veggies? i guess.

i've been having a decidedly stripped down version of meals since i've been sick. the idea of eating food hasn't exactly been appealing... but probably because my body assumes i'm going to stick garbage into it. beyond just trying to eat well to feed my internal furnace something useful, it's just been cheaper. it also helps that my current roommate will make a meal if i selectively leave shit out that can be strung together for a meal. i don't mind doing the dishes when i get food out of it. so it's been little things like veggie curry, lentils, couscous and other stupid hippy shit that normally bores me. but since i've felt blah over all it doesn't disturb me to have it.
coming back from a cupboard stock-up trip from The Good Grocery Store i realized i didn't pick up a single item of meat. it was a long. long way from vegan but definitely vegetarian. i'm a strict omnivore. i believe that if you eat one type of meat you eat it all. no picking & choosing based on how cute the items was prior too being killed. meat is meat is meat, right?
i really feel that if people eat meat they should know how it dies. growing up around farming activities i know one thing for certain, they don't tickle them to death.
i have been puttering around with some vegan meals but more for simplicity of creation instead of something healthy. cheese is something i think about, nay, dream about on a regular basis. i'm very serious. a life without cheese if beyond my understanding. i understand the many reasons why someone could easily decline consuming it, but nothing i want to experience first hand.
all i know is that i'm sick with a cold on top of getting over a nasty case of shingles. it's almost like my immune system has tanked...oh right.

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.

"did i make an error in time?"

"hey hey woah woah, i don't think you're a whore so that's gotta count for something."
he was chewing on the edge of my pillow. a very small swatch of people in my life would be allowed to touch let alone transmit spit onto one of my pillows.
"you not thinking i'm a whore isn't a whole lot of comfort you know?"
"yeah, i guess it's kinda like asking someone on the whore stroll if they're a lady."
he went back to teething on the pillow and looking a head. i was only marginally invested in the conversation due to an extended winning streak in Super Monkey Ball.
"i have friends who are MUCH bigger sluts!"
"mmhmm... oh yes, sluts everywhere andFUCK! FUCK FUCK FUCK!"
he clenched into a ball to avoid the controller being flung out of my hands.
"you have all of my attention now. you are not a slut, you don't deserve to be called a slut and you shouldn't dwell on thinking you're one."
"i slept with James."
"OH YOU STUPID WHORE!"
he released the pillow and deftly loped over the arm of the couch before i could grab him. reaching for my pipe case he skittered to the corner trying to look for the fastest way out. if he went for the door i would lock him out and he was in track pants so NO way he'd be seen in public like that. to the hallway certainly meant me sprinting after him like a rhino, gathering speed as my heft propelled me forward. and then there was the balcony. one look and his eyes snapped back to mine.
"23 stories up, what now son?!"
"It... it just happened! I didn't mean for it to happen!"
"You didn't MEAN for your cock to fall out and into an assshole?! Fuck YOU!" the case whirred out of my hand and smashed satisfyingly right above his head.
"You didn't MEAN to slap the nuts to that piece of shit after I spent 2 hours telling you what a soul-sucking harpy he is?! FUCK!"
he was terrified. i don't go off often but when i do there was no escape. it was ugly and so wrought with tension you could taste it in your mouth. the bukkake of rage if you will.
"nathan! calm down!! why are you doing this?"
"I? ME?! I'm the one who...you..." my lips caved into an implosion of twisted expressions and i realized the fuse was running out and i would lapse into my two options: crying so hard that i would hyperventilate or attempt to connect his face to my fist. and everyone LOVES options don't they?
Brad was shaking. Like, real scared and real aware that there wasn't much negotiation room, just wait and see what my next move was.
Instead of butch anger, i felt my face go flush and the enveloping feeling of tears pushing out. i'm ugly at the best of times so tears weren't going to add anything to my appearance. after years of being beaten as a child for emotional displays i was a master at yanking it in to throw up a chin and exit a situation.
and exit i did. i heard brad trailing after me, timid, pausing as we turned the hall for fear that i would rear around and really attack. open the door. shut the door. turn the lock on the door and it's an easy run to the bed to slap my face down before i really lost it.
brad was trying to make contact with small knocks and "c'mon" every couple of seconds. i hate being a queeny diva like this. nothing like having a tantrum to really test how engorged my capillaries can get when i'm bawling like a fool.

what a drag

lame coffee and lack of stimulating conversation always drags me down. plus looking for an excuse to post to see if my tumblr thingie is working... and since i can never get links to post on this fucking blog [AND YEAH I KNOW THERE'S A LINK FOR LINKS BUT IT NEVER FUCKING WORKS]..

