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Posts tagged ‘friends’

Golden-Tomato and Kale Pasta

Golden-Tomato and Kale Pasta

Page 305. Summer is a busy time of year for me in Toronto. There are a lot of people to see and many social engagements to attend. Last week was the Inside Out LGBT Film Festival, and I saw one film, G.B.F., and two documentaries, The Continental and I am Divine.

On top of that I caught up with old friends, Raquel, Christine, Alex and Alisha. In addition I attended the Rob Ford protest and the Veggie Pride Parade.

Sufficed to say I’m tired. Today is my first day of a month-long coffee detox, and I’m cutting alcohol out for two full weeks to let my internal organs heal!

But that doesn’t mean I’m slowing down. I’m still baking, and of course, I have plenty of recipes still to make from Martha Stewart’s vegetarian cookbook, meatless.

I’ve wanted to make the meal depicted on the book cover since I purchased it, but I admit that I had to trade the kale for spinach because that’s all I had in my fridge. Evidently I did have golden cherry tomatoes, ricotta cheese and plenty of garlic.

To add a little flavour I included some vegan butter to the recipe. It turned out pretty good if you ask me. The subtle flavours left a pleasant aftertaste on my palate.

Oh and welcome home Matt and Lisa! I hope Amsterdam and Paris were a dream.

Work it!!!

Hands on hip -- a classic.

Hands on hips — a classic. And so natural looking.

I spent all of yesterday with Alexandra. We walked to Leslieville and I learned something about my new favourite neighbourhood that changed my mind about living there: The pubs don’t open until late afternoon / early evening. Deal. Breaker. However, I think it’s a good location to open my vegan bakery.

We walked a lot, with some beer drinking in between that served as little breaks. Alex did take these series of photos of me, in several different… poses.

Hands in pockets. Another classic.

Hands in pockets. Another classic.

Are you taking a picture?

Are you taking a picture of me?

Oh... you are!

Oh… you are!

My faults are my strength ( a draft )

Hey everyone, this is an argument that I’m working with, so this is a rough draft. I’m hoping to improve it as time goes by, but right now I wanted to put my thoughts down and share it with others for their opinions, criticisms and experiences. So keep in mind that it’s a little disjointed and all over the place at the moment. There’s a lot of recurring themes in my essays, including the lack of human compassion I’m unfortunate enough to witness daily. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how unhappy so many of my peers are, and how they’ve kind of accepted this as a rule. A lot of their misery is influenced by their occupations, and toxic work environments. I want to explore this a little more to understand our motivations, and inability to recognize our own faults. I’m currently working on a book that tackles a lot of this subject matter, so I’m just trying to work shop it and get it out there for people to read. I’m trying to expand on a lot of the sentences, and delve deeper into the psychology of the experiences I’ve written about here. Thanks.

You know I grew up in a family that didn’t have a lot of expectations for me. My parents didn’t want me to go to university and would have been pleased if I worked as a produce clerk at Fortino’s. I applied to the universities of Guelph, York, McMaster and Nipissing as a means to escape my dysfunctional home. At the time my older brother was a maniac, heavily into drugs and my parents coped with this by becoming hysterical at any mild infraction me or my brothers committed. I just wanted out, to be on my own, away from them.

When I was finally accepted to all four of my choices a lot of my classmates teased me because I was seriously considering attending Nipissing University in North Bay, Ontario. Those who were going to McGill and Queen’s looked down on me, like I was less a person because of where I was leaning to spend my future. I have to sheepishly admit, that they had an effect on my decision and I eventually chose to go to Guelph, but even that was met with snide comments.

When I made my choice my father warned me, “Don’t go to university and think that you’re better than any of us.” That was it. He didn’t tell me that he was proud of me, didn’t offer to help pay for my tuition, he just warned me not to get too big for my britches.

Now keep in mind that my brother was in and out of rehab my whole life. Still is in fact. He just can’t get his life together, and during my last two years of high school, when I was trying to achieve good grades to get into university I had to wake up each morning at 5 a.m. to take him to work, which was 30 minutes away (an hour to and back), because he had a suspended driver’s licence from a drinking and driving charge. It was not his first offence, and I was responsible for driving him around; wherever he wanted to go, I had to be of service. After school I had to drive all the way to Milton to pick him up from work and drive him home, so the entire journey cost me two hours of my day. After I would go to work where I was investing almost 40 hours a week at the IGA in the Shopper’s World mall, in addition to attending school. My dad made it clear to me that he was not going to pay for my university, or my rent while living away from home, so I had to pay my own way. This kind of confused me because my parents always bragged to dinner guests that they were upper middle class.

