I'm couch-ridden once again, thanks to yet another regimen to get to a better body.

Now that the snow has melted and I have taken down my snowboard rack (but not the snowboard yet; I just can't find it in my heart to put it away). I haven't really moved for the last 6 months, except for the occasional bouts of snowboarding.

On Saturday morning, I decided to try out a Tai Chi class at 9 am, and although I didn't intend on it, I joined the Konditioning class right after. After Konditioning, I still opted to to do boxing for another hour and a half. In all, I caught up on 6 months of working out in 3.5 hours. It hurts as much as it sounds.

Binge-exercising is not the best thing for the body, believe you me. I tried to explain to my Poker friend, who lives in California and hasn't experienced a Canadian winter (and adamantly refuses to), that when you're 4 feet in snow, it's hard to find the motivation to move when you don't need to (and at times, it's hard to move when you need to). For some reason sunshine and the lack of biting cold propels one to change into running shoes and sweat their troubles away. And of course, there's also the impending bikini season.

Of the course, I can't expect things to come easily to me. This will all become worth it in about a month, hopefully in time for a sunny vacation in Cali. That is, if I can drag my battered body back to the gym. I hope yoga can help with the shooting pains. Ughhh.

Montreal was awesome. I almost forgot one of the things I love about Montreal since I was last there: the fashion. I have reinforced my keenness for the 'scenester' look. I must go back again this summer to get inspired.

We left for Montreal on Friday at the ungodly hour of 8:30 am. It was actually a good time for us to leave, though, because we would spend most of the day (6 hours straight to be exact and no lunch break!) on the way to Montreal and then we'd have the evening to get sloshed and party it up on Friday night. And that's exactly what we did. However, I did learn one thing that night: When getting drunk in a city you're not very familiar with, plan your destination well. Or at least, never let Konrad guide you in a strange city with only his Blackberry and Google Maps.

We decided to hit a club on Saint Catherine Street, because it was rumoured to be a hip and happening place for young, single persons such as oursleves. Correction: Saint Catherine Street West is a hip and happening place for young, single persons "like us". Saint Catherine Street East is a hip and happening place for young, single (and not-single) gays and fag hags. No wonder the cab driver asked us twice if we wanted to go Saint Catherine Street East.

We ended up at Unity, despite Vicki pointing out that Saint Catherine Street East seemed to be the equivalent to Church Street in Toronto, and me noticing male bathhouses in the area. Not even the posters of topless men at the club swayed Konrad into believing it was a gay club, until we were inside and we witnessed a whole new world we have never experienced. To be quite honest, though, I actually really enjoyed Unity. It was such a different vibe in there: no pretentiousness and everyone was genuinely having a great time. Guy on guy, girl on girl, fag hag on gay. It was great, too, because there were alot of really good dancers. But of course, we just had to hit a strip club right after Unity so the guys could end the night in a straight mind set.

However, Unity and being in a gay club was a stark comparison, though, to the following night. After a day of shopping and more drinking, we made damn sure we went to Saint Catherine Street West to go to a straight club, Super Ultra Club. Super Ultra Club was super ultra packed with good music and super, ultra pretentious people. This is something that I have come to learn to expect whenever I go clubbing. However, the people in this club were particularly bitchy, so much so that even Vicki had almost gotten into a bitch fight with some chicks, had Konrad not gotten in the middle. Whew. The last thing we needed was to be kicked out in the rain after we had waited an hour in line to get in!

I believe I have mentioned this before when I said that I admire the homosexual lifestyle, in that they have so much sexual freedom without the stigma in their community. Amongst other things, they seem so free and comfortable to be themselves within their community. There's no guilt, no snobbery, no sexual tension (which I believe makes people in straight clubs all moody and rude). They're so honest, so slutty, so loud and they have great fashion (I've never seen so many people in one room wear tight-ass pants)! Hm, forget female friends, I need more gay friends!

However, although I will not be swayed from going to another gay club, I will likely go to straight clubs more often than gay clubs because let's face it-- the pretentiousness + the lure of the opposite sex is one addictive cocktail.

Listening to:Fag Hag - Lily Allen

I hopped on a bus to Montreal at 8:30 this morning.

It's now 7:00 pm and I'm drunk at the Sheraton eating a frozen cheesecake with my hair in giant rolls wearing my "I think I look awesome" t-shirt.

I love my life.

Well, knock me down with a feather, two of the most unlikeliest people to put together a band -- has put together a band (with some other randoms that are apparently somebodies): Taylor Hanson of Hanson and James Iha of The Smashing Pumpkins. Wowwwowwwweeee.

You can check out their music here.

I must admit, their music has grown on me and perhaps it's not just because Taylor Hanson's in it (although it has something to do with it). I've always liked Taylor's voice and this band's music has a sorta retro feel to it.

However.

I really hate the band's name.

'Tinted Windows'?

