New Friends

Today's song of the day is "Video Games" by Lana Del Rey.

One of the first beautiful things I learned about NYC is that many places on Sunday morning offer an "unlimited booze" option with their brunch menu. Bottomless mimosas, bloody marys, and sangria - what else could a boy ask for? Perhaps maybe that their bathroom not be down a flight of stairs so I don't have to climb back up them after I excuse myself from the table to throw up? I suppose that would have been too perfect.

My best friend Jason was visiting from Toronto, and we found a little Italian place on 7th Avenue. Our table was uneven so I got under the table and put a cork under the leg to keep it from rocking back and forth. A man at a nearby table came over to say hello. It turned out that when I bent down he had seen the bright purple thong sticking out of my long johns (which I'd worn out the previous night and slept in) and decided to introduce himself. Soon after that we were joined by two random straight girls, one of whom had decided she was going to marry Jason before brunch was through. A text message I received from his fiance later in the day said "You can be our flower girl. I promise the outfits will be purple. You might just be throwing flowers in a thong - start an exercise regimen accordingly." My kind of wedding. Apparently she didn't realize what I was up to in the bathroom. It was also my kind of brunch - we made three new friends! Our new guy friend even had us over to watch the Emmy's (me) and to nap (Jason.) Somehow during the Emmy's our new friend revealed himself to be a massive creep. I'm not sure if we realized this after he randomly took off his pants but by the time he attempted to pick my nose, we were on our way out the door.

The entire weekend was a learning experience - the night before we saw the lovely Erika Jayne perform her new song at Rockit! at Crimson. Why anyone would throw size Large t-shirts at a group of gays is beyond me, but I am wearing mine right now so I can't complain (though I did have to put a belt on to give it some shape.) After that we ventured to Industry, possibly my favourite place in all of NYC, where the DJ played not one, not two, but six Britney Spears songs IN A ROW. Yes please. Once the crowd started to evaporate we went across the street to Therapy where I had a dance off with Red Shirt Guy and made another new friend outside. This guy (Kevin) was tall, dapper, and very very cute. We watched as a group of guys went into Therapy and then immediately came back out. One of these guys was shouting "why is everywhere so dead? This is New York fucking City! Not the fucking midwest!" Kevin took it upon himself to explain to me how to tell the difference between someone who has always lived in NYC and someone who has recently moved to NYC. These guys were clearly not from NYC, and they were assholes. They act like assholes because they think that's how people in NYC act. I said I thought it was a fact that NYC people were generally rude and that it made sense to act like an asshole to fit in. Kevin said "Oh, don't get me wrong - I'm a total cunt. But I'm not an asshole."

In hindsight, I'm not sure how useful that information was.

On our walk home, Jason and I came in very close contact with a rather large asshole. He came up from behind me, but instead of walking around me as he passed, he deliberately body checked my bag. Naturally, I thought he was trying to steal it so I jumped and pulled away from him. He kept walking and I realized that he was just trying to get a reaction out of me. It had worked, though my reaction was to giggle uncontrollably. He turned around, eyes bulging out of his head, and asked if I had a problem. I couldn't speak through my laughter and shock so Jason very calmly said "you startled him." This guy had clearly had a bad night. He was black and wearing a very deep V purple cardigan with nothing underneath. Obviously gay and slightly overweight, he attempted to knock Jason's pizza out of his hand before walking away, which made me laugh even harder. Again, our new friend turned around and asked what was so funny. Again, I had no answer for him but to try to suppress my urge to laugh...we let him get a bit farther ahead before I had to let out the guffaw that was building within me. This situation was completely ridiculous! How could I not laugh? Of course even from the other side of the street he heard me (my laugh is notoriously loud) and turned around for a third time. I almost decided to run but before I could he was right in front of me. This "sketchqueen," as Jason so eloquently put it the next day, was either high or suffering from roid rage. He attempted to knock the open blue Gatorade I was holding out of my hand - causing me to empty the bottle all over him. Before he could react I dashed into the street and hailed a cab. As I got in I shouted "I HOPE THAT'S DRY-CLEAN ONLY!"

I can only hope I never come face-to-face with that guy ever again. And if/when I do, hopefully he doesn't have a concealed weapon. He's probably even more furious now that it's been a few days - realizing he'll never be able to wear that cardigan again. If he's like me he doesn't have laundry facilities in his building.

