Thank God for disco naps!

What a great way to start 2005: a steady stream of Scotch-and-Diets, a dip in my rooftop pool, and a drunk dial from Atlanta!

Now if you'll excuse me, I need a disco nap before hittin' the Oxford strip tonight. I feel the need to cut a rug, and I think I'm gonna have to hit 'em off with a stick: I'm planning on wearing my lucky outfit! I'll get back to you after breakfast tomorrow : )

No more tirades, no more tiaras

How self-centred can I be? I blog on and on about how I’d like to have someone to have a relationship with; someone to greet me at the airport; someone to share the New Year fireworks with. With hat in hand, I am humbly reminded that I’m among the luckiest people in the world. Think of the millions – nay, billions – of people who don’t have fireworks or airport-greeting worries; who don’t have food or clothing; who are struggling with disease and disadvantages that have been dealt them simply because of where they were born. I'm embarrassed by my tirades and short-sightedness. It's time I took off the tiara and ceased the princess behaviour.

Please spare a thought for those less fortunate than yourself this New Year. The devastation in Southeast Asia has really driven this point home to me tonight. I promise to never again ramble on about how hard-done-by I am. It’s time to remember my abundant blessings.

Happy New Year to everyone reading. I've come to know some very cool people through this blogging experience, and I'm extremely grateful for that. For you guys, and for everyone around this world who is in desperate need, peace and prosperity in 2005.

Surely it's not that cold outside

I watched Sydney’s 9:00pm fireworks from the rooftop of my building and started chatting idly with a nice guy who was also watching the fireworks alone. Tall, dark, handsome. "Hmmmm," I thought, "maybe this year will end off on a positive note!" And then it happened: I actually bored him into abandoning the fireworks and retreating to the safety and comfort of his apartment. Far away from me. Sure, it was on the pretense of "just getting a jumper because it’s a bit cool outside." Why, then, didn't he return again to watch the rest of the show?

It’s official: I’m fucking boring.

And I watched the rest of the fireworks extravaganza alone. What a surprise – doing yet another thing alone. As per normal. Obviously I wasn't meant to snuggle up with the I’m-just-going-to-get-a-jumper guy, but it would have been nice to have someone special to watch with. Maybe by next New Year I’ll have found a way to get back to my less-boring normal self. And maybe I'll have rediscovered the me that I like. And maybe someone else will, too.

I'll raise a glass to that.

More really useless fascinating things about me

For my fans and cyber-stalkers alike, here are 38 more things you need to know about me!