My whole life, my parents took very little interest in my schooling, they didn’t really care what grades I got, and didn’t appear to notice how emotionally exhausted I was from trekking my sociopathic brother all over the place. They didn’t cultivate my creativity, or take any notice that I was a skilled writer. In fact, neither did my teachers. Many of them thought I was pretty dumb, and they treated me like I was clueless all the time. In fact, one teacher told me that I had this perpetual look on my face, like I had no idea what anyone was talking about. I thought I was being observational, but I guess I just looked stupid!

My home life simply sucked. I was bullied at school for being gay and one day I made the mistake of telling my mother about my ordeal who screamed and hollered that they were making fun of me because I walked and talked like a gay person. Clearly I wasn’t getting any sympathy from her. My misery was my own fault for being too gay! Now I don’t blame her, she was simply doing the best that she could, and I’m sure she meant well, it just came across as terribly prejudiced. So as you can see, there was little salvation. I turned inward, nose in a book, pen to paper and just tried to get my muddled thoughts down as a means of therapy. When you’re in hell you kind of just keep going, and it became so normal to me that I didn’t recognize how truly horrible my life was.

To this day my parents have no idea what the difference is between an undergraduate and graduate degree. They still have no idea what I majored in, and they don’t really care. In a way I respect that, at least they don’t pretend to care, which to me, is so much worse.

For whatever reason I always annoyed my family. They were angry over my vocabulary, mocking my education, like it wasn’t supposed to be taken seriously at all. They would yell, “Why do you have to use so many big words?” I wasn’t speaking in a way that was any different from the way I normally spoke. I have always had a very good command of the English language. As a child I read a lot, but even that was grounds for ridicule by my family, who would complain that I was “off in my fantasy land.”

Because of these early experiences, even before I started my first year in university, I had to come to terms with other people’s opinions about how I was choosing to live my life. I just seemed to be disappointing everyone, and impressing no one. It didn’t matter that I was the FIRST person in my family to attend higher education, or that I was smart, and somewhat ambitious. That was seen as a flaw to my family. To my friends, I was seen as a simpleton, not reaching high enough by choosing more prestigious universities.

I remember that near the end of my first year of university I took the steps to transfer to McGill. But after a while I thought differently, and learned to accept my choices, and that the only way to live my life, was to be happy with the decisions I made. After all, it was my life, and I shouldn’t be living it for anyone else but myself. It didn’t matter how much I tried to make people be proud of me, they just didn’t seem to care. So I learned to be proud of myself. That was enough.

But I didn’t always remember this piece of self-advice. During university I started to date Keith and met his family who were nice, and have always been super kind to me. But I could tell that they didn’t approve of me right away.

I got it, I was most definitely a strange character. I was confused, and my childhood was looming over me, and I was embarrassed by it. I have two older siblings who are a mess, my parents are hysterical, and my two younger brothers don’t really care very much for me. Here I was, trying to be accepted by another family, a more sane, emotionally mature family.

Well you can imagine that the more I tried to be loved, the more it worked against me. Even Keith’s friends were terrible to me. They were an exclusive group, and no matter how hard I tried to be accepted by them, to be included, they were determined to make me feel like an outsider. Well it worked. They were successful.

The fringe is where I have always belonged. At a barbecue one night I thought I was finally making progress with some of them, that they were beginning to embrace me a little more, but then one of them uttered to the other, “Do you think Shawn and Keith are going to fuck tonight?” Shawn was a friend from university and Keith had spent much of the night talking to him. I’m not the jealous type, and didn’t think there was any budding sexual attraction between them.

Now keep in mind that when this friend presented this insensitive question, Keith and I had been an item for three years. It was clear how little they valued our relationship, how little they thought of and valued me. The disappointment on my face was painfully obvious and they immediately understood what they had done, but they didn’t apologize, they just pretended the incident never happened. I had nowhere to escape, so I went to Keith’s car and cried. I just sobbed.

It was a difficult reality to accept. I was alone.

