Bel Ami Shall Not Be Interrupted!!

My roommate had couch surfers over on Sunday and they went on a party tear. It's actually a really cool way to meet people and they were having fun. No biggie! I was a little loathe for them to come over because literally, it's people she hasn't met before who are sleeping on the couch. they were super cool kids tho, so i was definitely unfounded in my paranoia.

The roommate borrowed her parents car for a couple of days before she went out east on vacation. We live in a 3 unit apartment house and there's only one person with a car full time. That being said, the guy with the car doesn't ask for much in terms of the occasional time there's a car. only to give him a heads up. I did attempt to remind her to contact the neighbor. he has the personality of a hard boiled egg but we can just text him.

Sunday Afternoon:
“did you call the neighbors and tell them you’re parking in the driveway?”
“I don’t have to do that…”
“can you CALL so it’s cleared up??”
“whatever. You’re paranoid.”

Cue midnight. Roommate is long gone. I have the upstairs to myself knowing they’re all at a party and won't be back for hours.

Long shower consisting of decadent hops and bergamont body wash and a tiny dot of my roommates super expensive l'occitane shampoo and conditioner. Let me tell you, there IS a difference between $5 and $25/bottle. I shave, worked on my poorly tended to feet and wrap up in the shower.

dosed in clean and delicious scents led me to prance around the house like a freshly scrubbed puppy. i loped around making some tea and smoking a joint without being hampered by pants. as i dried off i began to feel like i should really take advantage of the empty house even more.

So, yeah, this is over-share, but it's worth it for the benefit of a story.

I go to my porno movie collection on my computer and hum over what I want to select. I opted for a newer and younger themed movie. my usual is early 90's pre-condom bear daddy stuff or something decidedly muscular.

But I've watched the burly dude stuff to death and need a change. I go with a super hot BelAmi movie with TWINKIES, which isn’t my usual selection but hey, might as well mix it up.

So I’m literally at the 50% mark in terms of lift off, no clothing, just rave music on the stereo and twinkies and OH! They brought a friend. Hot… yeah that’s hot… so hot… you like it when that Russian comes over to borrow a cup of sugar don’t you? Wuff… oh YEAH! You don’t even wear underwear under your jeans, do you? That's so convenient! Yeah… little sloots…

[wrrrrrrr]
Shut up phone.
[wrrrrrrrrrrrrrr]
F*ck it.
[wrrrrr wrrrrr wrrrrrrr]
JESUS!

[using elbow to turn on phone]
*UNIT C* Oh what do they want… let me guess.
*UNIT C* 12:04AM: “Hi, can you let me know what you’re doing with the car? I can’t pull in.”
GAH!!!

I slap some hand sanitizer on and text the absentee roommate. “YO, need to move the car or text the neighbor to let him know what you’re doing.”
[no response]
*UNIT C* 12:29AM: “hi, I’ve been out here for 20 minutes… what are we doing with the car?”
Texting Roommate: “SAM I can’t move the f’ing car, what do you want me to do?” [i literally can't. i don't have a drivers license.]
Roommate Response: “KEYS ARE DOWNSTAIRS!”
Texting Roommate: “so the neighbor can move your car?”
ANGRY ROOMMATE RESPONSE: “YES!!! GOD!!”

So I’m preeeeeeeetty ticked off at this point.

Like I can’t hear most sounds or process colour because I’m that furious.

I just barely dress in a tshirt and my rattiest shorts and storm downstairs to grab the keys. My hair is soaking wet, my tshirt is on inside out and I managed to grab the only pair of shorts on the floor that legally require me to wear them with underwear. never mind that there were 4 other ones i should have grabbed.

Flinging the door open, I see the neighbor on the porch and snap my fingers to point at him like some d*key Clint Eastwood.
“HEY! Can you move the car in further? I don’t care if you wreck it.”
“oh.. uh… sure I can move it no problem…. What time does she need out of the driveway…”
“F**K HER. IF SHE CAN’T GET HER PLANS SORTED TO DO THIS I DON’T CARE!”
“oh… uh… it’s not a big deal I just didn’t want to get a ticket parking on the roa….”
“WHATEVER, just move it and throw the keys in the bushes after!!!” [I’m pretty sure I was foaming at the mouth by this point]
“okay…?”

Buddy moves the car and brings the keys back. “Hey sorry to have woken you up I apprecia…”

At this time I’m muttering to myself smoking and really sounding like I’m some schizophrenic homeless guy and he just slinks off looking over his shoulder.

