December 2005 Archives

Now, my issues with PETA go back to the time they started handing out bloody chicken heads to little children in an attempt to traumatize them so they would stop eating at KFC. Yes, because traumatizing children is a perfect way to gain the support of the normal people that make up the majority of the world. I had this discussion (argument) over and over again with Barone in that class we took with the really hot teacher in grade 12. When it comes down to it, there's nothing evil about fur. Fur is not murder. PETA needs to get over it.

In my attempt to find blogs to read that were updated regularly and actually interesting to read (and coherent for that matter), I came across Bryanboy: Le Superstar Fabuleux. His posts, much like Xiaxue's are fun to read because like Xiaxue, he lives a lifestyle that most people only dream of. It's also easy to ignore the fact that he's dangerously twinky allowing for an enjoyable read. At least until you get to his comments.

Since Bryanboy lives the lifestyle of the rich and fabulous, he tends to buy a lot of nice things; especially when it comes to bags and furs. Now, I doubt I would ever wear fur because it's totally not my thing and there's no way I could do it without looking incredibly tacky. At the same time I totally admit that there are some people who can put on something with fur and they end up looking about a bajillion times hotter than you (give or take a few million). He also likes to post pictures of all of these things and as you all know, jealous people get bitter. Jealous people get bitter, and animal rights activists are crazy. So they post comments like this one over and over on as many entries as they can:

There is a special place in hell reserved for you, you stuck up, superficial, shallow, egotistical douchebag.
You much have a huge ego to think that animals should have to die so you can feel "fabulous". There is nothing fabulous about wearing the chemically preserved carcass of an animal who was slaughtered in some brutal way such as gassing, suffocation, live skinning, or anal electrocution (which I think you would probably enjoy a little too much). Hopefully there is such thing as karma or hell so you can feel the horrible pain and fear that those animals felt at the hands of snobby fur hags like yourself.
You are a sick person and you should be skinned alive for what you do and the fur you endorse. Do the world a favor and die.

Posted by: Sky

Unfortunately for us, Sky didn't leave an email so I could sign him up for porn spam. And unfortunately for Sky, Bryanboy is the kind of person like Xiaxue (and Julie Cooper) who thrives off of that kind of attention. And I'm sure that it helps knowing he looks great while he does it too.

BUT! Fortunately for us, I'm cranky for reasons that I will not divulge right now, so I have the time and energy to spend making fun of PETA and people like Sky. Don't get me wrong, animal cruelty is a horrible thing. But fur isn't murder, and Bryanboy isn't going to hell for wearing it. How do I know this? I have the internet, and the internet provides me access to the Catholic Culture Website. That's right, I went so far as to spend time reading an article on a catholic website just so that I could prove to you that wearing fur doesn't mean Bryanboy, or anyone else for that matter, a horrible person. It just proves that the psychos PETA really are psycho.

Recognizing the distinction then between a person and an animal, and following the principle of stewardship, animals can be used for labor, transportation, food, clothing or other needs. Sacred Scripture has numerous examples of human beings using animals in each of these ways, including clothing: In Genesis, after the fall of Adam and Eve, we read, "For the man and his wife, the Lord God made leather garments, with which he clothed them" (Gn 2:21). Also, St. John the Baptizer is also described as wearing fur: "John was clothed in a garment of camel’s hair and wore a leather belt around his waist" (Mt 3:4). Given this basis, there is nothing intrinsically wrong in wearing a fur coat just as there is nothing intrinsically wrong with eating meat.

While we respect all creation and must use creation wisely, the key is "we can use it." Following the principle of stewardship, nothing is intrinsically wrong with using animals wisely for labor, transportation, clothing, food or other needs. We must always remember the distinction between human beings and animals and use good reason and judgment when using animals.

Catholic Culture: Cruelty toward Animals

Well would you look at that. Wearing fur really isn't murder. PETA's just psycho and it would figure that most of their members are religiously ignorant and just use their religion as a tool to hate everyone else. I bet they really hate those damn homos and coloured people too. They can all they want, so I can laugh at them. It will never change the fact that I ♥s Bryanboy.

[ picture when I can upload to flickr again ]

So the holidays are coming to a close and I'm not sure what I'm going to do with myself. Hopefully now that the stores are open again for regular hours, and the madness of Boxing Day has passed I might be able to get back into my regular schedule.

I ended up spending most of Christmas Eve Day hung over. The thing that I'm coming to learn about drinking beer is that it's so easy to just stand there and sip the beer without feeling like you're drinking a lot because there isn't the strong alcoholic taste that hard liquor has. Soon enough you've had 12 beers and the alcoholic taste that hard liquor has doesn't seem so bad. Then before you know it you're giving Torie a lap dance before sitting on her bottle of beer.

Christmas Eve Day was also spent talking to people trying to remember what I did most of the night before hand. It was also spent reading embarrassing events of the night on other people's livejournal's. Like Jess' livejournal:

Christmukah party with Mike and others resulted in drunkenness, a fresh fancy The Mike Haddad Show t-shirt, and discovery that no! Nick doesn't hate me, and never did. New friend for the Jessica! We hung out like buddies. Mike and I also shared many smarties off each other's tongues, hahaha we're classy.

