Futon wrestling

It started a week ago when my most recent romantic disappointment Randy spent the night at my place. He came over when his work ended at 8pm. I had dinner ready for him, we made out and cuddled. At 11:30 I needed to sleep as I worked the next day. He needed to snack before bed so I helped him get a bowl of cereal going. While I tried to sleep he went poking through files on my computer looking for porn. Finally at 1:30 I told him he had to come to bed if he was staying as I couldn't work with sleep. He obeyed and within a few minutes was snoring so loudly that I wished I had left his surfing for porn.

I retreated to the living room to sleep on my sofa-bed futon and it was there I got a small cluster of bed bug bites an hour of so later. That kept me up most of the rest of the night. I had a bed bug infestation last October and had to buy a new mattress and box spring set. I bug-proofed them with plastic slip covers and have been free of the little bastards since then, but not before I became fully cognizant of what their bites are like.

I thought the living room futon would be safe from infestation since it is rarely used and the bugs are primarily attracted to where people sleep. If the futon wasn't already too infested I needed to seal it right away, especially since I'd be sleeping on it 10 days later for a week when Brian and Dean arrived from Toronto.

So last Saturday I acted. I had it through the shopping crowds and construction zone on Robson to get to Sears and back to buy the slip cover. When I got home I spent half an hour just staring at the futon, wondering how I would begin, since my balance and strength are so tenuous now that I can fall over carrying a 5 kg bag or groceries. I needed friends to help me, I knew, but it would be better to get the cloth cover off first. I wouldn't want to keep them waiting while it was being washed and dried.

Clinging onto furniture and pulling at one corner of the futon, I was able to drag it onto my small living room floor. I braced myself on whatever I could while I reached down and unzipped the cover around three sides and was able eventually to free it from under the weight of the futon. I was wet with sweat by the time I got it off. I searched around the inner zipper and around the corners. I found one large adult bug but no signs of any nests. If there were any in the linen cover they would be killed by the hot water and heat of the dryer which they are very susceptible to.

Once the laundry was going I put my futon and pillows in the dryer on hot and called my friends. No one was home except my friend Fred who normally works at his restaurant job on Saturdays. I was lucky, he said, because he is off work due to a back injury. He was determined to come over and help me but I really didn't want him to hurt himself with the heavy futon. I decided to do what I could before he arrived.

I shook out the new plastic slip cover and opened its zipper. If I was very careful, I told myself, I would be able to get the first bit of the cover over one end of the futon. Even trying to squeeze between my furniture and the futon on the floor was a serious challenge, but after a few failed attempts I was able to get the cover over two corners at one end. I was soaked with perspiration again. I stood back feeling a bit proud and encouraged. Well maybe I could just tug the cover on a little further, I said. It was worth a try. I succeed a few inches on one side so I did the same to the other side. Then I rested. As long as Fred isn't here yet I could do a little more, I told myself and half an hour later, wet and exhausted, I managed to tug and wiggle the cover over the entire mattress and zip it up. The next step was easy: I grabbed a chair and scissors and sidled up to the futon to cover the zipper with duct tape.

That took about 10 minutes. I felt somewhat rested and further encouraged. Fred was taking loner than I expected so I dug the freshly cleaned linen cover out of the dryer and lined it up over the futon. I had no idea how I could possible get it on as it zipped on three sides. Well, I'll zip up the first corner and try to get around the matching corner of the futon, I decided. That worked. A few minutes later I had succeeded in sliding some of the cover under that end of the futon and zipping up that end. Inch by inch I slowly closed the zipper on the second side. I found a way to prop myself up against a low bookcase and lift the futon half way and tug the cover through. Pulling the cover under the futon enough to zip it up was the hardest part. It took several minutes of vigorous yanking before I could close it completely.

Now I really was exhausted. The only thing left to do was to lift the futon onto the frame, something I knew would be impossible for me even with Fred's help. It would be the best way for him to re-injure his back too. I thought about it while I rested. I tugged at it until it was lined up in front of the sofa frame and stared at it some more. Then I got the bright idea to sit in front of it on a chair and lift the near end a few inches at a time, then holding it in with one hand, shift my chair in closer. Step by step, I moved in closer and the end of the futon rose in front of me, then folded over on itself against the front of the frame.

Maybe, I thought, I could keep lifting it and pushing forward and the mattress would roll over onto the frame. It was much easier than I thought it would be. In only a couple minutes it was on top of the frame, but too high up. I tugged the bottom edge of the futon towards me and it slid perfectly into place. I stared at astonishment at what I had done. When Fred finally arrived I was beaming with pride and he was duly impressed.