• I don't read in the bathroom. My philosophy: get out as quickly as possible.
• My first-ever concert was Culture Club, with Corey Hart (Sunglasses at Night) as the opening act.
• I am often assumed to be aloof and standoff-ish, but am in reality just shy.
• When my best friend first met me, he assumed I was arrogant and full of attitude (see above), immediately dismissing me as "big and dumb."
• I've come to realize that I have a strong need for affiliation.
• I've acted in 5 or 6 theatrical productions (including lead roles, roles with accents, and even one musical role) during the years I lived in Whistler. I just never really enjoyed being on stage so didn't continue, but sometimes wonder if I should give it another chance and see if I feel differently now.
• I tend to be a bit of a perfectionist and usually don't like doing something unless I'm good at it, but I've tried to push my boundaries in the past couple of years by tackling things that I know I'll suck at.
• I've gotten more creative in my old age.
• I sometimes think I'm a frustrated school teacher, and I bet I would have made a great one.
• I used to be much more of a Type-A personality than I am now.
• When I'm in my normal state of mind, I'm positive and happy-go-lucky. So it always pisses me off when I have an off day (as happens with everyone now and again) and someone says, "What's wrong with you?" Yet the person who's always grumpy and nasty is virtually forgiven or dismissed as "Oh well, he's always like that." I hate the double standard!
• I talk to myself a lot (good thing I live alone!). And when I'm pissed off with myself, agitated to the point of frustration, or in need of self-motivation or a kick in the pants, I often give myself a little pep talk to get me goin'.
• The CD that I consider the most influential for me is Touch by Sarah Mclachlan. Quite simply, it changed the way I listened to music, because I'd never heard anything quite like it before. It took me until that point to expand my musical horizons, and it's mind-boggling to think that Sarah wrote Touch when she was, like, 20 or something.
• My first-ever job was working as a dishwasher and pizza delivery boy at Emilio's Ristorante in Nepean, Ontario. It was in the Summer between grades 12 and 13 (Summer 1984) and I made a whopping $3 an hour (no tax deductions).
• My Uncle George used to call me "Swede" when I was a little boy. No idea why, but the only thing I know how to say in Swedish is "Will you marry me?"
• I have all the hair on my head, and it doesn't look like I'm gonna go bald anytime soon (knock on wood). If I ever do, I'll try and arrange a transplant from my hairy legs.
• I like mixing martinis with my own personal shaker set. In fact, I'm well-known for my lethal chocolate martinis that have been known to induce black-outs.
• I usually form an initial opinion of someone in a fairly short time, and it's fairly unusual that my opinion changes over time. I don't do it on purpose, it's not all judgmental and stuff, and I'm open to reinterpretation, but that's just what tends to happen with me. There have been plenty of times when I have changed my initial opinion of someone, but for the most part my initial impressions are pretty accurate and don't tend to change.
• It took me a long time to get comfortable with how I look. Even now I could list a whole bunch of things that I would consider changing about my face (including this honkin' big nose of mine), but I've accepted the fact that this is how I am and I'm much more comfortable in my own skin than I used to be. Maybe it's an age acceptance kind of thing, but I can now comfortably look at myself in the mirror and think, "Not bad for an old guy."
• Nothing stresses me out more than being late, simply because I rarely ever am. On those verrrry rare occasions when I'm running behind schedule, I become a sweat-dripping, stressed out, swear-word-reciting wreck.
• I have a strong need for closure.
• My happy place is walking along the Seawall in Vancouver (particularly at sunset), from my old apartment at Jervis and Pacific (across from Sunset Beach) to English Bay. I'd like to share my happy place with someone I love, cuz it's pretty hard to beat.
• I've never caused an accident since learning to drive in 1983. I was hit by a ridiculously demented tow truck driver once, but that's the only experience I've ever had being in any kind of accident.
• I used to have a drinks trolley (currently being furniture-sat by Suzie) that used to form the centrepiece of my apartment's decor, simply because it was the logical gathering place at which visitors could mill around and decide what they wanted to drink. I love that drinks trolley (IKEA, only $99!) and know that one day it will again anchor a different apartment's decor.
• I once got a concussion from falling down drunk in my apartment. I woke up with blood on the floor and my pillow soaking in the red stuff, and I still have 2 prominent scars at the back of my skull that you can see when my hair is cut short (which is always).
• I was a total geek in high school and was pretty miserable, actually.
• I tried a long-distance relationship once. Probably not the wisest thing in the world when you're half a world apart. Ironically, 8 months after ending the relationship because of the distance, I moved half a world away to the same city that he lives in.
• For some strange reason, when I get something for free, I often end up coveting and valuing it more than something I paid money for ("But I couldn't possibly throw out that t-shirt. I got it free when I attended a timeshare presentation in Espanola, Ontario.") What's that all about? It goes to show just how much of a cheapskate bargain hunter I am.
• I'm the youngest of 4 kids, but the only one adopted.
• I own a Jeep that is possibly the most impractical car in the world, but sure is fun to drive.
• I have an "insie."
• When I was a little boy, my Mom promised me $10 if I stopped chewing my nails. I did, she paid up, and we went to the bank and opened up my very first bank account together.
• I used to be both a morning person and a night owl, but I've become less of a morning person when I took a year-plus sabatical from full-time work.
• I really enjoy seeing a fit man in a speedo.
• Wearing ballcaps makes my head itch.
• I like dressing up, but only if I want to, not if I have to.
• My eyes look really really blue when I'm standing in sunlight, if I'm really tired, or if I'm wearing a blue shirt (of which I have many).
• I have big pores.

Hope you enjoyed that alarming insightful look into my psyche. Your feedback is always welcome.