Anyone who knows me will tell you that I don't really like to do laundry in the first place - I own a lot of clothes that are delicate and putting them through the washer damages them, makes them change shape, makes their colours fade...etc. I like to do laundry as infrequently as possible. My mom knows this and so last week I received a text message from her that looked something like "Hope you're having a great day - do your laundry." I told her I was going to the laundromat soon and she said "Please tell me this isn't the first time you've done laundry since you moved there" so I told her it wasn't but I think we both knew it was. She knows me too well! She also knows I own enough underwear to last for a month and a half, so it's no big deal.

So I went to the laundromat. I had hoped my experience there would be enough for an entire blog post but sadly, I didn't have much luck. The elderly black man operating the place was enthusiastically watching whatever soap opera was on at full blast. He even applauded when one character told her friend "you can change your clothes and your hair, but you'll always just be a little white girl from Brooklyn." Otherwise it was devoid of much excitement. Though I did think the name of the laundromat was very appropriate.

I have been called Queen of many things, but never laundry.

-BO

Hiatus

So I haven't been sticking to my goal of writing something at least every three days. Actually, it's been closer to three weeks since my last post. I feel ashamed - especially since my lovely friend Lucia (www.whereisloosh.blogspot.com) just included a link to my blog in her post. What if someone who reads her blog decided to look at mine and saw that it had been nearly a month since my last update?? They might think that nothing has been happening, when in reality nothing could be further from the truth.

We'll start with today's song - "Little Numbers" by BOY who are actually two girls.

I've been through natural disasters! One morning as I was drinking my tea the spoon in my cup started to rattle. As I have an irrational fear of all natural disasters (probably because I watched Dante's Peak and Twister as a child) I immediately sprang into action. I dove into the nearest door frame for protection...then I wondered if that was protocol for a tornado so I grabbed my iPhone and quickly Googled proper earthquake procedure. By the time my search results came back the rumbling had stopped but I had a general sense of unease. As someone who like to be in control of everything around him, the earth moving beneath my feet is unwelcome. Only days after that I relocated to my aunt & uncle's house in New Jersey for Hurricane Irene. My apartment in Brooklyn wasn't in an evacuation zone but my roomies were out of town and I didn't want to be home alone in case anything severe went down. It ended up being much less of an event than we had been lead to believe, but I suppose it was better to be overprepared than underprepared. I was without power for two days for the first time in probably my entire life and with the train back to NYC not running I was left with nothing to do but re-read the entire Harry Potter series from start to finish. I have since completed it again and it's just as enjoyable and thrilling and tearjerking as it always has been. My eyes hurt from reading the final installment on iBooks though.

That's not the only adventure I've been on! For the Labor Day long weekend I was invited to a beach house down on the Jersey shore. I set up on the beach with a bloody mary filled thermos, Harry Potter 5 and I got the worst sunburn I've had in years and years (since Harry Potter 4 came out, incidentally, when I read the entire book in a paddleboat at our cabin in Ontario.) I ate ridiculous amounts of food that was all deep fried - from pickles to Oreos. I kept an eye open for Gorilla Juice Heads...though I'm still not sure I know what they are. My cousin Ted told me they are what Snooki chases after, but I've never seen Jersey Shore. I was hoping I'd run into Snooki though, I know she has a big poof so I figured we'd get along since I am a big poof. My mom texted to ask if I'd met Snooki and I confessed I didn't actually know what she looked like...to which my mom replied "Oh, I thought she was a guy?"

I also learned that every guy from New Jersey is named Joe. There were four (well, three Joes and a Joey) at the beach house last weekend. When I returned from this weekend of binge eating and drinking I headed straight for the gayest gym in all of Chelsea on the recommendation of my roomie - the gym has thumping club music and really dim lighting and lots of cute boys in tank tops. I also got three free personal training sessions with a guy from New Jersey whose name is, you guessed it, Joe. Thank to him I can't raise my arms above my head, can't bend my knees, and am afraid to eat in case it puts any pressure on my very sore abs.

