Big Fat Hairy Living

The guy who has this on his site likes to bareback:

>A friend of several years who subscribes to the e-mail version of this blog sent me an e-mail telling me that he wanted to be unsubscribed. I did so, then asked him why. He told me that he disliked my anti-religion rants and that I had become too negative and cynical, so he needed to unsubscribe because my hatred for religion offended him, and he only wants to be around positive people.

It deeply hurt me that instead of telling me all this when it happened or expressing concern, he decided to wait for weeks, then make me ask him what was going on. People who know me in person know that I’m cynical. More often than not, I’m not happy, and I’m certainly not happy all the time. If someone wants to be around positive people only, that tells me that he doesn’t want to be around me. Accepting me means accepting all of me, the good and the bad.

We’re not speaking any more.

In two weeks my department at work will be moving into a new building. I’ll be trading an office that’s shared with one other person, but I think it will be worth the price to finally have decent furniture. There’s a Tim Horton’s on the same floor as my office, and the furniture is by Ikea.

My current desk has an inventory tag from 1970 on it. It’s older than me. The carpet has mystery stains that are unidentifiable. It’s gross.

My boyfriend and I went to Riverdale Farm on Sunday. I visited my chickens and was licked by a goat. The goat looked kind of like my boyfriend: it had a long beard and big balls. Well, almost like him.

After returning to his apartment and watching some strong man thing on television, we went to Gio Rana’s Really Really Nice Restaurant at Queen and Leslie. I lost the photo ID portion of my Metropass there.

Last night, my boyfriend and I went to 5ive, a dance club. The owner, a bear, passes out free passes to bears and leather men wherever he goes, so we got in with no cover. The only reason I went was because the boyfriend wanted to go: the music was bad, it was too loud, and the place was too smoky. We left quickly.

We decided to walk to Timothy’s. On the way, a big fat tattooed American porker cub type with a cute Southern accent asked us for directions to “a Subway.” We gave him directions to Wellesley station, and he followed us a bit. Upon reaching the subway station, he walked up to us again and said, “I meant Subway sandwiches.” We gave him directions to the one at Church and Wellesley, where he stopped and talked with us for five minutes.

Just as one would expect based on stereotypes, he was amazed at our health care system (his mother was being operated on at Toronto General Hospital) and the lack of guns. When we told him that people here really just don’t own guns, he was shocked. He was quite cute, and I almost got the impression that he was was coming on to both of us. Perhaps he was just a big extrovert.

Cardinal Francis Arinze told a World Youth Day crowd that it’s their duty to prevent gays and lesbians from marrying. He didn’t directly claim that people with AIDS are suffering from divine punishment, but he said that “some have contracted disease because they offended against chastity.”

Why are these bigots having their hate-spewing party funded by various levels of government to the tune of millions of dollars?

World Youth Day protesters picketed an abortion clinic yesterday.

These assholes make me want to scream. I wish they’d take their bigoted anti-choice, anti-gay, anti-feminist bullshit and leave us alone.

af•fec•ta•tion, noun. 1. The act of taking on or displaying an attitude or mode of behavior not natural to oneself or not genuinely felt. 2. speech or conduct not natural to oneself : ARTIFICIALITY. (e.g., His habit of using British english despite the fact that he’s Canadian is an affectation.)

I’m going to be ill now.