It took me another 40 minutes to loop back to the point where I was pre-interruption and let me tell you, it was an angry, angry w*nk. And I don’t think those twinky boys deserved to be called all those names.

the in the out the in the out THE IN THE OUUUUUTTTTTAAAAAAH

so... i'm never one to be positive but things are moving along quite nicely. i feel confident in getting a good place to live if i move to Toronto. i'm still up in the air about a job, but even then i feel, ugh, hopeful.

i like the idea of putting little morsels of change out to the universe and seeing all the opportunities that unfold. GOD I WANT TO DIE WRITING THAT OUT. \

but it's true.

and i think i'm going to make it.

in the meantime, time to look at more j-o-b-s.

"hi, friend!"

walking into the apartment, i thought for a moment that a cult had offed itself in the living room. sprawled figures in the most mild form of rest twitched and groaned... the couch was loaded to capacity... and my antique mirror from Ireland had become an impromptu mission control centre laying on it's back.
stepping between some legs i reached down for it to take a close look. no scratches other than what it already came with. good. and amusingly enough, there was about $80 of magic still sitting on it. not one to waste i took out my wallet to find a card to scrape it up. i left no more than 3 toots in the baggie that was crumped on top of the mirror and deftly scooped up the bulk of it into my empty dime bag. a refill! how convenient.
i looked around as the baggy snapped shut in my fingers. this was pure devastation and destruction all 'round. you know it's bad when no one wakes up as the coke gets stolen. even in my most blank of blackouts i would have roused and gone bonkers. something tells me these kids don't need any more.
down the hall my bedroom door was open and i felt the twitching start. oh no. oh god. oh please no... tell me there weren't dirty-pawed twinkies running through my room. i pulled my gordie howe hockey stick off the wall mount as I got closer to the and used it to thud the door fully open. Brad was passed out length-wise on my bed in what could only be described as a failed effort to put clothing on before he blacked out. he got a shirt on and that was about it. a big part of me wanted to take a picture. a bigger part of me wanted to spear his ass with the hockey stick and haul him off the bed like a strip of bacon. but i loved that stick and i couldn't live with myself knowing it'd always smell tangy. it'd be like fingering someone with a religious relic. might not bother some people but i couldn't live with myself.
but i did want to sleep... and the thought of having to wake up in a couple hours to a full house of rumblings didn't appeal to me much. i wondered if i had enough money to go to a hotel... then remembered that i spent it all partying for 4 days in a row. to be fair, it was work-related so i wasn't being frivolous.
hopping on the bed i realized my options were to push Brad off and potentially give him a concussion hitting the floor or attempting to share the bed with him. Both were sketchy. after a solid two days up raging and partying i was on that silky cusp of being calm or weeping like a lost child.
I grabbed a towel off the floor and tucked it around brad's bare ass before dragging his legs around to gain more real estate on the bed. thank god i have a king sized bed.
turning him around i tried to remember how you prop someone up so they don't choke on puke. i fussed for a few seconds before giving up and settling down onto the mattress.
finally, life emits from within. a groan. brad lifted his head up for a moment and it thudded back down. gone as fast as it arrived.
i propped up the hockey stick beside my bed and began rooting around in my drawer. lube, a different kid of lube, that lube for jerking off, the other lube so you can whack off for a long time... poppers? that's where that bottle went. that buttplug i really like... a vibrator... condoms. probably expired. boys that i lure in here usually bring their own anyway. more lube?? good god, for someone who gets laid once a month this sure is a drawer of hope springs eternal. note to self: don't buy more lube until the current stock is depleted.
pills! surely to god i have something in here. ativan? come on. there has to be some. i had successfully run up 4 separate prescriptions for it so there has to be a bottle kicking around. or my sleeping meds? no where to be seen. ugh. there's the anti depressants i never started taking. that's useless. advil... no too far gone for that. perkasets? huhhhhhhhhhhhh no. not with all the liquor and lack of food in me. i was on the verge of having a screaming fit ripping the drawer out and smashing it against the wall. what kind of horror movie plot would that be? "old fag monster attacks!"
wait. THERE YOU ARE! rascal. smarty pants me stuck the rainbow of sleepy/tweeking out meds into a tiny case. all in one super smart spot. fuck i amaze myself sometimes.
One ativan and pray that the glass of water beside my bed isn't too terribly old.
ahhhhh. there. now i just have to sit here patiently for 30 minutes for it to filter me down into sleep.
i dug my phone out and started clicking through it as Brad rolled over.
"huhwuh? why are you in my bed?"
"sorry, are you playing the part of me in the matinee production of "We're a Fucking Disaster"?"
"what?"
"you're in my room turkey."
"do i have pants on?"
"that would be a negatory. you have a towel tho. forgive me for not checking to see if it's jizz-free."
"what?! I don't feel good... what time is it?"
"11am. I just got in from Vegas a couple of hours ago."
"whu... what? you said you wouldn't be back until Monday!"
"no i go back to work on Monday. I come home Sunday so i can sleep."
"is everyone gone?"
"no i'd say everyone is actually still here. they're all passed out in the living room. you might have broken the record for most people in the apartment."
"how many are out there?"
"18... 20?"
he tried to sit up and failed miserably.
"no... oh god where did they all come from?"
"you don't even KNOW who they are?!" i hauled my leg up and hoofed brad off the bed with a mighty whomp.
he screamed a little as he rolled out of the towel and onto the unforgiving laminate flooring.
"get the FUCK out there and get them OUT of the apartment! if you know them they can stay. and get some fucking panties on. jesus."
"well they're in my room!"
"you want panties?" now i was mad. "i'll give you some fucking panties!" i snatched up the hockey stick and fished a decidedly dirty pair of boxers off the floor and snapped it across the bed.
"put them on and get the god damn twinkies out. daddy is tired and does not NEED THIS!"
he looked understandably disgusted at the option of putting my shorts on but it was better than standing up naked in front of me.
"shut that door behind you. I'm setting my alarm for 6pm so we can talk later."
he was flopping around trying to cover his dick up in boxers that were easily 3 sizes too big for him.
"you always have parties!"
"yeah the difference is you don't wake up to god damn fucking Jonestown after it's over! less talk, more twinky removal. LET'S GO!" i was tempted to crack the stick on the wall to show i mean business, but no, Gordie... I can't do that to Gord.