I've been auditioning! Normally I go to the open dance calls and I've even been asked to sing once or twice, which is a nice booster for my confidence since I haven't really kept up with my singing since high school. The biggest ego booster I got was from the lovely director of Naked Boys Singing. I had to sing at the first audition and then I got called back for the dance portion. Whether they thought I was a good singer or just wanted to see me naked, who can be sure? But either way - I was happy. Apparently I'll audition for anything with the word naked in the title, because the next week I found myself at an audition for a comedic play about people with foot fetishes called Big Naked Feet. I walked in and the director told me I looked like I could play Johnny and ushered me into a room with another man. He handed me the page of script I would be reading from and we started the scene with me having no idea where it was going. It ended up with me on the floor, untying this (admittedly very cute) stranger's shoe so I could rub his socked foot on my face and exclaim my love for Gold Toe socks. Hysterical. At the beginning of my second read-through my second scene partner asked if I did much theatre because he didn't recognize me...I told him it had been a while and he seemed doubtful but at the end of the scene he looked down at me on the floor and said "wow - believable." He probably thought I'm some creep who likes feet who just showed up off the street in hopes that I'd get to suck on a toe. Ew

On Thursday night I entered the ticket lottery at the off-Broadway production of Rent and my friend Kinga and I got to see the show for $25 because they pulled her name out of the bucket. We had some time before the show and she had to pick up tickets for The Lion King for another friend of hers from a teacher of hers who works for the show. I tagged along, and lucky I did! He told us that since Sunday is the 10th anniversary of September 11th the show isn't selling very well so they've all been given two comp tickets to hand out - I quickly mentioned that I had never seen the show and I'd always wanted to...so I'm seeing it for free tomorrow afternoon! Though apparently our backstage tour has to wait until a day when the threat to national security isn't so high.

My best friend Jason who lives in Toronto now came down for a weekend visit at the end of August and it was a glorious reunion. We met for dinner and decided neither of us were wear appropriate outfits for the bar so we ran to the 24/7 H&M to pick out new shoes/clothes. I was wearing my Britney Spears concert t-shirt and at Industry a guy came up to me and said "Oh yeah, I think I've heard of her. She sings and dances, right?" I said "well, she doesn't usually sing" because obviously he was joking - he loved Britney as much as I did so we went to request some more. I've done the "I'm A Slave 4 U" dance at the bar more times than I can count, but this was the first time I did it with not one, not two, not three, but FOUR other guys who all knew the routine too. I was in the middle, naturally, and they were my back-up. It was fantastic! Afterward one of my many admirers came up to me and told me he enjoyed the show and asked where I was from - I figured Graysville was too specific so I said Manitoba. His response? "What is that near?" I said "google it" and walked away.

Is it just me, or does it seem a little unfair that in grade 8 or 9 I had to learn every single state and capital and people in the US don't even know the names of the 12 provinces? Jason and I were discussing this injustice while waiting for the subway (which is surprisingly inefficient, especially after midnight) and we decided to try to name all 50 states. We got to 39 or 40 before we lost steam, but for being a little tipsy I thought we did alright. I didn't believe him that DC is a state of it's own ("It can't be a city and a state!") but Jason was right. I suppose if the shoe department of Saks can have it's own zip code, then DC can be it's own state.

Other tidbits: I dropped my iPhone and the screen shattered - the 5th avenue Apple store gave me a brand new one for free even though I originally bought it from Bell in Canada. Amazing. I went to the Museum Of Modern Art for the first time and cried while watching a video of people in prison being visited by their significant others and at a huge clear box full of pieces of paper with wishes written on them ("I wish the Beatles were still together" "I wish film school for my son, it's his dream" and "I wish I could wear a fedora.") Thursday night was Fashion's Night Out here in NYC, a kick-off for NY Fashion Week. I ended up at the Alexander Wang flagship store in SoHo for a talent show that was to be judged by celebrity judges. I've heard that before in Vancouver, and the judges end up being Peter Breeze and Rosette. Here was a very different story - the judges were Ryan Murphy (creator of Glee,) Lea Michele (plays Rachel Berry on Glee) and Anna Wintour, editor in chief at Vogue magazine.

How's that for a New York moment? All that paled in comparison to real highlight of my night - the free buffalo chicken grilled cheese sandwich I got from the Gorilla Cheese truck though. Wow. Amazing.

Grindr

Today's background music comes courtesy of Florrie - it's called "Left Too Late."

