the feeling - peter, bjorn & john

i was too self-occupied to have guests over, but i made a concession for Helen. i should say i would always make time for her since she was one of 3 women that i was insanely sexually attracted to. and that says a lot. i'm not one of those annoying fags that scream, "EW FUCKING SICK!" if mention of a woman and her sexual urges was dropped in a conversation. in fact i enjoyed hurling hard objects at men who did that. where the fuck do you step off talking about erupting streams of cum and plugging up some asshole on the weekend... but no one is allowed to talk about a woman having a gspot orgasm? YEAH, that makes sense.
i'm sure i feel so passionate about this since i have had a few lone broads who have confused the shit out of me. i get stuck thinking, "so do i like them just because they're a pal and i want to get in on that? do i actually feel sexually driven to be with them? is this some sort of latent loathing where i pursue these options to be normal?" fuck normal. that's definitely not it.
i couldn't imagine having to tell everyone that has labelled me a queer that now i'm slipping it into pussy. do you send a post card? do you write out some en masse email to send out with the subject line of "so you'll never believe it..."
all that assimilation stuff aside, i HAVE felt attracted to a select pack of women. nothing ever happened. of course not. i can barely score with dudes let alone luring in some poor woman for sloppy guesses under the blanket.
There was that Swiss exchange student in high school that i jerked off to a lot... but i think that was more from the closeted boy i was fucking publicly declaring his lust for her. so it was wanking by proxy for lack of a better description.
Eye was the most lovely girl i met by chance through friends in university. Japanese, funny and an insanely talented musician. I spent many weekends snuggling in with her in bed as she strummed the ukulele. then the added bonus of me dragging her inner goth out as she broke things off with her tool bag boyfriend. naturally, her friends deemed me the bad influence for the seemingly sudden interest in corsets and black lipstick but it was always there. Eye just never had a chance to let it out. now for sure i was in love with Eye...that much i know. but it was packed up and dumped into the garbage after i had a melt down wondering if i was slowly going straight. after some heated interventions with my best friend the asian dyke, i classified it all as misguided friendship. it was beyond her being a girl, i was in love with a close friend who i wanted to be around all the time. it was silly. just being stupid and nothing would ever happen. i couldn't see thin and quiet Eye settling down with a very loud and hairy faggot who'd never get rid of my bear porn dvd collection. i'm not really the type that you'd be dying to settle down with. it all came to a head when i lived with Eye during my incredibly awful stint at college after university. being depressed about living in a lame city and feeling like your roommate is unavailable just piled it all on and i snapped. i moved out in the middle of the night and left 2 months rent cheques on the desk. i know she could hear me move but she didn't come out. it was heartbreaking for me, but my ego dictates that she didn't actually care... it's not like i heard her sobbing on her bed every time i walked past the door.
After Eye i was on the Cock Train hard and willing. slews [so for me that's like 2 a year] of idiot boyfriends and acceptable sex romps distracted me for a long time. if i had been attractive and/or hated myself more to be a complete slut i would have been happy with two cocks in each hand and 3 in my mouth. there's nothing wrong with a little gay pounding, especially since each go 'round pushed Eye further from my thoughts. no more "what if you'd be down with going straight?" that was getting annoying and there is no better plaster for a broken heart than getting your ass glazed after the bar.
Helen was essentially the female equivalent of myself. she had hippy tendencies, but like myself, actually hated hippies. she could whip my ass at comic book trivia and indulged my late night calls to talk about Batman when i was shouted down on the forums for pushing my fan fic of Bruce Wayne and Harvey Dent dating in college. she was butch and wore the same clothes as i did... a secret fetish of mine was borrowing clothing from people i had crushes on and then lending them some of mine. it made me feel delicious and content to zip myself up in one of her sweaters and seeing her walk out my door in a worn tshirt she had been bugging to borrow from me.
a little bit older, a little bit more jaded i didn't fall into the temperamental trap of straight? love. and you say straight with an inflection and tilt your head over to the side. strrrrraight? love? a night of plugging back stout manhattans and watching cartoons on dvds left me with a warm feeling. one that made me think about crawling over the couch arm and snuggle into her shoulder like a koala bear. a very heavy koala bear with a wafting fart cloud of bourbon coming out of my maw.
BUT
i didnt.
i said good night like a gentleman and went home to jerk off furiously thinking about her soft curves rolling around my body. that's always been my test. if i can pop a load thinking about someone then they've obviously made an impact. once in a while a woman shows up in the fantasy but i never actually go through with fucking them. i think about snuggling into their tits and kissing soft shoulders but the story abruptly ends long before anything super sexy materializes. that's what i'm used to. that's what i've come to expect. just a deviant twist to thinking about beefy jewish bears smothering me as they cover me in oil. what? wanking is a private affair, i can't properly explain why i think these things.
Helen had texted me to say she was in the hood with some amazing comic book finds and bad mood notwithstanding i invited her in to splay them out and talk about why each one was amazing. in the skint 20 minutes that we were alone May wound up texting me asking what i was up to. she had infallible radar for when people were talking to Helen to the point that i assumed she was mystical or just stalking her around the city.
May had spent a great deal of energy trying to convince Helen she was a lesbian and resented anyone taking a moments time from her when she could be getting it. it was a wonderful and fucked up circle of friends i ran with. it's not something i'd want to waste too much time analyzing and instead focus on important things like how to avoid their toxic meltdowns for mysterious slights against them.

