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....

avon speed dry strawberry S50

tucking into a nice set of drum and bass music as my nails dry. i'm on a mission to not chew my nails which means polish... but the understanding that the polish is probably worse than me nibbling on the ends. dah well. i just took yellow & cheetah spots off to replace with a muted strawberry. i was hoping for something about 2 shades more gaudy but no matter, good enough for a $3 bottle from Avon.
life is good uptown. i'm glad that i'm so close to walk where i need to be and maintain a decent ratio of staying out vs. staying in.
at the risk of sounding unpatriotic, i could not give a shitdick about the olympics. not even a little. that has thus far been grounds for being lambasted by peers and i will say that yes, i'm generally awful for not liking super popular things. at least i recognize that i can be an insufferable old crank and try to balance that out with my legit feelings.
never being one for sporting events, well, yeah, i'm not going to like the olympics. i do like hockey and have been keeping up with it, but still not enough to really constitute following it. so yeahhhhh i'm kinda glad it's all wrapping up so i can stop trying to change the topic when people at work ask me how excited i am about all our medals. sooooo yeaaaaaaaah sorry to give in and not be overtly patriotic.
anywho, my nails are clearly dry since i don't have to chicken peck the keys to avoid pink getting splashed on them so i'm audi 5000.

baby went to am-sterrrr-dam.....

"it's hardly a wake and bake at 2 in the fucking afternoon!"
her eyes stared mutely with blond lashes fluttering in front of me.
"oh well, like once i did it. people were all, "let's wake and bake!" but i was kinda like, ehhhh that's iffy."
"wait... what... what does that have to do with me getting stoned?"
"uh... nothing i guess?"
"no seriously, show me on the clock when it's socially acceptable to get high."
she was painted into a logic corner and her eyes wash over with wet tears that were in the mail.
i'm sensitive... i can't take a joke nor can i cope with someone bullying me in an argument. but i do feel it's my civic duty to call out the overly sensitive to try and instill a sense of backbone. stand up a little! life is tough!! rahrahrah etc...
my mind immediately changed tack.
oh.
right.
when you're attractive, you don't really need much of a coping strategy. in fact, her shimmering blond lashes were often dabbed in precursor tears. like, a lot a lot as she'd succinctly describe something.
so tears form, people are horrified that they've made this morsel of a girl get upset. it's brilliant. all bend and none are realizing what precedence has been set! whereas i've been introduced to Tough Fucking Shit, Ugly Fag enough to have moved past that persona.
i was nodding and staring, lost and enamoured in my diagnosis. she clearly was struggling to maintain the puppy eyes between natural evaporation and the sinking confusion she must have felt.
"uh?"
"oh.... yes wake and bake. you know what? never mind. i'm just going to drink this coffee and ya know, mosey on to the living room.
she trailed after me and framed up her thin outline in the doorway.
"well, leah is making lunch still so i guess i could have some with you?"
"knock yourself out... i'll hit it first."

really? [head tilting to side] REALLY??