Grindr has taken over the world. It is everywhere! Originally marketed solely to iPhone users, they have now adapted the application into Android and Blackberry formats as well. If you're not sure what Grindr is (again, for any straight people that ever read this) it's essentially an app that uses your GPS location to tell other gay guys how far away from them you are. You can send messages, photos, and your exact location to other users for free. It is pretty hilarious - some people are on it ironically, but most seem to use it simply to show off their highly toned headless torso. It's gotten so big that it's even inspired a spin-off website called Douchebags Of Grindr, which essentially just calls out guys who have douchey things written in their profiles...you know like "not into Asians" or "I like my guys to act like guys - no fems" kind of stuff. The Grindr website says they are approaching a million users worldwide. So with that kind of power, it's no surprise people have decided to use Grindr as an advertising platform, telling you about events in your area.

The other day I signed on and was greeted with an ad for an event at a place called Club 39. "20 of NYC's best dancers perform in a Cabaret show every Wednesday night." I was intrigued! I had visions of gorgeous Broadway boys performing numbers from their current shows - maybe whipping out some old musical theatre standards too. I envisioned a line of sculpted dudes taking on Hey Big Spender...which, now that I think of it should probably have prepared me for what the "show" turned out to be. I brought along my friend IR (International Rhythm, he's danced all over) for company, and he was skeptical. After a yummy casual Italian meal (essentially fancy mozza sticks) we headed over to 39th street. I showed my Grindr profile at the door and received a VIP wristband then I entered the space. I found a room full of boys in their underwear - one of whom was dancing at the front on a stage barely big enough for him to stand on.

We realized quickly that this place was really a spot for men to watch the man candy (for a price.) The bar informed us we had to spend at least $50 which wasn't going to be difficult between the two of us when a beer was $9, so we started a tab. The moment we were seated on a couch we were quickly accosted by a more aggressive dancer who grabbed our heads and held them near his crotch, which happened to be at eye level. IR looked at me across the bulge in between us and said "I think I just caught hepatitis A through F." When this guy realized we weren't going to tip him for this 'service' he called me a Bad Boy and ran off. Another one, who we will call FP (Fake Package) with an obviously stuffed pair of underwear didn't wait for our permission - he stood right up on top of IR and asked if he could handle a tidal wave. IR was concerned he might drown, but FP is apparently a master of CPR. FP let (or made?) IR touch it his FP...I was later informed that it felt like he'd wrapped his penis with a grocery bag. This was at least entertaining, and earned FP a $5 bill from me.

It was an interesting spectacle to behold. Some men were obviously older, wealthier, maybe closeted, and each of them seemed to have 'their guy.' The one dancer that they looked after. The set up of the club was done very well - the lap dance area was at the back but the view was only partially obstructed so the other patrons would watch and be envious of the goings on. There were moments when I thought I could be good at this job, but then I would see the faces on these dancers - an old man hugging one from behind while he gazed off seemingly pretending to be somewhere else. One dancer even took a bill from a man and immediately walked off, not wanting to be near him any longer. Assuming the place is about making these men feel special, I don't think that man left feeling very special at all.

But I did. I think I may have met my FH (Future Husband.) He was tall, muscular, and dark. He was wearing blood red underwear that complimented his skin tone perfectly. He came over and introduced himself earlier in the night and neither of us could remember his stage name - we must have been too distracted. I was sure it started with an F (Freeze? Fleece?) and IR suggested perhaps it was some sort of spice (Oregano?) When he came back to see us again, we found out it was Flex. I was close. IR told me he thought FH was straight, so I asked - and his reply? Bi. I wondered if that was a scripted response, designed to arouse the gay man who always wants what he can't have. We watched Flex dance on the podium and he actually had rhythm, a pleasant surprise. I went up to him and offered him a few dollar bills, and when I went to walk away he leaned down and kissed me on the cheek. I told him he was beautiful, he told me I was beautiful. He came to see me again later and told me his real name (or, he said it was his real name) and explained how he had come to be here. I desperately wanted to see him in action, so IR decided to have a lap dance. (The ATM was broken, naturally, so we had to quickly run out to the bank and have pizza at a place called Hot & Crusty first...surprisingly tasty. Terrible name.)