AVAILABLE: TORONTO ROOMMATE

for those in toronto or know of people in toronto, i'm starting to get down to bidness about looking for places to live. and i'm pretty sure on my own isn't an option right now to keep the cost of living down, so i want to share a place. on the off chance someone sees this:

AVAILABLE: TORONTO ROOMATE FOR SEPTEMBER-ISH
quiet until spoken to nerdy pothead looking for a roommate in September. very laid back, always willing to fix shit instead of being a passive aggressive cunt.

well-trained with dishes, common area clean ups. hard of hearing so can't creep you fucking in the next room & listen to music with headphones 99.73% of the time.

i'm an only child so i thrive in having a room where i can turn it into my fiefdom of awesome. definitely not straight edge, but not the type who stays up until 7am blasting coke and fingering prostitutes on your couch. more like i come home after 2 bottles of wine and the worst thing that happens is i get you cornered in the kitchen and insist on talking about decoupage DIY art projects. [hint: you tell me there's cheese in the fridge and i will immediately ignore you and you can scamper off]

Because i've never lived in the city i have some ill-conceived notion about places i'd like to live so i better not rattle off all my "ideal" locations. suggestions taken freely tho, even if you don't want to live with me.

What says y'all? Pretty much, i want a room and someone to split the rent with who won't terrorize me or be standoffish. a chill person who appreciates chill living spaces. i won't make you feel like i need a babysitter nor will i hijack your plans. god damn, i hate it when people do that.

Bonus Speed Round: comic book fan, will go to damn near any concert with you, will fawn over your art projects willingly, movie buff, owns a sewing machine, closeted amateur makeup and aesthetician, the biggest faggy queer girl you'll ever meet and will make you vegan/veggie dinners if you don't mind me making a steak once a week when you're gone. hell, i can even cook/adhere to kosher standards if that sweetens the deal.

what's poppin' toronto?

ok let's do this

still trying to figure out what i want to do job-wise but i'm feeling like the moment of zen is approaching. like, i feel good even tho things aren't resolved in the slightest. instead of feeling like a hundred plates are mid air and ready to crash, it's more manageable.

i'm notorious for making waves of demands on myself and then overwhelming my senses. brilliant. and horrifyingly counter productive. instead i'm trying to break off some nibbles.

and yes, this is like an extended tweet of baloney bullshit, but hey, you can stop reading at any time. NO! COME BACK! I promise i'll post something good after.

in the meantime:
* jenny lynn necklace - i want to make a new one but need to find a space where fatty dingdong kitty can't get into my crap. i've had 3 aborted attempts. i think fat-body is outside and then she runs in. it's like she knows i don't want her around. god i hate cats so much.

* resume update - OH GOD HELP ME! i do not/am not capable of creating a generic resume. i've been in a bubble for so long and it's entirely worded for applying within the company i'm at now. aka FUCKING USELESS for applying to other places. i know i can look stuff up online but i need someone to slap me around and pull my hair a little to get me in the mood to fix it.

* get my profile posted to monster.ca & other job boards to make sure i'm at least primed and ready to go if there's something i need to apply to ASAP.

all do-able.

