Tag Archives: alcohol

Sorry Paul

Personal Bits, Queer stuff

Back in 1990, I had broken up with my Kiwi boyfriend Paul (amicably) and while I was in school, he and another friend, Colleen got drunk and I guess, bitched about men (me) through a couple bottles of wine.

The result was him painting a “heirloom” of a hall table that has been with my family for years. My earliest memory of this table (it’s always been deep forest green) was that it was in the basement to hold tools and kid’s mittens and touques (kids were not allowed through the front door of our house, for some stupid reason like… oh tracked in mud or something stupidly adult). When Dad separated from Mom, he took a few bits of furniture with him to the new apartment including this table. It was his new “dump” table. You know: you enter your apartment and on this table you dump your keys, letters, gloves, errant plastic bags of body parts you’ve picked up through the day, etc.

This table followed me through Brockville, Brantford, Kitchener, Oakville, Ottawa and back to Toronto. It’s rickety, there’s a huge crack down the middle of the top and the nails no longer hold things in place. It’s like a 15 year old dog you don’t have the heart to take behind the barn with a shotgun.

Cut back to a drunk Paul and Colleen. Angry through the alcohol, they decide to “give me a card” for my birthday. We had watched Ruthless People a while back and I had mentioned, rather snottily, that they used “Memphis” furniture design principals for the art direction. Paul hated that kind of crazy design, he thought it was “L.A. Ugly”. So in their drunken anger, they took brush to desk and here’s the result:

Sorry Paul

On the back they wrote: “Something to remember us by. Summer ’90. Enjoy your card – Paul and Colleen.”

Today is the end of 18 years of visual assault. I painted it. You can still see the purple and red “donuts” through the white. I know they’re there.

But I kept the back with the “inscription”.

The Walk of Shame


I viewed a lot of people doing The Walk of Shame throughout this sporadic long weekend. You know the look: dazed, 100 metre stare with much regret behind their eyes; wrinkled clothes that just don’t look right in the full light of day (leather pants? In 25C heat?); and the shuffling that comes with the combination of too much alcohol and bruise-making sex.

It got me to thinking: What’s the best way to get back home and avoid street level embarrassment?

Here’s my hints and tips!

Leave early. Know that the traffic starts to pick up after 7am. Get out that door and giving yourself enough time to walk home while wearing those obvious clothes (unless you’ve worn ass-less chaps the night before, take a cab. No commuter who may spy your journey home, no matter what their sexual orientation, will take you seriously).

Consider your route home. If you have to walk by a school or playground or catty outdoor cafe full of hip young things, be prepared to feel the icy sting of comments and stares landing squarely on your back.

Don’t sleep there when the deed is done. Save yourself the trouble and pain. No mater how drunk, get your ass out of there.

Don’t spend all your money the night before. Taxis, while recently have increased their fares, are still great for avoiding the long walk home. If your one night stand lives in Scarborough and you live downtown, stop drinking appropriately.

Find a bush and finish up there. This way, nobody gets robbed. Nobody has to sneak glances at letters in the hallway to remember a name. Nobody gets breakfast. Downside: dog poop on your butt.

Steal. When your host is in the loo, steal a clean t-shirt. Unless you’re a chubby chasing, rail thin guy, you may want to steal a washcloth.

I hope I’ve helped you in some small way today.