IR's lap dance from Flex was impressive, passionate, and just plain hot. Perhaps he was more into it because he is used to doing the same to men who are generally unattractive, or perhaps he's just good at his job? He had succeeded in making me feel special. I watched voyeuristically from outside the curtain, and then the aggressive guy from earlier tried to pull me in too. I wasn't interested, I only had eyes for Flex. My jealousy was heightened when I found out IR had gotten his phone number. I hoped it was for me, but alas. I even checked the Missed Connections section on Craigslist today to see if he'd posted anything about me...it was not meant to be.

IR and I discussed the possibility of working in a place like this and decided it wouldn't be worth it. Never do something for money that you wouldn't do for free. Besides, when we went dancing at Splash afterward I demonstrated some of my newly learned stripper moves and the crotch of my shorts split front to back and side to side (the second pair of pants I have ripped this week) so maybe the less of that type of dancing I do, the better?

 

Then again, I guess I wouldn't be wearing pants.

-BO

Red, White, & Britney

Soundtrack for today is "DJ, Ease My Mind" by Niki & The Dove.

I can't say I've ever celebrated the 4th Of July before. I'm not very patriotic in the first place, and I'm also not American by birth. I guess those are both good reasons not to wave my star spangled banner on Independence Day. This year, things changed. The 4th Of July would find me at a true American event - a Britney Spears concert. What could possibly be more USA friendly than a performance by my favourite southern belle?

The day of the show was my first day of bartending school. I arrived at noon to find a few other young people sitting outside the building in the sweltering sun waiting for our instructor to arrive. As we waited a delivery truck drove up to the restaurant next door and I could hear a familiar whistling coming from the trucks radio - the whistling from Britney's song "I Wanna Go." My excitement was already through the roof and this made my smile grow even wider.

Our drinking teacher arrived and told us we should probably not bother showing up before 12:05 the next day, or any day after. I liked her immediately. She began by asking us why we had decided to take the course. She went around the room and I grew concerned when I heard the answers:

"I want to open a bar in Ecuador."
"I wanted to make some new friends."
"I want to be a bartender?"

Didn't anyone in this room have the same motives as I did? Luckily my prayers were answered when she asked the youngest member of our class. We'll call him BD (Brother Doppelganger) because he immediately reminded me of my younger brother. His answer to the question? "I just like to drink." I knew we'd get along.

For lunch we all headed over to McDonald's (which would become a daily ritual) and on our way back I grabbed BD and pulled him behind a bank ATM. I grabbed a bottle of vodka out of my man purse and topped off our Fruitopias. It was Britney day, and it was time to celebrate. By the end of the class I was feeling well, a bit pissed - and BD had even broken a glass during the speed drink-making round. Keep in mind, we weren't actually pouring booze, it was just food coloured water. I don't think I corrupted BD though - the next day he told a story about him getting kicked out of his high school graduation for fighting with the principal of the school. This was my kind of guy. When I finally decided to tell him that he reminded me of my brother his reply was "I'd love to meet him, I bet we'd get along." Or their personalities would clash and they'd both end up dead.

Anyway, back to Britney. I sped off to my kindred spirit's house. His boyfriend was contemplating whether or not to buy tickets to see Britney with us. I told him he'd be sorry if he didn't, but my bestie was playing the "well can you afford it? Will you feel guilty?" cards. I wasn't having any of that "I will be pissed if you don't come to the Britney show, and you will regret missing it forever." In the end, I convinced him to go. Who can resist the power of Britney? We'll call my friend BA in this situation (Bad Angel, or maybe Boring Angel) for not insisting his BF join us at Britney...which I think makes me SA (Spontaneous Angel.)

Earlier in the day I had posted a Britney related Facebook status asking people to tell me their favourite Britney songs. BA's response was "Piece Of Me. I mean, please." which is total genius and I was mad about him being a better Britney fan than me on the day of her show. We drove off to the concert and I randomly decided to change lanes without shoulder checking - nearly cutting someone off before BA warned me. I apologized and he said he was not worried - that my Bubble would protect him. Now, I like the idea that I have a positive force field surrounding me...I'm not sure if it's true, but if there is one person who would know, it's BA. He's the intuitive inquisitive one. He's the one who asks the questions that I generally consider to boring to ask. He makes plans and knows the specifics. He is a fact based guy - which means you can tell him anything without fear of judgment. So he was the perfect companion for my Britney festivities - anyone else would blame me for their loss of hearing after enduring my high pitched shrieking for several hours.