lord buttons

marta. marta is a beautiful creature. splendid was always the first thing that came to mind. but more like seeing a swan unfurl. ah! splendid! it's almost like an endorphin rush that comes hurtling out when i see something so lovely. i should add that the swan metaphor for me runs deep after being mauled by one as a child. so splendid to behold but i was apprehensive of the fury that lines their insides at any given time.
it's in my nature to be mindful of precarious associates. layers of first hand experience on top of the nut house topped off with enough fool sense to be wary of those prone to loud outbursts. but that was my inward hysteria and moodiness, not like i stalked them with a butterfly net in social situations. marta had deemed that there was enough time to stop in for 25 minutes to hang out with me. it fit The Schedule.
she twisted her pendant around three times and attempted to settle into the couch as she looked around at the turtle sticker at BEST cleaning job in my living room. have you ever tried to clean a month of apathy in the time it takes for a clean freak friend to smash the buzzer to hoof it up 22 floors of stairs until they knock on the door? nice try, only you didn't really try...
"Well, nice to see you. haven't seen you since you organized that protest during the biggest award ceremony in my industry... saw some fascist pigs drag you off with the aid of truncheon rod. how'd that work out?"
"i have a lawsuit pending against the city."
"to be clear, you threw a lit container of gas at a cop on a horse. the animal rights faction couldn't have been happy on that move."
"i couldn't see out of my bandanna. it was never my intention to hurt the police officer on the horse. i... i over shot it."
i rocked back on the couch and let out a screechy chimp laugh. "OVER SHOT IT! that's amazing. how's lord buttons doing?"
"couldn't tell you... thought you were the one who donated to cover all the vet bill expenses. mighty kind of you."
"oh fuck, you know me. i'm a sucker for an animal. plus the thing is a huge tax write off. like massive going to save me from paying out next year..." she was looking down with a sour drawn face. there was .5% chance of tears. it's happened. but not in front of me. odds-wise, i don't think that i'm in a lot of danger.
i eased back. time to bring it back to something less Code Red.
"marta, why are you here?"
"remember when we lived together and you called me an autistic cyborg?"
"yep."
"remember when i moved out in a huff after you said that?"
do i remember holding down a desk job and working nights at the porno video store to cover your share of the rent you impulsive shit flame?
shaking my head i looked into my wine glass for the magic eight ball sign. it came up with nothing useful other than it's consistent message of Drink Me.
After a mouthful i decided on a small, "yes i remember."
she dove into her bag like a hawk in search for what she needed. i immediately assumed it was some sort of weapon she was going to kill me with. i was relieved when it was just a folded wave of paper.
opening it i skimmed through the title and some bolded headings. 5 second observation determined that it was a review on determining if marta was, in fact, autistic.
i handed the paper back. "this is really private stuff. i shouldn't read it."
she jutted her arm out and awkwardly pushed the paper back at me. "c'mon marta, don't do this. i know you're autistic. i told you this 3 years ago... you ruined my fucking porno party the ONE FUCKING YEAR they let me have full control of it. was that intentional? i need to know."
"NO! it's fucking disgusting any year. i had no idea it was you putting it on. i'm SORRY if i ruined your misogynist parade."
"i'm sorry you tried to make smoked meat horse sandwiches out of lord buttons!"
she clapped two long hands over her face. "NATHAN! I'M SORRY!"
only it sounded more muffled underneath her palms.
i let it hang hard in the air until she peeked out her fingers.
"sorry is fantastic. my boss is still suing you for all the, you know, libel, and defamation of character stuff. and the arson."
"i know, he can sue all he wants, i'm not going to get charged. these documents from tests show that i'm not thinking on the same level as you. i can't be held responsible for this and thus won't be paying out anything."
that's it. time to herd a hissy giant out the door. time to get in touch with that swan terror. good god i'm pretty high right now, maybe i should hold off for a bit?
"c'mon marta, out. see you in court."
"you'll be there?"
"no, it's a fucking figure of speech. i'll be in my office working while you're in court."
she tried to push the papers back at me as i hustled her backwards to the door. i cordially held open the door as i pushed her out into the hall and huck the paper onto the floor.
clack snap all the locks shut and i give a small phew. taking stock of the living room i shook my head in sudden realization. why in the FUCK did i rush to clean things up for her?! isn't it amazing how the body and mind remains trained after all those years?