MEOW MEOW MEOW



http://lokismoke.tumblr.com/

lokismoke.tumblr.com/

tim tim: a study in ginger

tim tim the marmalade fat prince

1

really, i want to be helpful. so far all i had really accomplished for my poor roommate was taking him away from his deadline for 2 solid days and he'd probably have to throw up for hours to purge all the junk food fat he had taken on.
a break is a break and i was hopeful that even a self destructive respite had purpose. or maybe this is what a truly evil person would say?
brad was rooting around a gummy worm bag to try and see if there were any scraps to divine from the depths of it.
"i've never eaten this much in so little time before..." dismayed that there was nothing left he puffed out some air and laid back down on the floor to stretch out. i was waiting for him to remark, "how do you do this all the time?!" but he didn't. possibly too whacked out on sugar to insult me properly? or maybe he wasn't a hateful little shit like i assumed he was.
keeping him stoned on weed they give cancer patients licked in opium he hadn't strayed too far. I suppose that's a little scummy, but my soul rests easy knowing i was going to smoke it anyway, his choice to sit and hit it with me.
we had done little conversing. it was more me listening to him unleash all his anxiety. the twinky back stabbers. the novel that never would be complete. the errant idea that he would get back together with a guy he was with and it'd solve pretty much everything.
on and on and it didn't bother me. i had an irritating super power that did little good for humanity but still amazed me. my mutant ability was causing people to open up to me after only a few conversations. it was nothing coached, it just fell out of their mouths and into my lecherous ears. an ex described me as a natural cold reader who baited the eager with leading questions and slowly pulled the bow loose on their secret box. i mean, i heard myself saying this shit, but it was nothing active. it wasn't like i dug in there to pull out the dark shit, it just found a little hole to leak out of and i wound up breaking the whole damn open.
brad had been in the apartment for what? 2? 3 months? we had shared nothing than a few conversations about the rent and some few and far between times when i clattered in drunk and started yapping. all that time with no interest in making contact and only wanting it to be a room he could hide in. maybe that's it? it insulted my psychotic vanity that someone wouldn't want to get to know me and it's been pushing me up to this instance where he'd be tied to me indefinitely. you don't just open up with that sort of info and walk away clean. especially when your confessor hasn't said a fucking thing other than "how does that make you feel?" kind of prodding questions.
people come to after and turn sour. too much told and nary any interest in seeing the face who took it all in. that hurts, man. it hurts but i've gotten my head out of my ass about it and just kept rolling. 15 year old me would have sat in the bathroom for hours cutting myself in a hidden place. wailing softly and cursing the pain of getting into someones mind and being evicted when they woke up in the morning and had some buyers remorse. hurt hurt hurt and hell bent on never doing it again. but it always happened again. and again. and it got deeper. did i just attract more fucked up people? or did i get better at yanking out the scary shit? was this the one craft i could excel at instead of being a jackass of all trades? what a rip off. i can't believe being a psychopath is the one thing i get a fucking gold medal in!
but again it happened. and again i fell right into that warm pool of Bad Stories and paddled around. doughy white legs frog stroking around in that hidden shit. it felt good and where i was supposed to be.
brad looked up at the ceiling and sighed. i immediately assumed he was going to panic but he collected his thoughts and closed his eyes.
"i have no idea what you even do for a living... you know that? we've been in this apartment for days and not one word about you."
i think i just came. hot nutty load of egomania spurting out of my cock and making me black out from the throngs of awesome. oh yes oh yes oh FUCK. you have to tell him where you work now.
no you don't.
just give him The Family Reunion Stock Response!
"i'm an account manager. selling ad space and looking after clients who are long term customers. nothing fancy."
"you're in ad sales and you walk out the door every day in jeans, skate shoes and Mapplethorpe tshirts?"
"hey! i have a blazer at work i leave on the back of my chair. shit man, who says i need a fucking tie to make my quota!?"
he was smiling and chuckling quietly.
"bullshit. i call bullshit."
mouthing a thick cloud of smoke i sucked it back and then expelled it out under my command.
"you're so goddamned smart aren't you?" i passed the spliff down to him and he took it like a champ.
"yes, you're pretty smart. well I AM and account manager and I DO sell ad space. i just don't see clients face to face. i don't need to look like some twat prick to talk to customers on the phone."
