Moving: A Decision

For the past few weeks I've had to decide whether or not I should stay in Vancouver or else move somewhere the gay men aren't such total stuck-up bitches. Recently, I decided it was either Victoria, BC, Kingston, Ontario, or Titan, one of the moons of one of them big planets. (Jupiter? Saturn?) Honestly, I could look it up, but this is funnier.

Or, as a third option, I could figure out how to spend the 5 grand it would cost to move house across country to make things more bearable for me here. You know, a couple of local trips, some new amenities, maybe a larger apartment.

Maybe staying put has won. For five grand I can do alot to fill up the empty hours I spend alone because every single one of my friends is too busy to go for coffee with me for half an hour six or eight weeks in a row. Hell, maybe I can even find some new friends who actually want to spend time with me. It could happen.

Whenever I'm down there are two things which never fail to cheer me up: The Queen, and puppets.

Ever since I was a little kid, it's always been that way. When I was talking to my mother the last time she told me she noticed that whenever I was upset and the Queen came on the news I cheered up instantly as young as four years old. I was five when the Muppet Show started, but prior to that Sesame Street used to do the trick.

Even those namby-pamby puppets of Mr. Rogers' used to get me giggling. So that's what I'm going to do now.