Happy Birthday to themost luscious of them all

Luscious Lorna turns, um, 29 today. Well, today in Atlanta; yesterday in Australia. And in honour of her special day and the fact that I love her to bits, this is an abbreviated list of some of the many things I love about her:

• she's got one of the most logical minds I've ever known, with an incredible need to investigate things she doesn't immediately know.
• she's enthusiastic about the things that she commits to. I have so much respect for the way in which she throws herself into projects/interests/pursuits (her latest is adventure racing, by the way).
• she's one of the only people I've worked closely with who I trust implicitly. in a resort environment full of flakes, skids and idiots, Lorna was a godsend to work with.
• she hates her other nickname, but doesn't get pissed off when I use it (I think she secretly likes it). and I'm now going to betray that trust and expose her to the world as the gal she truly is: Horny Lorny!
• she can work a dancefloor with the best of 'em, surrounding herself with guys and giving each of them the appropriate amount of attention to keep them from straying. like a shepherd tending her flock, Lorna uses her cleavage charms to keep her brood in line. she ain't called Maneater for nothing! when she puts on that scooped, low-cut top that showcases the girls, mothers lock up your sons!
• she drinks like a fish. just like me.
• she understands and endorses the nectar of the gods that I call Diet Coke. and consumes it by the bucket. just like me.
• she loves cheesy music. just like me. the black box classic Ride on Time gets us cuttin' a rug like nothing else.
• she let me pace her during her first half-marathon race back in November 2000, and now I fear she'd probably kick my ass over 21.1 km : )
• she's been known to wear her pyjamas to work! that's possibly my absolutely favourite thing about her in history!
• she knows what I'm talking about when I make obscure cultural references -- well, obscure Whistler references -- like the floating belt girl, Tommy Africa's retro night (before it was popular), LIIT's, "start the trickle", hotlisting, pre-sets, and oh so many more...
• she's an incredible listener. but not only that, she'll always have a helpful opinion and work with you to uncover a solution to any problem that you have.
• she says I'm the best parallel parker she knows.
• if I had long hair, she'd hold it back while I puked. and while my hair is short and doesn't need holding back, she has most assuredly been there for me during some of my worst episodes, figuratively holding back my hair and whispering words of encouragement. just like I've been there during some of hers : )
• during some of those aforementioned worst episodes, she's usually able to fill in the blanks and remind me of some of my most disgraceful memorable behaviour. just like I do for her. and we always wear these stories like badges of honour, allowing the other to relate them to strangers in bars friends and acquaintances after minimal much prompting.
• she introduced me to the 90210 Drinking Game.
• when I was on my first-ever trip to Australia way back in 1996 and spending money like a politician in a whorehouse, I totally ran out of money. Lorna deposited a quick $1000 into my bank account to tide me over. no questions asked, no problem at all.
• she's the best Trivial Pursuit partner ever!

Happy Birthday, Luscious Lorna! Love ya lots and lots and lots. Looking forward to creating more and more memories with you over the years ahead.

Someone with whom I cando unspeakable things

Back home in Sydney. And reminded once again of a thorn in my side. In fact, I've had it up to here (imagine my hand indicating a level roughly equal to my neck).

Why don't I have someone special to meet me at the airport when I fly home?! I can't even count the number of times I've deplaned and scurried past the greeting area. Wishing, hoping, aching to have someone there to throw their arms around me and say a simple, but heartfelt, "I've missed you and I'm so glad you're home."

I have a couple of great friends who have certainly met their fair share of my planes, and I'm lucky enough to always be greeted by loving family members in Brisbane and Ottawa. But to see someone who makes your heart skip a beat; someone to just welcome you home after a long flight. How amazing would that be, for a change?!

In all my 38 years, I've only twice been met by someone who I could go home with and do unspeakable things. I long for the day when I can stop and scan the crowd to find someone who's there just to see me. I really and truly long for it.

I bet you don't know howto pronounce Mooloolaba

Sun, sand and surf. A scintillating scene of sexy, speedo-clad spunks. That was my day today at beautiful Mooloolaba Beach. The twin nieces were adorable as they repeatedly rode waves on their boogie boards, grinning from ear to ear after every trip ashore. Today we created lots of lasting memories.

Kudos Mr. Karloff

Most enduring image of Christmas 2004: my adorable 6-year-old niece N. curled up beside me on the couch, head nestled on my shoulder and clutching my arm as we watched the classic Seuss cartoon How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

There's just something about that Boris Karloff-voiced cartoon that alternatingly scares, thrills, and overjoys you. Every year while we were kids, my brother, sisters and I would count down the days until it would be on TV. We'd get to stay up late, we'd probably get a treat or two, and it always signaled the true start of Christmas for me (and, I suspect, for them).

