What? My face was puzzled. “I know you never wanted to come here to work at Section 33, but I noticed in your emails that you don’t feel comfortable here”. OMG. Well, it was true that I never wanted to go there, but I don’t hate her. Once, I went for New Year’s party at the Casino with her. I think I wrote that in my blog like 3 years ago. She is a average Quebecquer, party, traveling to Cuba, resorts, drinking and narrow minded. I didn’t like that time being with her and listening her derogatory comments about gay people at work. Also, her opinions about people from the third world, “indians” as she says…pejorative adjective for us. So…I put big distance between her and me. A healthy distance. I didn’t know she was a boss of Section 33 at the time. But left me a bitter-sweet taste in my mouth…it’s better banning a person like that of your life…but you cannot do that at work. In her micro speech I feel more like her words reflected discomfort with not being obeyed as she liked, it means “What I said must be done the way I say…and my word is law”. Once she told me she was dating a guy who after a while he was stocking her…then she had to put cameras at her place. Also, she told me she had troubles with a big boss I get along. She told she had a grievance…the union was involved too. When I was listening her words in slow motion my mind were on those souvenirs…who was saying the true? who is the real control freak? a person who cannot control anything? a person who needs authority to feel superior? a person with no moral authority but has in fact, authority at work?…for a moment, as you who read this, you realize SHE is not right…nor in what she’s saying neither in her head. So I was there listening….she was psycho but I let it go…no choice, I’m just a clerk, immigrant clerk, so no authority for me, no power for me…no nothing…I tried to comfort her telling her when I work with somebody I took distance (with her is much better, no?) and that was her perception. But know that I’m thinking of that…after that meeting…I think I got reasonable justification to hate her…but I don’t..not yet.

I had my results of my accounting exam. I got 13 of 20, not that bad, not too good either, but is fine. After a tough week I decided a needed a gay break. So, I was thinking to go to a gay drag queen show. So, I contacted a friend of mine and I told him about this idea. He invited me to the restaurant where he works as waiter. He is over 40 and would like to go to school this Fall. He is gay and a nice person. So, I said “why not?” and around 8.30pm I showed up at Navarra restaurant in downtown Ottawa. It’s a little restaurant, cozy and of course, fancy. Prices are….bring your golden credit card. I mean, isn’t cheap but is quality and the presentation is more like painting than cooking. Art. I’m not a person who goes from restaurant from restaurant judging taste and ingredients, I eat because I need to live, I don’t live for eating. Eating for me is an obligation not a pleasure. If I went there was for a glass of wine and….Marion….a hot, afro, jazz singer….OMG, in a little space like that her diva voice was….delightful….I was drinking a glass of white wine…the more alcohol was in my veins…the more I was looking at her body…her breast…her legs…her hair…her lips…ok, ok, ok, hormones quiet, quiet…My friend found me a little red round table…I was just 43 mts away from her. I wasn’t feeling miserable but happy, I wasn’t feeling alone but alive…I was feeling love being single…I was happy with that paradox…I was enjoying that moment…looking at the table in front of me, a French couple trying main dish, desert, wine and more, I was looking another table with a family celebrating a birthday than then, 2 fashion young gays took over later…very fashion and handsome. The other table was taken by 3 Montrealers women…so, they were judging Ottawa and food in a criminal way…judging live to this death to that…it wasn’t pleasant but funny…I was in my wine universe, half here, half…elsewhere….in a  long term bracket of happiness….

It was nice to float in that cloud…must be the Spanish wine…it could have been Marion’s voice…it could have been the people around myself…all of then in their respective universes, sharing, talking, laughing and judging…there were so many people, I even saw two men in a perfect date. My waiter friend was making jokes and we were laughing…we’ll do yoga tomorrow Saturday. I asked him if Marion could sing “Fever”, she couldn’t because the pianist didn’t know that one, so I asked for “Summer time”…and when she sang it she blinked her eye at me….awwwww….my happy heart and my glass of wine were delighted with that gesture…

Since my diet has been liquid, full of proteins I decided to try the food there. So, I asked a dessert. I saw some people eating chocolate mousse…I wanted something different. In fact, I didn’t know what I chose. I couldn’t hear what my friend said about it so I asked Queso Manchego (Manchego cheese). It was a piece of Manchego cheese (that after google it I saw it was made of sheep milk, assuming it was the real thing), Quince confit, pear chutney, candied pistachios, olive oil crostini. This is very Mediterranean  well, the restaurant is a fusion of Spanish-Mexican cuisine…I thought it would cost me a fortune…after my crappy week I think I deserved a big break…my bill was 23$ but since my friend was the waiter…with tip it went to 27$ a bit expensive but…it was just a desert and wine…but full of love.