I will have to do a bit more research and find out how the name came about. It's probably some lame-ass story about how they were standing in the parking lot of the recording studio during a smoke break and someone happened to look at a car and said, "What's the deal with 'tinted windows?"....

I personally think 'Cold-Air Intake" is a cooler band name.

I don't know if it's because he is maybe senile, or because this former judge has managed to evade the radar as a bigoted decision-maker, but it is truly appalling when I hear about shit like this. He might as well also ban all Americans or anyone who belongs to a nation that has participated in a purposeless war from obtaining his scholarship, because according to him, if the media has deemed you as someone associated with killing "people who aren't even soldiers", you aren't deserving of his scholarship.

Take your money back, Mr. Staniszewski.

The other night, I decided to join the guys at the pool hall after a yoga class. Guys tend to have some ridiculous topics of conversations that are somehow spurned from stupid questions they think aloud. In actual fact, though, they aren't really stupid questions if you think about it more. I think this is what spawned that awesome show, Manswers: it's a show that answers the stupid questions guys think aloud.

This night was no exception, but I'm not sure if it's a question that can be really proven, unless some informal poll was taken (where the hell am I going to find any virgins over the age of 18 these days?!). I don't even remember how we got to this topic of conversation, but it somehow turned into this: Does the type of porn one prefers determine their virginity?

Some interesting points of convo (*note: the conversation might not be totally accurate, but it summarized an hour's worth of arguing):

D: The type of porn a guy watches can so tell you if he's done it or not.

Me: How's that?

D: Think about it: a virgin would be so much more turned on watching lesbian porn than 'regular' porn because they don't know what heterosexual sex feels like. All they see in 'regular' porn is pussy and dick and that does nothing for them. Whereas for someone who knows what sex feels like would find lesbian sex not as stimulating as 'regular' porn.

Me: I never thought of it that way...

D: Virgins can imagine what lesbian sex might feel like, but they have no idea what actual sex is like.

Sometimes the stupidest questions can derive some of the most interesting theories.

Even though I wont admit it, I believe I'm pretty sure I'm drawn to a certain type of guy -- the closeted gay ones.

For example, I used to think that the hottest guy in the boy band, 'NSYNC was Lance Bass... who years later after the band was defunct admitted he was gay. Also, the guy I thought was the hottest in another 'boy band', The Moffatts, also turned out to be gay. Perhaps I shouldn't use examples which include ex-boy band members, because we all know boy bands are the gayest of the gay anyway. But it does bring me to my next point...

Even though for years people have told me time and time again that he might be, I refused to believe Taylor Hanson, the love of my adolescent life, was gay. Yes, he had the long hair (but so did his brothers) and the effeminate features (but that's what made him so hot!), but I refused to believe that he could be gay because there was just no fuckin' way because I planned to marry him and produce his spawn.

Now that I'm all grown up, I have to be a little bit more wise and perhaps, open my eyes a bit more. I see things a little differently and I judge things further than what meets the eye. I am also on the internet way too fuckin' much, because I found this (*PLEASE NOTE THE LINK IS NSFW!!!!! YOU'VE BEEN WARNED!!!!!!!!ooneeee!!!!elevennn!!!!!!!!!!).

My adolescent years have just shattered before me.

The other day I was on a date with someone that I don't particularly even want a relationship with. Is that weird? Is it odd that I go on dates for the sake of going on them and don't even expect anything out of it? Not even sex? I suppose some might say I'm just wasting time, and perhaps I am, but I just can't help but obligate myself to go out. I'm impulsive repulsive. What's more weird is that although I don't particularly want more than friendship from this person, I was strangely frisky by the end of the night. Nothing really happened. Eventually he had to take me home because he couldn't handle it. I felt kinda stupid after, but I can't do much but shrug and laugh at the situation. I don't mean to sound conceited, but he'll be back. Question is, is that what I want? Shit, why am I in such a limbo?

I have an insatiable itch to travel. It's in my blood, man. I'm going to Montreal in a couple weeks, but it's only for a weekend and it's not enough. Gotta get out of here. Lately the weather has been too warm to snowboard and too cold to do much else. The other day, I discovered the horror of all horrors: more stretch marks on my ass. Thus, I'm getting fat. I agreed to start taking yoga classes with Vicki, but I really just gotta get out of here. Gotta get moving. Moving. Moving. Moving. Perhaps Cali in April, and then Puerto Rico in May? Get back to me if you've got a case of heebie-jeebies, too.

In other news, house-hounting news to be specific, I've been checking out places in the areas closest to my office. I've found some some decent ones )2-3 bedrooms, 1000+ square feet) that are within my price range. I think what I'll do is live in it and rent out the other bedrooms to friends. I came to this decision after checking out rent space in this city and decided that renting sucks and renting out is better. I think that's the most ideal situation -- to earn rent to pay the mortgage every month and live with friends at the same time. I'm not particularly keen on having roommates, but it'll have to do and I'll have a pretty rigourous screening process (non-female, non-crazy). It's especially good to rent out to friends because at least I can skip the criminal checks. Har har. I'm not sure what to do first, though: look for tenants or put an offer down. Hmm...