Now, in the age of VCRs, we can watch it anytime we like. But this year -- like last year -- we waited until Christmas evening after the frantic gift-opening, after the belt-stretching Christmas lunch, after the excitement had finally died down. I can't begin to relate how cool it was to watch that same cheesy memory-evoking cartoon with my nieces and see the conflicting emotions on their faces as they first jeered, and then cheered, the Grinch. And what about that adorable dog Max?! I think I need to get me a hound like him!

PS: I'm sure the Jim Carrey live-action Grinch from a few years ago is just fine (insert patronizing tone here). Haven't watched it. Don't need to. My Grinch will always be voiced by Boris Karloff.

"I need someone to leave me a note explaining the whole "Santa" thing"

As we drove home from a Christmas Eve Party yesterday, one of my nieces suddenly became a bit panicky about the extent of her upcoming Christmas haul. Suddenly realizing that she may not have been nice the entire year, she blurted out, "I need someone to leave me a note explaining the whole "Santa" thing." I sometimes wonder whether she's really 6 or 26.

Clearly she was worried that her recent behaviour (which sometimes straddles the naughty-nice border) might limit her booty, and she needed some clarification on what she's allowed to get away with. Before going to bed, she got my sister to write a very specific note to the Big Guy:

Dear Santa,
Can you please tell me the rules regarding being naughty and nice.
Thank you very much and Merry Christmas

Santa responded by writing: "I think you know these already"

The Fat Fella made his visit without incident, and my niece made out just fine in the pressie department. Now I suspect her conscience will take a break until next December 24, when the panic guilt reappears. It could be a long 12 months for her mother and father...

Ahhh, to go to a sorry excuse for a booze-up Christmas Party

I've changed my mind: I think I want one of these for Christmas. Heck, I'd even settle for one-twentieth of his writing talent, cuz I laugh outta my asshole every time I read about his latest misadventure. I'm sure he's just as entertaining in person (no pressure, Jake), but I'll probably have to wait until 2006 to find out.

After reading about his office Christmas Party, I was reminded that the worst part about not working (other than the lack of a paycheque that fully supports my coke Diet Coke habit) is the lack of an office party at which to have secret disabled-washroom sex with the mailboy mingle with your colleagues.

Perhaps I'll have the privilege of attending an office Christmas Party again next year. I suppose, however, that'll mean I'm actually working again, instead of hanging out at the beach and enjoying my days. Choices, choices...

Zoiks!

Last night, I was awaken yet again by a dream. This time, the dream was about the TV show The Apprentice. And for those interested in an update on The Apprentice.......

.....oh right, I don't have an update because I don't care.

I've got some bad-ass gas happenin' today. Zoiks!

-28C

My folks called from Ottawa this morning. It's minus 28 Celcius there.

Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha. I'm sorry, I just can't stop.

Here's Trouble

Both my nieces kicked Uncle Jeff's ass at Pop-a-matic Trouble this morning. OK, OK, I was a bit lenient with my enforcement of the rules and gave them a few key advantages that may have swung the game their way. But I think they would have taken me even if I didn't help 'em out.

So you're thinking that Uncle Jeff is no longer the hero, right? Puh-leeze!! I was restored to hero status when I took 'em to see Polar Express. If any of my loyal readers have kids in their lives and want to see an absolutely phenomenal movie, go! Heck, rent a kid if you need to. I think you'll like it!

Who's the hero now?

It's a glamourous life that I lead. Tonight I was a hero to my 6-year-old niece, the most complex 6-year-old I know. She's so thoughtful and has a heart of gold, and is always thinking. She seems to want to do the right thing all the time (except when she's tired and the tears start flowing), and is so darn smart. Her twin sister, on the other hand, has the attention span of a gerbil and has, shall we say, some difficulty focusing. She's definitely off in her own amazing world filled with fairies and mermaids, princesses and ballerinas, and all sorts of other folkloric characters. It seems to me that every other sentence starts with, "Uncle Jeff, pretend that...."

I absolutely adore both my nieces and love the fact that they are bestest of friends and complement each other so well. But back to the complex niece. She had crawled under the desk in the office area and put on her pouty face because her mom had washed the Koala Bear and the head started to come off. This is a very tattered bear and I'm surprised that it survived the machine washing at all, to be honest. Somehow it did, but was in need of some additional TLC. So I hauled all 6'1" of me under that desk and had a tete-a-tete with her, suggesting that I try to fix up Mr. Koala Bear real good. She feebly agreed with a reluctant high-5, and I promised her that I would have him all fixed up by the time she woke up tomorrow morning.