Gorillaz - Rhinestone Eyes

1/2 a pack of smokes every day, sometimes more. too much weed: always. buffered by alcohol, assorted recreational drugs and a passion for red meat made me a thick boy. thick and out of shape. but no matter what the state of my body was, present me with a chance to brawl and i will bound into action. it was a thrill to get torqued up and go nuts. something that i didn't get to enjoy often but i was panting softly and warm with my own self-worth as a fighter.

naturally, the first night that Brad allowed himself to go slumming and take me to the bar with him this shit happens. i was a good boy, hanging back and only chatting when engaged. never stepping on his dick if a hot guy wandered past. strictly decoration.

i made sure i was muzzled down with a 1/4 bag of blow. where the average cat can't shut up when they're on it, the same doesn't happen with me. in real time, i never shut up. ever. but flip that up my nose and all i can do is nod and listen. one night when i split an 8 ball with my ex we counted 128 words that i said over the course of 8 hours. i know that it's an easy fix when i don't want to open my trap and embarrass myself.
i slugged back a bottle of water and walked to the bathroom. everything flipping in and out of the lights. arms up dancing, arms around bodies... my arms pushing back my shoulders to give them some purpose instead of diddling the baggie in my jean pocket. i wonder if my eyeliner looks ok still?
springy steps with a small turn up of my lips. happy to get high and happy to be drowning in steamy dance floor funk. oh my wonderful urban life! look! there's a boy grabbing another guys dick! and there's that bartender i submitted a demo tape for! [he couldn't get it up on command]

i caught the look at two boys standing by the hall to the can. as always i assumed it was disgust seeing my fat body walk around with an unheard of confidence. or at least their understanding was that the ugly didn't have any confidence. nothing to me. i was so close that no one would hold my attention for long.

girls washroom is for taking a piss. boys is for fucking and drugging. never mix those things up in a gay bar.

