Seeing her was too good for me to handle. My willpower barely lasted. And now I'm crying again.

Ok, so I realise that my last post was a little heavy. In light of that, I think I'll post on the other thing that happened to me that day.

You see, my co-worker normally brings in a DVD player. So Saturdays,
even though they are the longest, are normally some of my favourite
shifts. Well, today I brought in a stack of DVDs only to discover that
he had lent it to his brother. Something had to be done. I was facing
12 full hours with nothing to do.

Well, I decided that I would get a magazine, if nothign else. The convenience
store that I pass going to Tim Horton's doesn't have anything good, I
know, so I journeyed off in an unknown direction.

The first store was of little use, only having a few beauty magazines.

My trip into the second store went sort of like this:

[I look at the rack, and see nothing interesting]

Me: Do you have and game magazines?

Old Asian Store Clerk: Oh, yes, right there. [she points]

[I look to the place where she points, and my eyes meet squarely with a large picture of a man's cock]

[I cringe]

Me: No, no, game magazines!

[She gives me a wry smile]

Old Asian Store Clerk: Is ok, we sell lots of these. Sell very well.

Me: No, video games.

Old Asian Store Clerk: Ohh, sorry, sorry, no, none of those.

I couldn't help but imagine how I must have looked at that moment,
walking in there with my security guard uniform and my beard asking for
gay porn. I moved on promptly.

I was walking north from King St., west of Young. There was a rather
abrupt change in the atmosphere. Everything went from snobily expensive
business-people area, to some kind of ghetto. I was flooded by requests
from homeless, who soon had all my change. Well, I was feeling a little
suspicious when I saw a middle aged Chinese man, dresses in what can
only be termed Ghetto Fab, standing in the doorway of the next store.

He says to me jeeringly: Ooohh, Paragon Security Guard! Important man coming into the store!

Oh course, once I sidled past him into the store, the clerk was no
help. He was even older, and all he did was laugh at the first man.
Well, there wasn't any magazines apparent, so I moved on.

He called after me as I walked away: Watch out for the Security Guard!

Of course, then a homeless looking man eyed me suspiciously and said: Are you a Cop!?

Me: No.

He eyes me hard, and keeps walking muttering to himself.

Well, I was feeling a little discouraged, so when the next store was
locked, I was inclined to go back empty handed. Only a Muslim girl came
running out form the back gesturing that I come in. Of course I
gestured that the door was locked. Then a man came out from the same
place (looking very suspicious, I must say) and took his time slowly
making his way to opened the door, not getting the right key until the
5th or 6th try. It turned out they didn't have any magazines, and told
me to try to grocery across the street. So I left the suspicious couple
behind.

The grocery, though it didn't have any good magazines, was at least manned by normal people.

Well, at this point I reconsidered my thought of turning back. I was
reminded of Harold and Kumar, and their epic quest for
self-fulfillment. I resolved then: I would not go back to work until I
had found something to read. I would not be put off by my sexuality
being questioned, or subtle accusations of some kind of persecution. No,
I would get myself a magazine.

My resolve yielded well, for just around the corner, like some kind of
shinning Gem of Commercialism in the mire of East Toronto, stood a
Shopper's Drugmart Superstore. Brand new, and massive. I found there a
copy of Wired, and over the next few hours I read it cover to cover.
The magazine meant so much more for the trials of the acquisition.

It was good.

So I experienced an unusual amount of barely controlled rage
this afternoon. My co-worker (the weekend guys are different) was
talking to his girlfriend on the phone. The way he was treating her was
fucking disgusting. Commanding her about, calling her a bitch, telling
her she couldn't see or speak to people, and when she no doubt protested about not
being able to speak with her friends, he would reply with: "Does that
hurt you? Does it hurt you that you can't talk to him anymore, bitch?!"
Evidently goading her into expressing some kind of feeling towards a
person who was not him.

I could hardly speak for all the hatred
I felt towards him. It was as if his behaviour triggered in me some
kind of deep seeded emotional response. It was all I could do not to
attack the man.

On the subway home, reflecting on all this, I realised that perhaps my
motives weren't as righteous as I had thought. I seem to have discovered
some hidden wound within me, one that I didn't even realise was there.
You see, I think I was jealous
of this man. Jealous because there is a girl who loves him, when he
deserves nothing. Jealous because I am alone, and he is not.

I'm sure you're all expecting me to conclude with some kind of
statement about how I'm not deserving either, maybe bring in some kind
of Christ analogy or something. No! Fuck, no! He doesn't deserve her. I don't care who she is, she should not be treated like that. Fuck him.

That is all.

So I spent most of my day as a third wheel in a discussion about
religion between a Christian Lebanese refugee (the very same)  whose
moral code was a little suspect, and an intelligent Muslim Pakistani
immigrant whom I've been working with for a few weeks now (I'm quite
fond of the guy).

The Lebanese fellow was sort of funny. It was as if he had memorised
"The Beginner's Guide to Christian-Muslim Apologetics". The Islamic man
knew very little about Christianity (save a couple of times he asked me questions aout it), and was very humble about his
knowledge in general. I couldn't help but smile. Tahir
(my Islamic
friend) decimated all the arguments of his opponent with simple, humbly
stated questions. It was beautiful. I stayed mostly silent, adding
comments to clear up the language problems the discussion had, the
whole affair was just to good to spoil.

Now, you shouldn't misunderstand me. I wasn't happy because my faith
was being bombarded, but because my friend Tahir proved to be such an
shrewed man. I took the time after the discussion was over to rework
the Lebanese man's arguments into their true forms, so Tahir didn't get
a bad impression Christianity. I must say though, he impressed me
greatly.

Some interesting things that I have done in the last week or so

Extolled the virtues of Canadian Moderate Socialism to a Lebanese refugee.

Discovered the real identity of Princess Zelda (Twice!).

Finished two crosswords in one day (with some help, of course).

Was late for work:

Supervisor Dave: Aron, you're late again!

Me: Sorry, Ganon kidnapped the princess and there was no time to lose.

Supervisor Dave: Next time just give him the fucking triforce and he'll leave your damn princess alone.

Me: I'm sorry, it won't happen again.

Hmm, I can't think of anything else interesting. Guess I end it here.

I purchased a gamecube today. There is definitely a lot of Zelda in my future.

Additionally, I saw Kat, for the first time since we broke up, on
Friday. I didn't break down, throw up, or attempt to convince her she
should run away with me (all things I've thought might happen). As a
matter of fact, I didn't even want
to do any of these things. I won't go into detail about the event which
I believe shifted me into such a healthy mental state, but rest
assured: there was such an event. Thank God.

Valentine's Day tomorrow. I wish that mattered to me a little more. I
always imagined that having a girlfriend (or wife, I suppose) at
Valentine's would be a lot of pressure. I'm not sure I think that
anymore. I don't know why.

Have a nice day everyone.