It's funny, because at the time sucking smarties off of each other's tongues didn't seem like anything but a sweet idea. You'd think we were straight or something. Well, you'd think I was. She still is.

It could totally have something to do with the fact that I was very dressed to impress. But then again, so was everyone else.

At one point Rob even tackled me and we started wresting. It was probably because he was so jealous. I kicked his ass though, and there's no denying it. Everyone saw it. Now if only the pictures had captured my finer moments in the fight. Alas, I wound up with this.

My house was packed full of people I hadn't seen in months or years. No more like just months. I also spent the next day talking to a lot of them about how I couldn't remember anything. Sweet - and I've digressed so much. But I figure it's ok because I have pictures.

I also spent a lot of Christmas Eve itself on flickr putting up all my photos. I've decided that I'm not going to host my pictures anymore because it eats up too much space and too much bandwidth. This was decided at the Damage Control Coffee Meeting that Davey and I had after I had a huge argument with my brother, father and mother.

It was all his fault, although I'm sure in the end Rob will get blamed. They decided to steal the RAM from my brother's computer. Unfortunately my brother doesn't like to follow the laws of physics and was unable to place said RAM back in his computer properly. This lead to a lot of yelling because his computer wasn't working, and he claimed it was broken. It was made worse by the fact that I was totally hung over and don't enjoy my family blaming me for things that I haven't even looked at. My mistake for assuming he could put RAM in properly. Eventually I got the RAM in and his computer working, but there was still a lot of anger floating around the house. To cope I went to Adam's for the night and we watched Rules of Attraction.

Christmas morning I was up at 10 because there was banging and screaming about presents being opened. I went down to watch my younger cousins get all excited about Christmas. I'm sure I would have thought it was cuter had I been awake and hyped about Christmas. I knew exactly what I was getting, because I had picked it out beforehand and put it all on hold. Black Lacoste Polo, Grey and Beige Lacoste Zip-up, Sweet Black Diesel Zip-Hoody and a pair of Fidelity jeans because I needed jeans that fit. Of course, my family stuck to that and nothing else. I did get shopping money from the extended family though, and that rocked. Christmas Lunch was at 12 and I spent the rest of the afternoon wasting away until I went downtown with Laurence.

For Boxing Day I made two trips to two malls: Square One and Sherway. Not because I needed to go shopping or wanted to see the sales, but because I needed to get out of my house. I went to Square One with my aunt and uncle and walked around with them while they shopped. There was also a Leianne and Sweet Purse sighting. Afterwards I went to Sherway with Torie because one mall was not enough and we needed mall time.

And that ladies and gentlemen is how I wasted away over the 4 Days of Holiday Madness. I hope that everything you did was just as, or more exciting.

These are some of my favourite pictures up on my flickr account. Check it out, it's sweetr.

Last night was the Eve of Eve, and this time it was my turn to host the party. In honour of the fact that I was holding the Third Annual Eve of Eve Party instead of Torie, I decided I would take my artistic license and turn it into a Chrismukkah party. All this meant was that there was a sweet menorah that at one point wound up in the oven because my friends are just weird like that. Oh Oakville, how I missed you.

I can't even begin to explain how much fun it was. As soon as people starting showing up at the times I told them to, things got rolling. This should be taken as an important lesson for Eugene to learn when it comes to showing up on time. See, Eugene decided that he was told to show up at 7:00, not 8:30-9:00ish like I told him. He was lucky enough to show up around 7:30, leaving me to entertain him, Erin and Chi while I worked out the final details of the party. Nice work Eug.

Originally I was hesitant to drink because as a host it's always a good idea to make sure that Rob, Davey, and Dave are not taking stuff and moving it around the house, rearranging furniture, baking menorahs in the oven or playing with your lawnmower. I'm glad I had the idea to start Rob drinking so he would settle down with Alex. Stroke of genius if you ask me.

The AE Crew didn't make any appearances – they were all working until 6:00am. I'd pity them, but I had too much fun to feel that bad. Besides folding shirts and jeans is so much fun. The Asians showed up in three crazy waves, filled with much screaming, laughing and even tackling one time. What's the point of having Asians there if no one's getting the shit kicked out of them?

There will be pictures as soon as I can get everyone's together. Eugene has pictures up on his flickr account; Davey took 73 pictures and a video with my camera. Torie, Mel and Josh are also definite camera owners from the party. So expect something to eat up a lot of my bandwidth soon. I'm going to go get ready, tomorrow is the day of MANY presents that was preceded by 8 days of presents and I'm expecting to get some sweet gifts.

Sarah got back from Queen's (finally) and we celebrated by going shopping, because really is there a better way for two people who go comfort shopping on a regular basis to hang out? Didn't think so. What better mall could there have been for us to go to than Sherway Gardens.

We spent a lot of time just talking about things that we had already talked about a million times over the past two weeks but we some how managed to make it fun anyways. The thing about shopping when you shop as much as the two of us do is that you're not actually there to try and buy something nice anymore. No, we've already purchased almost anything that's worth purchasing. Instead we go and make fun of people while trying to find something more to purchase. It's not our fault that we've managed to have the act of being mean down to an art form.