That was a week ago and Brian and Dean have just arrived. Now if only the plastic cover works!! I'll find out tonight.

Breitenbush 2010 Summer Gathering

This was the best BB gathering so far of the 5 I have attended, in spite of the pain from dental assault that happened only about 40 hours before we left for the States. My dentist removed my upper right incisor that had broken off below the gum line. To remove the roots he had to slice my gum up to where the cheek meets the gum and along that seam a bit, the worst extraction I have ever endured. Besides the difficulty eating, I had a stabbing pain every time I smiled or laughed, but that I did all the time in spite of the discomfort.

There were 170 men there. I knew most of them to see and half of them to speak to, and I made a point of talking to those I didn't know. I have never felt so comfortable there, which is such a change from the wallflower self I was when I first visited. I am often asked why I go to the Faerie gatherings when I am not much into dressing up and cannot access most of the BB facilities. I go because it keeps me heart-centered for weeks, sometimes months afterwards. There were not as many costumes or parading on the deck during dinner times as there usually is. The atmosphere was more subdued. Keystone was the Queen Registrar and he set the theme as "Integrity and Transgression", so different from past themes such as "Passage to India". I have never seen a gathering where the theme made such an impact, where it was on everyone's lips throughout. On Thursday night, David Weissman showed his new documentary, "We Were There", about 5 survivors on the front lines of the AIDS crisis in San Francisco in the 80s and 90s. It was devastating, and excellently done. Mark Lunetta and I held hands through the length of it, as we balled our eyes out like everyone else.
I enjoyed the hot springs the first two days but my lack of sleep from the previous week caught up to me Friday. After lunch I returned to my room to have a one hr nap and woke up just before the dinner bell. There was not enough time before the fashion show/auction that night to have another soak, and on Saturday I had the trots again--a perennial problem at BB with the change of water and food--and didn't risk a soak in case of a sudden bowel movement.
I hung around the lodge instead. Cuz'n found me there and asked me to be part of a dance/movement piece with four other men, though he wasn't sure what the performance piece would be. I told him I was comfortable doing it because of my disability, because I am so self-conscious and afraid of losing my balance, etc. He said that is OK and he'd be back to get me later. I tried to make myself scarce after that but he found me in my room an hour or so before dinner. He had found his four other men, Crow Dog, Sparkle, Jonsie and Pussytoes. Jonsie also has a disability.
We tried out several things in the library until we had something that seemed very interesting: The other 4 would lie on the carpet, one on top of the other from biggest to smallest and I came up from behind to place my right hand on Jonsie's lower back and my right on his shoulders. Then I lowered my forehead to Jonsie's back and held it there before we unstacked and formed a line of 5. We paired off and the one on the end who was left out crumpled to the ground, then we reformed into different pairs and the fellow on the other end crumpled to the ground. We reformed the line with Sparkle and Pussytoes in the middle. Crow Dog and I took turns drawing horizontal black lines on their respective chests and Jonsie completed the picture by drawing a vertical line on Pussytoes' chest to make him "positive" and leaving Sparkle "negative". Myself and the other two stepped back to witness them. Sparkle hesitated, them embraced Pussytoes, rubbing his face over Pussytoes' chest and smearing the + sign onto his face. They pulled apart and removed and traded their swim suits while we turned away. That was it--it was over. It went over very well, in spite of all my earlier concerns, including a bout of diarrhea just before the performance. It was my first performance in 50 years, since I was 6 or so.

Penney-less

I met Craig Penney at the Fountainhead after work today. It wasn't the joyful connection I was hoping for. He admitted to me in an email about two hours before I left work that he intended me to only be a friend and that one of the major reasons was my disability. Why does that news always hurt so badly? Is it just that I have too much pride and vanity, that I lack the dignity to walk away unscathed? I see so much beauty in him, the kindness in his eyes, his reverence for his elderly relatives, his humour and wit, his ability to express himself in words, and his physical beauty too, all of which makes me want to throw my arms around him.

I can't say he wasn't glad to see me, that he didn't stand up to hug me when I stood to leave. I am sure at some level he still wants to be my friend, whatever that might mean. Surely he enjoys sending me several emails a week describing his house cleaning. But now my words choke in my throat. There isn't much that I care deeply about that I want to share with him at this point. If he had told me he was preoccupied with someone else, that he enjoys his independence too much or that he was just into Asians, I could have accepted that peacefully. Instead, he can't love me because of my disability. He can't see the real me or let me in.