I don’t want to jinx anything here, but can I say that I am just deliriously content? I am. I’m so glad I can finally say that and I will cherish this feeling, this moment, this space in time, before the next crisis hits me. This is me dwelling: ……………………………………………………..

…

Ahhhhh. I really don’t have much to complain about and I feel….great. Not sure why, but I do. And doggone it, I haven’t felt like this in awhile. Mad? No, not at all. Sad? Not really. Tired? Maybe a little. But that’s probably due to the fact that I was out till 4 am (and probably would’ve stayed out longer, had my mother not called me at 4:01 am, after I realized I did not have my house keys at 3:45 am. Whew.). After a massive poker game (first place taken my moi, thank you very much), I took my winnings and went downtown with the guys. For a Sunday night, I think Picadilly’s is what it probably should be on a Sunday night – dismal. I didn’t expect too much. Thank goodness for this long weekend, though, because I definitely need today to re-coop from the weekend.

On Saturday night I saw He’s Just Not That Into You. I actually have the book, which I bought on a whim with Kathy and Mel during one of their used-book shopping sprees but I don’t remember getting past the first few pages. Without giving too much of the movie away, the movie (I sincerely hope) was like a clear memo to Those Women that do crazy shit and over-analyze everything to the point of absurdity, that they need to stop that shit for the sake of men they meet, their boyfriends, husbands and, who I believe are on the front lines, the girlfriends they initially take the craziness out on.

I’m not going to lie, though. Even the strongest females I know who are also anti-bullshit like me, fall to this annoying female behaviour: constantly checking the Blackberry to see if he called, wondering if you should text him first because it’s been a day since you’ve last talked to him, or feeling the need to advise him of every little thing you’re doing just to start a conversation with him. I have done it, you have done it. And if you deny this, you’re a filthy liar. I believe this behaviour is probably somehow biologically programmed into our gender no matter how hard we try to fight it. I hate it, but I admit, I have tendencies towards it.

I suppose, though, that this is just what women do to bond. We talk about our feelings, dwell on them, and the friends who are left and are willing to put up with the bullshit are drama are for keeps. I’m very grateful for the few female friends that I do have, and that goes to show how true they are to me.

So guys, don’t think that chicks think and do crazy shit just to piss you off (well, maybe it is sometimes), it’s probably just a test of girlfriend-girlfriend relationships, because they are so rarely genuine these days. Girls are vicious, selfish beasts and will turn their backs on their friends at the first chance they get (likely over a guy). I actually truly admire male-male relationships (a.k.a. “Bromances”) because they seem to genuinely value each other’s companionship. They will be each other’s wingmen and will hook up with the hot chick’s not-so-hot friend just so their friend can hook up with the hot chick. They will not bail on plans with their friends for their significant others (unless it’s for sex, whereby it is OK). They will fart in each other’s presence and still be friends after the air has cleared (thanks, Sy). They talk behind each other’s back, but it’s probably for a good reason because that guy is probably a real jack ass and deserved it. They will have arguments (verbal and/or physical) and be buddy-buddy 20 minutes later because “it’s allllll gooooood”. They will advise each other on how to improve their car’s performance rather than brag about what they have and diss what you got.

I could go on, but I think I will be bordering on stepping on toes and people will start to wonder if this is a blind post and will wonder who’s who. Tee hee..

I’m in bed right now. It’s hard to believe that I’m in bed at only 10:30 at night, hours before I usually hit the hay. However, I believe I have to make an exception and make drastic lifestyle changes, such as my sleeping schedule. I made a desolate realization a couple weeks ago. It was bad enough that I turned the dreaded 2-5 but I also realized that age, perhaps, is something more than a number.

I became a aware of numerous things:

You know you’re old when … every other song that comes up on your mp3 player is a “Wayback Playback” — Faith Evans (“Love Like This”), En Vogue (“Don’t Let Go”), Snoop Dogg (“Gin ‘n Juice”), etc. When did half my playlist become tracks for a ‘90s mix tape?

You know you’re old when … you go to clubs where guys are handing you business cards instead of dialing their numbers on your cell phone and pressing ‘Call’.

You know you’re old when … you would rather go to the casino than a hot nightclub. Actually, it might not be a result of being old. It could just be a result of an addiction to playing Poker.

You know you’re old when … you’ve finally gotten rid of all the cheap-quality drugstore make up you bought in middle and high school (Bonnebell now reminds me of my first kiss: fruity and not very long-lasting) and replaced them with good-quality shit.

You know you’re old when … you do these “You know you’re old when…” lists.

Okay, I promise this is the last time I bitch about getting old. At least, for today.