We arrived at the arena, I bought my t-shirt and my Britney tights, and we made our way to our spectacular seats in the 5th row on the floor. An usher led us right up next to the catwalk and sat me immediately beside it. Tears started to well up in my eyes - I knew we had amazing seats, but these seats? They were perfect. Britney would be close enough to touch. And she was - and she was incredible. Say what you want about my girl B, but she knows how to put on a show. I'll always have her back - she's got Bad Initials too, after all: BS. My only disappointment was when I found out that in order to be selected to dance on stage with Britney during 'I Wanna Go' was that you had to enter a contest through the radio station a few weeks earlier. I wish I'd known - I would have outdanced every person on that stage. I thought I recognized the one Asian guy who was pulled up (some people from far away apparently thought it was me!) When I got home I saw someone had written "Great job up there tonight!" on his Facebook and realized I did know who he was. I quickly clicked UNFRIEND.

BA would actually make physical contact with Nicki Minaj before the evening was over. He would also tell me that Nicki's back-up dancers shared my physique - small waist, big butt.

 For me, there is no higher compliment.

-BO

Brooklyn, Brooklyn, Take Me In

Soundtrack for the day - "I And Love And You" by The Avett Brothers

The past few days have been exhausting! But rather than tell you about the issues I've been having unlocking my iPhone I've decided to list the things that have made me smile - trying to remain optimistic and all that.

Smile #1: I was walking along the street behind a toddler in a stroller who was playing with a bubble gun. The bubbles were spraying out to his right and floating back toward me - it was like being in a music video. Luckily I was listening to Lucky Day by Nicola Roberts (produced by the lovely and talented Dragonette) at the time so I danced alongside lip syncing the words. I find I've been smiling at many babies and toddlers - they are just so freaking cute. I feel like a bit of a creep though, and I wonder if their parents think I am some sort of gay pervert...they would not be wrong.

Smile #2: Fighting with the guy at T-Mobile because the SIM card he gave me won't work in my iPhone when the next girl in line told me she liked my Dries Van Noten gladiator sandals. Big smile for her. No smile for the guy who is probably going to make me buy a new phone though. I don't know if I can give up my iPhone for the duration of my stay in the States...

Smile #3: My parents arrived in town last night for a 5 day visit. I met up with them for dinner at Bubba Gump's seafood restaurant in Times Square - about as touristy as you can possibly get. Tables here have signs that say Stop Forrest Stop (you put this up if you need something from a server.) The waiter even asks trivia questions about the movie (I know who played Forrest and his mom - Tom Hanks and Sally Field, respectively, both two-time Academy Award winners haha) and the more obvious ones like "life is like a box of....?" but I did not know the three sports Forrest played (ping pong, football, track) or what shoes Jenny wore on their wedding day (trick question, she didn't wear any.) The thing that made me laugh here was on my way up the stairs the girls in front of me said "What is that picture from? Oh it's from a movie, I knew Bubba Gump was a movie, it sounded familiar, I've heard of it."

Clearly these girls were born post-1994.

Smile #4: After going to 3 electronics stores (one of them twice, the second time to return something that didn't do what they told me it would do, but alas, I have vowed not to whine in this post) I finally was able to retrieve my headshot from my external hard drive. I was told to take it to Walgreen's drug store to print it off - I stopped in a Starbucks on 5th Ave. to use their Wi-Fi and was told a Walgreen's was located only two blocks away. Upon arrival I found a huge line-up of people milling around outside, taking pictures. I looked up and realized this Walgreen's is located on the first floor of the Empire State Building.

It doesn't get much more NYC than that.

-BO

Home Sweet Home

Today's background music: "Always Like This" by Bombay Bicycle Club:

I wrote about going to see a place in Brooklyn on Friday night. This place has since become my home away from home. Friday's visit was longer than it should have been, probably - the apartments primary tenant and I hit it off well (minus the awkward moment when he told me he wasn't sure he liked the colour of the bathroom walls - and I looked down to see I was wearing the exact same inky shade of purple.) He's a health conscious guy (semi-vegan?) which is a definite change from my normal was of thinking with my stomach - I've already learned so much! Tonight he vindicated my love the ripe banana - apparently when they are green they are still a starch, not a fruit! Take that. Though I was hoping to use his really ripe ones for banana bread...