passing it back he sat up to lean against the wall. his blond hair was greasy but i cursed how his layers always hung properly no matter the situation.
"ok well you got me on that one. still don't think you're telling me everything tho..."
give that boy the evil eye. adjust and sit up real nice. one leg crossing the other like an evil queen of the fucking universe.
"child, you don't need to know what daddy does for a living."
"now you have to tell me... is it illegal?"
"if it was illegal would i be living in this place?"
"fair... it has to be something for the governm..." he trailed off thinking about how i wouldn't pass a drug test in 20 years if i quit today.
"dead end. are you... are you...?" he looked away and tried to glean something from my room. i am an unstable clutter freak so it would take a team of ten to rip my room apart for any consistent clues.
"no hints." i shucked back in more smoke and felt awash in a toasty film. put too much opium in that one.
"i..i'm at a loss. nothing. two days and i have no clue about who this guy is."
"mmhmm, international man of mystery. listen, it pains me to see you pouting. let me show you." pushing off on my chair with a thin plume of smoke running behind me i slammed into my desk. shake a shake the mouse and hope there's nothing fucked up on my desktop.
pulling up a fresh browser window i tapped in where my paycheque comes from.
"porn? you work for a porno site?"
"don't cheapen it! it's the biggest site in canada that's canadian owned. you know QweerVu? we do that site. same with C0ck-a-Do-Me."
"no way! that's all the same site?"
he crawled on hands and knees over to the desk and removed the joint from my fingers.
"huh, that's impressive."
"not morally opposed?"
"god no... do you enjoy it? er well... i mean...."
"go on. ask it. everyone always does."
"do you ever get sick of it?"
"Not in the slightest. it's always fascinated me so i don't feel like i can ever get sick of it."
his eyes folded tighter in contemplation. "so do you actually sell ad space?"
"for sure! ad space is one of the things around the office i can be called on to do. i also work with recruiting and new hires."
"somehow i feel like those things mean something totally different in your industry..."
"ah that's why you're the smart one, skippy." he frowned. like i give a shit about offending a beta gay when i have seniority?
"i'm definitely a point person for bringing in agents with potential new talent. i'm further down the line after the casting couch tho. i just integrate the new talent and help them when they lose a contact lens on set or make sure they get to photo shoots. you know, the usual when you're wrangling whores."
"whores? that's a little harsh."
"you're right. i should really be respectful of clients and their best interests. sure they take money for sex acts. and sure they get a train ran on them by 30 guys at a time for a gang bang scene... but definitely harsh to call them whores."
"so what is this? legit disdain or acting butch to distance yourself from them?"
twinge. the boy was good. the boy might be another secret susser. i tread carefully and make note of his prowess.
"it's like training dogs for the blind. you have all these puppies running around in your life and you just can't get attached to all of them before you ship them out into the world to work."
"that has to be the most horrifying metaphor you've ever said to me."
"ha! grand ain't it?"
"i guess this business explains your seemingly endless and non-descript business trips then huh?"
"oh yeah, these whip handles stuffed up an ass shirts don't grow on trees."
"do.... you like it?"
"i'm good at it. i don't really feel as though i'm capable of liking anything really. they're people, i interact with those people and i get paid."
"you sure you're not autistic?"
"no no, i told you i'm a psychopath."
"psychopaths aren't so caring about helping people."
"ah yes, but a psycho would help just to deceive people into thinking he had a soul and was capable of caring."
"match point." he tried to make a grab for the smouldering end of the joint but i smacked his hand enough for it to sting.
"roll another one, i've made the commitment to seeing this to the end."
pouting after being put into his place he scratched his side absently and looked at the monitor.
"i've never met someone who's been in a porno."
"that you know of."
"oh no i can't see any of my friends doing that. a lot of them don't even like porn."
"or are they just giving in to the collective will and saying that so they don't look like perverts?"
"oh i don't know!" he stood up and tottered around for a moment. he looked like he had some Big Words to share but i'm sure his brain was careening around too much to focus.
the friends are still a sore point. in my mind i imagined scamming through his facebook to look at their faces. see if one of them set me off on a memory of them jerking off for some quick cash. maybe a couples tape that got leaked in a break up? how terrible that the only noble gesture i can come up with is this kind of sleuth work.