But she's a demanding one, that complex 6-year-old niece of mine: tomorrow was just not good enough for her. In her adorable, yet matter-of-fact, way she pretty much made it clear that the bear better be fixed by the time she went to bed. I protested and said that I would mend him after she went to bed. "But Uncle Jeff," she whispered as she looked imploringly into my eyes, "I sleep with him."

Always trying to be the hero. Always trying to go above and beyond. Always trying to turn frowns into smiles. Isn't that what uncles are for? Well, that's what this one's for. I fixed the bear with some very dodgy sewing. I'm not sure how long Mr. Koala Bear is bound for this world, but he's got a few more sleeps left in him yet. Fixin' bears, playing pirate-and-mermaid, doing arts and crafts, giving piggy-back rides. Damn, it's fun being the hero.

Dream a little dream of...me cockroaches

The past 3 nights, I've been awakend by dreams (which is very unusual).

• Last night I dreamed that I was pregnant and very near delivering.
• The previous night, I dreamed about cockroaches.
• The night before that, I dreamed that I was totally excommunicated by one of my best friends, Michelle.

Dream experts: your analysis, please.

Three out of four ain't bad

In 1999, I was a founding member of a volleyball team I named The Towel Boys. The team name was my concoction, and I was solely responsible for our pre-game cheers while still contributing substantially to our level of on-court play (because it can't all be about the cheers). I, along with 3 of my closest friends Willy, Suzie and Paula, were lucky enough to form what we considered to be our dream team: the Towel Boy era had begun. In its various incarnations from 1999 through the 2002 Gay Games, the Towel Boys won numerous medals in international gay volleyball tournaments and were singled out as the by-far-most-fun team at many a tournament. (Secret: that was the title we always fought the hardest to win)

Ultimately, we were all just happy to explore our volleyball potential while creating memories alongside such amazing friends. The original four Towel Boys played on- and off-court for about 2 years until, inevitably, injuries and competing priorities saw us go our separate ways. Suzie and I continued flying the Towel Boys flag as the only two founding members, but we always looked back to those early days as the benchmark of what we wanted to accomplish. While Willy, Suzie, Paula and I never stopped being friends -- I still liken us to those Sex and the City gals -- our circumstances changed over the years since our first taste of the tournament tingles. We don't see Paula on a regular basis, I've been in Australia for the past year, and regular face time has been hard to maintain.

While its unlikely that the four founding members will ever play together again, I'm damn stoked: we're three-quarters there! Willy, Suzie and I will share a court for the first time in five (!) years at a tournament on March 19 in Vancouver, followed the next weekend by the best annual volleyball tournament in the world Calgary, the Apollo Cup! How stoked am I?! Check out the wet spot in my crotch as I write this!

And get this: we'll be joined by two of my other favourite people, Joe and Patsy. Simply sharing the court with these gals means we'll have an amazing time and will be frontrunners to win the "Sexiest Totally Most Fun Team at the Tournament" crown. (It's a tiara, actually)

It may not be the Towel Boys. It may not be our original dream team. It may not be anything beyond a commitment for a couple of tournaments. But whatever it turns into, it'll be a hot time. I'm all acquiver!

Then again, I'll drink to anything...

Thanks to everyone who sent birthday wishes. It reminded me how many cool bloggers there are out there. And taking some time to reflect, I realized a few things this birthday:

• another year older? check
• another year wiser? not so fast there, tiger
• more distinguished-looking perhaps? here's hoping
• more welcoming of afternoon naps? abso-freakin'-lutely!
• more easily reduced to tears by an episode of Judging Amy? oh ya

Older, and confidently unafraid of the consequences. I think I'm wiser, but fear that the minute I lull myself into a false sense of security....well, I'll do something really ridiculous.

Here's to aging gracefully inevitably. I'll drink to that. Then again, I'll drink to anything.

What better present?

Despite the fact that I really wanted this for my birthday, I was fairly satisfied to get this instead.

So far, it's been a pretty great birthday:

• my nieces grudgingly agreed to wait until 7:30 to wake me up
• they greeted me with a big tub of these
• I got birthday greetings from a fellow blogger
• I'm meeting my friend Barb for lunch shortly
• sushi for dinner tonight!