I spent much of the time there complaining about how there was nothing worth buying. I've stopped going into stores like Banana Republic and Gap because they're just not worth my time. Hell, Holt Renfrew is hardly worth my time but I go in anyways because it's Holt Renfrew and to go to Sherway Gardens and not go into Holt Renfrew is like a sin.

A disgusting thing to note: We did go into American Eagle, and I did edge their graphic tees. Sarah needed a brown graphic tee in a medium. They only had smalls and extra smalls on the floor. Eventually some guy wearing a roccawear shirt that was 3 sizes too big went to get more brown tees. Instead of checking for the medium, he dropped a huge pile of them, told us if there's a medium it would be in this large pile, and walked away. Nice work. Sometimes I wonder why people don't get fired. So I went through all the shirts, piled them properly and told them they had no more mediums.

Over the day I there were a few conclusions that I came to. First, I need to stop talking about people because they'll inevitably show up thirty minutes later. Here's how I'm backing this one up. Sarah and I some how got on the topic of Western which lead to talking about James. How we got on the topic of Western is long forgotten; something about people going there to learn how to strip or something. So of course it would only make sense that while we're looking for sizes in American Eagle I look up to see James.

My second conclusion was that I am incapable of communicating with people. When James walked in the store instead of saying, "Hey look it's James! Isn't it ironic that we see him?" I just stand there and say "James. James. James" over and over again leaving Sarah to think that I finally have cracked and I'm lost in a sea of extra small graphic tees. So this leads me to my new slogan for the day: Don't communicate, fornicate.

Step One: Be pretty.

Step Two: Post pictures.

It's funny how as soon as you take a competition and add a bunch of gay people to it, you wind up with a circus that I don't think I could top downtown even if I was to try. And let me tell you now, I have been part of my fair share of drama in the village. I think I might technically still be part of some of the drama just because some people just can't get over the fact that I don't think about them until they're rudely thrust back into my life.

Originally I looked over the nominees and asked the question: what does it take to be an LGBT blog? I'm still not sure if it means you blog about LGB(T) issues, or you're actually LBG(T). Although in asking the question, Ethan from Brat Boy School left me a comment saying he agreed with the T thing, and that sealed my voting for him. Not that I didn't enjoy reading Pam's House Blend or Good As You. Actually, I enjoyed reading Good As You the most. I just have this thing about personal interaction that I'm a sucker for. Pam's House Blend was too much of a depressing reminder of what life could be like if Stephen Harper is elected Prime Minister. For the record, Pam's House Blend won in the end.

Apparently at one point, some guy who doesn't appear to have been nominated but thinks he was, harbours a lot of anger towards the whole subject. Vivid Blurry shot off three posts being mean, and while I loved them for the pure reason that they're gay drama in digital form, I still didn't get it. Maybe it's because at this point my brain has become SO FRIED by all the idiocy that floats around UWaterloo that I can't react to funny anymore.

He does make a valid point when he says that he's a 22 year old pretty boy who both writes better than I can and drink me under the table in three beer funnels. It's a pity I'm so incapable of chugging. It's probably some sort of biological way for my body to limit the alcohol in my system. If I can get tanked on two shots of vodka and a beer and a half then it's probably a good thing I can't funnel – although I totally wish that I had blogged after that, as it would have made for an amusing read. At least he didn't mention that his blog design also kicks ass, because it doesn't load properly – not that I'm in any position to talk. On top of having to unload my brain in an extremely incoherent form over the last month (Thank you University of Waterloo), I also recently realized that my page doesn't load properly on Mac Browsers. Sweet.

So on the whole, I'm sure these means nothing to the majority of my readers who know nothing about the who LGB(T) need for drama. But at least I didn't post another entry about why UW was beating me in the face. I'm saving that for tomorrow.

So it's funny how this happened. I decide to pursue a temporary career as a drop out to find myself with nothing to do. I had a list of things that could have been done, but it's been pretty much vetoed.

My decision to not write my two remaining finals is, well, final. I've realized I have a better chance of appealing all of the horror that was my first year if those are FTC and not FAILS – despite the fact that the university treats them as the same thing. So that leaves me with applying to other universities and fixing up my resume to apply for jobs after Christmas.

Oh, but you can take fixing the resume off the list. All I need to do is update my life guarding information on it. Oh and maybe remove the Waterloo part (although I am technically still a student because based on the rules they won't kick me out until September and I'm not going to pull out officially until I get in somewhere else.

I can't continue applying to Universities until Monday, due to this need I have to talk to the registrar's office about sending my transcripts to who and where, as well as the doctor's notes and the essay-length summarization of my medical history over the last year. Sweet fucking deal.

I decided on U of T's Commerce, York's Business and Mac's Business. Chances of me getting into York are slim to none but I figured I'd do it anyways just for the hell of it. Mac is just there because it's there. My goal is U of T Commerce and I'm going to be extremely surprised if I don't get in. The high school requirements are low 80s, which I more than had and a supplementary application which I should be able to rock. As for UWaterloo's transcript information, I have more than enough doctors' notes for any logical person to understand I was sick as fuck for the last year and a bit. So why am I worried?

I have this problem where I think too much. The fact that I have all the time in the world right now is leaving me thinking far too much about far too many things. University just happens to be the big one on my mind right now. Despite the fact that I obviously don't want to return to Waterloo I have this fear of burning my bridges and leaving me with nothing. This is the same fear that is causing me to run around the room screaming "Reece's peanut butter cups!" over and over again, so I'm not sure what that says about my sanity. Especially considering I hate Reece's peanut butter cups.