Of course it hurts much more because I am so attracted to him, because I let myself want him. I am angry with myself for that, and filled with self-loathing for the moment. What will I say now when he writes or speaks to me like a friend? How can I trust his words when he tells me he cares about me after kicking me in the heart like that? Of course, he was just being honest, more honest that most gay men -- brutally honest, in fact. And I find it totally totally understandable that he finds my disability repugnant; totally understandable and totally unforgivable.

I was terribly uncomfortable sitting alone with him with all of these thoughts of rejection whirling around inside my head, trying to make small talk until his real friends showed up. I did my best to conceal it but it must have been somewhat obvious. Unheroically, I brought up stories of others who had agreed with him, who had found my disability unattractive, threatening or embarrassing. I wanted him to see how hurtful their actions were so that he might reflect on his own, but there is really no point to it. These is nothing to salvage after the milk has soured.

Still, when I hugged him goodbye I so didn't want to let him go. I am pleased I didn't get angry as that wouldn't have helped anything. It would only have masked the pain and sadness I need to process. Writing this down is helping immensely but I still am not sure how to respond to his inevitable emails when they come. I have been running through many scenarios but they all feel inadequate. Perhaps I will just apologize for not being able to answer for the time being, without saying why exactly. That way I won't provoke a discussion or argument, and I won't say anything I will regret. Our connection has been so short that perhaps he will forget about it soon enough. I won't.


The problem with bull shit is that you can never add enough sugar to make it taste sweet. - Luke Warmwater

My nephew....

My nephew Richard contacted me last week after almost two years of silence. When he was 17 he moved out of my sister's home and a year later severed contacts with all branches of the family to build his own life without interference. For years he endured his mother's erratic and explosive behaviours, filled with threats, guilt trips and outbursts of temper. I know this side of her well, and have seen that her motives are often selfish and her treatment of others is frequently mean or malicious.

When she became pregnant with him at age 36 she never told his father, deciding that Rich would be better off without one. She raised him single-handedly, but not competently or with much kindness. She kept him under her thumb and tried to dictate his every move. She was constantly critical of him and he was on his best behaviour all through puberty while her menopause dragged on over the decades. She pulled him out of school at age 12, when peer groups are so essential, because she said he wasn't trying hard enough at school. Home schooling did nothing to improve their relationship.

At age 13, she kicked him out because he wasn't doing his homework, dropping him off half a block from my door with no money or spare clothes for a few days. Probably, she just needed a break but didn't know how to ask for support. She wouldn't speak to me about it, wouldn't tell me how long it was for or what I was to do with him. Instead of explaining her behaviour or apologizing later, she treated me with hostility. She sent a copy of her will with Rich, which made it clear I was to get nothing. Four days later she contacted Rich on his cell phone to have him meet her around the corner from my place but deliberately not telling me.

A couple months later she moved from Surrey to Langley without telling me. She has never invited me to see her home in the 7 years since then. She eventually let Rich return to school, but by then he had learned that she was unpredictable, and that he could not rely on her. She held his economic dependence on her like a sword over his head. She scolded, humiliated and threatened him frequently, often threatening to kick him out if he didn't do what she wanted. Once he aptly called her "Mommy Dearest" and she just lost it. Another time he locked himself in his bedroom and smashed everything he owned with a baseball bat for an hour or two. She was afraid to call the police I suppose for fear of what he would tell them. He told her that he did it to avoid taking the bat to her.

As he grew older an ice age set in between the two of them. She suggested they go to separate private sessions with a counselor, and he agreed until he realized a few weeks later that she wasn't going. She had only gone to one session and had told the counselor Rich was the only one who had a problem. From that the point on Rich realized there could be no reconciliation and began looking for the door.

Finally, one night it came to a head when he was trapped over at his best friend Matt's house by a heavy rainstorm (a "Hollywood rain" as he described it). She had promised to pick him up but then said she was too tired. Matt's family couldn't drive him home but they offered to let him stay over. Sis told him she wanted him to walk home in the rain anyway but he said he would come in the morning instead. When he got home she ordered to be out of the house by noon. He called her bluff, and Matt's parents, horrified by the torment he was always going through, helped him move out that day. They have acted as his surrogate parents ever since.

Her life has been a secret misery since then, but no one really feels sorry for her. She has betrayed most members of our family at one time or another. Richard isn't ready to let her back into his life, even after three years. When he speaks of his mother, the frustration and exasperation rises to his face. "I'm a very cool guy in all parts of my life. I never lose my temper except when she is around. She knows all my buttons and looks for every opportunity to push them. I just can't live with her anymore."

