i don't want to place any blame or anything

but i feel like telling the tale of the trip to the island wouldn't really sound... objective. but let's not worry about that.

really, my recent visit to the island was a string of comedic blunders.

night before departure, drunken psm tears over disappointment over bad weather. alarm set wrong so awakened hour late in the morning, rush to a bus, then a car, then a ferry.

ferry food. bleh *shiver*.

moseying on a little wander-bout, visiting town of murals and becoming significantly lost in attempt to locate the hosts' home. late arrival.

playing with the dog, playing with the baby. a never ending wine glass resulting in an invitation to stay the night.

getting too drunk to drive home while having an hourly rental car - painful financial consequences. drinking, smoking, vomiting, passing out before dinner was served - after 9p mind.

hang over, bear scouting. porridge of mortar and a steep, brisk hike.

scrum-pey!

departure, forgottens, race against time with a dignified win.

all while unwashed, wearing ratty yoga jammies, accompanied by a wounded bambi, if you will.

[ed note: if i never witness another head bowing bridge squeeze with a side of mournful sigh again, i think i will manage to live another day.]

i suppose i was looking for a break to the boredom, and as my boss best indicated - a good cocktail party story.

the sad sound of ambulance sirens

the more i think about it, the less sure i am about how i think people internally react to the sound of sirens. i mostly mean police, fire and ambulance sirens, because those facts of life usually mean unhappy things for those involved. or maybe that's just how it makes me feel. i'm sure some people would say the sound of police sirens sounds threatening to some and comforting to others, depending on perceptions of law enforcement.

well, it might be safer to assume that most people associate the sound of a fire engine's siren with flames and destruction. that or imagining a building-full amount of occupants standing around outside annoyed with the fire drill or malfunctioning detection equipment (because that's what it 90% of the time -- to them). the again, some might associate anything fire-enginey with 9/11, which is also sad. so really, your base-line debbie downer.

ambulance sirens though - those tend to depress me the most. this can be obviously attributable to my dad, as he's a retired paramedic and firefighter. i definitely have a mental database of ways the body can be sickened or injured leading to an array of resulting conditions like miracle healings but usually to a degraded quality of life or just plain old death. my mind's an archive of stories my dad's told over the years, indexed with really specific imagery.

'when the drunk driver t-boned their car, the girl in the passenger seat flew out the window because she wasn't wearing her seat belt. she landed flat on her front, except with her head twisted severely to the side and her neck was broken. when we have to stabilize her and strap her to the board, you just can't make a mistake because you could end of paralyzing the person,' etc.

my dad is a pretty observant guy, so no detail is spared.

anyway, i heard ambulance sirens a minute ago and started to wonder what the emergency was. from the death-detail database, heart attack is a safe bed. 'even though half the time they're running the sirens and speeding to the hospital, the guy's basically already dead.'

so i stood at my window and thought of the sadness that comes with the advent of a heart attack. on such a lovely evening. the sirens sounded like they were in stanley park -- maybe it was a grandpa with his family. or a particularly calamitous bike vs car situation. just something that makes me stop and think, 'so sad.'

but death is a part of life, and it also occurred to me -- if there's any time and place to go, this is as good as it gets:

this makes me feel less sure of my sexuality

see more Celeb Look-A-Likes

i used to have it so bad for jtt. i also really admired jo for dissing blair on the facts of life. now it all makes sense.

i can't call it my 'girlcave'

isn't that already a euphemism for a vagina? how odd, it appears no one's defined girlcave yet at urbandictionary.com. well anyways, i can't call it my girlcave because it sounds too much like an euphemism for vagina to me.

i was standing out on my balcony watching a hazy winter dusk, thinking about how much i love my new home -- feeling all protective of it. it's my skyhigh zen palace and ain't nobody coming in to mess up this chi. it's private, cozy, and all mine. like a man cave, i thought.

i'm not a man though -- girlcave came to mind. but i'm a grown-ass woman.

maybe i'll just call it home.

watch out, i got a bossy streak

there's plenty to be said in favor of compromise, but when you know what you want, how can anything else suffice? i feel like walking into that second interview placing my communication stature at a humble level, but also express how much i really want that job and i should really get it.

'i know i'm the best candidate for the job because i can already see exactly what i want to get out of the opportunity.' the ridiculously easy commute and implied healthy salary are just fortunate benefits.

inspiration gone missing

red alert -- i think the worst has materialized. i've certainly realized it by now.

as those who have lived my recent life along side me, i've maintained a rather extended detachment from traditional milestones and connections. i've been on the run for a while now. i find it exciting and keeps my attention. grad school now means a settled residency, a taboo to my houdini escapades -- but somehow i was directed to an incredibly ideal living situation in what i think of as the best neighborhood on the continent.

thanks for the pointer, universe, loves it.

but holding true to myself, even with this final cashing in of overdue address karma, i'm still skeptical. i guess i've spent the last two weeks floating, but the buzz has diminished. it could have been aided by minor professional, social and familial glitches today. i fell a little bummed, off balance, and generally dissatisfied.

it reminded me of my most recent writing mantra only fools are satisfied. i spent two great weeks as a fool. what a nice rest. but that's really no indicator that i woke up one day cured of cynicism, feeling entirely carefree and was destined to remain that way forever and ever, amen. no, i took my lack of internal peace for a walking meditation around stanley park this afternoon and came to the captain obvious observation of the day: i need some sort of conflict to keep me engaged. when i had those two weeks of bliss, i spent all my free time in the gym, reading, treating myself to elaborate bathing rituals, and watching tv shows on dvd with my roommate.

that's nice, but that's not enough. thanks to that factor, i express my inspiration. it's when my inspiration goes missing that i become concerned.

i'm concerned, but keeping my eyes open. i'm waiting on you, muse. waiting.

hood

i only put my hood up in the park at night to prevent the mosquitos from biting my back of my damn red (sunburned) neck. i'm the only person that could get a red neck at a gay pride parade.

love you scotty b

i love it when i feel like my life's suddenly an episode of quantum leap. 

'who am i?! why am i here?! what's going on?!'

but it's like quantum leaping into groundhog day because every day is the same old bs.

maybe i'm really just a bitchy gay guy on the inside