I've spent much of today half studying for my GER 101 final tomorrow. If the final is anything like the midterm that I didn't write but completed in 10 minutes earlier tonight then I should be fine. Here's to hoping.

The thing about learning languages is that it ends up wasted if you don't constantly use it. I would know, I took two in first year and I'm not even an arts student. I still remember various Japanese words and can read some of the katakana and most of the hiragana. Aside from that it's slipped away. I was luckier when it came to German because it's similar to English and Adam and I always joke about Tübingen and frühstück.

I think I'd like to continue German, but if I ever have to do another vowel replacement I might scream. And I totally don't share the same love of pork that most Germans have.

Suffice to say that at this point my brain is extremely fried. I've spent the last 36 hours on high alert due to all of my imminent finals and the stress revolving around them. The mood swings caused as a result of all this have been slightly amusing to watch. At least they have for me. I'm not so sure my mother would say the same since she always seems to time her visits right when I'm the most irritable.

I woke up yesterday, 12 hours after the original breakdown, and prepared myself for what was bound to be an extremely unpleasant day. My tasks were set; phone UW and figure out what the hell was going on was first on the list. I phone UW and ending up the phone for a better part of an hour attempting to figure out my options.

This is what's happening. I have GER 101 Friday at 9am, MATH 137 Monday at 9am and CS134 Wednesday at 9am. I feel not so prepared for the first two, and not prepared for the third one. If I don't write the exam I get FTC (Failed to Complete) on my INCs (Incompletes). On the other hand if I write the exams and fail, I get FAIL. Both are fails, and count as fails. However one looks better than the other if you're going to be appealing your grades – which I'll probably have to do. So I'm working on making a decision about writing the finals; most likely writing the first two, and possibly the third if I can learn enough in a day.

I can stay away from Waterloo until September 2006 without having to reapply again. That also coincides with when I would be starting school anywhere else because apparently other schools don't feel the need to run on semesters, because they don't have the oh-so-glorious coop program. So I will be in Oakville in Winter 2006, that's a fact. I will be working, that is also a fact. Whether or not I'm freaking out about failed courses is yet to be decided.

So I took the time to go to Tim Horton's with Becky because we're awesome, and I thought over what my plan of action actually is. It's not pretty. I had to make some sort of twisted flow chart. It didn't work out too well, so I went step by step in my head.

I have decided that I will not be returning to Waterloo for another term, ever. Over the past two weeks I thought about what I wanted to do after finishing school. The very first breakdown was with Adam when I realized that I have no life plans or goals anymore. I do things because people tell me to do them, or I think people would want me to do them instead of because I want to do them. I also realized that I like the math when I'm getting it, but I don't like it enough to teach it to myself when I'm not. I also haven't touched very much computer science, and despite the fact that it's easy to me it's not something I see myself doing some time soon. So Waterloo is out.

My mother who was originally vehemently against me applying to University of Toronto now seems to be encouraging the idea. Despite the fact that I took out a lot of my frustrations (wrongly) on her earlier today, I think she's probably on the money with this one (like she always is) and that's where I'm looking to go. I'm either going to go into Business or Humanities. This all depends on whether or not I want to go into Business or Law for grad school. I haven't quite decided. So I'm going to talk to my old high school guidance counselor and try and get some input on what I should apply to so I can achieve goals I'm not sure I have. She's in for a treat.

The next step is deciding whether or not I'm going to write my finals or not at Waterloo. Eight months worth of incomplete is not a pretty thing, especially when you weren't there for the first eight months anyways (yes for mono). I have an appointment with a calculus tutor tomorrow downtown at 12:00 – 4:00. I'm supposed to meet him somewhere on U of T's campus that I hope I'll be able to find. I plan on spending the morning making various frantic phone calls to UW. Frantic phone calls are planned for as follows: MATH 137 organizer to discuss what I'm supposed to do about the different material; CS 134 organizer to discuss what the material is; Math Undergrad Office to discuss me not writing my finals, and what that would entail as far as the aftermath goes.

Right now I'm leaning towards not writing the finals. It would free up a lot of my life. I've already emailed my old coop placement to tell them that I don't plan on returning to Waterloo and to let me know if they need anymore input on the work report because it's all just for them now. However, this also brings up the not so pleasant fact that I would need a job, or three for the eight months I'm not in school. There is no way I'm wasting away at home. Correction: there is no way my parents are letting me waste away at their home.

So if you need me, I'll be wallowing in self pity and talking to Nancy Silverman because she finally realized that HOLY SHIT MIKE'S IN CRISIS!

I was going to not talk about this as much as possible until I knew what the fuck I was going to do with myself. Well, right now I don't exactly know what I'm going to do with myself. I do however know what I'm not going to do with myself: go back to Waterloo. For the last two weeks I've been going back and forth on a decision to apply to U of T and get the hell out of Waterloo forever. I don't think it's possible to explain how much I would like to just erase the last year of my life. I do know that now, after everything Waterloo passed me the straw that broke my back.

