Reflections on the past year

It seems like whenever I look back on something, it seems to be for a couple of reasons: to justify the fact I was always right and everyone is always wrong; and to see what was going on in a particular time in my life. Sometimes, I'd rather have a case of amnesia.

January
My birthday was spent alone because no one wanted to celebrate with me. And, the worst part was some people forgot it was my birthday. I also started to develop another website in my spare time (cue pathetic fallacy).

February
Valentine's Day is spent with my father. It was even more depressing than spending my birthday alone. Bought a laptop - finally. Went on an interview that will inevitably change the course of 2008.

March
Started work at a new job. Attended my first of many events for fashion week. My free time began to slowly disappear and I didn't realize it before it was too late.

April
Started a mind-game of a relationship. Buried myself in work so I wouldn't remember how awful I felt at a time where I needed to forget the past.

May
Worked on two major festivals which took up all of my time. Had a terrible time in New York because it rained for three days straight. Spent spent a full day with a rock star (who was gracious and a great guy). Went to the Sex and the City premiere and was this close to Kim Cattrall.

June
Got promoted by proxy. Became a talent wrangler and assisted in managing a red carpet event. Had the balls to sing (out loud) to a favourite singer of mine. Attended my friend's wedding on the hottest day of the month; an outdoor wedding to boot.

July
Visited a friend in the country. Went to a reading of David Sedaris. Did nothing else for the other 20-odd days, apparently.

August
Was offered another position with the company. Went to a concert of a performer (see June). Planned a fairly large event for a little film festival that few people know about (see September).

September
Attended the Toronto International Film Festival. Accosted Gerard Butler at the buffet with a spoon. Had Olympian Adam Vankoeverdan drunkenly berate me in front of my peers. Madonna. Oh yeah, the whole cancer thing.

October
Attended Toronto Fashion Week. Went to several shows and fabulous parties. Met J.

November
Worked. A lot. Shopped for Christmas gifts. Lost my mind trying to figure out what to get people for Christmas. Attended a few more parties.

December
Went to the cottage for the first time. Had a touch of alcohol poisoning. Blacked out and lost three hours of my life. And, of course, there was Christmas.

With a year like this, I don't need a repeat. The only thing I do need is to schedule in some time to sleep because there sure as fuck wasn't enough of that in 2008.

So many presents

As I look under the my sister's Christmas tree, all I can see are tons of gifts. There are so many, they wrap around the tree and swerve to the side. They're wrapped, although some of them are placed in bags (for convenience, probably). Most of them are for my two nieces.

And herein lies the problem: I think they're too many.

When I was growing up, my family and friends would only give my sister and me one gift; two if we were really good that year. There was a selection of wrappings under the tree and we were happy if the tree stand wasn't seen (because it was covered by presents).

We were grateful to receive those gifts. They were special. We believed it was better to have five great gifts than 50 lousy ones. When looking at the recent haul from my nieces, I don't see a lot of special, but I do see a lot of lousy. And the good ones were obvious since my nieces never stopped playing with them.

Some people should just give one physical gift alongside some cash - the best gift of all.

Another thing is what happens when my nieces grow up? No one is going to give them a ton of gifts. It's not that they don't deserve them (they're not selfish or greedy), but I can't see a 20-year-old with 20 gifts. Ain't no way that's gonna happen, no matter how good Santa thinks they are.

Then again, I'm also to blame. This year, I gave both my nieces two gifts each. Granted, I am their uncle, and granted they were spectacular. But, next year I may have to cut back and give them one because I don't want them to get used to so many presents from me.

Keep those receipts

It's almost Christmas and I can't wait to for it to be over. It's not that I don't like the holiday, per se, but I particularly enjoy all the work that goes into it.

First I have to figure out who I'm buying gifts for, then I need to know what they want (it makes it so much easier in the long run), then I have to find the time to shop for these gifts (which is hard since I work 10-12 hours a day and have a semi-active social life) and then it's the wrapping of all the gifts (I don't normally plop something into a bag and call it a day).

And when all is said and done, the gifts are delivered, opened and returned in a clin d'oeil.

I don't think Jesus had this in mind when he was born.

So, before going on an tangent (or a possible/probable rant), I've decided to end things on a positive note before the holiday commences on the 25th... To my eight readers I wish a Merry Christmas and a sage reminder: keep those receipts because it makes returning gifts so much easier for everyone.

Alcohol is bad

After this weekend, I know what it feels like to have a mild case of alcohol poisoning, blacking out for approximately three hours and waking up in bed without realizing how I ever got there in the first place.

Good times.

Cottaging

Going to the cottage (or cottaging) is a Canadian phenomenon that isn’t understood in the rest of the world. A cottage is normally situated in the woods, up northern Ontario and its structure is typically that of a rustic, wooden structure.

And, I am going to the cottage (or cottaging) this weekend.

All I can say is there better be running water, electricity, heat, a lack of bugs and furry creatures, a phone line, and a satellite dish because if there isn't, I will re-enact various scenes from The Shining by the time Saturday morning comes around.

Candy cane

There's a small candy cane in the kitchen cupboard, next to the instant coffee. It's been there for several months and I've never had the heart to throw it out. The reason is because D gave it to me.

After D moved away, I had nothing to remind me of our time together. No pictures, no nothing. The only thing I had was a candy cane. I kept it as a momento, of sorts. We haven't forgotten about the other; we've been in touch. Whenever we're on the phone, we make plans that are doomed to dissipate, but it doesn't matter.