He had no falling out with me or his grandmother, but a year after he moved out I suppose he realized he needed a major vacation from family to end any indirect contact with my sister. But he came back as I knew he would eventually, and even insisted on taking me out for lunch. His "homecoming" with me came shortly after my own falling out with sis 7 weeks ago, after she sent me a racist, homophobic rant by the 60-Minutes anchor Andy Rooney, which she introduced with the comment "Isn't it wonderful that no one stopped him from saying this!" This, after I, her gay brother, loaned her $5300 last year, which she promised to return promptly, then quickly forgot her promise.

I was delighted by Richard's visit on Saturday. He has grown in the past two years since I last saw him. He is still thin and lanky, but taller than before and his face has become more adult-looking. He even sports a bit of chin hair. He definitely looks closest to my brother Rob, though a bit more handsome. More than his good looks, I was touched by his openness and honesty. He has a warm, kind heart and seems not to learned any of the many undesirable traits of his mother. He is such a together kid, wise for his age and with a well-polished sense of irony. He says he will contact sis again someday but that he is in no hurry.

We ate lunch at the Fountainhead Pub, and he even had a beer without the waiter asking for his ID. We shard a lot of family stories. He didn't know that Dad had committed suicide on my birthday 14 years ago, and didn't know that his mother had had a major operation in December 2008 to remove a grapefruit sized tumor on her ovaries that was first diagnosed as terminal cancer. He was a bit incensed that no one had told him but he wasn't talking to us and sis said she would contact him later when the disease became more critical. Afterwards, he played a couple games of
Settlers of Catan with me before driving back to Langley.

He promised to keep in regular touch, which I was pleased about. He is the only member of the family I will get to see now, as no one else can be bothered. Besides Mom, he's probably the only one I want to see.

post-Pride exhaustion

Flash & Doozer arrived around 11pm on Saturday night, having barely caught the ferry from Galiano to Tsawwassen. Doozer was running late trying to cash in the final three tables at his pizza restaurant job. Flash had come in to help him as they were short-staffed and they both had to make a mad dash down the dock to catch the boat at the last minute.

They dragged their asses in here while late, kisses and hugs all around as they hadn't stayed with me for more than 2 years. They went out for a quick bite and then came back in. Then we crashed, they using my bed and me using the futon sofa in the living room. We all slept hard.

It's was my big idea to make them breakfast of eggs pacifica bennies on English muffins with Hollandaise sauce, avocados, tomatoes and grapefruit juice. Afterward, Flash donned his woman's polyester pant suit, earrings and clown hat and set off to glide along with the Pride parade, juggling his bowling pin-shaped batons while roller-blading. Doozer and I walked up to Bute St and north to Robson to watch the parade. We found stools on the patio of the Bread Garden 100m off the parade route but up the hill with a slight overview of the passing spectacle.

The parade held no surprises. The pleasure was in Doozer's charming Southern smile and kind-heartedness. After the parade had passes and the crowds had thinned somewhat we headed back to my place and played a couple games of Settlers of Catan. Doozer wasn't much of a strategist but he was great to play with as he found it all be be such fun. He doesn't get all prissy and picky about the rules like Rich can often be. We ordered a pizza while Flash was picking up tickets for the Spitbash for the both of them. Eventually they headed off for the dance and I crashed.

Sunday they took me to breakfast at Joe's, and then Doozer headed back to Tsawwassen to catch the ferry back to Galiano. Cayenne arrived shortly after that. Flash went shopping for last minute supplies for his coming week of camping in Salmo at the Shambala concert and Cayenne took me to Moxie's Classic Grill where we met Jason, Tim and Clayton, the other "Harpies" who inhabit his tight social circle in SF. It was a brief meeting but they look like interesting guys.

Afterwards, Cayenne and I came home. Flash was back and in he midst of repacking his many bags. He had an amazing amount of stuff that I would think wasn't necessary. He was leaving very early and planned to be in bed early too, but Cayenne and I were able to squeeze in a game of Settlers of Catan and head off to bed while he was still at it.

I was awfully tired but Cayenne and I had a go at having sex. It was semi-successful. I really only wanted to cuddle but it was a bit too warm for that too. He was a restless sleeper prone to snoring at points so I had a broken sleep. When I woke at 5:30 I got up to see if Flash had slept in but he was already gone. I said my goodbyes to Cayenne and walked to work.