For those who don't know all the details of the horror story that was my first year in university, I'll pass along the Coles notes version. I went to school, got really sick, failed everything. Not exactly, but its close. I failed my MATH 137 in my 1A term and just barely passed everything else. I was also too afraid to go to the doctor. When second term came around I finally started going to the doctor regularly confirming my fear that I was really sick. Sweet. Unfortunately I only got even sicker. Failed one class (MATH 136), passed one, got three incompletes. I petitioned to have MATH137 and MATH 136 removed. They removed 136, but not 137 and made me cranky. But I dealt with it, sat on the incompletes over the last 8 months as I attempted to live and still do coop (keep in mind I was still sick for most of the summer).

So it's now December and I have to write my three incompletes. The only department I was able to get a hold of was the Germanic and Slavic Studies about my GER 101 final. The course still covers chapters one two and three. I can deal with that. Nothing back from the Math Department about MATH 137 or CS 134. I would claim they ignored my emails but now I'm wondering if they even got them at all. Any of them (lets just say I got frantic and sent a few). Tonight after two weeks of crying and killing myself trying to learn MATH 137, I was finally satisfied in the fact that I got a tutor for tomorrow and I just might be able to pass the course and move on with my life. Then I opened up the review I got from Noam. They changed the course. Sweet. Fucking. Deal.

And that was the end of that. I emailed Waterloo to ask about who to talk to about Math, and I emailed the CS advisor. If there is no way for them to make this work for me, then I'm not going to write the exams and spend the next 8 months appealing all these fails as I wait to hear from U of T. I'm pretty sure that's what I'll end up doing too. Hopefully I can get a hold of Ms. Bracco from Holy Trinity and she can help me out. I was always looking at an MBA but now I'm thinking that Law may be the answer so I can help other people out when their heartless university makes their life hell.

Once upon a time, there was a boy named Mike Haddad. That's me, for the not so astute Mike Haddad Show lover. It may or may not be a well known fact that I didn't enjoy high school. More than not enjoying high school, I didn't enjoy Loyola. I dealt with Holy Trinity. Loyola is a paradise for the straight gino with bad style and horrible b.o. Not exactly the kind of place I'd want to be, but I knew better than to go to White Oaks. So I stuck it out and made it out alive.

This shouldn't be taken as an affront to my friends from Loyola. I love you and probably always will. I just didn't love Loyola. So it shouldn't come as a surprise that I've blocked out most of high school, and it was only made easier by the fact that I have a bad memory. I can still tell you what classes I had, with which teacher Ready? Go.

Grade 9: Geog. Kling, Gym Arsenault, Lunch, Science van Kooten, Music Harkin; English Lopresti, French Hlebko, Math Sluski, Lunch, Religion Berlingeri.

Grade 10: Math Latin, History Commisso, Lunch, English Possoco, Civics/Careers Campenelli/Culina; Science McCallion, CS Di Bennedetto, Lunch, Drama Smith, Religion Berlingeri.

If you ask me on the spot, I'll have trouble with Hlebko because she gave me nightmares. Seriously. I still had nightmares about it when I was at UWaterloo first term. That's how bad it was. So, it came as a surprise to me tonight when my high school life was suddenly thrust back into the forefront of my mind.

It all started innocently enough, I went to Karaoke with Nancy because I love Nancy as much as I love my exfoliator and that's a lot. We sat with her friends, some girls, and watched people sing. I didn't sing – I don't do that in public unless I'm drunk. I have much better ways to humiliate myself normally. So when I look up from the song book there is a boy sitting at our table out of the blue. Gay, but nobody introduced me so I sat silently in the corner.

During one of the songs I realized that I hadn't be introduced and decided that Nancy has horrible manners and that I should totally point that out in a blog after I introduce myself. Small talk is always awesome, really. It's hard to talk to someone without worrying that they think you just want sex. Or maybe I've just hung around the wrong people for far too long.

Later in the conversation I get asked how old I was. 19, duh, but he didn't know that so I answered which is what any sane person would have done minus the duh in the internal monologue – that was only because I really have been hanging out with the wrong people for far too long. Intrigued by the sudden change in conversation, we come to the conclusion that we're the same age. Apparently I look really young or something, go figure. The boy, who's name was Louie asks me what high school I went to.

"Ugh, highschool," goes my internal monologue again. I really need to learn how to turn that thing off. "Loyola and Holy Trinity after it opened." Much to my surprise, he says he went to Loyola too before he moved to New Brunswick. "Pity, Loyola is like the worst place for a gay boy to be." Fucking internal monologue. If I was to just say things I'm sure I'd be so much more interesting; interesting, and much more offensive than I already am. Ok so I remember why I keep it internal.
Turns out he went to Loyola, and the conversation suddenly gets even more interesting. Grade nine, we both suffered through Loyola. More over, we had the same gym class and quite possibly the same music class. Suddenly, I feel like an ass for not remembering and it takes the rationalization of my inner monologue on the car ride home to realize it's not my fault I blocked most of it out. I wasn't fat and awkward, but I was just awkward. So it all makes sense.

After everyone goes home, I head to my room and bust out the good old Hawks Yearbook. I don't remember Louie, but he clearly remembers the traumatic experience that was Grade Nine Gym. So I'm looking through the year book for a Louie because how many Louie's can there be? Well I'll tell you.