i walked in and heard a thud of someone being pressed up against a stall in use. joyous rapture! there was an empty stall with a buffer between the sweet love that was on the verge of spurting out.
a scooch on the tiles made me turn around. a friendly blond parasite had followed me in with another little bud. i was thrilled that brad would tolerate being in such tight quarters with me, save the addition of a friend.
piling into the stall i made the tag along take the tight spot and i was afforded the luxurious wall with no toilet paper dispenser on the side. key out, dip and whiff.
"it's good..."
nodding vigorously.
"hey are you ok?"
"he's fine. he can't talk when he's on it."
"really?! I can't shut up!"
eyebrow up and nodding.
he looked to brad, "seriously, he won't talk?"
"ugh. you can talk to him he just won't reply unless it's really important."
"oh... my turn!"
doling out the medicine to the babies i had a final one for myself. i pointed to the door to herald our departure.
sniffing and schwacking noises of raped sinuses trumpeting our arrival to the hall. the tag along was giggling and walked a head to go grab another drink at the bar. brad and i checked our phones and walked in tandem. i was in the middle of deciding who i was going to respond to when i saw brad fall behind. i looked back and he had turned around to talk to someone. or at least i thought it was talk. a tanned hand gripped his forearm and applied noticeable pressure. he yanked brad in and said something harsh.
i swell in those moments. saturated in my muscle memory of being beaten or seeing violence looming in a patient when i used to work at a mental hospital. it's that big moment where everything in me expands and i'm king fucking kong coming onto the scene. moving quickly back to brad a hand grabbed my by the shoulder and hauled me roughly.
"where are YOU going? this doesn't concern you."
turning around i looked up at some Slavic cheeks and a mean stare. well, sorry punk-ass. daddy says not tonight.
gripping his wrist i turned the screws on and pinched it. it's a tidal wave of agony to experience. and that's why i was so good at it. the eyes tell everything. and it radioed loudly that it hurt. yanked him down to my face and pushed my fingers down even harder. he was full of panic that he was in over his head and his backup was busy. which reminded me, time to save the baby.
goon trapped in one hand i dragged him over to the other scene.
"let him go. brad..." head gesture of c'mon.
"MAYBE YOU SHOULD LET US TALK!"
"maybe i break his arm?" i hauled up goon two's arm for a look-see and he groaned.
the associate was now squeaking and panting. "let... let... let me go! it's going to break!"
"no, long way off. brad. now."
we were having a standoff. two arms snapped in a rage trap and neither of us willing to let go. normally i'm an eloquent bastard in these situations. talking around someone to diffuse a bomb or being so smarmy that the attention was focused on me. my powder muzzle wouldn't slip off and i couldn't say a word.
"who's this?! who's this guy?!"
"it's my..." his head tipped backwards in reaction to the grip. "my roommate."
"so this roommate and you just like taking off to fuck in the bathroom?"
"no that's not what... we..." deep sucking breath and i know he was in pain.
the hand goes off goon two and i rushed at goon one. this time i went for the throat and plugged my palm over his adams apple and dug an index finger and thumb under his jaw. apply pressure and be ready for hands to grapple your arms. no matter, it just makes me grip harder.
he made a glucking noise and didn't know what to do next. that's when i got the punch to the back of the head. Goon two had made a recovery and pegged me in the back of the head. stunned i let go to turn around and duck a fist and swoop my knee up to blast his crotch. threat down, turn around. in that short time the unnamed goon had started laying punches out but Brad had finally kicked into gear and was fighting back. trying to go back to help i realized we were all getting herded out by security as we clawed and flailed around. who says fags can't fight?
my tenure at Ironwood Bar gave me the luxury of never getting turfed out. they assumed it was me being picked on and i threw my hands up in a silent "woo!" as the goons were pitched down the stairs in a whirl of white shirts and well-made jeans.
Brad was shaking and standing behind me as i turned to a bouncer to try and stammer out some sort of sentence.
Down the stairs the monsters were woozy but coming back to life.
"YOU FAT PIECE OF SHIT! I'LL KILL YOU! YOU DON'T CROSS ME! I KNOW WHERE YOU TWO LIVE, I'LL KILL YOU AND I'LL KILL THAT STUPID DOG I ALWAYS SEE YOU WITH!"
boom.
no, you can call me fat. you can call me a piece of shit. because i am, in fact, a fat piece of shit. but you don't tell me you're going to murder my godchild Maude. not ever.
after the fact, my friend Jason who was out having a smoke recounted my epic fury. there were only 4 steps to the sidewalk but i leaped up like a berserker Wolverine and jumped on them with my fist up. A collective "oh!" came from the smoking section and i dropped my fist into whatever face i could get a hold of. all i remember is being pulled off by three bouncers as the goons were laid out, woozy and winded from 215 pounds taking a flying jump onto them. they took off before i could tell someone to grab them. slobbering in tongues i was delirious with anger and didn't care when i was dropped from waist height onto the neighboring stoop.
typical wimp, after it's all done is when i start to cry. or at least i would have if the coke wasn't still burning through me. i wanted to yell but nothing would come out. just take a minute. catch your breath.
noise noise out of my view and Brad was chucked out and told to not come back. i kept looking up as his shoes padded over to me.
eyes looking down from the sky. "good god, are you all right?"
nodding.
"i've never seen you go off like that."
"i've never seen you get roughed up like that without kicking up a stink."
he plopped down and checked out his hands. blood and rips and smears. we were both biohazzards.
remind me to never go to the bar with you again.
too bad i couldn't actually say it.
out of breath and thinking about puking i laid on the stairs waiting for Brad to say something.
brad slumped over up and patted at his already swollen lip. he didn't look too bad. nothing an icepack couldn't fix. then he dipped his head down low in reflection to sigh.
chills, horror, sickness...
an enormous hank of his hair had gotten yanked out in our small fisticuffs exchange.
there it was. the dimensions of a fist spread out... bare skin with patchy outcroppings of hair in between. something that would be simply impossible to hide.
"oh.... no."
"oh no what? hey, what the hell is wrong with you? you're so pale."
slowly pulling myself up i leaned over to him and put a firm hand on top of his head to turn it sidways. My shakey hands reached up and touched the skant patch of ripped out hair. i was shocked he couldn't feel it throbbing, must be riding high on the chemical joy of brawling.
"wh... what?" his hand darted up to feel. now i really wanted to get sick. that kind of rage has a texture... a feel... and it was pouring out of him.
"brad, wait."
up and steadying for a moment. we were a little punch drunk at this point.
"Brad...i..."
i'm sure the night air zipped over the bald spot making it tangible. he was striding out like john wayne down the street, no doubt trying to catch up with the goons. great, this isn't settled. i was thankful that i didn't have a bloody nose at least.

cardigan love

“no no, it’s the one that’s on the top rack. Yeah. That one. Can you pull one down in my size?”

I watched as my new boyfriend tottered around on a step ladder trying to hook a cardigan for me. He ascended to the tips of his toes making his Converse shoes squeak and whine attempting to hold him up. The best part? I had already come in earlier in the week to do the exact same thing. But he didn’t seem to remember me as vividly as I did him.

My “boyfriend” was some dashingly bright-faced kid working at American Apparel. I was loathe to admit to people that I shopped in there and worse still was me flying off the handle to defend the classic items from there that I bought. It’s not like I was getting kitted out in skinny jeans and some neon abortion trendy shirt. I stuck to simple things like tshirts and v-neck shirts… and my irreplaceable cardigan. On the down low I was a closeted nail polish freak and usually applied something horrible to my feet. It’s not like anyone was around wanting to suck on them so who gives a frig?