Other than the fact that I won't be gettin' any today (I have, after all, grown accustomed to getting a birthday bang), 38 might not be so bad. In fact, I haven't even thought about this today (well, not until just now). And I got some great advice that I'll be following:

For your birthday,
live it hard
and sleep innocently

Have an awesome day. I know I will.

I don't recall signing a model release!

Decathletes at the 2002 Gay Games in Sydney

Apparently I'm the only one who decided not to look at the camera. That's me in the green and blue Team Vancouver jacket, just to the left of the bald guy in the middle of the back row. For the original web page, click here.

So they've got this picture on the Track and Field page of the 2006 Gay Games in Chicago. But did anyone ask my permission? Jeepers, like I can just afford to have my picture showin' up all over the net promoting who knows what! We all remember what happened the last time they pirated one of my pictures for commercial use.

But most importantly, I'm not even sure whether I'm going to the Gay Games in Chicago to defend my 3 (yup, count 'em 3!) silver medals in track (decathon, discus, high jump) from Sydney. I'm definitely going to The Out Games, but can any Chicago readers out there (hi Jake) guarantee that Chicago will be fun? This boy still needs convincing!

Heaven ain't just a nightclub in London

My lunch today: copious amounts of Diet Coke, sucked through multiple red twizzler straws. For those of you not familiar with this practice:

1. import a healthy (sic) supply of red twizzlers from Canada
2. take a twizzler. know it. love it. envision it as your straw.
3. bite off each end.
4. insert in Diet Coke.
5. suck to your heart’s content. make note to self that it tastes much like cherry-flavoured Coke.
6. let your twizzler straw sit for a while. watch it get soft (and a bit discoloured, to a scary white-ish hue) after being bombarded by the mélange of chemicals that compose the nectar of the gods we know and love as Diet Coke.
7. eat the now-softened and battered twizzler. lick lips and think, “How does it get any better than this?”
8. repeat until supply of twizzler straws is depleted.

Now this is heaven! It truly is the wee things in life...

I want cake, not crying!!

I’m kinda dreading my birthday this year. You see, two years ago on my birthday I told a boy I loved him for the first time. He told me he loved me back. It was all good. Now, just thinking about it just brings back a flood of memories, highlighted by feelings of “what if” and “I wish.” And all I want for my birthday is to forget about it instead of crying about it.

I try to live my life so that I can avoid having regrets and wondering “what if.” It’s all about living large and not settling for a small existence – as in the whole basis for this blog (reference: the title of the blog), and my guiding philosophy in life. In this case, I don’t necessarily have regrets about how we ended, cuz we made a decision based on the best information we had at-hand. And all you can ever do is make a decision based on what you’ve got to work with.

But I sure do wonder “what if” things had been just a bit different, and “I wish” I'd known then what I know now. No mind, for he’s in a relationship now and it seems healthy and happy. And without a doubt, I really only want him to be happy. At the same time, I do get sad for what might have been with him and me. And being here reminds me of it far too often. Like, way more often than it should. Oh, and don’t get me started on the fact that I’m still chronically single and painfully tormented by it. Like I don’t think about that each and every pathetic day.

I hope I don't remember this anniversary of sorts on my birthday, but I know I will. One of the problems when you have a memory for dates and significant events like I do is literally not being able to let go of stuff. All kinds of stuff you’d just kill to forget. Maybe next year I won’t remember. Ya. Right. Like I'm gonna hold my breath on that one.

Next day addendum: OK, I wrote the above notation last night when I was a bit depressed. Forgive me for putting a damper on the light, happy-go-lucky atmosphere I've tried so desperately to create with my blog :) Reality: I still struggle with being single (duh, obviously, as evidenced by the above), and I wonder when I'll find someone. Rationale: I firmly believe that everything happens in its own time and for its own reasons. I know that all will unfold as it should. It better, damnit -- I'm puttin' my faith in fate.

As for trying to forget about the whole "I love you" thing on my birthday, I suppose I don't really want to forget. I'm a suck. Why would I want to forget something that was so brilliant at the time? At least I got the opportunity to say it to a boy once in my life. That may have to last me a while, if fate keeps draggin' its sorry ass in making something happen!

Tess Tickle: a star is manufactured

The gorgeous and talented Tess Tickle in all her pseudo-dominatrix glory.