black bear musings

Brad was gone for the weekend. Somewhere? I had been sleeping when he took off. there was a note on the table indicating he'd be back Sunday but all i cared about was the glory of an empty apartment.
thumping around the livingroom i instinctively grabbed for my robe as it slipped open. why? no one's around. ahhhhhhhh glorious. robe fluttering in the wake of my shuffle i went in search of something edible.
while i often forget that i'm half native, i am occasionally thrilled at totem animal scenarios. black bear me snuffles around the kitchen with mouth agape picking through the cupboards. contemplating as my hand sweeps through options and my hairy hubris standing on my toes to make sure i didn't miss anything. hairy chest absently scratched at as I bent over in the fridge for more nosing about. i decided on Brad's super expensive organic hippy shit flakes, homogenized milk to make sure i have that heart attack i've been working on and beef jerky. truly an omnivores breakfast. i felt awkward about the jerky so i doubled back and added blueberries to the cereal. then honey. then i opted to grab the orange juice jug to drink out of. it was much heavier than my guesstimate and thought that i shouldn't drink out of it. again, the concern passed and i dragged it all out to my lounger chair. flop, leg rest extended and i simmered into cushioned bliss. ahh.
chomping on overloaded spoonfuls of cereal i looked out the patio doors and thought that it looked like a wonderful day outside. thankfully i was in and not getting any sun exposure. note to self: go out on patio naked for payback against the neighbors who kept gawking whenever Brad was outside. for now, delicious cereal and avoiding the backlog of porn that i should be watching for work research. you know it's a wonderful world when that's your homework for the weekend.

change? maybe? feh.

change change change me! feeling frustrated and restless, even after a lovely move into a new place. i've recently disgusted myself by saying aloud, "i think i want to move to toronto."

thus far i've spent many, many, MANY discussions [no seriously] & having drop 'em out drag 'em down arguments with peers about how i'm really ok living in Waterloo. I hate the sad little, "aw" head tilts when i tell people in toronto that's where i live... and the dumbfuck comments of "what on earth do you do there? there's nothing right?" no, you're right. we just got electricity last month and for fun we go out to the dump & shoot rats. yep, we have lots of fun.

back to reality, i like Waterloo. i don't feel that i've missed out on ANYTHING just because i didn't move to Toronto when i could.

back in highschool, it was an endless stream of daydreaming to escape to Toronto. being in a small city where you feel terrified about being a homo and stress from being estranged from ones family fosters a dream. it's the "of mice and men" cyclical story of "tell me 'bout the raaaaabbitts george..." instead it's, "tell me about Tor-an-tah, George. will there be gay people and so much to do? when're we going George? when can I live there?"

i got in to U of T but opted for Laurier. like it or lump it, i managed to finish there and kept on living in the area, save for an ill-fated stint in Ottawa. note: i like visiting Ottawa but i fucking hate living there.

after that shit settled I found some good jobs and puttered around and really called this my hometown. the thought of leaving to go back to where my parents were stressed me out to the point of having massive hissy fits [privately] and being launched into some pretty brooding and dark thoughts. I wanted to be in Waterloo because that's my home and I thought leaving it was fairly stupid. er, stupid in the sense that i didn't like leaving.

the whole time i have faced opposition from some Toronto pals about the fact that I never moved to Toronto. Like, i was somehow living in a wasteland of nothing since in their mind there's a border around Toronto and the surrounding area is deserted or have zombies wandering around.

actually i got pretty hot-headed when people pushed me about living here and went the opposite direction of really loathing the idea of going to Toronto. higher cost of living, higher rent, more expensive to get around, more crowded and more shitty neighborhoods to look out for. why would i cough up the luxury of going out to dinner whenever i wanted? why would i decline getting my nails done because it's all getting slammed into rent money?

