I'm getting tired of creeps. They're everywhere these days. I don't know what I'm sending out there in terms of signals or pheromones. I mean, I'm in no rush. I'm not looking. But something is different. It could just be that I'm wearing skirts and cute shoes more often. And that, not being depressed anymore, I'm washing myself more and wearing mascara. And a smile. I am trying to be friendlier and more positive. It wouldn't bother me so much if these guys weren't all such icks.

Last week, or maybe the week before, I was sitting on my doorstep to enjoy a cigarette. This guy came walking across the street, on a diagonal towards me from Cunard. I thought "oh no" as I usually do, but most of the time, people are just jaywalking and not actually heading over to me. This guy was. Halfway across the street he says something about having had his bike stolen "down there the other day." "Oh no," I said. "Yeah, a $500 mountain bike gone." "Oh that's awful." Then he fucking says "tell me about it" while he sits down next to me on my fucking doorstep! So, without even a second's hesitation, I stood up, cigarette in hand and went inside. Locking the door behind me. I kind of recognized the guy. I've probably sold him rolling papers. But that doesn't give an open invitation to sit with me.

That same week, there was a creep at Charlie's. Now, that should be expected, so I wasn't too upset. But I was writing in a journal. I went there by myself to have an afternoon beer and write, like the good old days. He wouldn't stop trying to get me to join him. When he asked why I was alone I told him it was because I'm a freaky loner. That means shut the fuck up and let me be alone, old man.

Then there were those guys Sunday night. Emily and I had just returned from Charlie's and we discovered a very pretty, very pregnant kitty wandering around. I named her Kiki. Emily got her a bit of food and we sat with her trying to discern if she was homeless and discuss what we should do. Then Navy Boy comes sauntering up the street, on his way home from the Lower Deck or something. Everything that came out of his mouth was irritating me, but for some screwed up reason, I was trying to be nice. He was going on about how people in Alberta (where he's from) hate french people. I looked at Emily and said "maybe I should keep my mouth shut about what I think of [Quebec] separatism and Alberta." He dissed Halifax repeatedly. At one point, I got distracted from the other stranger who was talking about alternative energy possibilities (something that should obviously be more interesting to me) and apologized saying "I'm sorry, I got distracted when I heard this guy putting down our lovely city." Anyway, long story short, he finally stopped complaining/bragging about how he had to work at 6:00 a.m. and started to leave. Before leaving, he tapped KC on the should and told him to "keep those two beautiful women in line." He tried to say goodbye to me, but I dropped my head to make eye contact impossible and shouted "WOW! WOW!" He got the hint, and began to walk away which is when I shouted after him "Goodnight, young man. Navy boy."

Finally, let us not forget the guy at the Seahorse who told me I had the sexiest legs in Rock 'n' Roll. Oh, wait. That wasn't a creep. That was my pal, Geordie.