In Monday's post, I mentioned a little minx named Tess Tickle. While she looks a bit stiff in this pic, with a slight deer-in-the-headlights quality about her, I assure you that Tess had some slammin' choreography happening. In fact, the DVD proves it.

Yup, you heard me right: there's a DVD with Tess' exploits doing the rounds of Vancouver's social set. I'm not sure whether to thank or kill my friend Doug for putting it together...but either way, don't expect to see me in politics anytime soon!

Remember, I warned you that Tess was best viewed through beer goggles. I know, I know, there ain't enough beer in Queensland..... 'Strewth!

Hittin' the links with Glennalicious

Oh. My. Dog!!

One of my blogger heroes has linked to my humble blog, listing it among the blog-links on his home page. I can’t even imagine a better compliment. Unless, of course, this sexy hunk o' man-meat and his equally hot Canadian boyfriend (yay Canadian boys!!) invited me to hang out with them.

What would I wear? Forget the pretense of clothes among close friends like us -- we'll hang naked.

Hooped

I still think of myself as this young whippersnapper who has his whole life ahead of him and who doesn't have to worry about being responsible yet. After all, I don't have a family to support, a partner to answer to, a 5-year plan to follow. And then I snap back to reality and realize.....ohhhhh Gawwwwwd, I'm not young anymore!! Inexplicably, and without reason, this fact has somehow managed to elude me until very recently. A clear case of denial.

OK, so my youth, beauty and innocence are way behind me (actually, my innocence is waaaaaaay behind me) and I’m (egad) nearing middle age! In fact, maybe I’m there already – is 38 (in a mere 6 days) middle aged?

Jeepers, I’m hooped.

I'm in love!

Mom? Dad? I'm in love.

With blogging.

We're fairly close to setting the date, actually. It's probably the healthiest relationship I've ever been in and, although it's quite new, when you just know it's right.....well, why wait? And I have to let you in on a secret: it's soooo much better than being in love with a man. Consider:

• If I don't write for a couple of days, my blog doesn't complain that I'm not paying it enough attention.
• When I'm drunk and silly, my blog will still want me around. In fact, my blog and I get along best when I'm like that.
• My blog lets me play with other blogs. In fact, as many as I want.
• I can always win an argument with my blog. Well, usually. OK, barely ever. But.....I'm learning to be more assertive. Baby steps.
• My blog gives me validation (a huge thank you to a fellow blogger who literally made my day week year with his thoughtful comment) instead of my constantly asking to be thrown a freakin' bone.
• I'll always be attractive to my blog. Until I grow hair on my back, at which point I wouldn't even want to be with me.
• My blog isn't a momma's boy. (But be quiet: my blog is a bit sensitive to the fact that he doesn't have a mother at all. Shhhh)
• I don't cop any flack from my blog (yet).
• My blog won't complain that my hands are cold.

Expect to receive your wedding invitation before too long. Strike that, we'll just have a small civic ceremony -- but expect notification of our gift registry in the mail very soon! We're registered at Pottery Barn (for me), The Republic (again, for me), Radio Shack (for the blog), and Ben and Jerry's (for both of us).

I'm sure we're going to be very happy together.

Sometimes it's more like "blahhhging"

....so the guys says, "That's not a monkey. That's my mechanic!"

OK, it was a bad joke anyway. But I do have this game that I play with Luscious Lorna called I Can Make You Laugh in X Words. The premise: try to get the other person to crack up by reminding them of an embarrassing episode in the requisite number of words. Great game to play with friends with whom you share a history! Even better if you play while doing some power drinking -- cuz that usually leads to episodes that can be revisited in future games of ICMYLIXW. I know, I know, I'm good aren't I? Well, it's not like I'm a rookie at this stuff or anything!

Seeing as how I just gave Lorna the address to my blog, I challenge her! "Lorna, I can make you laugh in 5 words."

Ready? (1) vodka (2) cranberry (3) condo (4) stairs (5) everywhere!

I know you're laughing, so I win! Damn, those Parties with the Pope were always good for a few laughs, hey?

And speaking of embarrassing....I have these pictures to share with all my loyal readers (all 2 of you now). Problem: I can't download them from my camera. You'll have to wait, but -- boy oh boy -- will it ever be worth the wait! You thought I was cute as a boy? Well, sit yourself down, pour yourself a big ol' cocktail, and prepare to be dazzled by a vixen named Tess Tickle.