No drag queens that night, just the best performance of an afro diva, a Manchego cheese disguised for a gastronomical date with me and my beloved waiter that made that night just….full of love…a bracket of love.

The Day I Became A Father

I’ve been having my lunch with Suzanne for almost a week. As a commissioner she’s not allow to leave her building. I walk a couple of minutes to join her since our building are farm from each other and last week she wasn’t feeling that well.

In one of our conversations she was shaking, showing her hand, with shy tears in her eyes  she was telling me all the fights she was having with her husband. I didn’t know she was paying for a big truck, another little car, the mortgage, food and clothes for her 2 kids. The situation at home became a bit dramatic the day one teacher of her boys call her asking if there were any problems at home. Matthew was throwing things to her teacher and some classmates. Suzanne told me children have been watching all the fights between them. Every moment at lunch time there is a new little history how his “idiot” as she refers to her own husband has been treating her. The idiot said she needed to find another job as a cleaner (her old job) in order to pay the invoices. She was telling me he was more than furious when she heard that, she was almost crying. Sometimes she cleans all the house main floor, basement and second floor alone and the idiot will show up with dirty boots in the kitchen, a sacred zone for every mother in the world. Or when she asked him to pass the dirty clothes bag he answered “I’m tired” but he was playing video games and then he said “do you want the bag? here is your freaking bag” and he threw all the clothes from one floor to another (just for the record he didn’t say “freaking” but another word). I was trying to comfort her but for somebody who also suffered from an abusive relationship words don’t help. What helps? leaving that hell called house. So far, she has packed her and kids’ stuff. Suzanne told the idiot she’s planning to leave him. The idiot responded “ha, ha, ha, you won’t do that, you said that all the time and you never leave”. This time is different, she already signed a lease, she’ll move in July.

The girl’s night out (camouflage dyke included) is organizing a escape plan. The plan Suzanne will call us that day, Fatima, Anne and me with our respective cars, will wait outside the house. A big fight is expected and since the idiot has a guns (hunting toys) we fear the worst, then Suzanne’s father or brother will intervene. We repeat that idea over and over every time we meet. So far, fights continuing and sometimes is too much for her than now she’s questioning herself as a mother. “I explained to the kids is wrong to throw things to people. What mom and dad is just between us, you shouldn’t repeat that. You shouldn’t hurt each other.” and one of her kids said “so to who we can throw things?” , “to the person who’s throwing you things”, the kid replied “so do I throw things to dad?” and Suzanne said “yes”. After telling me that she asked me “am I a good mother?” . I just laughed and I said “of course you’re!”. She is very calm, loving and caring person, always with a big smile but I never saw her that bad emotionally and physically. She lost weight because of stress. I told her my violence relationship and how far this went. So, I’m just trying to be supportive as much as I can that’s why I told her to contact me if she needs anything for her or the kids…and then I received a call.

Nobody calls me, that’s why my monthly invoice is just $35 tax included. That’s not true, my doctor calls, spams call from a company telling me a won a cruise to Jamaica and…sometimes my physiotherapist ..and that’s it, the phone never rings and I got troubles to remind my voice mail password because since nobody calls I don’t use it and keeping forgetting it all the time. Rarely people text  me, well, again, I have no friends, nobody tries to reach me. But last Friday Suzanne phoned. She seemed a bit “electrical” that means hyperactive, frantic and speedy. We agreed to meet at the office at 8pm. I was in a farewell reception at church, my buddy Scott is moving to California. He thought of me when he realized he had to leave his home, family and friends, everything to the unknown. He was scared and nervous. Everybody was hugging him telling him “this is exciting”. He didn’t look quite convinced about it. I didn’t say that stupid phrase. People told me the same when I moved to Gatineau. Excitement? adventure? Are you retards or what? Moving to another country is very hard. There are people in Ottawa that told me they’re alone despite they have family or they can feel alone having family. Listen mentally challenged, listen idiot, realize one thing retard. The day you leave a country, you try to communicate with somebody, you got fooled or screwed, you try to be polite and the other understands the opposite, you try to get closer and you got rejected, when you try to go to point A to point B, when you need to do paper work, tell me blind genius…is that excitement? is that an adventure?. You, you got a mother or father or siblings or children, you think with all that you’re alone…go to another country and write me back about it!!!! You won’t have anybody to turn to talk or cry or just ask for explanation, nobody will take care of you when you’ll be sick, no phone calls or messages on your phone, yu feel alone eh? wait….adventure? You have to be totally crazy or in an urgent need to change your life for good to do that move.I wanted to tell to Scott that the experience would be very very and absolutely hard even if US speak English like him but I couldn’t and the reception/party wasn’t the place either. He already sold his house and his wife will stay here in town…I wouldn’t like to walk on his shoes. With that happening in his life…I’d feel my life is tearing apart. At that moment my phone rang….what? my phone rang? yes, it was Suzanne, she arrived to work early and she asked me when I’d leave. Well, she was early but I didn’t feel quite well leaving her at the parking with Daniel, his son of 5 years old. I had time to talk to Ellen, her partner passed away 2 months ago. She’s doing fine, the funeral service will be tomorrow, I don’t know if I’ll be able to go. Anyways, everybody was eating, chatting and so I left to meet her.

