may 26, 2002.

We're moving to Toronto! Yay!

Friday night 'Q (not to be confused with "Friday night with Q")

The idea to have a BBQ was Dirk's, as most of the people I still wanted to invite were operating on wildly divergent schedules, and a Q saved us the colossal hassle of tying up a large sprawling restaurant table during the rush. In the afternoon I visited the Matriarch, and on the way back into the downtown Mom & I picked up a load of groceries. Burgers. Buns. Cheese slices. Coke. Corn. Watermelon. Beer. I had made all the phone calls on Thursday night, so once we got the food into the fridge, all I had to do was sit on the porch in the fading sunlight and read The Stand. I took along the purple space pistol and a Steamwhistle beer for company.

My first guests were one and a half hours late, and as drinking was my only diversion, I was semi-seriously looped when they appeared. I'm told that it was all good. Within an hour the kitchen was full of people: Ian, E₃, Stacy, Jesse, St. Jack, St. Stephen, Dirk, Fast Eddie, Exodus, Exodus' girl & me. We all ate a lot of food and listened to much Big Sugar. Jesse, inspired by "Patio Lanterns," delivered a rant on crappy Canadian rock that he, as the son of a Lighthouse member, is uniquely qualified to deliver. I fell asleep ten minutes before the last of them left. Dirk & Stacy beat me to bed by an hour.

It was a lot of fun, but I think that it would've been better if I hadn't drank 3 bottles of Steamwhistle before the event, and if half the party hadn't split off to watch Duck Soup. Also, I think the crazy monster drawing on the whiteboard labeled "Stacy" that we discovered the next morning took some of the shine off the apple, as I had to vow vengeance on an unspecified party. But other than that, it was A-OK.

Things in the Garden that are strange & perplexing to a girl who hasn't seen her Boy in a week and a half; a.k.a. Boys:

Boy-substitute #1:

That was Dav2, a.k.a. Grope The Bunny after his performance last Christmas. He is tall, pale and painfully thin. Last Sunday I wore his shirt. And if I squinted and kept him in the corner of my eye, I could pretend that the Boy was here. I followed him around a fair bit. He himself was trying to pick up Bondage Jennifer Connoly, a girl who, in my opinion, needed to be either taken home & fucked or burned at the stake. Yet he did take some time out to grab my ass - and I was wearing a very short swinging skirt, so it's not like he grabbed my clothed ass. As Tym:J said later, "I think what most people call sexual harassment is nonsense, but that definitely qualifies." Very disturbing, for a number of reasons.

Boy-substitute #2:

Marc, a sweet boi I first met screaming Stacy's name at the corner of Church & Wellesley. Also tall & bendy, also in leather pants and a plain black t-shirt and no other ornamentation. We stood in the back of the club as our forefathers did, and in between making fun of Jeff (who needed to be introduced to me again -- he's 0 - 17), we bantered with bendy pool-playing Marc, who sometimes needed to stick his ass in our personal space in the course of making a shot. During these times of friendly exchange, I approvingly made the very Anti-Stephen observation that he has "fire in the belly." Stacy claims that he is much more like my Boy because of this fire, which can be compared to the joy of a sunny day. I said this to Marc. He blushed and thanked me sincerely.

Various old friends & Random Strangers:

Dav's bendy yoga girl was sleepy, so he came out to play. I complimented him on his latest and funniest chronicle of UN Reps and he hugged me a lot (see velvet comment below). Also, I started putting coins in his shirt, explaining that when they built the Six-Million Dollar Dav, they'd had to make him coin-operated. Hey, 6 mil doesn't go as far as it used to. They were cold coins and they made him squirm.

"Awww, that one went into my pants."

Jesse: I bought him a beer, he cuddled me at every opportunity. Lots of grinning & dancing with him & Stacy. Dan, who's rapidly becoming a familiar face, amused me with his ecstasy-driven mime work (he was doing various raver dances until I begged him to pretend that he was in a box). Also, I met Frampton right at the end of the night. Stacy seemed confused that I'd never been introduced before. When I told him that I was Q's sister-in-law, his expression became inscrutable.

Just for the record, there were a sizable number of drag queens in attendance. And two of the bendy punk bois from Shannon's Monday Night were there. I also spent some time talking to Dav3, who was surprised that I was going to church the next day. Ah, goths. "You wear a cross the size of a dinner plate, but you're horrified when someone mentions their regular church attendance."

The topper, and arguably the weirdest thing to happen all night:

me: Hey Mikey, d'ya think you can get Pale to play "Supernaut"?
mi: Yeah. (He hugs me. Everyone is hugging me tonight. I think it's the velvet - I'm pawed far less when I'm in my spikes.)

...later...during "supernaut"...

me: Thanks! (hugs for Mikey. He pauses.)
mi: You're wearing a thong.
me: uh...don't spread it around. (It's the least inane response I can think of on short notice.)
mi: [some come-on that I've now forgotten]
me: (As I get down from the booth,) I'm married, Mikey. Look...here's the ring. (He shrugs happily.)

...later...after a typically gymnastic trip to the bathroom...

(I wave to Mikey. He waves me over.)
mi: I really like to give oral sex. I've learned to lick a drop of honey from the bottom of a shot glass.
me: No dice, Mikey.

The Hey-Babys:

On the way home, after the requisite post-Garden conversation outside and a lengthy stop-over at Amato's for conversation rather than pizza (Stacy talked to a friend inside, and while I waited outside I gave all my change to the clean, sober, pretty panhandling girl and then struck up a dialogue) we walked east on Queen looking for a cab. There were an alarmingly high number of boisterous men standing in clumps, blocking our paths and shouting out admiring comments. Perhaps the Leafs victory brought them out in droves. But whatever the reason, there were quite a few more 'hey baby's than I'm used to. (Also, one young black man shouted 'Beetlejuice!' in my face three times as we strode past. "We won't disappear," I said grimly, my patience wearing thin.) I started off talking to them all ('You're so East Coast!" Stacy says), but as we walked into the far creepier club district and hit Spadina, it ceased to become an amusing pastime. There were far too many men with vacant, bored looks huddled together, shouting and mumbling and reminding us that we may wear the freak pants, but those pants can get torn off quite easily.

We finally found our cab and bundled in, glad to be off the street. I was ridiculously glad to be with Stacy; she helps me to distinguish legitimate fear from womanish vapours. We spoke of these fears during the quiet ride through the streets, happy to be shut of the club district. But after we got out of the cab and walked the last block to Dirk's haus, there was a final hurrah from the Hey-Babies: a car speeding down the Danforth, screaming, "Nice bag you fucking whores!"

Who I went to bed with:

She smells good and her little feet are cold in the night.

Guess.

1 year ago today: I heart Halifax