Attic Tales

I’m happy to announce that you my lovely readers have donated over $400.00 to the Canadian Red Cross to help Haiti. Most of you were going to do this regardless of my incentive to bribe you with your choice of blog topics, so I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your kindness, empathy, and generosity.

Also, I apologize for the delay in writing your posts, but for the past few days the website has been down so that my pal Maryse can work on putting Attic Tales on a new server. Plus we’re also working on a whole new look. And by we I again mean Maryse.

This post is for Carly, who requested that I blog about: life with straight men aka life at university aka life with men who are in love with you.

Mon Dieu.

Hmmm…whenever I think of life during my University days, I think about how woefully unprepared I was…not just intellectually, but emotionally as well. I was suppose to be an adult and know exactly what I wanted to do for THE REST OF MY LIFE. Just for the record, I’m 36 and I still don’t know.

At 18, I knew I wanted to be a writer but had been strongly encouraged by my parents to become a teacher instead. It would be an understatement to say that this particular pursuit of my studies did not go well. For 2 years, I proceeded to flunk most of my classes. This after having been a mostly A student all through school…and by mostly A, I mean a lot of Bs and B++, and the occasional Cs…and let’s not mention those very rare Fs when it came to math and chemistry…D was very elusive.

At 20, I took a year off, a mini-sabbatical if you will, to write a book and get this whole writing thing out of my system. I was going to write a love story about an Acadian vampire. To say that this book would have been AWESOME would be an understatement…and a lie. Plus, I knew nothing about Acadian culture.

During that time, while failing to write the book and figuring out what I really wanted to study at University,  I was also struggling with my sexuality, feeling isolated in Quebec City (the coldest place in Canada), and my parents divorcing. Consequently, I got really depressed, became obsessive compulsive when it came to germs, and for a period of three months did not laugh…not even a chuckle.

When I snapped out of my depression, started laughing again, and managed to stop washing my hands and the bathroom every half hour, I decided I wanted to go into journalism. So at the ripe old age of 22, when I should have been graduating with a BEd under my belt, I went back to University. I was able to complete my degree in Information-Communications in under three years because surprisingly enough, I had managed to acquire full credit for my English classes during my failed attempt at becoming a teacher.

My second round at a post-secondary education went a bit smoother despite some strange adventures. I had a boy fall in love with me despite my repeatedly telling him I was gay. I had another guy visit me every Thursday to masturbate in my window while I watched Friends. I met my first lesbian. She was very tiny…and still is. I met Carly…who eventually realized she was a lesbian…and who eventually married the very tiny lesbian. I had my first relationship with a woman…well I thought it was a relationship…she didn’t. I then went on to my second, and third relationships. And during that third one, just for a hoot, I got married to a guy from Togo…while also repeatedly telling him I was gay.

Oh yeah…and I went to my classes and passed.

Ah life at University. I wouldn’t want to relive it but at least the one very good thing that came out of it was my friendship with Carly and her future wife. Good times. Good times.