I met her at the parking and I met Daniel. He was my first encounter with a human being with a biological small brain. So, that means, a real kid. I don’t like kids, I got a smartphone, I don’t need more. I had some friends in Peru with kids and they were pests. So, leaving in Montreal were nobody has kids because they’re afraid to commit or to get married was a child baby-free experience. Here in Ottawa/Gatineau all conversations end with diapers or “what kid did this or that”…aghhhh, that’s my Spring allergy!!! But I didn’t know how could it be with Daniel and Suzanne. So I went into her car and I said hi to him, he was a bit shy and quiet. (Yes, I said quiet, apparently this phenomena is not common among brats). Suzanne was super happy to see me and still electrical, she drove to the ice cream shop…I forgot to tell she bought this car for her, it’s the first time in her slave relationship she bought something for her…but she is still learning how to drive…with my crashed English I was trying to explain her where the shop was and what road to take…we seemed like multicultural drama queens…her background is Portuguese. If communication is a hard task in every couple, a young driver, a dyke instructor and a kid in the back seat is not the best picture or frame for that.

I said hi to Daniel and we shake hands at the ice cream shop. I told him I’d invite him a chocolate one. (I hate chocolate) and I bought another to Suzanne. In the line up she was talking to me the idiot stayed home with the other kid, despite he wanted to come with us. The idiot is real control freak. They ate the ice cream and I realize Daniel was a real pro to make a mess of himself with a little ice cream. I put a napkin around his cup and I put him in his special chair. I attached the belt seat and I sat with Suzanne and we chat…Daniel was in ecstasy with his ice cream and Iron Man in silence. I talked and I was surprised Daniel was that quiet …probably he was starving. After that we went to a play ground near the office.

There, I released his seat belt, cleaned his mess in his jacket and hold his dirty hand to lead him to the playground There were swingers, slides and pirate boat. Daniel jump into the boat saying “I’m the captain of the pirate boat”. He was in total abstraction in his universe. I was there contemplating and still doing anthropology. He was the most interesting object of study in these 2 years I’ve been in this region. He was laughing, smiling, talking to other kids of his edge. I was surprised of that experience with a kid. Me and Suzanne we were to slides…geeez…has been decades I haven’t tried one. We tried all the toys at the playground. I told Suzanne, this is my first time experience as a father, she said “is this your first experience as a mother?” Suzanne doesn’t realize I’m gay, and to be honest  I haven’t told her yet. Her Portuguese Catholic background scares me, but I can’t believe how people can be that blind or see only what they want to see. I can wear a tuxedo and she will never think I’m gay. Just like my father when I was younger, he taught I was a crazy radical feminist…and let’s be honest, the polite way to call a lesbian in those days were to call her feminist.

We ended the day drinking some water at Starbucks when her phone rang….it was the idiot checking. Suzanne only said “I’m on my way” with a very resigned voice. We had such a great time but this had to end…not her decision but idiot’s one.

Days later Suzanne told me Daniel likes me, that he said to his little brother they had fun and he wanted to see me again. Suzanne was laughing at me because apparently when I was trying to take care of him I had a funny face. She said “you were in front of Daniel saying OMG, OMG, OMG, not knowing what to do…” she was laughing and laughing. She added “you asked me if I had a bottle of water to clean the kid…and you said <you should have one all the time at your car>”. That was hilarious…yeah…first time with a kid, and I didn’t know how to approach, how to hold him or hold hands….a real antisocial.