Anyway! Now I have a home. I still have to unpack my suitcase, but I went to the grocery store yesterday and that was a good first step in making it feel like home. You'd think I'd know by now not to go to the store practically starving, but apparently I never learn. The first trip was full of necessities (my least favourite kind of shopping) - flour, sugar, bread, potatoes, tonic, etc. I returned to the place to start cooking - got my pizza dough rising and had the lime sorbet in the freezer before I realized I'd missed a few key items. I still hadn't eaten anything, so I went back to Foodtown absolutely ravenous, almost dizzy from the hunger. This trip was full of less practical items like lemonade mix and blueberry tea - which coincidentally taste pretty good together on ice with some sugar. I was in a food craze by the time I was finished - I made blueberry lemon streusel, bruschetta, mango peach salsa, chicken avocado roasted garlic pizza. Mmm. Seriously contemplating culinary school once my Broadway bug has passed. I will have more on eating habits in the near future - this has reminded me of something else I wanted to talk about!

In other news, my friend Justin and I danced the night away at Industry on Saturday, which is rapidly becoming my favourite NYC nightspot. It was pouring rain - but it was nice to know my clothes were drenched with water and not my own sweat. My wet hair meant it was much whippier than usual too - this meant much neck pain the next morning. At Industry someone asked me "what did you take and are you offering any?" When I answered "no" he acted as if I was being selfish...I guess he didn't know I meant "No, I'm not on drugs" - he'd phrased it like I was definitely on drugs and there was no other way to explain my enthusiasm. What can I say? That DJ plays a lot of Britney - it gets me going!

To start our night out we had joined our new fave Diva by the name of Kelly King at Splash for the NYC gay nightlife awards and then hopped over to the New World Stages (great off-Broadway venue with 5 underground stages) where Kelly was performing a free show. You have GOT to hear this girl sing. It's like nothing I've ever heard. I had tears in my eyes during her rendition of Celine Dion's "The Power Of Love" and then the second the song is over she makes a joke about anal beads - this is my kind of woman.

One of the shows currently playing at New World Stages is called Naked Boys Singing...which is exactly what it sounds like (apparently it's a big hit with bachelorette parties and visiting gays.) A few of the cast members and the director were in the audience with us and we were introduced by Kelly. We know that Naked Boys has an audition coming up this week and the director tells us we should definitely come, and you'll never guess his reason:

"Oh please come! We only ever get white boys - the Asian guys are brought up so traditional and reserved and the black guys are generally raised religiously...so they never come to our auditions!"

In case you were wondering, Justin and I are both white. Like...white as white can be. English/Irish/Welsch is my background. But if appearing semi-foreign to this guy gets me a job, I'm in! Come to think of it, since I arrived here I've been asked "what's your ethnic background?" "what are your ancestral origins?" and "what are you?" by every other person I've met. Maybe dying my hair black was a bad idea? It seems to be confusing everyone. Apparently the majority of the cast members are circumcised as well so I made it clear to everyone within earshot that I would be a great variation on their usual prospects.

 It might come in handy in more ways than one! If they think I'm Asian they'll be pleasantly surprised when they see me naked for the first time - it's always nice to find an outie when you were expecting an innie.

-BO

Pop Goes The Weasel

Since I started updating this blog again I've had almost six people tell me how much they enjoy reading it. And here I thought the only active reader was my mom. Will this new found popularity change the way I write? Will it be like when Glee became unwatchable after they knew people loved what they were doing? I doubt it.

Here is the background music for today's entry - "Beating On A Better Drum" by Tove Styrke.

I'm not used to feeling like an outsider anymore. Sometimes I forget that there are bigoted people in the world who would discriminate against me for no good reason. When I express disbelief that people like that still exist my mom sometimes makes it sound like I've tried to create this fantasy world of unicorns and rainbows around me, almost as if I am the ignorant one. Maybe it's true. If you lined up everyone in my circle of friends it wouldn't take long to figure out what they have in common. They are generally a group of bright, open, accepting, artistically minded individuals. But isn't that what life is about? Maybe not necessarily surrounding yourself with like-minded people - if everyone thinks the same the thoughts probably don't go very far...but about surrounding yourself with similar energies and with individuals who have something that you might like to emulate. That's what I try to do. My friends are stylish, engaging, driven, and smart. I don't think I should have to apologize for that. We all want to have an environment that makes us feel safe.