toronto was lovely to visit for concerts and seeing friends and my unrequited love obsession! but wouldn't want to stay too long.

present day:
at this point, i'm frustrated with work... i make decent pay but i'm sitting at my desk 2 days out of the week wanting to sob because i'm bored and don't enjoy it anymore. i like where i live but it still feels chaotic and unsettled... and nothing that i would be heartbroken if i had to leave. and... get your barf bags out... i am so lonely and sad about being single that I can't stand to listen to myself talk anymore. what I want: fat, working full time, nerdy & funny gal. if they exist they are either married, uninterested in me or living in Toronto. I'm a VERY self contained unit and don't feel like dating defines me. But it's just piling up and i can't push aside how i feel anymore.

if i have yet another friend [we're talking multiples of people who ask me so don't preen yourself into thinking it's only you. please.] ask if i'm seeing anyone, then go into the grocery list of "potentials" that FAILED, DIDN'T WORK OUT OR THEY WEREN'T INTERESTED [how many fucking ways can you reiterate that and say 'you know what? i'll tell you when anyone is even remotely interested in me] and then get the awkward, "well i don't know what your problem is" discussion i'll burst.

everyone knows a gay boy but retort, "you're the only lesbian i know!" and smile at me... and i just go, so what? i'm the only gay in the village who isn't a 20 year old university student addicted to asshole drama and minute by minute relationship status updates or 40+ married and whom I have nothing in common with? cool.

i don't think moving to Toronto will fix me, and i'm sure it'll just add more complications to my life, but i want it. i want a change. i want to be located there to make some sort of fucking connection with a fucking woman instead of thinking about making a craigslist ad to ask fat gay men if i can suck on their toes. [long story]

but i want a job there. i don't think i can go back to meager retail income but is that the point? i want change and this is how it has to go? i need to regress into something just a cunt hair above minimum wage in order to have a larger dating pool? I'm pushing 30 and now i want to do all the shit i should have done when i was 20. classic julie bullshit.

i'm going to see if work even gives a bonus this year to see if i can tone down my credit card and free up some space. and do what? no idea. maybe i should just get on antidepressants, become so complacent that it doesn't matter that i'm single forever and suck it up... but as Kurt said, "so it goes" and I don't really know what direction to move in.

wine whine wine

"so how was your evening? i feel like i've been talking about getting laid all morning."
fucker.
"oh please, like i ever get sick of hearing about you get a hot load in the face."
"good. i wouldn't want the conversation to get stale."
"with you? never. how could i when i have so much to learn from you?"
"learn? how?"
"learning about how The Other Side lives. You know, hot people."
"you have a low opinion of yourself."
"ah, child, it's realism. grounded in the understanding that you wouldn't think i'm hot so... you know, just filling in the gaps. plus self depreciating humour is my favourite."
"but do you actually think you're ugly?"
"yes of course i do."
"i wouldn't... say..."
"don't feel like you have to lie to me."
"no! fuck... you make it really difficult to give a compliment out."
"it's not a compliment when you have to search time and space to think of something relevant."
"you didn't let me finish!"
"at this point i'm just going to say everything that comes out of your mouth is bullshit."
"Forget it then."
"already have!"
silence. the wall of fury circulating around him. i know full well he likes to hear himself speak and doesn't appreciate getting cut off. i understand it too since people that trim my elaborate tales down make me want to punch them in the throat.
he dragged his mug on the cement for a few wobbles and looked up.
"saw Paul on my way in this morning. did he stay over?"
"mmhmm..." my stoned eyes would mask the onset of misty damp eyes.
"why do you keep bringing him over when you're so hell bent on hating yourself after?"
"i love hanging out with him."
"love it so much you're in a horrible mood after?"
"at the time i love being around him. it's just when i'm curled up in a ball on the other side of the bed listening to him sleep that gets me upset."
"that's even worse! you let him share a bed with you and you're that broken up about it. don't you see how fucked up that is?"
"ah DUH it's fucked up. what would i torture myself with if i didn't do stupid shit like that?"
"so... you've never fucked?"
"no."
"not even a kiss?"
"nope. nary a peck, cuddle or suck to be had."
"and you think he's the best guy in the universe?"
"not the best... but the one i want to be with."
"how can you even think that this guy is a match when he doesn't want to sleep with you or do anything but be a pal?"
"because i know him and all i want to do is be beside him."
"ew, that's corny. you're just being condescending to me."
"i wish i was. no, this man is smitten."
"how many years has this gone on??"
"four? five?"
"do you think this sabotaugues any flexibility in you finding a guy who wants to be with you?"
"terribly! no, let me change that response to overwhelmingly."
"have you ever TALKED to him about how you feel?"
"sure sure. i got hammered and messaged him one night about 3 years ago and barfed it all out on the keyboard."
"And...?"
"and he said he didn't find me attractive or interesting in that way."
"owch."
"indeed. owch. but i'm not going to turn away a good friend just because i'm a fool who gets fixated on things. most of it's my inner only child having a lengthy tantrum that i can't have what i want. i'm insistant on having what i desire."
"wow. i just didn't think you had it in you to carry a torch for someone that long. you're so chilly and indifferent to humans as a whole."
"i like suprising you."
"sheesh.... roll another one please."

