A good wingman says “no problem bro” when you ask him to go with you, and takes it as an opportunity to hang out.

He listens and commiserates and backs you up on your feelings when you’re catching him up.

He even pays for dinner when he’s the one doing you a favour.

He keeps a lookout in the sea of people so he can be aware of the situation and warn you.

He stands facing the door so you can have your back to it when talking to him, and won’t be caught off guard.

He teases you about the cute ones, just like the good old days, when you went drinking in places too loud to talk.

He leads when you’re too nervous or self-conscious to do anything, and he follows without question when you take action.

He has a great time, and thanks you for the night.

Tiana brought me as her guest to the Ottawa Foodies pot luck, run by Pam¹, and held on a rooftop patio right on Bank Street. It was a true potluck, where no one knew what anyone else was bringing.

The Ottawa Foodies usually gather in the Ottawa Foodie forums, where they discuss recipes and restaurants in Ottawa, so this was the first in-person meeting for many. Many didn’t know each others real names, so there were introductions like, “Hi, I’m MissMuffins862″, or ,”Hi, I’m Thomas, aka BagelRapist”.

I don’t think Tiana was quite ready for the food dorks, the type of which I was already somewhat accustomed to during my time at the computer science program at Ottawa U. I’ve determined that food dorks are just as bad as wine snobs and computer geeks. For example:

There were two guys who got into a heated argument about the kind of fat used in Mcdonald’s french fries. One of these guys also preached to me about the benefits of good rice, (and me — being Chinese — knew absolutely nothing about rice). There was one guy who said, “I’m doing a documentary on the youngest head chef in the ———- region”. I asked “Wow, how did he get that position?”, and his reply was “His parents own the restaurant”. Then realizing the fact that nepotism ruins the credibility of his initial statement, he followed this with “He also made a flowerless brownie at 11.” Tiana asked, “Did he invent it?”. “No, he followed a recipe”. At that point, Tiana and got silent and we just looked at each other.

But what some of these people lack in social skills, they make up for in culinary abilities, and the food was amazing.

So I basically hung out with Tiana the whole time, and pigged out on everything I could. By the end of the night, my truffles, usually rolled in coco powder to prevent them from sticking to each other, had turned into a truffle.

1. Who also happens to know Tim. Ottawa is really small. [↑]

Something weird happened while I was in Toronto.

I was sitting on a patio with John on Queen Street West, when I noticed Mike walking down the street with a girl. I met Mike as we were simultaneously earning our computer science degrees in Ottawa, so I call him over, and I ask him what he’s doing it Toronto. He tells me he moved here about a year ago, which I didn’t know; the last time I saw him was at Pat’s birthday party.

We make some more small talk, and he introduces me to his friend. Then, for some reason, he turns to me and says, “I don’t know how things are between you and [the stalker], but she’s friends with her too”.

I also met “the stalker” in university. We started as friends, but at some point she told me we were meant for each other, then got all psycho when she said I wasn’t spending enough time with her, and started sending me rambling e-mails like this:

u have a beautiful mind dude… i donno who told u different was it that
redhead bitch that wouldn’t date u? i think i’m feeling homicidial against
her right now >:{

yor mind is awesome!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

who the fuck cares if yor good at school or not……..

I haven’t talked to her since — in early 2005 — and I’ve been avoiding any contact with her, desperately hoping she would forget about me, but she kept sending me e-mails, some as recent as last year, and reading my blog. I don’t know how Mike knows about the whole situation between us, because I didn’t say anything to anyone but my close friends¹.

So I remain silent, hoping the entire matter will be dropped, but a voice in my head is screaming “WHY ARE YOU BRINGING THIS UP?!” Then Mike’s friend turns to me and says, “Oh, you know [the stalker] too! I’m going to CALL HER AND LET HER KNOW YOU’RE HERE” (emphasis mine) as she pulls out her cell phone.

As politely and calmly as I can, I say, “Please don’t”, while trying to mask my growing discomfort. In order to remain civil, avert gossip, and avoid turning her against “the stalker” with my side of the story, I don’t say anything or offer an explanation. For some reason, she doesn’t get it, and she brings her phone to her ear. I’m paralyzed by anxiety, unsure of what to say, wondering to myself, “Is this really happening?”

I realize it would probably be inappropriate to smack the phone out of her hand, so I sit. And wait. And after what seems like an eternity, she puts the phone down, and says, “I couldn’t get a hold of her”.

Oh thank you god thank you god thank you god, I promise to add something to the collection plate next time I’m in church.

When she sees the relief in my face, she says, “Oh, I didn’t realize there’s some kind of history between you two. I thought you were joking. I won’t bring it up with her.”, and I do my best to muster a calm, “Probably a good idea”.

John says it makes a great story. I think it made a great heart attack.

1. Although she did choose to publicly embarrass herself by posting crazy comments on some of my entries, so maybe that’s how. [↑]

A chance to try new recipes and share them with others. Also, a chance to learn some dance moves so you may not feel so out-of-place the next time you’re at a Jewish wedding. I wish I had started taking pictures sooner instead of getting distracted by all the food, because there was so much of it. We sat around and ate and conversed until the sun went down, then ate some more.

I love meeting interesting people. People with something to say (in beautiful accents), and new perspectives to offer. People who are as curious about you, as you them.

I almost walked out of Tai Chi class the other night.

Someone asked me if I was going to “pass out again”, because I got light-headed the class before and had to leave early, most likely due to a side-effect of the new medication I’m on, though I was far from passing out.