So it's no wonder I've felt out of place on the streets of NYC in search of a place to call home. The first few days were the worst - I was eying everyone suspiciously as if they were about to cut the straps off my bag and take it from my shoulder or ride by on their bike and snatch my iPhone from my hand (apparently that kind of thing actually happens!) I've gotten more relaxed already though - last night on my way to see a place in Brooklyn I noticed an area surrounded with yellow tape in front of me. Instead of thinking "oh, I probably shouldn't be looking to live in a place where that kind of thing happens" I thought "Hmm, I wonder if that means the building is free now?" As if the landlord would show the place while it was still a crime scene - in NYC, I wouldn't be surprised.

This all turned out to be null and void because when I got closer I found out it was simply CAUTION tape around a section of the sidewalk that was being replaced. I knew this neighborhood would be ok - I just passed a freaking ice cream truck that was playing a twinkly version of "Pop Goes The Weasel."

More surprising is the experience I had when I was home last month in Carman. In case you don't know what Carman is, it's a small southern Manitoba town, home to about 2,500 people. When driving up to it you see 3 signs - one to tell you that famed NHL goalie Eddie Belfour is from Carman, one to tell you Olympic athlete Kelly Hand is from Carman, and one to warn you about the evils of abortion - LIFE: From Conception On.  I have an overpowering urge to set that particular sign on fire, but perhaps that is another blog entry.

Every summer Carman holds an annual fair - rides and mini donuts and fireworks and beer gardens. I hadn't been in at least five years, since I'd moved to Vancouver. I thought it would be a nostalgia filled blast from the past, and for the most part it was. At the beer gardens there were more shirtless guys dancing that I'd seen the previous weekend at the gay bar - though I suppose it has to be mentioned that I was related to all three of them. One of these shirtless wonders is a first cousin of mine, a few years older than me and a pretty macho dude. Later in the evening as things were winding down I was having a conversation with him when two of his dude friends came over. I remember in high school when people would see us talking they would always ask my cousin "why are you talking to HIM?"  If we weren't related would we be able to find any common ground?

One of his friends made a joke about how much dick my cousin sucks. He then demonstrated the size of this theoretical dick, dubbed it Culvert Cock and decided to see if I would be able to open my mouth wide enough to accommodate it - and I could. It was hilarious. I was surprised how much I was enjoying myself. Then this DB looked at me and said "you know, I really want to hate you - but you're actually a pretty good guy."

There's a backhanded compliment if I've ever heard one. It was spoken so casually too - like he'd been meaning to say it to me for a while, but not too long. It popped out just like that weasel in the song. A black, dirty, ugly weasel. I didn't know what to say. Why would this guy have decided that I was not a good person? My response was to mention the fact that we'd probably never even spoken before - trying to point out that he had no basis for this opinion. He said "Well of course - what would we talk about?" I reminded him that we were talking at that very moment, and he got on the defensive. Saying that he's not the only one who feels that way about people like me and that I can't hold it against him.

Why he thinks it's ok for him to be prejudiced against me for no reason but doesn't think I should be allowed to look down on him after he expresses an offensive opinion is beyond me. I left shortly after - though not before the police officer nearby took my half-empty bottle of vodka away and poured it out into the street.

I told my mom this story the next day and she couldn't believe I was surprised. She told me she had recently gone golfing with this particular guy's father and that he had pointed out something pink and spoken about it as if it was lesser because of what colour it was. As if it was inferior because it was girly. You know what they say about apples and trees. I know some people like to pretend that they are not like their parents, but here I am proud to say that my mother and I had the exact same gut reaction - to yell "WE KNOW YOU'RE STRAIGHT. YOU'RE MARRIED TO A WOMAN - WHO THE FUCK CARES? WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO PROVE, BUDDY?"

 My mom doesn't like it when I use the word douchebag, but in this scenario I can't think of anything more appropriate.

Love you mom.
 -BO