the finer points of charlie sheen

in discussing the finer points of dating with my roommate, i worked hard to understand how the beautiful live... and also list an innumerable amount of flaws found in how said people interact in relationships.
some examples are the disparity between how i fuck anyone willing, whereas Brad only gets to rut with hot guys. i have to go through the motions of at least 3 coffee dates before i can awkwardly clutch at cock under jeans MINIMUM. Brad simply makes the call if he wants to deal with a trick in the morning or if he just wants to go home and jerk off. that sort of luxury is far beyond me.
my unrequited love interests are just that: uninterested and push me away. on the hot flip side, the gorgeous gets to fuck their focal point and THEN pine away for them when it's done. do you know how fucking LAME it is to say you've had a crush on the same guy for 5 years and get asked if you've ever slept together before? "uh no actually i just stare a lot and every couple of months have a good cry about being a loser before i ask him to come over to watch a movie." and stare. and wish i was somewhere against him and settled into a warm feeling of joy. and then i drink myself into oblivion to have an excuse to kick him out before i start sobbing.
so, you know, it's the little differences.
brad and i sat on the apartment patio sipping on coffee to do a post mortem on the weekend.... he was full of "and this guy and this guy and this guy" and i was packed to the tits with tales of doing work on my BlackBerry and approving a new account to join the site i work for. i only assumed he was riddled with jealousy and could only dream of living the high life like me. something along those lines.
we discussed the finer points of stupid boys. dealing with talent in porn gave a dizzying selection of nit wits with an occasional smart slut just to throw me off. non-pro sluts that were stupid were wide open for judgement tho.
"so how was dinner with Franco last night?"
brad thudded his head against the patio railing. we couldn't be bothered to buy chairs so wound up sitting on the cool cement for hours on end and ignoring the comfortable furniture mere feet away.
"so, i'm hearing good... yes?"
"fuck he's hot."
"anything else going on?"
"very nice cock as well. aesthetically pleasing in every way possible."
"did he talk about work?"
"i think so, i tuned out when it got boring."
"but all he talks about is being a cop and watching two and a half men."
"he does really like it...."
"a lot."
"ugh. do you know what it's like sitting around talking about the finer points of charlie sheen?"
"you gotta admit tho, he knows a lot about being a cop."
"i didn't think you tolerated police authority figures."
"normally i don't, but he's a treat to bring around when i'm hosting a party with clients."
"that blows my mind as well. you'd bring a cop around people in the porno industry willingly, wouldn't you?"
"he doesn't even notice, really."
"you're not TELLING him?!"
"no assclown, he knows that it's for work. i personally think he understands and then after 10 minutes of meeting people he forgets what the deal is. poof! clean slate. he's this untouchable slab mingling with pros and scouts and i love it. the scouts are respectful and don't try to over sell it. he called me last Sunday to ask about all the business cards he found in his wallet. hoo boy, there were some big names that's for sure."
brad coiled into himself slightly, always a wee bit jealous of any attention that might be pulled away from him. he always has the option to come with me, but Lord Fusspot refuses to stoop down to my playing field.
"yeah well... he's a nice lay. just always looking for an out in the morning so he doesn't hold me hostage with inane chatter. he IS kinda dumb."
"listen, no, i'm going to be firm on this. i don't think he's the sharpest spoon in the drawer, but he's not a COMPLETE moron."
a sonic beep shook out of my BlackBerry to alert me to a new message. i checked it and kept on Brad.
"see, you get stuck in your bubble sometimes where you think you're the smartest fag out there in the under 140 pound class. i don't think you could handle it if you... had...some...one. guhhhhhhh."
"what?"
"Franco just messaged me. he's asking if you can get mono from a rim job."
Brad tensed up to try and hold a laugh back.
"not stupid huh? you wanna take that off the table asshole?"
"LISTEN, I'M NOT THE ONE WHO HAD HIS COCK IN MY MOUTH!"
"oh. oh. shit. well played."
"i know. should i tell him to google it?"
"there's a risk that someone might reaffirm his suspicions."
"i think the collective will of the internet will prevail in this case."
"or maybe not."
"fuck it." i put my device down and fiddled with my now cold cup of coffee. "all you fucking twinkies are giving me grey hair."
"at least it's not falling out."
"or THINNING. sorry, that was out of line."
Brad stroked his hair with a concerned look.
"yeah that was a low blow."
"don't worry, i'm sure you can afford plugs."
"you think they'd look ok?"
"do you think they'd look better than you having a comb over?"
"maybe we should stop talking for a bit."
"understood."