I was thinking of that all weekend…on Monday was my birthday and I called home in Peru, I wanted to skip this year but I knew my dad wanted to talk to me. I called him…he was so happy…I talked about little things, he was asking for my health and work. I didn’t say that much. I said “I love you” and he said that twice, with a broken voice…me, in silent tears…unable to reach him…physically or just in memory…his losing his memory that fast but he didn’t forget it was my birthday. After I hang up I was still in tears…even now that I’m typing that…there are evasive tears…

I became a father of my own father…trying to take care of him, to make things work in the distance…impossible since my brother is not that smart and my mother is that tyrannic with everybody. I had nice experience with Daniel….I gave up to meet a woman, I gave up that a lesbian relationship could work…not many women with brains available in the market. My kid experience it was fine…for 3 hours…I don’t think I’d like to be full time as my father did…and he stills does…I know he loves more than anything in the world…I keep him alive…I miss him…damn it, I miss him…I miss love in general…I gave up that too.

The White Leather Jacket

Interesting things happened this week, but the most scary was just yesterday when I went to take a look at my favorite second hand store. But let’s started in order.

Monday was holiday here in Ottawa, Family day, everybody working at the province had day off …everybody but me…since I work under the federal jurisdiction. But Church organized an activity. I decided to go and it was nice. There were totally unhealthy food like chips, sausages, cookies, and some fruits with chocolate. I greeted the Minister and I spoke to a retired woman (again, members of this congregation are over 60). She lives in a home for seniors and she told me they’re organizing a calendar…with half naked members of the retiring house. I had to pick up my jaw…just like in the British movie “Calendar Girls”. I got astonished but then my morbidity started to work…”ummm, old naked chicks….I need to buy that calendar”, the woman told me they weren’t totally naked…but anyways…now my curiosity is totally awake.

At that moment, my American friend arrived but first, his boyfriend came with a tasteless vegetarian pizza. He’s a bit taller, taller than me but same high that my friend, he’s fat, with a horrible half-made tattoo in his arm, almost head shaved and wore a cap….he’s transsexual, female to male (FTM). I was looking at him, it’s the first time I meet a FTM, I spoke all my life with MTF, all them their transition was good, aesthetically speaking I mean. I tried to talk again to the woman at my table and my American friend came and introduced to me to his boyfriend. We shake hands, his hand had feminine texture, his face was under the hormones …which means, his face had some female traits. His voice too, her hips show despite his obesity, female curves. I don’t know how long he’s taking hormones but changes aren’t that much to say physically he looks like a man, it looks more like a butch. He was sitting in another space with my American friend and seemed ok. But he was always behind his girlfriend. Once she told me she never calls him “boyfriend” just partner, she said “because is not the right thing to say boyfriend, he’s not totally that, partner is the right term”. Of course, I don’t think she said that to him. He lives in Portland and comes or my friend goes time to time. Yes, long distance relationship. Will this work out? I don’t know, so far, when people are geographically distance, the gatherings are intense…until they live together and want to go back at the distant past. I lived that experience.

All week was ok, but yesterday since I got nothing to do at night, I went to the second hand store looking for black pants. No luck…the funny thing is I was day dreaming about a white leather jacket, dyke style and I wasn’t able to find one, not even a new one. I thought of my ex, she had a nice one, well, I remembered that jacket as the hottest one. So, I after my lack of luck in the pants section I went to see a leather jacket….and look what I found…my ex jacket! No kidding, it was her jacket….I remember she had a Medium size which it was giant for me. I got paralyzed…it can’t it be hers. Suddenly I remembered “Being Jessica”, in the tv series the subject of the past was the best or some souvenirs we keep in our minds are beautiful….when every time she jumps back in to the past to live that beautiful moment again…she realizes it wasn’t. I experienced the same thing. I thought it was the hottest jacket and when I saw it again…it was ugly, and it looked like plastic…I inspected every single detail…just to make sure it was HER jacket, I even smelled it. It had a perfume odor…just like her. I’m sure it was her jacket. I tried and yes, it was too large for me…then, I thought, why her jacket is there? Well, the jacket looks out of time, not fashion anymore, 4 years ago was nice, not anymore or…her ex or somebody he knew got it and tried to get rid of it. I checked the clothes section to see if there were more clothes of her…nothing…it was really weird.