Now I’m focusing on a lot of negative past experiences here, but there is a reason, and I will try to tie them together.

The main message from these stories is that there are a lot of people in this world who can’t get past their own egos, their own smug attitudes, or their own arrogance to be kind to others. They see the world through their own lenses, and they’re intolerant of those who have their own world-view.

That’s what families are like. I’m certain if I accepted my parents limited expectations of me I would have a closer relationship with them. I understand fully that if I didn’t openly talk about my family troubles, and pretended that my life was a kin to the The Cosby Show, we’d all be happy as can be.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about these moments in my life, wondering if the universe has placed these obstacles in front of me as offerings to learn something about myself.

I’m definitely a humble person, because I’ve never been really embraced by anyone, or any group of people. I’ve had no choice, my life is far from perfect, and I’ve experienced a lot of hardship. But I don’t feel sorry for myself, though it may appear in this post that I do, I am aware how lucky I have been.

Of course, it always helps to have the support of the people you love, but the reality is that in my formative years I didn’t have that. So I had to support myself, and be proud of my own accomplishments.

[Okay so here is how I'm trying to tie this in... Not sure how it's going to go, but I want to transition to toxic work environments and how embracing our flaws can lead to personal growth, fulfillment and relationship building. We'll see. It's possible that these exist as separate ideas all together.]

Here goes. I have a lot of personal flaws and I will relay some of them to you here in this post.

I’m cantankerous, pessimistic, stubborn, moody, cynical, prone to snap judgments and obnoxiously loud. I hold grudges, find it difficult to forgive insensitive people and I am confrontational. I feel angry at things I feel are unjust and can’t shut my mouth when I feel someone has done someone else wrong. I have little problem with conflict, and voice my opinion without thinking about the consequences they might have on the people around me. I’m argumentative, and will sometimes lie to make a point, or to win a debate. I can be manipulative, cold and calculating. Sometimes I dream too big, and I am disappointed when that dream isn’t realized, primarily because I lacked motivation to put in any concrete effort to make it happen in the first place. I can by hypocritical and I contradict myself a lot. Sometimes I will antagonize a friend, or a frenemy just to see them squirm and I know exactly how to annoy people I don’t like, and relish the chance to do so. I ramble, talk too quickly and I am arrogant. Rarely do I find someone who is my intellectual superior, but realize that my ego is much bigger than my capacity. I can be vain, and egotistical. I have disdain for phoniness and can’t tolerate fake people, much like Holden Caulfied.

So why am I revealing all of this to you? Well I’ll tell you.

Too often in my life I have encountered colleagues, peers, or strangers who are unaware of their own faults. They seem to live in this fairy tale land where they are good, and everyone else is bad. They don’t take any accountability or responsibility for their actions and believe that everyone else is out to get them. They’re right. You’re wrong.

I’m willing to admit that maybe they aren’t so clueless, but they certainly don’t attempt to look at their own faults, their own demons, and by doing so, work on fixing them, or at least analyze why they are the way that they are.

Individuals behave badly because they are ultimately afraid. It’s fear that drives their lives, and influences them to commit desperate acts against their family, friends and colleagues.

Because of their inability to look inward and focus on self-improvement, they negatively impact the lives of the people around them, creating hostile, unfriendly environments based on their deep insecurities that compel them to behave so thoughtlessly.

The CFO at my last job was a tyrannical bully. He used intimidation methods to get his way, and could be heard yelling at staff and concerning him with matters that were not his business. At one point he complained about me to HR because I forgot my key to get into work.

It didn’t take long before he began to target me. I usually arrive early to work, before most of my colleagues, and he noticed this, knocking on my office door to berate me about something that was a figment of his imagination. Now, I know from my childhood that the only way to deal with a bully is to confront them head on, so I challenged him immediately. And because I recognized that he was attempting to manipulate me when there were no witnesses I lodged an official complaint with HR.

This didn’t do much to assuage my concerns, as many people had complained about this person and his behaviour was accepted by the executives. But I wanted to send the message that even though he was desperately trying to bully me, I wasn’t afraid of him.

After my complaint, he refused to speak to me, and I took a lot of joy in smiling at him while we passed each other in the corridor. His childlike mentality, his clear lack of self-awareness, told me all I needed to know about his character. Instead of apologizing, or trying to rectify the situation, he chose to ignore me completely. What a wonderful environment he was fostering. He was an example of a sad person. He enjoyed treating people terribly, and I thought what a pitiful little man he was, to find happiness in making other people miserable.