Potsie & Haskell vs. Sad Fag

Week two of sullen mood. No change in sight. Still avoiding all interactions with co-workers to save up some energy for a client on-site later on in the week. Meaning what little semblance of caring i presented last week is completely non-existent this week.
Potsie and Haskell were chucking a football around and giving me the stink eye as they waxed poetic on sales techniques and how many shooters they had over the weekend. Potsie was a rather stern yet handsome woman and Haskell was a very hetro-esque gay guy. both of them were cut throat sales execs for the company I worked for and every day was a passive aggressive reminder about how i had the much more cushy sales spot while they wallowed in the trenches.
I was fully aware that I was juiced in by default since the boss was a close friend. That can only go so far in the end and I really did feel confident that I deserved the frills of client entertainment and whore wrangling when needed. In the pornography industry there were enough douchebag sleaze-faces and my brand of calm energy seemed to go a long way. Pasha had turned Potsie and Haskell loose before on big accounts to give them a test pilot to little avail.
Potsie wound up insulting a director arguing about the market potential of tranny porn and Haskell wound up being so smitten by new talent that he ignored all the signs of "do NOT touch" and wound up getting a broken nose from some Serbian top who was the boy's master.
Pasha had every intention of giving them another chance but it was far more powerful to let them cool their proverbial dicks off. Before that happened tho, the collective spirit was that I was in a plum role for no good reason.
Haskell zipped the foam football over my head and it knocked a couple of my posters down from the cubicle wall. not missing a beat I reached down for it, looked up at their jutting chins gesturing for me to huck it back and promptly dropped it from shoulder height into my garbage can. topped off with the 3/4 full cup of coffee that had been sitting on my desk for 3 solid days.
they slowly sat down and immediately their keyboards erupted in typing not so subtly to each other over the office chat application.
a chat window popped up on my screen from Laura the admin who sat close to the sales execs in question. "thx, can't wrk w/them throwing a ball around. ur my hero, nate:D"
i guess it's for the greater good, but I did worry that Haskell would try and kick me down the stairs when we all left at the end of the day. best to be alert and avoid any interaction with them for a while.