I was flat-out offended, and began experiencing what my therapist explained are “automatic thoughts” — irrational thoughts that affect mood negatively. I had to step back from the situation, put the words out of my head, and calm myself down. If not, I would have overreacted, and probably regretted it. But I couldn’t figure out why I was so upset. After all, I’m far from one who gets offended easily.

Was I being publicly emasculated? Was I being judged without consideration of all the facts? Was my commitment to attend practice after not eating for two days being belittled? Was it the tone? Was it because I couldn’t speak back and defend myself, for fear of polluting the sanctity of the class¹ with my personal politics? Probably a bit of each.

I tend to have similarly bad reactions to people being surprised that I don’t know something. It feels like I’m being judged, as if they presume to know who I am. Even though it’s supposed to be a compliment, it’s a back-handed one, like saying “I thought you were smarter than that”. John used to be especially guilty of this², but he successfully corrected the behaviour years ago. It took a psychologist to point it out to him, and adverse reactions from several people, including me.

I know I’ve already come a long way. I’m not so sensitive about my weight (for a guy) any more. I stopped caring what people think when I know the truth. But this incident made me realize that I still harbor a sensitivity to certain things. I still have some growing up to do. Still have to realize that people say things without thinking, or don’t mean what they say, or that I may even take innocuous things the wrong way. Even though I feel that I had a right to be offended, I still don’t want to be.

And the fact that I was offended just makes me more upset.

1. I approach my work with the same kind of reservation and detachment to remain professional. After all, these are situations in which we can’t choose the people we work with, so there’s nothing to do but accept and any unpleasantness. [↑]
2. And quite self-aware of it. As a person oblivious to pop-culture, he loved to hold it over people when he knew something they didn’t. [↑]

When I left, the flowers on my kitchen table looked like this:

When I got back, to my surprise, they looked like this:

She made the bouquet herself — hand-picked the flowers, chose the colours, even made sure it was symmetrical, knowing my odd habits¹ — and left them there to greet me from my journey home.

I never ask for these things but she does them anyway.

Which is exactly what makes them so significant.

1. I tend to straighten her necklaces, her sandal straps, the curls of her hair, the draw-strings in her hoodie/yoga pants… [↑]

Assume as necessary.

Why is it so politically incorrect to show your feelings? Would it be inappropriate to tell you that I’m in love?

That your dimples are like hinges that purse your lips in the most adorable way, and I want to kiss them. That I want to have you here next to me, to feel the weight of your body pressing against mine. That I want to smell you on my fingers, I want to fold my sheets around you, I want to feel your curls under my hands as I lather and rinse.

Because I’m sick of being polite and I’m tired of propriety.

So let’s deal with this attraction. Let’s not ignore what’s between us.

A reader sent me this letter (posted with her permission, of course):

Almost a year after I had managed to leave the island behind, the room, the floor, the sheets, the rape – I accidently ended up on your blog entry called “The beginning to the end” and it changed my world. It awoke feelings inside of me that I had for a years time tried to suppress and scare off so that I never again would open up to anyone, never trust anyone and therefor never end up in the same situation again. At that time, all men were a potential threath to me.

Reading and watching that very blogentry have had such a great impact on my life and will to become ‘myself’ again, to reclaim my body and to dare to move towards feeling and being ‘beautiful’ again. Your video granted me the sensation of how sincere, pure and giving love and affection truly are when it’s shared and not forced. It made me remember blocked out feelings and situations and it made me start to long for something that I had completely shut out for over a year.

I have been wanting to write you this email for quite some time, but I havent been sure of myself or if the “new” me (which is the old in fact) would survive and I didnt want to make this into a sunshine story if it really wasnt – but after many downhills, trials and tribulations, theraphy and social interaction, I am there, I am back and I am standing strong again. Nothing will ever be the same, but at least I made the right choice, for me. I have always been lifeloving in overload and even if I am only halfway there yet, it is still enough to keep me going.

I still watch that video every now and then, to remind myself that anything is possible and that you can recieve “help” from the most unexpected sources. It used to make me cry, now it makes me smile instead, isnt that beautiful? I know perfectly well that you never meant to post that entry for me, but it helped me in one of the most difficult times in my life and for that I will be forever grateful. Thank you.

Yours sincerly,
Emma

I’m at a loss for words.

I met her a few times. She was nice. Quiet. I was one of the more junior students and she would occasionally give me words of encouragement.

But what endeared her to me was the way she interacted with him. A comfortable familiarity, an unspoken bond they never overtly displayed in public but kept hidden between them, a secret they shared as if to reveal it was to spoil it.

Sometimes, they’d talk about their kids. They were getting older. Getting married. Moving out.

When they found the cancer in her body, he suspended classes immediately. He told us we could find new teachers with his blessing. I looked up their address and sent a basket filled with pâté and dipping oils. That was over a year ago.

And as much as I’d like to do something, anything to make him feel better — offer my condolences, tell him he has an ear — there isn’t anything I can do. Nothing will make up for his loss.

Our bond will remain unspoken too.

At the hair salon tonight, a new girl washed my hair. She went through the usual routine, but before she finished, she placed her fingers along the front of my hairline, and with constant pressure, slowly worked her way back.

The water was warm, my hair was wet, and I felt the tension going down my scalp. It was completely sublime.

The edges of my lips started curling, but I couldn’t tell if I was helplessly smiling, or it was the stretching of my skin upwards.

In the shower tonight, when washing out the stray hairs, I tried doing it on myself. It didn’t feel the same, of course.

It was like that scene in Secretary, where Lee Holloway (played by Maggie Gyllenhaal) tries to spank herself with a hairbrush when exploring her submissive tendencies. I love the expression of intent, and ultimately letdown, on her face.

The problem with manual stimulation is that it never feels as good as when someone else does it for you.