pesto on cream cheese on crackers

Adam and i were in the throngs of prepping a munchie platter. while i felt passionate about weed and the deep rooted place it had in my priority list, i did twinge a little at the stereotypes. almost as fast as the self-loathing came, it swept past my mind when the pesto came out.
normally sending adam alone to make a snack meant waiting around for 30 minutes before you realized adam was just standing in the kitchen eating everything and puffing on cigarettes he shipped in from spain.
too many times we had waited up in the attic for naught so we would need to draw straws to see who had to get up and sous chef with adam. tonight we were stuck with only 2 guests so i stepped up to the challenge to help. i didn't feel like it was too much of a fucking chore to get up and help. it was important to note that adam often padded around his house in skin sucking bike short boy panties and delightfully opaque worn out tshirts. follwing around a tower of brown eyes and thick dark hair was more of a reality check than an actual task. it keept me pushing myself to stop thinking about chicks and focus on the bottomline: i liked dick. a lot.
adam worked with my roommate at a high end restaurant and was forever calling me during smoke breaks crying and breaking through to the realization that tonight was the night that he was going to quit. the confidence built towards the end of the cigarette and he'd stride all john wayne like to the kitchen door to swing it open. oh goodness he never hung up. standing high at 6"2 i go with him sightless through the kitchen... past the chefs who chuck recyclables out in front of my roommate causing a screaming match there and later at home... past the faggy chef that i want to make out with that has a wife... past the steam and chopping and conversations that trail off. adam on the warpath was tangible and he parted the way without much effort. hand booming into the swinging doors to emerge into an expanse of black table cloths and lighting that always gave him migraines intermittenly. scanning scanning around for a supervisor i'm sure, but all i can hear is the floor bussing. a hum of conversations and the clatter of food being shovelled into mouths.
the phone always snaps shut before anything good happens.
i'm told it consistently ends with another server running an interception before he ever made it to quit. some charged at him to push him off his course and potentially create some down time to cool off. some met him with the same intensity and a waterglass packed with the expensive gin and ice water for an explosive sexy come down.
part of adams appeal was the tizzying spin around of calm to fury. i really believe it appealed to me like some sort of boy rodeo of seeing how fast i could diffuse a bomb. my record was considerably impressive, but never the type to be cocky, know that i can have an endless winning streak.
tonight tonight, ah tonight adam walked in and stripped down a little more on each floor. dress shirt and tie at the door. pants on the main floor along with glasses. [left on some sort of flat surface, never to be seen until he threatened to burn the house down if we didn't help find them] and finally socks peeled off and hucked to a corner when he creaked up the attic stairs.
"I FUCKING HATE MY FUCKING JOB! FUCK! I WILL QUIT! I WILL AND THEN WE'LL STARVE TO DEATH BECAUSE I'M THE ONLY ONE WHO MAKES MONEY!!" immediately his boyfriend lept up with a freshly sealed joint and i stood up making sure to brush up against him for the thrill of it.
into the maw of a manic mouth went the joint and i ensured it was properly lit up for consumption. adam relaxed and let himself be sat on the floor. session protocol dictated that it be passed, but this was clearly an emergency. we let him haul on it and wash into a semblance of calm. he curved back to lay on the pillows while dragging saul down into his shoulder nook. i grabbed the torch to toke while adam and saul soaked up the endorphins one in theory gets when they're held. they murmured back and fourth and it was my turn to get a wonderful wash of the ooo's.
who knows how long i tuned out for, but i came to with an adam face pushed into my neck asking for me to pass it over. half gone but still optimism-inspiring for even my dark soul.
saul sat up looking faintly preturbed at how little adam was wearing. in my mind, if i looked like that i'd probably be prancing around nude as much as was legally possible. that and i guess it's always different when your boyfriend's cock is perfectly shillouetted in underwear with guests over. whatever, we're a laid back bunch and at least i wasn't sucking him off so? that's pretty fucking awesome in the cicles of gays i run with.
adam passed the joint over to saul and effortlessly leaned his head down to the floor while grabbing his outstretched legs. i'd slip a disc trying to lick one of my man tits let alone something that indepth.
having cycled out of rage and into the calm before the next wave of tantrums, adam declared that food was in order. after working all night schlepping plates of food, both adam and my roommate could not stop hustling, even on their own time. it wasn't good enough to assure them that you'd go grab something, there was a clear need to supervise to ensure the mission critical task at hand was completed.