batman - the long halloween

Brad came out to the living room in his bathrobe and made great pains to swish around as he hopped up on the arm rest. Leaning a long thin arm on the top he stretched out and let the clicks and pop of age erupt from his joints. i'm not above enjoying those sounds as it shepherded in the age of things rolling downhill. having always been fat and/or ugly i didn't get that impending sense of horror thinking about my looks slipping since... well, they never existed.
"good sleep, princess?"
"yeah... wow, is it noon?"
"try 3pm."
"WHAT?!"
"what do you expect? we didn't go to bed until 7am."
falling from the arm of the couch he flopped down with a solid thud and moaned into the pillow.
"i have to be ready for a dinner in 2 hours. oh god i don't have enough time!"
"Two hours? Two hours to get ready? you need to shower, shave, drink a protein shake and get stoned. you can do all of that in an hour. and then have an extra hour leftover to play Call of Duty with me before you catch a cab. like, this isn't hard so stop acting like you don't have options."
death stare eyes framed by his messed up hair and a leather sofa arm.
"don't give me that look child. i'm SORRY you need 4 hours to tweeze and apply The Face, but for the rest of us trolls, life does in fact move at an alarming pace."
"you should have woke me up."
"last night, no this morning, you said 'i'm going to exist on my natural rhythms and wake up when i feel like waking up'. remember that?"
"I WAS HIGH! I CAN'T BE HELD RESPONSIBLE FOR THAT!"
"good to know. now be quiet, daddy is reading his book and drinking coffee."
"you said..."
"hebebebebbeb! shhh."
"NO LISTEN!"
"NO, FATHER IS READING. The more talky the less time you have to powder your balls and get out the door."
"forget it, i'm not going."
"You don't have 6 hours to prep so you're not going to an important event? yeah. that makes sense."
casually turning a page as i gulped down cup number six, i let him fume in silence.
"So, ah, is this Jimi's dinner thing?"
"YES."
"So, ah, you were gonna go and accomplish what?"
"I was going to go and show him that i'm beyond all this drama."
"And you're going to show him this by laying on the couch annoying me?"
"You should have woke me up!"
"Listen, i'm your drug dealer, therapist, sous chef, brother in arms on the playstation and all-round bon ami. i'm not an alarm clock."
"Would you come with me?"
"AH NO."
"Come with me and i'll go."
"What? So it can look like i'm your sugar daddy raping you for the luxury of having a hot date and you get trinkets in exchange?"
"I don't think you'd look like my sugar daddy..."
"Just look like some old guy you forced into taking you to this gala whereupon you ditch me within a minute of spotting your old cohorts?"
"You are SO bitter and this is NOT the time."
"Mmm... speaking of time, when're you leaving? I'd really like to be able to sit in the living room naked for a while. ETA?"
"better get settled in because i'm not going."
"is this a case where since i refuse to go it becomes my fault that you didn't attend?"
"something like that."
"good to know." flip.
"you'd pass up on a $500 per plate dinner to read a Batman comic that i KNOW you've read multiple times?"
"something like that."
"COME WITH ME OR I'LL KILL MYSELF!"
"tut tut, you know that only works when i'm sleeping with a guy."
"fine. i'm going to sit here and call all of my exes on speaker phone."
"oh owch. guess i'll have to sit in my room then while you torture yourself with the twinky brigade."
"Come. With. Me."
"Blow. Me. And. We'll. Talk."
"i'll buy you a quarter of blow."
placing the comic down gently i leaned over with tented fingers.
"I'm listening."
"I'll get you party favours if you come to the dinner with me."
"Done."
Up and out of the chair i buzzed into my room and started looking for my suit. god help me if i got too fat to fit into it....