There is only one Louie. One Louie that I had the BIGGEST high school crush on ever. Irony is totally getting me back for that time I told her those pants made her look fat.

But I know that I'm incredibly jealous of scottage cheese because he's pretty. Whether it be the camera, or the photographer or photoshop or what. I'm jealous. That's right, I went there.

I know that listening to "Everything I Do" by Brandy is a bad idea, but I'm doing it anyways.

I'm also drunk enough to know that alcohol brings out the worst in me. So why do I do it?

It always amuses me to see how other people will judge me. Everyone judges, and everyone gets judged but it's not always the case that you find out what people think. I don't mind being judged. In fact, I feel most things that we do is so that other people will judge us. Clothing, piercings, scarring, music taste, makeup style; it's all so people will think something about us. Unless of course you're writing a final and you show up in your jammies – then you're just a university student.

Last night Adam and I attended a Sheridan Musical Theatre party. Nancy from American Eagle and Adam have been bonding over their love of musicals and Judaism, so when Adam was invited to the party I eventually decided to tag along because I do things like that. I have to admit, it wasn't as musical as I expected it to be and that's probably because I forgot to make a distinction between musical and musical theatre. The difference being the second one generally has a lot more homos involved.

I hate to have to admit it to everyone, but I was totally on the prowl. I was on the prowl, and I was feeling much more attractive than everyone else in there despite the fact that I was in an American Eagle sweater and Mavi jeans. It's a bad combination and makes for a really queeny Mike.

It's not so much that I felt out of place, I just like to analyze things. So for the first part of the party, I stood against a wall and watched people making mental notes. Mental notes and tallying up scores for people based on how much potential I felt they had. I know, it's a horrible thing to do, but I did it. Not to say I didn't talk to people. I definitely talked. I talked a lot. I checked out some guys, some girls flirted with me, and much fun was had.

The problem with going to a musical theatre party is that people either assume you're in musical theatre, or you're straight. See where I'm going with this. At one point I squared off with some guy in a scarf. He made the mistake of asking who I was, as if it was ok for him to not know. More importantly, he made the mistake of asking who I was in a condescending tone. Not a good idea. Eventually he made the argument that he "trumped" me because he had been on System Crash and in Stratford something or other. Don't get me wrong, on a scale from one to awesome System Crash was somewhere below Breaker High and Student Bodies, but I don't care. Hell I didn't even understand what the Stratford nonsense was. Sure, acting or something. Great. My response?

Mike: That's nice. I'm a math student, I go to Waterloo for Computer Science
Them: Eew, math.
Mike: No kidding, but it's number one for a reason.

Don’t get me wrong, Sheridan has a sweet musical theatre program. Just don't make the mistake of assuming that because I'm loud and because I take care of my appearance that I'm an arts student - a ditzy arts student. As much as I enjoy being ditzy and loud, I can still understand find the limits to sequences like Xn+1 = sqrt (2 + Xn) (the limit is easy, and 2.) I'll dance around to the divas, both old and new, but I still know what someone is talking about when they ask to be my derivative so they can tangent up my curves. I want to punch them, and vomit, but I understand.

The tallying for guys went decently enough I guess. For reasons that will not be repeated in even this liberal space I was incompatible with a large number of them. Limiting my choices to four or five, scoring went as follows:

Number One lost points for being queeny and slutty. I'm sure things would have worked out perfectly. For maybe 10 minutes. Sure, I'm being quick to judge and jump to conclusions. But it's what I do best, and I'm doing it right now. I'm sure he's a great guy, and maybe the universe will prove me wrong. I doubt it though.

Number Two lost points for reminding me of an ex. As soon as I realized that he got a big 110 and I moved on.

Number Three was new, and I'm totally not dealing with new. Well let me rephrase that. I'll deal with new, if the new still lets them settle down. It won't though, because new is almost synonymous with promiscuous sex. And by almost, I mean it is.

Finally, Number Four didn't have any horrible qualities but didn't have anything special either.

So in conclusion I'm extremely shallow and it's totally clashing with my desire to date. But it should make for some amusing stories to tell over the next few months.

I forgot to add: there's a Best LGBT Blog category in the awards. Now, I don't generally read LGBT Blogs – infact I have issues with the term LGBT period (I don't think the T should be part of it, something which caused a lot of issues with some people) so it doesn't surprise me that I didn't really read gay blogs. Gay annoys me. I read blogs of people who happen to be gay, but I've never really read a full out LGBT blog. The one that looks like it might win is The Brat Boy School Bulliten which I totally don't understand at all. The other big one, the name I don't remember, was mainly about college football. So can somebody please clarify what constitutes an LGBT blog. Do you need to be gay, or talk about gay?

The Weblog Awards are currently in full swing. I'm not sure where I was when all of this started, but it was apparently not anywhere near a page that would tell me about it. Maybe it's because I don't know any of the blogs that have been nominated.

Xiaxue mentioned how we should all vote for her in the Best Asian Blog category in one of her more recent posts. I did, because she was the only Asian Blog that I've continued to read for a long period of time. At one point in time I may have read some of the other blogs, but I'm quite sure I found them as boring as lint and removed them from my regular blog reading list. But I digress.