I swear, as soon as my technical difficulties are addressed, you'll be the lucky few invited to share in my first-ever drag experience. The lovely Tess Tickle's virgin performance was quite a sight to behold. Just be patient. And make sure you have a cocktail ready -- Tess is best viewed through beer goggles.

Oh dear, I think I'm blahhhging now. Forgive me. Carry on with whatever you were doing.

Never too early for a Diet Coke

5:42 AM: Why, oh why, does that damn bird need to make those pseudo-cock-a-doodle-doo noises and wake up my sorry, sleep-deprived self? must. keep. sleeping.

7:23 AM: It’s Sunday, for heavens’ sake. Why does the garbage and recycling need to get picked up on Sunday? Furthermore, why do the garbos need to make soooo much noise when they do it? I suppose they figure if they’re awake, everyone else should be too. Damn their logic.

Random thoughts for today:

• Cityrail sucks. For sooo many reasons. And so do smelly people on really long JAL and Cathay flights to and from Vancouver (via Tokyo and Hong Kong, respectively). BO really sucks on flights of up to 14 hours!
• Seeing as how I quit my job, I guess I’ll be saddling my family with more home-made Christmas presents again this year. I bet they’ll be just thrilled to discover that. The good news: I make cool presents that aren't as lame as you might think.
• Dannii Minogue appears to be pretty talent-less, right? Why else would she be trying to sound like her way-famous sister and looking like a hooker relying on her surgically-enhanced body wearing really sleazy clothes working so hard to sell records?
• All this talk about two shows in North America can now become my reality: Lost and Desperate Housewives are both coming to Australian television. Oh rejoice! Other than the hot guys I’ve heard about (well, what other reason would there be to watch?!), I don’t think I need to add them to my regularly scheduled programming.
• The new (well, new to Australia but probably old news to every-friggin-where else in the world) Alicia Keys song Karma is brilliant. The Karma-stition version with Stevie providing the some incredible zing is probably the best use of an existing song I’ve heard since....well, in a really really long time. Love your work, 'Licia.
• I’ve only given the address of this blog to one person, and I wonder if she's reading. Muffin, are you there? I had a great visit with Linda while I was in Vangroovy. Thanks for help getting us connected.

10:20 AM: Never too early for a Diet Coke. My buddy Lorna would give me a big thumbs up, while Suzie would say “Now just add a splash of Bacardi and you’re in business.”

Still spewing satire

Jesus – you go away for a mere 3 weeks and the world keeps spinning. Bloggers keep blogging; still spewing satire. I took pretty much all day today to get caught up with what my blogger heroes have been up to, and life is once again good. Never mind that I totally bailed on my morning Frontrunners run in favour of some much needed post-jetlag sleep. And instead of redeeming myself, I pretty much did nothing for the rest of the day. Well, nothing but slide on some sleek and sexy underwear and enjoy a few afternoon cocktails in the pursuit of higher blogger knowledge.

Just kidding about the underwear.
Or am I?
You decide.

Today marks the one-year anniversary of my arrival in Australia. Jeepers, a year can sure change one’s perspective on where they want to be, both literally and figuratively.

OK, it’s midnight and time for bed.
Or time for fun?
You decide.

L8r.

There are a million storiesin the West Coast city

That West Coast city I know and love as Vancouver delighted and enthralled me during me recent trip. As indicated by my most recent post, I freakin' love that place. Another example to help illustrate why...

I met a nice boy at my friend Patsy's party, and we went out for dinner 3 nights later. He and I seem to share many of the same beliefs and interests, and he’s the only guy who’s ever answered my Standard First Date Question #3 (“What’s the most influential CD you’ve ever listened to?”) with the same answer as me (Touch by the brilliant and iconic Sarah Mclachlan, because it changed forever the way I listened to music; for him, it was simply unlike any other music he’d ever heard). I have no idea what’s in store with this fella -- even if it's just friendship, that's fine -- but boy oh boy it’s nice to feel like there’s potential. How freakin’ long has it been since I felt that?! Certainly since before I moved to Sydney. It’s clear: Vancouver boys rule!

I happened to run into him the next night, and had a nice wee bonus visit at volleyball before flying home. I had sent him a nice e-mail saying how nice it had been to have dinner with him and get to know him a bit better, and he responded in kind. Best part of his e-mail: absolutely perfect spelling and grammar. That's it, I'm hooked : )