soma.fm - groove salad station = awesome

now it was my turn to sulk. after wrapping myself up in my roommates life for the better part of a month the bottom fell out and i swung into a low. it's nothing to be alarmed about. for, well, forever and ever it's been like that. i don't know what it's like to not be depressed. i never get the spectacular highs of manic bounces. and it's beyond me to fathom what non-depressed really is.
i find it difficult to bolster people who complain that they're sad. i know the socially acceptable response is to pat someone on the back, but my real response is puzzlement. what do you mean you're tired of being depressed? isn't that the status quo? doesn't everyone feel like a perpetual Eeoyre dragging around huffing at the state of the world?
no no, i KNOW it's nothing normal, but it's what i see from my side of the street. i wouldn't imagine we'd make it as a species if we all floated around in an existential bubble secured in absurdity. how is this [gesturing to everything and anything] real? how is this all happening beyond what someone has quantified and i've agreed to believe about it?
when i found a copy of "the outsider" way back in grade nine i hid with it in the furthest nook of the library. i was legitimately concerned that someone would catch me reading it and draw attention to the fact that i was just faking it. that i was somehow trying to navigate through school and social interactions but it was all too absurd... possibly calling attention to my disconnect and thereby causing some sort of raucous leading to a witch hunt. i should add that i was always paranoid along with this palliate of neurotic perceptions. which came first?
no, i think the sadness came first. i can't recall being happy as a child, or as a teenager or as a saggy-ass fag on the wrong side of 30.
he can talk. he can laugh. he can fake it. but every day i wake up and feel a wash of surprise. "i'm alive still? another day to waft through as a wide-eyed yet markedly indifferent observer?" my shock is from how overwhelming it is to observe people moving about in Reality. my indifference is from a resolute belief that i'll never really get it. i'll never really jump in to the herd and not look out of place.
all that puked out and wiped away, i did have marked periods where i went from gloomy and depressed to what i like to call Super Fucking Gloomy and Depressed. why dress it up with anything beyond that. it was the same old just sharper, deeper and more pronounced.
in these insular periods i demanded little interaction with others and a firm path from the end of a work day to my bedroom door shutting behind me. people in the office would pace around my desk trying to get my attention without directly cutting into my ritual of ignoring them. there really wasn't any pattern to follow, just stay the fuck out of my hair and don't ask me to go out for lunch. aside from my boss and long term friend, i couldn't work up the energy to look like i gave a shit. not like i normally would. i pushed off client visits to make sure my sullen gazes and still moments of drinking wine silently didn't cut into my comission.
so far i had made it through a week of avoiding any bullshit other than people gossiping about my lack of interest in their personal lives. something i normally sucked up ravenously to piece together absurd galleries of lives that i was in awe over. wowed more by the complexity of stupid thinking that people embarked on more than actually coveting what they had.
Pasha gave me a ride home after work and let there be silence save for the sips of air and inhaling on a joint. he drove through the tight braids of rush hour cars quietly and only changed mood flipping through songs to listen to.
he managed to cut off two cabs and neatly pull in to a spot outside of my building. nothing was said as he reached into the back seat and pulled out a to-go container to hand it over before i hopped out. he pushed up his $400 sun glasses to hover precariously over his eyebrows and yanked my head into his lips and smooch my cheek. deftly executed knowing my hands were too full to slap him away.
"listen, don't sweat the little shit and cheer the fuck up before Mon Petite Chou comes in next week. on point and on-fucking-top of it. right right?"
"right right."
"cheer up, it only gets worse, Nathan."
"that is true, Pasha. now unlock the door before i get my rape whistle out."
chud thunk and i was jack in the box out the door. didn't even stop for the mail box which always called a siren song of obsessive checking and re-checking.
up to the elevator and completely ignore the hot older daddy with the great dane i'm always sucking up to. he gets off on his floor with a knitted brow and Percy shooting me some longing and hurt at my lack of usually slavering attention.
up up to my final stop and stride down the hall like john fucking wayne on a mission. one fag, one dream, one bed and a season worth of Battlestar Galactica to fold myself up into. definitely without pants on.
brad was tidying up in the kitchen when i walked in and i gave him a rock solid finger gun as i pulled a clean fork out of the drying rack.
"hey they're playing "Rope" at the Windsor Theatre tonight, you've been bugging me to see if for ages so i thought we'd go check it out?"
"nah, not tonight. you go check it out tho, it's worth it."
"are you ok? it's been like living with a ghost for a week now."
"just not in the mood to interact that's all. it happens."
"What's for dinner?"
"Pasha picked it up for me. it's probably vegetarian and bullshit."
"why don't you check it out?"
i didn't bother to check my volume as i exhaled and pulled the container out of the bag. this was totally cutting into my Rejecting Existence agenda for the evening.
dinner was a splendid cobb salad worthy of praise and heavy on the meat. i smiled down at it and spotted the frying pan on the stove heating up an omelet with a lone orange beside it for variation.
"anyway, been a slice. gonna head to my room."
"Wh... what are you doing? just hanging out by yourself all night?"
[thoughtful pause with light lip chew] "yahp, yahp that exactly what i was going to do."
"can i sit in your room at least?"
"no actually. i'm not going to be wearing pants, i'm going to be in bed wearing my Spock shirt from grade 10 and my Batman y-fronts that make my balls look misshapen. i might be lightly masturbating under the covers and will probably wind up smoking weed and do some editing on the new trailer i'm putting together after a long nap. and as mentioned, while i'm doing that i won't have pants on and will probably be absent mindedly masturbating while doing it."
he stiffened up a little and turned back to his eggs. "i... i don't actually care."
"i think you will care when my balls slip out the side of the underwear and i start playing with them."
"you know, we've hung out many times before and you didn't instinctively whack off while i was there."
"yeah i'm aware."
he looked dumbfounded and shocked at my attitude. why why why did i have to fake it ALL the time? i'll fake it SOME of the time but not every waking minute. it's too draining.
"ok forget it. you obviously don't want to be bothered."
"yes most definitely i don't. night."
miffy little inhales of air behind me as i walk down the all and the final schuck of a sob. normal me would have dropped everything to run back to Brad and be Fat Freud but i had my heart set on that cobb salad.
shovelling a hearty forkful into my mouth i used my left hand to clack out a slow text message to Brad. "give me til 9:30 k?"
"k"
good enough. i just bought myself 4 hours to muck about and here's hoping by that time he'll be all cried out and will just want to get stoned and nap at the end of my bed arms around my over sized pingu doll.