I went back home totally disturbed…thinking and thinking what happened that to me….why…and why again…it was like she was trying to get in contact with me…because I don’t want to be in contact with her…I just drove upset and a bit mad…me, trying to meet new people and I found her bloody jacket…like if something in past was still hooked…I want to get rid of all that… I do more activities outside…it’s nice…but no luck to meet women with brains…so hard to find those ones….tomorrow I got the grieving group meeting…will I check this event?… Past is past, coincidence is coincidence…whatever it was…it wasn’t funny, but still, I’m looking for a hot white leather jacket.

The Bitchy Estrogen is Back

It’s almost more than 2 weeks since my surgery. I’m doing really, I can do some little things on my own and I drive even if is -20c in Ottawa. I was doing really well in behavior and mood until today. Usually at this time I received my Lupron Depot, the shot that induced me to menopause…so, more shots…Estrogen is back slowly, with it, also moody and blues times are back…again.

I must admit I was very upset when the symptoms were more obvious. I was able to cry, I was able to feel down, just exactly as before surgery. I’m feeling kind of furious, irritate and frustrated. I want things happen fast. The dreams I had days ago mean nothing to me anymore. I sent to hell the concerns about other important things…I’m just want to punch something or somebody. I hate my apartment, I hate to being alone and I don’t have appetite. I went to the shower twice, the second time just for crying. At this point, I hate my life. I hate my estrogen. It reminds me the movie “Southern Comfort”, and I wrote about it before when the guy says the only feminine part of him was killing him, this feeling of loneliness is killing me too.

Of course, when you’re in recovery and alone, people suggested you to grab a bunch of DVD’s and books. Somebody drove me to the library and I picked up an interesting book, almost blow up my mind like Alison Bechdel. Her name is Jeanette Winterson. One the first books she wrote was “Oranges are not the only fruit” which in UK, made a tv series which a great success. I haven’t read this book because …I don’t know, I saw another book of her available and read a critic in a Spaniard newspaper.

The title was appealing “Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?”. Original, isn’t it? Winterson is a lesbian writer icon. I was so much impressed of this book for its biographical content. One of the anecdotes described in the book was when her foster mother (yes, she was adopted and I heard many girls who are adopted are mostly lesbians) when she found out she was lesbian, she called to church for an exorcism. As my mother, her foster mom was crazy about religion. Although, this woman was really a psychotic case, my mom was just schizophrenic, well, they aren’t that far from each other. Apparently in “Oranges…” she gives more details of her daily life. In “Why Be Happy…” is more analyzing the damage of this pseudo relationship between her foster parents, her homosexuality and religion. I know, I know, a very bad combination. It was impressive the way she gets undressed her emotions about this woman, her future girlfriends and her lack of capability to be loved. When you live in a family, that dysfunctional like mine, for so long, there is a moment you can’t imagine, that is unthinkable other way of living is possible. You got your scars on your skin, you got more relationships in the future and without noticing, you sabotage them.

One of the passages that grabbed me from my neck was: “But mother is our first love affair. Her arms. Her eyes. Her breast. Her body. And if we hate her later, we take that rage with us into other lovers. And if we lose her, where do we find her again?” This is simply true. Even she, as Bechdel, they mentioned Winicott and Jung in this special, dark relationship in psychology. Her relationships with women, her ex, her tentative of suicide reminded me so much to my last years, living in the darkness. So hard to get out of that black hole. Right now is very difficult to me to articulate my post. I wanted to attach my mother, my ex, her relationship, her similarities, her parallels and I can’t.

Jeanette with brilliant agility was able to do it in this book. She mentions her redemption, her struggle, her fight for fighting her biological mother and the disappointment.

Just my previous post I wrote how I finally closed my mom’s chapter and my ex’s chapter of my life…what about my own chapter? I know I want to move on, but somehow, I feel I felt in mud pond, moving slowly, dirty, tired, frustrated, every step I do seems not leading me anywhere.

Mom+Ex= Missing person=me. This equation is full of women, women I loved, that betrayed me, that hurt me, punished me physically…of course this was their way to love…with Jeanette Winterson I just realized I don’t know how to love either.

Lesbian Financial Crisis

My last period, officially speaking  ended the 16th. However, this shot because I started my shots to induce me my menopause before my surgery, is working, so is making my hormones go crazy and I restarted again yesterday.