But here’s the thing: Most of my friends have similar experiences at work and it leaves me wondering why bad behaviour is often ignored, and those who fight against it are treated like they are the ones who are the problem.

What does it say about our fear? We’re so clearly afraid of losing our jobs that we refuse to speak up against injustices committed by our superiors. I for one don’t have a problem speaking up, because I am not tied to my job. It doesn’t determine my value, or my worth. What makes me enjoy my life is ensuring that I surround myself with people who are kind, decent and determined to make the world a better place for everyone in it. I will not accept anything less.

One just has to look at organized religion to see how such behaviour can effect the world.

I quote Julia Sweeney: “Stephen Hawking came out and said that his theory that Black Holes obliterate anything that falls into them, probably his biggest contribution to science, the theory that his fame and reputation is based on, may not be right. Wouldn’t it be great if the Pope could do the same thing? If he came out and said, “Oh my, I’ve just discovered what science shows us about our humble but spectacular place in the universe, and I have to say: it is thrilling and mind-boggling beyond all imaginings! It makes the Bible so puny and uninspired, and certainly less poetic, by comparison. I’m terribly sorry. I sincerely misunderstood so much. I almost wish there were a God so I could be punished for all the suffering I have obliviously caused in the world. But since there will be no cosmic punishment for me, I will spend what time I have left working in a family planning clinic in Latin America. Good day.”

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if our society focused on self-improvement with the goal of actually benefiting others? If we could admit that perhaps the way we conduct ourselves isn’t as enlightened as it could be? That perhaps we’re shit heads most of the time, and apologize for it. But not just apologize, work to ensure that we behave more benevolently?

Instead, we spend so much of our time thinking about our own pleasures; our motivations are to benefit our own lives. To get something, to attain some material object, or to satisfy our salivating egos.

In my life I have had some pretty terrible bosses. Bullies in heels, thoughtless individuals who care only about their life, and to hell with anyone else. To these people, everyone else exists as a means to an end. It’s almost too much to ask them where they get their motivation to behave the way that they do.

I list my faults at the beginning of this post because I acknowledge that I’m not perfect. Recognizing my flaws is an important step in addressing them, so that I can help build relationships, rather than allowing my insecurities to dismantle them. If I behave in a way that is unfair, I can identify that error, and work on correcting it.

I never want to be that kind of person who walks around thinking that everyone else is the problem. Usually when there is conflict the truth lies somewhere in between and both parties need to take a look at themselves and heal the fractured relationship.

Egos create a lot of unhappiness.

Craft Your Senses

Former colleagues of mine, Suzanne, Sue and Alex

Former colleagues of mine, Suzanne, Sue and Alex

This evening, Alex invited me to Craft Your Senses at 3030 Dundas Street West. It was an event to support my former employer, CNIB, a charitable organization that supports Canadians who are blind or partially sighted. There was diverse beer sampling and a raffle where I won a basket of baked goods. It was the best night ever. Now it’s raining and I’m super excited to make pancakes tomorrow. Here are the photographs I took, and I thank you for looking at them!

I joined the team!

I joined the team!

Sue is so small we have to kneel down to be in a photo with her!

Sue is so small we have to kneel down to be in a photo with her!

Pig beer

Pig beer

The menu

The menu

Mixed tape

Mixed tape

Beer sign

Beer sign

Controlling my excitement after winning baked goods!

Controlling my excitement after winning baked goods!

And now, just being really excited!

And now, just being really excited!

The best apron ever

The best apron ever

Remembering Chris Swartz

Cry like it's 1977

Cry like it’s 1977

Bea Arthur said once, “I really feel that I’m an exposed nerve… I don’t know how else to say it, but I am. I’m moved by everything.”

Because of my gruff and tough exterior many people believe that I feel nothing. On the contrary, I feel too much. I’ve probably seen more decay as a result of human selfishness than most people. And I’m open to it all, because the victims are the people we need to remember.

This will be my last post about this subject but I wanted to convey what Chris Swartz meant to me. I met Chris when I was 20. He and I would cross paths from time to time and he was always clever. That’s what attracted me to him from the beginning. He had an insatiable appetite for everything profound. He wasn’t afraid to feel deeply, and in that I felt a kindred spirit. The only other person in my life who has ever done that is Lisa.