First of all, I don't know why there needs to be so many fucking categories. It's almost like an excuse to give away more awards. This in turn would boost the page-views as more people try to vote, and make the people running the Weblog Awards feel oh so good about themselves at night. Actually, that's a pretty good system they've got going on there. If only I could have thought of it first, then I too would be able to sleep so soundly at night. Or maybe I'm just bitter because I didn't find any of the blogs I liked up there.

Why there needs to be separate categories for "Liberal" and "Conservative" blogs is beyond me. That anyone would make a "Religious" blog period makes me a little sick to my stomach, but I won't dwell on it because I always feel bad for making fun of people with blind faith. It's like pushing that old man in a wheelchair down a huge flight of stairs.

Dooce is nominated in the Best Parenting Blog, and I'm not sure why it took me so long to figure that out. I got extremely bitter when I couldn't find her nominated anywhere and went off on a huge Internal Monologue based rant about how people were incredibly stupid and wouldn't know good blogging if it came up and kicked them in the grill. Then I found it and may or may not have felt really dumb.

Boing Boing was nominated for Best Blog, and after wrestling with the issue for a while I decided not to vote for them. I'm forgoing voting in that category period because I don't know any of the nominees. The reason I didn't vote for Boing Boing is because I've decided they don't constitute a blog – at least in my personal opinion. They're more like a fun newsfeed. "Here's a bunch of random stuff that you might find interesting." Much like Kottke's remaindered links (Also, if you find Kottke anywhere on that site let me know because I do want to vote for him).

Angry in the Great White North is a blog. It's a shitty blog run by a neo-con skin head, but it's still a blog. It's just a shame that he's one of the Best Canadian Blog nominees. I'm totally not voting in that category. Maybe it's because all of the blogs are run by old men who also happen to vote conservative and possibly molest little boys at night. Or I could be pulling shit out of thin air.

In conclusion, I don't have a conclusion. Although the thought of the Best Canadian Blog category being full of dirty old child molester's does make me a little sick to my stomach. Good thing I made it up.

So, I've come to the conclusion that I seriously need to get up on that whole Asian Karaoke thing. I totally don't mean like cheap, at the bar, old white men singing country songs karaoke. I mean like, room with television and music videos playing along with the words at the bottom – generally not in English. I need to plan a trip to Pacific Mall soon.

So I've come to the conclusion that sleeping pills make you do things that you would not normally do, especially if you're as small as I am. You think talking to people you don't really like is bad? I can top that. See, last night was my last night of sleeping pills and they've left me with a story to share.

I'm not exactly sure when I started taking the pills. They were prescribed as a result of a lot of anger, including rage blackouts, which kept me up at night. I took them for the first two nights and didn't take them anymore after that. The first night I didn't take them I was downtown swimming at my grandmother's and that was bad. Those little buggers were ridiculously addictive, and I went through withdrawal on the first night. Watching me try to lifeguard the next day after I had tossed, turned and twitched all night was funny; like a fat person slipping on the ice. After that I avoided the pills - until last night.

I'm not sure what my rationale for taking the pill was. Probably because it was late, and I had caffeine in my system and knew I wouldn't sleep. The rationale on the second pill is simply that it was an hour later, and I still wasn't the least bit sleepy. I took the facts that I had been told I'd probably need two pills, the fact that I had once before taken two pills, and the fact that I only had the enjoyable feeling of weak muscles but not fatigue as reasons to ok the second pill.

Twenty minutes later I was asleep. Ten minutes after that I might have officially lost my mind. I was awake, but not. It was a similar feeling to the time I tried GHB and it hit me hard because I don't eat. Then all of a sudden I was being held down and someone was trying to put fingers down my throat. Holy shit did I put up a nasty fight. People always think that because I'm gay I can't hold my own. Umm hello? I went to the gym far too much while I had mono as an attempt to maintain body mass, and now I'm a trained lifeguard. I can save a 180 pound hockey player that’s drowning. As in, swim completely supporting his weight and my own. Can't hold my own? Please, bite me. Or I might bite you, like your fingers which are currently being SHOVED DOWN MY THROAT.

The fingers were quickly out of my throat, and I was rolling around my bed trying to get the person off my back and hands off my throat. Suffice to say that shit went down, and when the shit was done going down I had successfully woken myself up from the strangest dream I may have ever experienced. Only I wasn't done, because I was still hallucinating. That's right, ghostly skeleton hands climbing all over my tv hallucinating. At that point I made the executive decision to abandon ship and hauled ass down to my parents' room. I literally mean hauled ass too – I think I may have left a huge mark on the wall when I slammed into it. I'm not 100% sure if that was before or after I somersaulted over my chair and rolled out of my room, but odds are it was before and I was too high to realize that the travel route went my room-hallway-parents' room and that there was no random chairs in between.

My parents thought I had also lost my mind, because I was too drugged to make sense of what I was saying and all they heard was "fighting with them and seeing floating skeletons." Ya, you may speak Mike but do you speak High Mike? I was able to explain that the pills were making me hallucinate on a second time, but I never did tell them why I was checking my fingers for bite marks and making sure my neck wasn't actually bruised.