dandy warhols - the entire come down albuuuuuuuum

brad was on an informal suicide watch. i couldn't fathom him ever dicing himself up or the risk of having ligature marks for an open casket funeral... no, it was more a self-motivated desire to comit social suicide and crawl back to the pack of twinky douchebags that had sent him into exile.
i got him so stoned that he promptly passed out on the floor with 3/4 empty bag of salt and vinegar chips. he snoozed with my feet propped up on his chest and i resisted my burning desire to streak a toe over his lips. then frowned at how aroused that made me feel. it's annoying to be single for so long that fetish becomes the norm. spend enough time jerking yourself off thinking about all the sick shit you wish you were doing and it kinda weaves itself into your psyche.
thankfully he had turned his cell to vibrate but i watched the led slowly cycle from blue to purple... the tell tale sign of an upper echelon friend trying to reach out to him. no sense waking him up for that.
author by trade, he had managed to crank out two novels by the time he hit 25. fucking impressive to say the least, and admittedly a source of pouting from me. but subliminal only. er, well i supposed it comes out when i'm drunk every once in a while... and only when i'm drinking brown liquor.
so my darling roommate and accomplished writer was under the gun to finish his next great masterpiece by the end of June and he felt like that simply wasn't enough time.
he moved around the apartment like a thin vapour that flitted from kitchen to the bathroom to his bedroom. i mean, i'm a consumate only child so normally i would be in heaven with this sort of arrangement but the smothery healer in me couldn't stand the thought that someone was hurt and going through life without my advice.
sometimes i caught him out on the balcony, back to the cement barrier and slumped forward. eyes down and the petered out butts of joints with ashy-topped cans of diet coke around him. it was too much to stand sometimes. well, as much as i could actually care about a guy who i only met two months ago to lease a bedroom.
i came home from a long day at the office to hear something akin to suffocated tears in the bathroom. i'm all for people getting it out, but i had to shake out a monster shit and had paced up and down the hall for a definative eight minutes before i gave a knock.
"buddy?" [i'll never escape growing up lower middle class and the hierarchy of pet names]
water turned in the tub and i got the sensation that he hadn't realized i was home.
"y... yeah?"
"I gotta be a doucher and kick you out, man. i need to crunch some numbers in there."
the lift of water and his footsteps came towards the door.
opening it wide, a wallop of steam pushed out and i actually had to flip my hands around through the moist fog.
he attempted to walk proudly past me with a swollen face and savagely red eyes. i wanted to shit my brains out in a whalloping thud into a bowl. i didn't care if there was piss mellowing in it. [fucking hippy fag brad....] i want to push it out and wham i slam the door. ahhhhhrelieffffuuckiwonderwhatssooooohwrongwith. brad. ah.
clensed, i am renewed in my quest to make a bond with my roommate. maybe it was the 1/2 litre of wine i had after work. maybe it was the $40 bag of blow i did in the bathroom... but i was going to make contact and make this dude know someone cared. and sure it meant only a little since i wasn't a hot twinky telling him this, but damn it, my opinion mattered. to me. my opinion mattered to me and sharing it with others. my opinion mattered to me and inflicting it on others was my bag.