Today, as I hold the candy cane between my fingers, I wonder what I'm going to do with it: keep it, or eat it. If I keep it, it will inevitably be thrown out as it melts into a gooey mess. If I eat it, I'll have nothing to remember D by.

Even though I can't stand a gooey mess (and the cleaning that goes along with it), I decide to put aside the red-and-white swirly confection. I'm not in the mood. Whether I'll ever eat it, I don't know. It will probably disappear, in some form. But, what I do know is I won't forget the time D gave it to me.

Nothing to complain about

Even though I have a habit of bitching and moaning about everything, I have to admit there is nothing to complain about at this moment. There are posts in the drafts folder which aren’t appropriate to publish because they aren’t - currently - relevant in my life.

Although I work long hours, I like what I do. My co-workers are entertaining and my boss is a great person to be around (not to mention cool/hot as ice).

The social life is filled with a series of events that contain fully-stocked (open) bars and a group of people who keep things interesting.

I haven’t worked out in two months, but my body has still remained intact and nothing has fallen off (or grown too flabby in the process).

And, there’s also one other reason why things are pretty good, but I won’t go into it at this moment.

So, are things perfect? No. I’m having a hard time to think of reasons to bitch and moan about. Well, maybe I could complain about those 10 posts that lie in my drafts folder that I can't post. That's a clock I can't turn back.

There's a pussy on your finger

It's the birthday of my younger niece, S. My sister's house is filled with well-behaved children and their parents (also well-behaved). I'm hanging out in the kitchen with a group of parentless adults, most of whom are also my friends.

From the outside, enters my older niece, B. She's showing off her new ring. There's a series of oohs and ahhs when she models it off.

"Come over here, B," I say. "Let Uncle see." She stretches her arm towards me and I pick up her wrist. On her ring, there's a small white cat. "Awww... look at that. You have a pussy on your finger."

"Oh my God, Steven," guffaws S, one of my friends. "I can't believe you said that!"

"What?" I say in mock innocence. "It's not like I said worse. Just ask my sister." My sister is in the background and looks at me. Her face says more than words ever could, and those words wouldn't approve of my pussy talk.

As much as I try to diffuse the situation, the rest of the kitchen continues to laugh. No one is forgetting the pussy talk. I can't help it. I'm not going to change my ways just because there are children around. They'll learn about pussies, eventually.

Children are learning about all sorts of smut on television. In fact, Sesame Street did a whole skit on anal beads a couple of weeks back, and that Dora the Explorer showed her cousin, Diego, her G-spot not too long ago.

If my niece doesn't learn about these things from someone she trusts, like her boozy uncle, than she'll learn them from some unsavoury characters on television.

Still 25 in one month

In one month, I'll be one year older.

Thankfully, I'll remain 25. Again.

A punch at night

On Thursday, I threw a punch at night.

Apparently, the recipient didn't feel a thing.

It hurt all weekend. My wrist is still swollen.

To top it off, it was my right hand, not left.

Next time, I'm using with my left hand to punch.

And, I'm going to do it during the daytime.

A couple of bottles

As I'm sitting at my desk, my co-worker L comes up behind me and places a couple of bottles of alcohol on my desk. They're both used for different purposes, but they're good, nonetheless.

"Here ya go," she says.

"What are these for?" I ask.

"They're for you."

"Why are they for me?" I grab them and place them under my desk so other hands won't touch them. I work on the account, so it makes sense they'd inevitably land at my desk.

"They're from the photoshoot." A series of drinks needed to be mixed for promotional materials. "Since they're open, we can't sell them."

"Oh. Okay." I don't bother to ask who paid for them. It was probably the client. If it was me, I'd charge the client for them, anyway.

One of the perks of working here is I get to work with clients that are useful to me. Some of them are lifestyle brands, while others allow me to go to the swankiest events in the city, and I am always on the RSVP list.

The other perk is that I get the occasional free bottle every once in a while. I wouldn't drink during office hours, of course, because that would be unprofessional.

Poof in smoke

Why is it that I have a habit of attracting smokers when I don’t smoke? It’s bad enough that I have respiratory issues and cannot be around cigarette smoke. Now, I have to deal with people who I like that are addicted to a disgusting habit.

They're risking their health, and risking the health of others. I lose my voice around people who smoke. I also wheeze whenever there is smoke around me. And, I don’t want to get into the second-hand smoke issue (which is just a bluntless way to say cancer).

Yet, it’s like moth to a flame. Or, more likely, cigarette to a match.

Don't you know who I am?

Recently, I had the opportunity to assist a writer from a national magazine with some research. It was an honour, since I've been reading this magazine for more than a decade. Although I wasn't going to have my name on the byline, it would be something I can save for a later date and say to myself, I helped with this.

I gave her some names of people she should talk to for her article. I told her she should say she got their contact information from me and I give her the names of my parents (they're well known in the community). I know these people and have for years; some of them are family and the others are family friends.

After getting some feedback from her, I'm surprised when she tells me the results of my research. One of them doesn't answer the phone and doesn't reply to her messages. The other one doesn't know who I am and has never heard of me. The first one doesn't surprise me, the second one does.

My parents have known him for years, and remember when he was in his 20's and single. He is now married, with three kids and both him and his wife talk to my parents whenever there's an event. And, even if he doesn't recall my name, his kids should. I went to school with all three of them. But they're probably short a chomosome, so maybe they have a good reason for the forgetfulness.

Still, after my hard work was for naught, the only thing that pissed me off is that a somebody like me was dissed by a nobody like him. Part of me feels like calling him up and asking him, "Don't you know who I am?" But, even if I do, he probably say, "No."

Idiot.