Keep in mind that I never wanted to have sex with Chris. We never had a physical relationship, because I never objectified him. I always wanted to know his spirit, his divinity. Of which, he had an abundance.

Chris and I were not especially close. In fact he often made fun of me. He would tease me about my choice of clothing and about my cologne, which he said was “typically” gay. Perhaps he didn’t like me that much. But I always enjoyed his company. When I bought my first apartment in Toronto he came to see it, and I have a photograph of him that I can’t even share, because it hurts too much to give up that precious moment.

In university we would often meet at the campus pub, which we affectionately called, “The Keg.” At that time you could smoke indoors and there were so many afternoons of just drinking coffee, sharing cigarettes, and talking about everything, from the mundane to the absurd.

Chris had a scar above his upper lip and I always thought how awful the experience that resulted in that injury must have been for his mother. At the time, when he was a child, it must have been the worst. Chris told me that the incident was followed by an insurance settlement that paid for his university education. There was some triumph, after all.

When I first moved to Toronto I remember that he slept over at my house a few times. I don’t think I was open enough to explain to him how much I enjoyed those occasions, because it meant that we would talk, and there were so few people who I could be vulnerable with. He was one of those individuals.

I can’t believe he isn’t here anymore. I can’t believe I let so much time go by and I never picked up the phone and called him. But as Lisa pointed out, he didn’t either, so at the end of the day, what did our friendship mean?

Each summer I return to the University of Guelph, a place where I have many fond memories. A week before Chris’ death I remembered him. I was walking to work and I had a memory of him, so present it made my heart melt. I was on a date with a guy named Greg, we were at the Albion. I noticed Chris, and he came to our table and sat next to me and we had a familiar conversation. So familiar that it made my date uncomfortable. But I didn’t care, he was my friend. And he made me see the world more vividly than anyone I knew at the time.

Last Wednesday, when Jen messaged us I knew that it was about Chris. I knew in that moment, before I was told, that he was gone.

Every Thursday at Guelph, there was a gay night at a bar called “The Underground.” And every week I would see Chris there and we would smoke and talk and laugh. Once we went to the washroom and smoked some pot. Well, he would smoke pot, and I would watch. When I heard the news about his death that is the first thing I remembered. I don’t know why, but I did. It was an etched memory, that will live in my mind until the day that I die.

He told me once how much he admired my strength. Coming from him it was a real compliment. I hope he enjoyed my company as much as I did his. I wish I had told him how much I admired him. But such is selfishness.

Chris, there are so many memories, and I’m saddened that there won’t be more. I hope, beyond measure, that I will see you again one day. I will miss you. Too much.

Goodbye dear friend. Death is incomprehensible.

This is a recording of Chris at the piano posted to SoundCloud by Theresa, an old acquaintance from university.

Friend problems, who doesn’t have them?

Here's to friends!

Here’s to friends!

Recently I’ve been harbouring some resentment for a really stupid reason. I’m almost embarrassed to admit what it is, but here goes. I’ve always prided myself on having quality friends, individuals who are authentic, original and sincere. In the past I’ve been very good at introducing my friends to each other and allowing them to develop their own connection.

I don’t know when this all started, but lately I’ve been feeling offended over it. Let me preface by saying that I currently have a handful of friends whom I am deeply grateful for, and this does not apply to them. This is more about the past and the realization that I probably developed friendships that were not beneficial, meaning they weren’t quality people. I guess you only fully realize what you didn’t have when you find it! You know what I mean?

I think a lot of my problem over this subject is rooted in their active exclusion of me at gatherings. I’ll give you an example. Years ago I had a friend that everyone else hated. Then one day they all became best friends, and I was happy because it meant that we could all hang out and enjoy each other’s company without me having to worry all the time. Well turns out that they started having parties and not inviting me to them. One day I overheard them talking about some awesome Halloween party that I had not been invited to! Can you believe it!? It really pissed me off because they wouldn’t have known each other if it wasn’t for me, and now I was a villain for reasons I was completely unaware of.

Anyway, it’s foolish of me to look back and be angry at incidences like that, because, well it’s in the past. I’ve definitely learned from those moments, but it doesn’t make me trust those friends as easily as I am able to other friends. Plus what do I want? Do I want them to bow down, kiss my feet and express how grateful they are because I made introductions?