recently i've had the luxury of mixing up the gay men in my life. i love the boys in waterloo, but as always i enjoy a solid infusion of something just a little different.
since i'm incapable of actually being happy with what i have, i often harken to the what ifs when things remain the same for too long.
as well, i feel like i can sound off more because the bulk of waterloo boys [daddy jr. not included] couldn't give a shitass about what i enjoy writing let alone reading it. that insulation presents a wonderful forum for being somewhat rude and also kill some time while my friend bounces his boyfriend off his cock on a bunk bed. [listening as it gets more frenetic]
a new homo in my life is the quintessential twinky. lithe, hairless, and honestly? an exceptionally natty dresser. bonding over libra qualities is always helpful but i can't help but think about how yes, he's hot and just perfect, but not something i hold up as hot in my personal tastes. isn't that fucking lame? i piss myself off sometimes. enough quid pro quos, let's continue.
deep down, i'm a bear at heart. if i had been a dude, i would be unshaven [more because i'm fucking lazy] and also just a bit of a werewolf. as a gay broad who watches more gay guy porn than any other genre it's just what floats my messed up little boat.
in hanging out with my dear friend from highschool in toronto, i've had the good fortune to meet a lot of gay men who are anything but a custard cup of twinky. twinky body types such as skinny and slight, but hairy with scratchy facial hair and unrepentant chest hair accumulations. talk of men never seems to be in the vein of boring [to ME] and my ah-ha moment was over the summer at a birthday party where i was a tag along. one guy was musing about looking for mr-right-now-to-bend-my-ankles-over-my-ears. he said, "god, i just want some werewolf to split his ass apart." wow. no, not about the ass splitting, more the idea of "hey remember when you weren't embarrassed to bring up liking older/hairier guys to your gay guy friends? implicitly, i just dropped mentioning it to avoid the awkward conversation of trying to explain that i like sucking on tits yet jerk off to meaty gang bang scenes.
i find some of these toronto lads [no, not just because they're fro the big cit-ay] aren't so... eeeerrrrrrrrrr clueless. they're aware that dykes exist, general working knowledge that they have sex and that there's some kind of motherfucking DYNAMIC at play.
keeping audience with two beautiful waterloo twinkies a couple of months ago, the topic was brought up about sex. there was a sympathetic glance to me when they were talking about anal sex. "well, not like you'd know anything about THAT stuff!"
[awkward swizzling of wine glass]
"uh, yeah i do."
"oh no honey, we're talking about actually DOING it, not hearing about it from gay men."
[elongated sip of wine]
"ahh... that's nice wine. no chump, i've had butt sex before."
[metaphorical feathers being ruffled and flying all over the place]
"WHY?! Why would you even bother!!?"
"You know the idea of you've tried the rest, now try the best?"
[blank look and me realizing i only make sense to myself sometimes]
"look, in a nutshell, i've done it a bunch of times."
"i just don't get why two women would do that."
"don't get it or don't know how we'd do it?"
[in unison] "both."
i will talk to you about fucking and sucking and rutting all day long, but i have an interesting quality of never really getting into details unless i know the person. because i can be so open and trusting, i've learned that i often tell too much and wither if i find out that i'm mocked about it after. how does one talk about getting reamed to an audience who recently discovered that two women can have dominate/submissive roles? [see below] you just don't. you skip it and soak up the attention of side glances for the rest of the evening.
which dovetails nicely into another tale of two twinkies. the same duo were talking about trying to find a boyfriend who was in sync with their tastes of being a top or bottom. again, the sad little "aw"gaze that indicated that i couldn't understand.
"wait, WHAT? do you think two women can't find that type of dichotomy?"
they seemed kinda stunned. usually i can be calm, but rage and humour often cut into my tact receptor. "what the FUCK do you think we do? sit in bed and argue about who gets to be the little spoon when cuddling that night?!?"
"oh... no, just... it's not like you can have a top or a bottom with two women."
you know that part in Fantasia where the devil rises up into a fury? that's kinda a LITTLE bit of my reaction.
"WHAT. THE. FUCK!!! are you RETARDED?! do i need to go through the ways women fuck and suck?"
"Ew, god no."
"NO! I think maybe i do!"
"But *really*, you've actually been in a dominate/submissive set up?"
"Are we talking about a whip and 'call me sir or i'll whip your pussy' kind of dom/sub or are we talking about who's in charge vs. who's taking it?"
[one dry heaves after "pussy" and"spanking" come up at the same time]
"The LATTER option."
I'm just beyond stunned at that point. when i think of how i've grown in relationships, developed into knowing what i want and like... how fun it is to not be restricted and just go with the flow.... i simply went blind with anger. for someone like me who rarely if ever relates to traditional lesbians, i got surprisingly dyke-centric at a moments notice when i felt like i wasn't a person that these guys could actually see as a human. ok that's harsh, but more the idea of you can imagine, gay men, straight people but i'm some enigma that you've relegated to some notion that i just frotage and mewl after kissing like lost kittens in the night. i often find myself muting what i'm actually thinking in these conversations to just avoid causing a q&a session when i really feel that in terms of what's out there i'm still kinda vanilla, but according to some folks i know, come across as some kink-o fanatic-o.
i composed myself, stood up and walked to the fridge to get a glass of wine. they were still waiting for me to respond.
"you want to know what i am with roles? I'm a loving top and an arrogant bottom."
there was some thinking and the topic was changed.
the best part is, when i mention this tale to jr. bears/otters they burst out laughing. can i get a what what to those boys out there?! at least i get a lot of milage out of my indignant trauma?

february wtf did you come from?

so i'm all moved in uptown... it feels really good. i mean, it's still all so fucking new and different but i'm glad i made the change. definately have a lot less space to live in, but i had too much shit anyway. speaking of which, i had an embarassing ammount of stuff built up from taking on pretty much 3 moves and never really sorting anything just moving boxes with me. yipes, there was a lot of shit. like, i'm banned from clothing beyond cool sweaters. i had duplicates of duplicates. oy gott! guess it's part and parcel of my lunacy. so yeah, no more clothes that's for damn sure because i just don't have the f'ing space for it!
the new roommate is going on vaccation in a mere few weeks. at this point i'm getting a friend to move in and cover some of the rent. of course i'm on tentative watch right now expecting it to fall through. but that's the nature of the game, i just rarely think that things will work out.
even now, two paragraphs up i talked about being hopeful and just assume the bottom'll fall out and i'll be in a bitch. in talking about this with someone i really can't recall being super happy/content. it's like i've always been an eeyore dragging my ass around with a perpetual rain cloud. while i experience things that are happy, it's never really like UP UP UP happy and certainly not something that lasts... not mania cycles tho. i'm either bleh or occasionally receede into super meh. is that medically sound?
anyway, just pounding out a few thoughts since i'm woefully negligent with this blog.
wish list:
- to eat more salads
- to really get into the groove of being uptown and embrace the change
- start up a hardcore gay porno company & write hardcore scenes at coffee shops with my headphones on "...and that's when the orgy started" would be on a notepad all the time to copy & paste into scripts

tight.

new cartoon i'm absolutely batshit over: Archer. only 4 episodes out but they're phenomenal.






feeling a little run down from the move... i'm too autistic sometimes to cope with simple shit like moving. still getting settled in... i need a set of dresser drawers for my room... sadly my swingin' bachelor clothes rack just doesn't fit. frig. OH NO, NOT A TRIP TO IKEA!!!! yeah, that's how i roll.