"the last song i will ever want to sing" - .moneen.

slinking into the apartment, my teeth gritted when i realized it was a full house. the tappity clicks of controllers were almost smothered by the commentary being delivered from Twit, Twat and Teeny. Twit was my ex, Twat was my tranny friend and Teeny was an old roommate who never seemed to have left. still didn't pay rent so I guess really, it was like he never departed.
it was some army-related game that I liked to watch when i was stoned and scream, "BOOSH!" every 15 minutes. What I liked more was being able to watch my tv and not be a hub for some LAN party every other day. Especially since it caused my current roommate to slink off to his room and sulk.
"Hey everyone... Did, ah, did ya just let yourself in... or?"
"Brad let us in it's cool."
On a short fuse already I felt myself get wound up seeing the remnants of my beer and the pork tenderloin leftovers I was going to have for dinner.
"How about this, has anyone actually SEEN Brad lately?"
Twat was mid toke and squeaked out a response with full lungs. "Ohforsurewhenheletus..." exhale "in."
i kicked off my boots and let them thwack against the wall. just, you know, sometimes you need to come home to an empty house. part of the appeal of living with Brad was this very fact. Or at least, this is what I promised him originally.
making my way down the hall I found his bedroom door shut and what could only be my Leonard Cohen record playing. couldn't really get mad at the kid for going into my room for it, i'd probably be wiping my dick all over the place if i was feeling that trapped. but, you know... that's just what i do when i'm stressed out.
Tap tap.. "Dude?"
There was some faint noises... sounded like a comforter being scrunched up and the whine of bedsprings as he got up.
"Hrm... yeah. yeah come in."
I walked into a veritable bat cave of drawn curtains and a stereo turned down low but just enough to make a blanket of sound to make the livingroom seem like a distant nightmare.
He was clearly half asleep and looked sour.
"Hey, yo, I'm sorry about the guys. You never have to let them in you know. I feel like a shit that you're hiding in here."
"Oh whatever... I just couldn't be bothered. needed to sleep anyway."
"still, it's a pain in the dick to have them all out there in your apartment."
He flopped back onto the bed and rubbed his eyes. All signs pointed to him being in his bedroom all day. the over-priced but oh-so-well fitted tshirt he had on rolled up a little and exposed that place on your side that's so delicious. i know it as The Place Where My Love Handles Blossom. He wasn't my cup of tea, but I do enjoy seeing any semblance of exposed skin on boys.
"Are you feeling ok?"
"Not really. I only have 3 more months to finish my book."
"Well shit, that's lots of time! And judging by your facial expression, I am incorrect."
Sigh.
He was like a puppy to me. Sometimes I just wanted to rush him to pick him up and swing him around. possibly with the addition of raspberries blown on his stomach. more likely with me screaming "YAY!" and feeling so happy. I don't really interact with younger folk so I don't think I'm really able to process having them around.
He was looking at me suspiciously as I meandered off into my own puppy-twinky correlation inner dialogue. There's no tactful way to sit a roommate down to discuss how you may look at them with something that resembles lust but it's more thinking they're cute, not rapey longings.
Again I realized I had completely spaced out.
"Look I'm sorry I'm a million different places right now. I just wanted to make sure you're ok and if you need the living room free..."
There was an eruption of screams from the livingroom.
"...living room free of the T's."
"I'm good... but I was going to ask you if I could have some of that pork tenderloin so I don't have to go out for dinner tonight."
tapping on the door frame I chewed on my lip for a minute thinking about my lovingly prepared pork being eaten by the wild dogs in my apartment.
"yeah about that. It's gone. And the beer. And I'm pretty sure Teeny had a piece of Fruit Loops stuck in his hair."
"That's just great. I can't even think about leaving the building right now. What about sending one of the T's out to pick something up?"
"IF they ever returned, and that's a huge if, it would be half eaten and entirely not what you asked for."
"Great friends of yours, huh?"
"Oh YEAH, go call up one of your fag posse buddies to bring something over why don't ya?"
Ooops. ok so that was uncalled for, especially since I was completely feeding into the yes camp for mocking my own friends.
"Sorry sorry... I'm a bit cunty right now."
He rolled over and mashed his face into the pillow.
Great. This is like slapping a golden lab puppy across the face. Completely uncalled for and devastating to see the reaction.
"Fuck! You're not crying are you?"
Silence. Tiny seismic shakes over his body.
"Brad... aw, I'm sorry." I boldly walked over and sat on the bed. "Let me go out and get something from Vesuvio's and bring it back for you. Would that be good?"
[muffled noise]
"Is that a yes or a no?"
cresting up from the pillow he leaned his neck back and said a croaky yes before slamming back down.
"Hey buddy, i didn't mean to be a dick..."
rolling over to face the wall he took in a breath. "It's FINE I should get over it."
"No one really gets over being jettisoned from a circle of friends so don't play like you're too good to be hurt over it."
OH GREAT. YOU HAD TO SAY "TOO GOOD" DIDN'T YOU?
ever so slightly his spine curled and bent him inwards. fantastic. let him receed into the fetal position.
"Wha... what about i get sammiches and those little chocolate truffle jizz bombs you like?"
"I haven't been tho the gym for a MONTH!"
"OH DORTHY, CAN IT!"
he rolled over quickly to look at me. i don't usually pop my top like that. well, i do internally and rehash it a million times in my mind, but not verbally. and with someone listening. and definitely not when that person is half crying because of something i said previously.
now he's scared. some old fag is sitting on the end of his bed and he can't escape and there's no one but three degenerate miscreants for the cavalry.
and now the old one burst.
slap my hands over my eyes and groan deep and long.
"I. Am. Sorry. I've rambled in here trying to make you feel better, i swear. instead i've carted you along my little fucked up parade of miserable thinking."
"It's... ok. I'm more impressed. you didn't even flip when Twit won sole custody of the dog."
"That's different. I poisoned all the squirrels in his back yard so it was even-steven."
the bastard actually cut the cable hook up because he spent more time watching the squirrels. and it wasn't *all* of them. Just a few that he had named. And to be FAIR, I donated a lot of money to a squirrel sanctuary that year. all in the past now.
Brad was very lost at this point. focus. focus. less unbalanced drifter, more helpful roommate.
"bad day. bad mindset. but a Vesuvio's dinner and maybe some reefer? ya? maybe daddy has a bath bomb to chuck at you to get some private relaxation in the bathroom?"
"that... that actually works." he schucked back some stuffiness and easily folded any sadness back into himself. poised and relaxed even tho he was a tiny blip in a room that looked like a miserable fortress.
i left to go get The Usual [prosciutto, 10 year old cheddar, artichoke hearts and rabidly hot peppers smothered with pesto mayo] and hollered at the T's like i was back at the hospital herding clients.
"GET THE FUCK ON OUT OF HE-YEAH! SAVE THE GAME GEDDIT GEDDDDDOUT! AH! LEAVE THE FUCKING M&M'S!"
If i was going for the whole zen outlook the parasites really weren't adding to the ambiance.