Back to the cardigan.

No.

The Cardigan.

It was perfect. it mated well with a shirt/tie combo or draped over a tshirt. It managed to always hang onto my cedar and sandalwood oil cologne regardless of how many times it was cranked through the laundry. In fact, my love affair with the American Apparel Boy was sparked from him gripping my forearm and taking in a deep whiff of the cologne one day when I stopped in.

“What IS that?!” [deep inhale] “oh god… it’s so nice.” [snuffing up and down like a little puppy] “I love this!”

I narrowly avoided letting the boy see my eyes roll back in the throngs of joy. Or how I was starting to lean in to kiss the back of his head. I can’t help it! You don’t just watch a puppy! You LOVE the puppy. Still, in this case I know a metaphor can only extend so long before you get charged with 3rd degree assault sucking on what is more than likely underage ear lobes.

“it’s just a little something I like to whip up…. For… special occasions.” Deep breath and will the boner to die down.

“mmm it’s yummy!”

You’re yummy. I could just lick my two fingers and stuff it right up…

Ahem.

“yeah! Thanks! I could…” no. don’t come up with an excuse to lure him to your house. But you live just around the corner… he could come over for tea and a rim job. I bet he tastes like jellybeans.

Jelly beans?!?

Where the hell did that come from?

“I could write it down for you. Or like…” I felt dizzy. His tight little shirt was rolling up at the side and I wanted to give him a savage hickey.

“like I could just… ahem… clothes. Yes. Yes I need clothes.”
“sure! What’re you looking for?”

American Apparel by definition was well-stocked with useless twits who looked at me wandering around with a mixture of pity and disdain. A few levels away from what one does when a homeless guy wanders in. you don’t want to make eye contact but you want to come up with a way to get the threat hustled out the door as soon as possible. I may be dumpy and unpalatable compared to the demographics they aimed for, but god damn it! I have money that I want to waste on over-priced clothing items too!

For the most part I resisted any help from sales staff because simply, they weren’t helpful. A request to find something was usually akin to asking them to stab a child in the face. Undesirable and unthinkable. It cut into social chatting time which was primarily catty conversations and picking at sparkly tights that were forever creeping up their skinny asses. It became a challenge to impulse shop in there without alerting anyone to my presence. Sure, there were a few people who tracked me down but I would gesture wildly to the items I had already picked up to indicate that no intervention was required. This plan worked well until Twinky Puppy.

Twinky Puppy had that rare mix of youth and an actual understanding of how retail works. That being, you help sell things to customers and in fact, encourage them to purchase more. And that golden rule shines all the more clearly with a good looking soul flush with a passion to help. So my little friend crested out from behind a rack of 80’s styled shirts and avoiding the stereotype of angels calling from the skies, I will just say I was thrilled to see him. And it’s never angels for me. It’s usually a dark filter and purple smoke. I prefer something a little more metal when daydreaming about boys.

Back to the moment and an eager face asking if I need help.
oh yes you can.
“yep, I’m looking for this cardigan in another colour.”
“what colour?”
“all of them.”
“what size?”
“xl I believe.”
“oo, really? I don’t think they make it in xl.”

He boldly grabbed a corner and turned it out to look at the size tag. Wouldn’t you know? It’s a large. Too bad I’ve come in here 4 other times and begged the sales staff to look for an xl and none of them have come to the realization that it doesn’t even exist.

“large! Sure let me go grab some. Hey!”
“ya?”
“how do you feel about double-breasted cardigans?”
“violently opposed to them. Like I need to wear something that accentuates how my body shape is refrigerator-like.”
“I don’t like badmouthing the product…” [swooning with pride that a sales person understands these things] “…but I think they’re super ugly. They only really work on super tall and super skinny. I look like I’m wearing my mom’s sweater… not hot.”
“ah, I’m sure you can get away with it… but they’re certainly a horrifying idea to update the look of something classic like a cardigan.”

He grinned and looked wiggly as he rooted around for a size for me.

Awash in thoughts of him gripping the rack and screaming as I railed him into the ugly neon shirts littered with over-sized graphics….

“here’s one!”

“nice! Well I’ll take this one for now….” And come in obsessively for the next month and buy each colour from you.