On Friday night, while drinking wine and remembering Chris I tweeted about my frustrations over this subject matter, as I introduced Chris to a lot of people, and they developed separate friendships from me. I was feeling a little disconnected from his life and I suppose I wanted to blame someone other than me. I don’t know why that bothered me, and I recognize how stupid and egomaniacal I seem.

After I sent my tweet my friend Alex replied, and said: “People come into our lives for different purposes. Be grateful you’ve brought people together. Deep thoughts in the AM.”

Yeah, there’s no reason to harbour resentment, or anger. I should be happy that I brought people together and in the end if I’m excluded, so what? Either they weren’t very good friends to begin with, or I’m just taking everything too seriously.

It’s just so odd when you get into these kind of ruts, and you know your train of thought is entirely irrational and insane, but you still can’t help yourself from feeling that way.

Bye now.

I’ve been down so long

I’m on a Jewel kick tonight. Here’s her phenomenal performance of Down So Long at Woodstock 1999. The year I met Chris.

“This little masochist is ready to confess”

Tomorrow is Chris’ funeral. I can’t go because of the distance and other commitments that I had made prior to his death. Yesterday I allowed myself some time to grieve. I listened to Perfume Genius in the evening and cried. That was it, just tears. I feel in some small way that with Chris’ passing, I have lost a bit of my youth. It’s hard to look back at my life during that time and not see his face. I will miss him more than I ever thought possible.

Chris was a virtuoso pianist. And so, to commemorate his life, I have added one of my favourite Tori Amos’ songs called Hey, Jupiter.

I think Chris might be off with the stars, where he belongs.

no one’s picking up the phone/ guess it’s me and me/ and this little masochist/ she’s ready to confess/ all the things that I never thought/ that she could feel

hey Jupiter/ nothing’s been the same/ so are you gay/ are you blue/ thought we both could use a friend to run to/ and I thought I wouldn’t have to be/ with you/ something new

sometimes I breathe you in/ and I know you know/ and sometimes you take a swim/ found your writing on my wall/ lift my heart soaking wet/ Boy your boots can leave a mess

hey Jupiter/ nothing’s been the same/ so are you gay/ are you blue/ thought we both could use a friend to run to/ and I thought you wouldn’t have to keep/ with me hiding

thought I knew myself so well/ all the dolls I had/ took my leather off the shelf/ your apocalypse was fab/ for a girl who couldn’t choose between/ the shower or the bath

and I thought I wouldn’t have to be/ with you/ a magazine

no one’s picking up the phone/ guess it’s clear he’s gone/ and this little masochist/ is lifting up her dress/ guess I thought I could never feel/ the things I feel

hey Jupiter/ nothing’s been the same/ so are you gay/ are you blue/ thought we both could use a friend to run to

hey Jupiter/ nothing’s been the same/ so are you safe/ now we’re through/ thought we both could use a friend to run to/ hey Jupiter

Some photos from Ottawa:

Chris and me

Chris and me 2

Goodbye, old friend

ChrisThis evening I learned of the passing of an old university friend. The last time I saw Chris was in Montreal in 2009. I had completed a six-day journey on bicycle from Toronto when I encountered him on a pedestrian street during Divers/Cité. Unfortunately I was too tired to spend an evening partying like we used to, and I said my goodbyes.

I am heartened to remember that earlier that same year I had met with him in Ottawa and we spent the evening drinking beer and losing ourselves in conversation, just like we did in the old university days. On that particular occasion he dissected the lyrics to Peach Plum Pear, a song by Joanna Newsom, to which I pay homage to here, with the title of my blog.

I have many fond memories of Chris. I remember sitting in his apartment as he played the piano. I was in awe of his intelligence and talent. Maybe even a little envious. He stayed at my apartment in Toronto, sleeping on the floor. Just last week I was reminded of the time I spotted him on the street from my bus window in Guelph. Our eyes met, I waved, and he replied with a naughty gesture. Those were memorable moments in my life.

Chris. It hurts. I didn’t think it would, we weren’t close anymore. But I will miss your wit, charm and smile for the rest of my life. I hope to see you again one day.

Lisa and I are very attractive

Lisa and Franco

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