the strange secret of bruce wayne S02Ep37 - Batman the Animated Series

maraschino cherries are a late-in-life interest for me. no clue why i developed a taste for them. most likely stemming from understanding how they taste at the bottom of a manhattan.
squishing one in my teeth i went flush after a spurt of bourbon came out. it was deeply chilled and a tangible pop in my mouth. i spend an awful lot of time sexualizing food items, but hey, i make no excuses on being a hog.
what a wonderful treat... i even got a handsome glass that was forged 15+ years before i occurred. turning the glass i looked at nondescript swiss mountain scenes layered over harvest gold paint. it looked tacky and dreamy. probably didn't have any mates in the cupboard. most wonderful. who wants to look at the same glass on the coffee table?
lost i felt trapped between asking for another manhattan and knowing that i would be over the top hungover the next day. one more manhattan and i would have to think about leaving before i got a boner during a smoke break. one less manhattan and i would need to come up with an excuse to stay on the couch...aaaand probably would also end in a boner-related incident.
what is WRONG with me?

blargh

can someone help me decide on what i want to be when i grow up?

my current choices are:
* amicable but firm-handed pot dealer
* lottery winner [even tho i never play the lottery EVER]
and
* grip for porn production company

i'm at a loss for any other careers that are out there i'd actually be interested in doing. the list above involves potential jail time, lack of wherewithal to purchase a lottery ticket and finally, i don't think they ever need grips on porn sets... just fluffers and ew, pass.

but i'd watch... so... wait...i don't think i can get paid watching beej's.

back to the drawing board. zzzzz....