Monday, January 26, 2009
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
A recent conversation with a friend made me realize how lucky I am because I haven't experienced any discrimination in my life. It's actually pretty stunning that I managed to live twenty eight years as the gayest gay to ever gay without ever being gay bashed or harassed or put down or rejected. Or maybe I have and I chose to see a different side to it and turn it into a positive thing. Who knows. But I can tell you that in elementary school no one ever called me a homo, (that was reserved for a friend of mine that even I used to call "Running Faggot"). And in high school I was only called gay twice and neither time did it bother me. Seriously, a lot of people who did not know me back then are surprised to hear that I was not a loser in high school. On the contrary - I was a social butterfly. Everyone liked me (as far as I know). I had friends in every social group and always had a different best friend in every class. If I had to go back I wouldn't change a thing. Living in Vancouver? Forget it. Coming out in Toronto? Relatively painless. Work? I've always been fortunate enough to work with a bunch of chicks who fancied me their best accessory, and all the straight guys I've worked with have been extremely open, gay-friendly people.
Once I was working in the restaurant when a group of about twelve big burly manly men sat in my section. When I went over to offer drinks, they were still undecided. Before I could go back, they had all gotten up and left. A co-worker (a real "how much do you need" type) asked me if I thought they left because they didn't want to be served by me because I'm gay. She's a fucking idiot. I explained to her that they didn't seem happy with the menu and they were quite friendly when they told me they weren't ready to order. This girl has plenty of issues and was clearly only trying to get me to feel bad about myself because she's so insecure herself. I win.
My brother always used to call me a fag. But he also was afraid of gremlins and once peed in the corner of our bedroom because he was too scared to walk to the bathroom at night. He hated me, I hated him. I took no offense. I just peed in his shampoo and never told him.
So what is it? Am I just a super loveable guy that no one would dare try to hurt? Or do I merely have a super human positive outlook and extremely high self confidence? Either way, I feel so fortunate to have been able to live my life as a faggot with plenty of ease. Now if only I could get my parents to accept me...
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
Me and my fucking brain, changing its ideas every five fucking minutes. Here's what's currently in store for me. Who knows where the hell 2009 will take me. Hopefully Burger King.
So I'm moving back to Toronto in a couple of weeks!!! Yay! I have a wicked one bedroom to sublet for the length of my contract. That's set. I have the gig. That's also set. I have the part time job at the restaurant. That's set. But what happens after May? Here's what might.
I'll be submitting to the Arab Comedy Festival. That's hot. It's in New York City in May. I want to get in so badly. Why the fuck wouldn't I get in? I'm pretty amazing.
I also plan on moving to Argentina. I'm sorry, what? Did you say Argentina? Why, yes, thank you, I did. Why? I don't know. Why do I do anything? I've just recently realized that out of all the places I've been around the world, I've never been to South America. Then I got this bizarre desire to focus on Buenos Aires (it's the Paris of South America, after all, and I really want to get off a train singing "What's New Buenos Aires" and then have a bunch of sexy latinos dance me around a dance floor.) Then I realized I could get a transfer and work at a Hard Rock down there. That's pretty sweet. Built in job, fluent in the language, ready to lose my virginity. It's all adding up. What the hell, right? So that's been my focus for the last week. I also might use a different path to get there and go as an English teacher. Which brings me to my other random thoughts of late.
I want to be a teacher. But for reals. I'm thinking of putting performing on the back burner temporarily and going back to University do complete a double major in English and Spanish. Then do teacher's college and get a job as a high school English/Spanish/Drama teacher. Or go abroad and teach English at a rich kid's private school. Or get a job at an Embassy. Or as a translator. Or just travel for the rest of my life while working at Hard Rock Cafes. The only flaw is that I'll be thirty four when I graduate. Is that weird? Then I realized I'm almost thirty. Then I realized, do I really act or feel twenty eight right now? Then I realized, no, I don't. I feel that girl in theatre school who always lied about her age. I'll just tell people I was born in 1990 and they'll think I'm starting my twenties instead. Sound good? Keep my secret, yes?
I also really want to do the Second City conservatory when I go back to Toronto, but you kinda have to do all the classes consecutively which means being in Toronto for a year at a time. That could either throw a wrench in my Argentina plan or it could mean Argentina will throw a wrench in my stand up comedy plan.
Do I really want to be a teacher or do I want to be a stand up comedian? Can I do both? Where the hell did musical theatre go? I want to get on TV. Lord, please let me have it all, will ya? Lord? Can I be not be a stand up comedian teacher from Argentina living in New York as a slutty nanny?
Saturday, January 03, 2009
For my Christmas present to myself, I went to get my very first STD test. Before going in I tried to figure out who all my sexual partners were and I realized I've had many more than I realized. Twenty sexual partners, seventeen of them went down on me, nine of whom I reciprocated, and I engaged in anal penetration with none of the above. I'm currently awaiting the results. I'm quite eager, even though I was told in the pre-test interview that my situation is low risk. I was giggling in my head the whole time thinking of Sarah Silverman. How long do these things usually take?