After a hellish day of dealing with the terminally bewildered who could not accept simple advice or answers without trying to argue about it for half an hour each, I dragged my sorry, unfocused mind and ass home, stopping on the way to get a shot in the ass from my doctor and do a little grocery shopping.

Cayenne had slipped my key under the door and I accidentally kicked it an irretrievable distance under the dishwasher while trying to pick it up. While I was trying to dig it out Danzante called. I had forgotten that tonight I had agreed to let him put me through an art therapy exercise for his counseling course. I wasn't in the mood and even less so when he told me what it was: to draw all my family members (full bodied, no stick figures) doing something. I did my best, choosing to draw them doing what they they like to do. We talked about it and I reluctantly put on my shoes to open the garage door for him.

This isn't good writing, I know, and I feel so wasted that I am useless. All I want to do is sleep.

Pride weekend begins

Pride weekend will be fabulous this year! It's sunny and warm with occasional cloud cover for relief. Milestones renovated last year, reducing the size of its balcony. That means Aunty Tinkerbell only got 4 seats on the reduced patio this year, enough for Peter, Michael & Scott from Calgary and himself. So for the first time in 5 years or so I am without plans.

Flash and Doozer will be coming in from Galiano Island late this evening, around 10, after Doozer finishes his shift at the restaurant and Flash has closed his table at the farmers' market. I'm looking forward to that. Neither of them has stayed with me since May 2008, a week after we returned from Tennessee, and I haven't even seen Doozer since then, although we have exchanged some great emails.

My oldest friend Larry was hoping to come into town from the Sunshine Coast today too, but mainly to link up with a friend visiting from the US. He was to share my bed, which I had mixed feelings about because it is already warm and he snores. Last night I got his phone message saying his friend would only be in town today so he decided not to make the trip into town. I sigh a sigh of relief.

Doozer will head home after the parade as he has to work Monday, so his visit will be short and hopefully sweet. Flash will stick around to Tuesday morning. Cayenne is arriving from the airport sometime after 3pm Monday and will stay the night. That puts me in a bit of an awkward situation as Flash refuses to sleep with me (doesn't trust the old troll), which required me to ask Cayenne, who barely knows me, to share my bed Monday night. That could be interesting, although he has warned me that he snores. Perhaps he will make it up to me in other ways.

I am still not at my best. After an evening of conversation and frivolity at Kal's Thursday night where I consumed more than 3 glasses of wine, my insides have been in havoc. He wanted his 5 visitors including myself over right after work. We began drinking without dinner--just spicy, greasy potato chips to munch on. I brought along some frozen mini-quiches and sausage rolls, a pie wedge of brie cheese and some wasabi dried peas to add to "dinner". Besides getting a bit drunk (Kal walked me home the 3 blocks to ensure I didn't end up in Emergency) the wine caused a huge acid reflex in me that kept me awake most of the night. The next morning I was sick, a disgusting flow of rancid diarrhea, and I couldn't stomach food.

I still can't seem to as everything I eat rekindles the acid reflex. Today my intake will consist of plain yogurt, Immodium and Rolaids. I have two loads of laundry underway.

Evelina & Rick

I have two couch surfers arriving any minute: Evelina Chen from Indonesia and her travel companion, an American named Rick. They were scheduled to arrive tomorrow night but I got an e-mail message asking me at the last minute if they could arrive tonight instead.

Evelina has had a series of courageous and widespread adventures in various parts of North America, including many of the parks in the American SW and looks like an interesting person to meet, but all of a sudden several red flags are coming up.

If finding a hotel might cost them hundreds of dollars in the peak season, why wouldn't they invest in a couple dollars to call me to confirm it would be OK, and who would be so inconsiderate to ask for such a last minute change without even apologizing for the inconvenience that might cause their host, especially since they'd be arriving in the later evening.

They didn't get my prompt reply to say it would be OK, so they send me a phone message when they knew I'd be at work today asking me to text them at Rick's work phone, which they failed to check. Finally they called me at home an hour or so ago from Burnaby, about half an hour away, but they had to drop someone off. Evelina asked if I go to bed early. I foolishly said by 11:30 or so, instead of 10, so they might not bother to show up until then. I obviously won't have much time to talk to them before bed, before trusting them with the keys to my place. Tomorrow night may be the only chance I get to spend time with them, if they make themselves available.

Hmmm. I hope I won't regret offering accommodation to them. The last couch surfer, an older gay American named Alan Hatch, stood me up without bothering to call or e-mail. I didn't give him a negative reference because, frankly, I was glad he didn't show up. I wasn't in the mood and perhaps the Universe was giving me the space I needed.