That’s not TOO terribly unhealthy. At least it’s not like the boy in the coffee shop that I creeped the hell out of when I offered to give him a ride home on the handlebars of my bike. You learn from those experiences…

"m as in mancy!"

progressive drum and bass thudded in the background as i picked away at some leftover bits of cucumber i had sliced up. this was my wall of productivity... all factors such as alienating music, mincy snack foods and the desire to avoid distractions was powerful. i was in that zone and it was safe to say i wouldn't be coming out for a few hours. fuck i love coming into the office on the weekend. it's not like i got up early to come in. late afternoon, a dead zone that afforded me to turn on music and clutter up a space much larger than what i normally can during the week.
i was multitasking a bunch of windows and pondered if it would be too late to fire the catering company i had signed up with. i didn't even give a shit-ass that it was tacky, they had done nothing but piss me off and i felt like it would be a safe win to clean house and get someone on board who was hungry. someone who would be on point knowing that my shifty face had jettisoned the competition.
no... i probably shouldn't fire them. they do a ton of contract work for pasha and it would make his life miserable. chaffs my ass to know that a friend of his would sandbag a lucrative contract.
next. next. next. it's quite a lot to wrangle all these events and opportunities but for once in my life i was passionate about it. passionate about pornography. go figure. i had no ethical apprehensions about working for a massive porno site. i managed to find a place that could balance my common sense passion for business with the sex industry. i can't believe i didn't think of looking into this sooner. typical, i find a job that i'm thrilled about and i can't talk about it with my family. it's not that i'm ashamed of it per se, just more ashamed that i went from lucrative desk jobs that one can brag about to abstract explanations about what i do for a living. i don't have a problem with smut, but a lot of people do. and that's ok! i get it! but i find myself straddling the line between stone cold lying to someone and flat out saying i moderate 30+ posting boards on porn sites. "oh i make sure there's no lame content or something that's under age. you know. the usual." like people know what the use' is in the porn industry.
for a long time my identity had been wrapped up in my job. i was a secretary for years after university. the sick thing? i was really good at it and enjoyed it. a fucking fag secretary, doling out post-it note messages to VP's... running down a list of appointments and meetings while absently adjusting a tie. they didn't even realize how chokingly GAY it all was and neither did i. i maned a reception desk on an floor full of executives. mostly out of office, always flitting around silently and never bugging me save for one an hour at most. i sat there like an advisor on display. resolute that i wasn't as prized as the men i tended to, but more powerful than other secretaries in the building.
i never lorded over any one. in fact i became the back up bitch for the front desk reception because i was so gosh dahn patient with people on the phone. and for this kind gesture i was seen as The One to consult to. i was king shit of the secretaries but certainly wouldn't talk down to anyone. the man who can talk to the downtrodden. etc.
thriving and making a name for myself [although the president of the company only called me Josh instead of Nathan. whatever.] i felt proud. but there was a nasty pull in my mind. i hesitated when describing what i did. i did communications, presentations, held my own during planning sessions and could be trusted with shit that was more expansive than my britches. sure i could try and layer in all that but when it comes down to it, i was the secretary and there's no point jazzing it up with anything more than that. i got hung up on conversations that i should be doing something more. well more what? i don't have any business training, i'm at a grade 7 level of math... and? can someone tell me what i'm supposed to do when i grow up? because apparently i can't be left to my own decision tree on this shit. i aim too low.
i pushed on... i jammed my foot in the door for project work. then more specialized projects. i was the bottom bitch because i didn't have any designations or schooling around what i was toiling over and it was an acknowledgment of my role in the corporate hamster cage. i didn't like it. to be a whiny, spoiled brat: i didn't like it. i did well at it. i made a ton of money but my heart was so far gone i ceased to remember a morning when i didn't wake up horrified. an existential weight on my chest screaming questions and demanding to know why i was doing something that sucked the life out of me.
because it's a good job! because you don't have to tell people you're the fucking secretary! because you're supposed to hate your job and why resist the feeling? it'll always be there. you're always going to hate your job.
i managed to drag myself into work for months with this hazy anger floating around my head. there was more money given to me. there were always praises. short of fresh cedar shavings to line the bottom of my cage, what more could i ask for?
in whispered conversations with coworkers i talked about leaving. i was hissed at and shut down. you don't walk away from a job like this. not after your resume was so greatly beefed up as the result of being here.
turning to friends outside of work i was shot down again. all jabbed angry fingers into my shoulder. snarly reminders that they had been trying to make a break into my employer. appalled that i would even think about walking away from a holy grail scenario.
after all that, there was nothing left to do but turn inwards. heaping stern lectures on myself that i couldn't possibly do any better, and simply, i'd never be happy anywhere else so what's the problem? wouldn't someone rather take the money than a lesser job that i'll hate just as much?
