*WARNING! THIS BLOGGIE IS RATED NOT SUITABLE FOR PARENTS*

It's Slut Week for Snobby! Snobby has a series of dates this week and all of the gentlemen have made it clear in one way or another that they have certain...hopes for the evening. I love being a fag!

And then I'm off to Montreal for a few days and that is certain to be fun!

So, blogging may be spotty this week. Maybe I'll squeeze a few out between the fun, frolicking, and fatigue. And I'm sure there'll be one inspiré de la belle province. But if there are none, know that it's for a good cause.

And I just in case my very cool, opening-minded mother is still reading this blog, I would just like to make it clear that by "slut", I mean a chaste individual who has milk and cookies with his gentlemen callers and is home and in bed alone by 10PM.


4/21/2004 Toutes les belles préparations
I am in a flurry of preparation for the impending voyage to Montreal. I have spent the morning sending emails back and forth. Ô, the socializing! Ô, the expressions of affection and nostalgia! Ô, the massive quantities of alcohol Snobby will have set in his path! Snobby isn't as young as he once was and is slightly apprehensive about this aspect of the trip. But how many times do I go to Montreal? Not enough times.

I am slowly getting over the guilt of not contacting every person I know, once knew, or once wanted to know in that wonderful city. After having lived there for 14 years, there are a lot of people who fit into these categories. Snobby is egocentric enough to believe that some of these people will be mortally wounded at the knowledge that I was in town and *gasp* did not call! This time, however, instead of endeavouring not to hurt theoretically hurtable feelings, I am only contacting the people I really want to see...although I am sort of hoping that Maître ExBoyfriend – who contacts me sometimes when he comes to this town, but mostly not – will be vexed and concerned when he hears I didn't contact him (which is what I say ever time I go there and every time I end up calling him...but not this time!) Exes...can't live with them, can't feed them to ravenous piranhas.

And the French is just flying out my email-typing fingers! I so rarely get an opportunity to speak it here in the Queen's City and I fear for it's very existence in my head. I need to set up a little personal Office de la langue française in my brain to monitor the amount of English I use and to switch me over to French once I've gone over a certain anlgolimit...

...or maybe not. This could prove detrimental to my socializing and "job hunting" (did you note the Quotation Marks of Sarcasm?) since so very few people in this city are capable of carrying on a decent conversation in the language. And I end up speaking a lot of Franglais with Francophones due to the overwhelming English influence on day-to-day life. The only person here with whom I speak pure French is my friend SuperCoolWoman, but she's from Algeria and so speaks that snooty French from France and not the chaotic, melodic Québécois French that Snobby speaks, misses, and loves. Je m'ennuie de la langue française!

And the other aspects of my week are going splendidly too, by the way.