I told my doctor the whole story, with all the messy details in my appointment. As much as she try and hide it I'm quite sure she giggled when I told her I somersaulted over the chair, and decided that these pills "weren’t for me." Heck yes they weren't but at least I got a sweet story out of it, and maybe one day it'll be a made for tv movie! Or at least a sweet blog entry.

Last night I spent some much needed time with Steve, because he is quite possibly the coolest person in the world. At least, that's what he told me to tell everyone and I obliged because I'm not creative enough to come up with something else to call him. The thing about partying with friends of a friend who is still in high school is that all the people there are in high school. Yes, easy assumption that could have been made on my part had I taken any time at all to think about it. But I didn't, and hilarity ensued.

The first thing I had to do last night was have a highly needed and well deserved dinner at Turtle Jack's with the AE Crew. Well, half the AE Crew – but that's ok. Marc came to pick me up (40 minutes after he said he would) and we met Becky, Jackie and Sarah. Sweet pictures did happen. The waitress also admitted to us that she too suffered from a lack of sex. This may just have been because I yelled out that I was cranky because I wasn't getting any while she was there. Smooth.

We're so adorable.

Boob shots rock!

And a picture of Marc that he didn't like, because I think it's cute.

After dinner I made my way out to Hamilton to meet up with Steve and his friends at their party. I had completely forgotten what it was like to be at a high school party until I got there. I walked in and there were drunken children everywhere. So much that I thought there were too many drunken people. There were also a lot of these mini-gangsters who think that because they were baggy pants they have some sort of street cred. Try living with street children for two months, then come back and talk to me.

Since I was of age (Wow, way to make me feel old), a boy came up to me and asked me if I would get him alcohol. I had to think about it (for all of 1.5 seconds) before I said yes. I was worried that this might turn into another PBig situation. Which I will explain right now.

One day over the summer Adam and I decided to take a trip down to the ever so lovely Village (not to be confused with the new fake Queer West Village). We decided to be cheap and ate at Pizza Pizza instead of Zelda's as per usual. Maybe it was a mistake. As we were finishing our meal, some kids walked up to us and thought they knew me so they sat down and started talking to us. It turns out that I did eventually know one of the ten kids who sat down, so we blessed them with conversation.
As we were getting ready to go to the LCBO to get some alcohol for Laurence's get-together one of the boys asked Adam if he would buy him so beer. Seeing as how Adam was feeling generous he said yes, and we walked to the LCBO only to find it was closed. So we walked back to the Beer Store, bought this boy his beer and we went on our way. In the course of that 5 minutes the boy managed to fall in love with me, and tell us how he had met some person that he thought was so great and he was in love with, only to find out that the person wasn't so great. It was cute, until the same thing happened again and again, to a count of upwards of 10 guys – in a week.

We left the boy to his own devices, only to see him 10 minutes later getting kicked out of Pizza Pizza for having an open beer in there. Apparently he was 15, and had no idea that walking with open alcohol in public is AGAINST THE LAW. Geez. Who would have guessed. Needless to say Adam hasn't bought anyone alcohol since.

I pushed aside the fear that this would happen, bought the beer, filled up on gas, and went back to the party. I had a little bit of bonding time with Steve and Graham before we went back into the party.

That was my first party since I got my NLS and I'm not sure I can enjoy myself anymore. It wasn't even 10:30 and people were already throwing up, and falling down the stairs. My inner monologue screamed "SPINAL!" and "Semi-prone!" more than once that night. I eventually just sat down and chilled with the quiet, slightly less drunk kids.

It was good. Steve and I played with the camera. Then we drove all over Hamilton driving people home, because there was no where else for people to pass out.

I don't think you're ready for this jelly.

I'm sick and tired of people always gossiping after I spend time with someone. I hang out with people for reasons that are my own, and generally don't involve someone else. So don't get all up in my face because I've spent time with someone that you're fighting with. Odds are I don't give a fuck.

It bothers me so much when people think I make decisions based on their petty lives and the drama that they live in. Voice your opinion, and leave me be. I'm capable of making my own choices and judgments; in many cases far more capable than anyone else. Just like when I tell you I feel someone is a tramp, or someone else is a huge jackass. I could be right, or very wrong – but I'd NEVER tell you to stop talking to them and I would DEFINITELY NOT hanging out with them (There's only one exception I've ever made to this rule, and surprisingly enough it's not who any of you think it is. On top of that, I've gotten over it because it takes way too much effort to be mean to people you never see.). It's your life and your reputation. So don't tell me I'm only hanging out with someone because they don't like someone else. I'm not some pathetic fag.

If I hate Person A because I feel I gave myself up to them too easily, and their friends make fun of my hair, I'm not going to hang around with Person B because I know Person B hates Person A. Please. As much as I disagree with my hair every four out of five days, I'm not going to cry about it and choose my friends simply based on hate.

So don't think I'm that pathetic. I'm my own person. I hang out with people because we would have the same taste in clothes, or guys, or music, or anything else you could possibly have in common with someone. Sometimes people make me want to smack them for being so clueless.

There comes a point where you either get too tired of drama, or you kid yourself into thinking you've matured because you're too tired of drama, so you start censoring yourself. I've decided that I'm not going to censor myself. Instead, I'm going to put a six week buffer on any drama. So, let the countdown begin. This spring is going to rock, if I can remember it all.