My college mate sent me a text saying the marks of our first test were posted online. I checked quickly, I knew I did it bad but not that bad. Of 30 points I made 11. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, 11 miserable, bloody, stupid, disgusting points. I felt humiliated, insulted, my ego felt castrate (again). My stock market of hopes collapsed, the future value of my expectations were to hell, the present value was a sad and devastated reality. I failed. The teacher put all the exams on the first table, I could see my mates marks…everybody did over 20 and we are only 15 students, mine was the lowest, because before me there was a girl who made 16. I was furious. I grabbed my exam, went back to my place with my look of pittbull hurt. I checked quickly and I tore it in rage. My college who texted me, he sat beside me, he made 22, he saw me mad and he didn’t say anything to me, he left the room some minutes after he saw his results, he’s safe. Some tears were rolling down, I don’t know, it wasn’t sadness but angry. I wanted to give up the course and ask for reimbursement. I sent a little text message to another classmate, a girl from Nicaragua, I didn’t have a response. I studied like 3 weeks for that.

The class ended when the teacher said “Is everybody happy?” I was starring at him with, crunching my molars. What is worst is when I stood up I realized I need to change my tampon….nice… I didn’t have any on my bag…I went to the bathroom and no tampon machine was there. Anyway, I used my imagination with toilet paper to improvise a miracle. I left the building and I couldn’t find my car, while I was walking I smelled pot, 2 young students were smoking inside their car in the parking lot trying to get high with hip hop music. I finally found my car. I changed Sting cd and I put Crystal Method…while driving the singing song said “there is something coming to you”….grrrrrr, well, what else?. I got to my building parking, my latino classmate called me and was cheering me up saying “not everything is lost, I believe in you” I said, “glad you believe in me because I don’t believe on myself”. I was nice to hear her “lies?” or support.

At the apartment, I changed the Simple Red cd and I put Rage Against The Machine and I’m checking online the Obama vs Romney debate, the night is almost over. I feel like a loser, I mean, how could I made so many stupid mistakes? Why in the multiple choice I chose the wrong ones knowing deep inside of me that I was wrong? Why I wasn’t sure of myself? The test was simple, why I couldn’t figure out anything? I grabbed my phone again trying to call somebody, again my few list of contacts were limited….nobody to talk about it, nobody…a mad dog is heading the bed..feeling like break some furniture…but I don’t have any, just my table and my plastic chairs. In fact, when I was driving I hit the wheel, then I got scared thinking the probably the air bag could have popped up. When I left the building I punched a locker…what my therapist would say? “breath in, breath out” or “everything is going to be fine”…sure, tell that to Lance Armstrong.

The Autistic, The Lesbian and The Housewarming Gathering

As almost all Saturdays I went to my second hand store. I bought Blur “Think Tank”, Paul Oakenfold “Greatest Hits & Remixes”, 1 cd and 1 dvd, The X Files OST and Mission Impossible OST, then I went to Gatineau and I found Soulfly “Primitive”. I was very sleepy but I pushed myself to go out. I drove peacefully…I jumped into my laptop and remembering the movie The Badder Meinhof Complex, I read in Wikipedia that the group Chumbawamba wrote a song about a famous member of the RFA. I checked the tunes in Grooveshark and I discovered they wrote a song about homophobia…I liked the lyrics…

Up behind the bus stop in the toilets off the street
There are traces of a killing on the floor beneath your feet
Mixed in with the piss and beer are bloodstains on the floor
From the boy who got his head kicked in a night or two before.
Homophobia,the worst disease
You can’t love who you want to love in times like these
In the pubs, clubs and burger bars, breeding pens for pigs,
Alcohol, testosterone and ignorance and fists
Packs of hunting animals roam across the town
They find an easy victim and they punch him to the ground.
Homophobia-the worst disease
You can’t love who you want to love in times like these
Homophobia-the worst disease
You can’t love who you want to love in times like these
The siren of the ambulance, the deadpan of the cops,
Chalk to mark the outline where the boy dropped
Beware the holy trinity: church and state and law
For every death the virus gets more deadly than before.”

I read Boing Boing blog about Temple Grandin, I checked on YouTube about a documentary about her. She is autistic but despite that she was able to have a master degree in animal behavior. Interesting her way of thinking and how she made a revolution in the meat industry ..on the slaughters…well, I’m almost vegetarian so good for the meat lovers. The most interesting thing about the documentary was the part the interviewers asks her what kind of magazines she likes to read…Grandin says “science” “not women magazines?” the interviewer replies…Grandin says “relationships are too boring”. Her taste for films the same, she repeated again “movies about relationships are too boring”. For an autistic person, have an interaction with the world is too difficult, social skills are almost zero…it remains me  a person….me, but I’m not autistic…or at least nobody told me that, so far.

Yesterday after my evaluation of my boff day, I got an invitation for a housewarming gathering. Somebody I know at church from Ontario bought a house in the Quebec side. Yes, while I left the QC republic she deserted from Ottawa. Now she leaves in the old town of Aylmer, famous as the Franco Desperate Housewifes suburb. Well, the old town is more like a big avenue of around 7 blocks with shops and boutiques, the rest of the area is shopping centers, and finally houses.

She bought a house of 140 years, in good shape, the last owner made renovations, lots of wood for my test, but my friend loves it. For me is nice, but to big for 1 person. I told her when I arrived, I was the first one, that she needed a cat. She’s still single reaching the 40’s. She told me months ago she was dating a guy older than him but at the end it didn’t work out. Now, her new house a nephew keep her busy. Despite the massive lay offs, she was one of the survivors, that was a relief, otherwise, to buy a house it wouldn’t have been impossible. Her place was prepared for the visitors. She gave a personal tour, she showed me the pool, the bathrooms, dinning room, the kitchen etc etc etc. Nice indeed but again to big for one person. There was a little table with 4 kinds of cheese, I tried some but it weren’t the best, am I losing my cheese tasting? or is the new diet? Anyways, I just ate almonds and olive bread…so good and so difficult to cut a slice. I know my friend learnt the fancy French art of living, spending lots of money in goodies, cheese, wine, San Pellegrino water, 3 types of milk ( I swear , I opened the fridge!), even fancy chips, 5 types of beers most brought by the guests, baguette pain etc etc etc…it seemed for food for an art exhibition opening…gay people? Just one, a man who looked like a fashion gangster wearing a black hat and me….invisible as usual. The second guests were a couple with a 2 months-old baby, they got a farm…a farm? an organic one…well…who wants to have a farm when just Summer is like a couple of months and weather is so difficult to deal with? Them, not me. Whatever, the woman seemed nice, I just wished good luck, the guy seemed new doing the farm administration, telling to the 3 guests how he couldn’t collect his tomatoes…anyway…no comments. The third guy was nice, in fact, he works at the same place like me but in another tower (we got like 7 towers). He told me he was from Vancouver but speaks fluently French, separated. While he was telling me his story suddenly I remember that my friend talked to me about the guy she was dating, a guy from the West…older than her…OMG, yes, I was talking without noticing imminently to her ex!!! Ufff, happily I didn’t mentioned anything about my friend’s loving life. One hour later the place was full of people who rarely introduced themselves, some couples telling their baby-children stories. I met a crazy woman with her little girl. I just wanted to be social and I asked an innocent question “What do you do for a living?” She told me she worked in communications….and she explained me about the community tv channels, the monopoly of big companies, the rights of citizen, the HD signals, the towers installed in town…Ok, ok, ok, my headache was ready to start without drinking any alcohol. She woman talked and talked about tv and while she was talking I just cut more Camembert cheese (which was tasteless). Bad idea, then another woman who works from the government came and talked about her boring job…well, I’m so glad I didn’t talked about me…because nobody asked me…just my friend’s ex, which was very kind and nice…the rest, dismissed. Well, in fact, everybody knew each other, at least 60% of them. For some it was the first time in that part of Gatineau, remember, Ontarians don’t cross the bridge, which by the way, one lane was closed.

The gathering was starting to dye around 10.30pm, I left after some minutes, I was glad to leave that place. Don’t get me wrong, the house is nice and cozy, the people not that bad, but the idea or drinking and eating with people who don’t dare to talk or are in little groups without including you was too much but I was glad that my effort wasn’t that bad. My social skills…are they improving? Well, I don’t think so, the Ontarians skills remains the same, little group, little people, not daring to talk to another strange at least that person has an interest on you.

I went to bed…my cat was very happy to see me again… I just kissed her…thinking meeting people is not that hard but is hard to break down those cultural walls, the Ontarians are the pro in building those, they meet you with an inch ruler and sanitizer.