and every morning i woke up. and it took a little longer to sit up. i felt like a stain laying under the blankets. thinking that if i looked up at the ceiling just a little bit longer i'd get some sort of an answer. not surprisingly, there's not a hell of a whole lot that can be divined from white paint and a solitary light fixture.
i was beefing up on anti anxiety medications to keep a float. i nervously smoked alone to buy myself 15 minutes away from my desk. the time outside made my legs shake contemplating walking back inside and i noticed i stopped eating lunch entirely. which, when you're a hog like me, is a sign that some thing's REALLY off.
my only moments of happiness came when i left the building and when the straight boy next door neighbor invited me over to watch the baseball game. i don't even fucking understand baseball but sure enough it became my focal point. i rushed home from work to make elaborate heterosexual-centric snack foods and scoured the liquor store for fancy beer. but not too faggy fancy. i successfully cleaved off my shitty work days simmering on the couch with Will and a fascinatingly huge television. i would repeat things he said to me in the form of a question. i began doing some initial leg work on the team who was playing to string together a cohesive dialog and deflect from the fact that the first time we met i was wearing only boxers and a bandanna tied around my neck. it's not my fault i had to run out and break up the cat fighting with the neighborhood badass tom.
it worked for us and i didn't even mind when he wiggled down the couch one night and put his head in my lap. literally i had hit the point where baseball went from abstract running around to something i could get involved in. i let him lay his head down and moved my hand to play with his hair. we didn't acknowledge anything and instead yelled at the tv in unison if there was a bad call.
long story short we would up making to the half way point in games before fucking around on the couch for the remainder of the game... and it became needlessly complicated when he complained that i was using him for sex since i showed no interest in calling him up for a date. i had completely blocked out any responsibility to another human... and had utterly spaced on the fact that i had been doling out impromptu blow job workshops on some straight boy who was curious and decided to test things out on the neighbor fag. when he confronted me after we had wanked off and i'm not ashamed to say i had held him tight to look over his shoulder at a smashing home run that wrapped up the game.
"listen, what are we doing here? are you just using me for sex?"
well this isn't sex sex. this is just mucking about.
and let's get real: i was using him for the tv hooked to cable hooked to the MLB package channel that played while i got to sit on a really comfortable couch. compound that with the recent spate of getting some heavy petting sessions i had successfully found a zen spot. i blurred out the crushing hatred of work by running home in the evenings to go home & change before leaving again. i wasn't even thinking about anything that was crashing down around me, just memorizing batting orders and guiding the back of the neighbor boys head down my cock.
poor bill was sitting at the end of the couch going flush waiting for me to reply.
"bill, i'm... i'm so sorry. i should never have made you feel like you were being used. i should... [oooooo nice catch] go."
he followed me to the door and tried to think of something to say. he caught my wrist before i turned out the door and i yanked it away. i felt disgusting for using some poor boy as my xanax replacement and couldn't look him in the eye.
"wait... i didn't mean to make you upset i just wanted to talk about if you... and i could..."
yanking my wrist away i waived my hand to stop him and walked out. i've never coped well with confrontations.
i went home to an empty house and sat down on my bed to collect my thoughts. my phone buzzed off and it was Bill. "oh god, go away..."
"listen bill...."
"just let me come up."
"whatever."
i hung up and waited to hear him pop over. maybe there'd be some american beauty shit and he was coming over to shoot me? always thinking two miserable steps a head.
"nathan?"
"upstairs."
he wasn't crying but looked pale and upset. "can we not call this anything and i just come in here and lay in bed with you for a while?"
"bill, you're a cute boy. you don't need to be hanging out with me for a cuddle."
he looked so dejected and i rolled my eyes and pointed to the bed. he rolled in and folded up neatly into my shoulder. he felt... ugh. warm. i relaxed a little and felt him loosen up as well. this was nice. i think i had spent close to 3 years with my head up my ass with my job. i figured i was so mental trying to keep afloat that i couldn't even imagine inviting someone into my mindspace.
and there i was. this soft straight boy who had lovingly taught me that RBI's had nothing to do with ribs or that there were reasons behind changing the pitcher other than he was an asshole. beyond my better judgment and stern efforts to be unattractive i had caught something in a snare. even if it was just a temporary pit stop it felt warm. and nice. and made me recall something.... that i was allowed to feel happy and it was something i owed to myself. not me being happy about my own fucked up wants, but making other people happy and doing some good instead of being this mental leech on people.
i'll skip all the flooding thoughts and feelings i got holding this pudgy straight boy who had a taste for the cock close to me. his shirt smelled so nice and delicious. and there you have it. i felt so happy and content that it flooded my logic.
i spent another month ramping up the drive to quit and start looking for something else. after all my previous conversations with friends about how miserable i was, there wasn't much need to tell anyone before i left. i gave my notice and let people try to send me email forwards to my work email and see it get bounced back.
just to keep people guessing i took a job in a coffee shop and enthralled ex coworkers who came in with a large smile that they had never seen streaked across my face and gripped my midsection to jiggle and emphasize what weight had fallen off me with no real change in diet.
i schlepped coffee, came home to feed Bill and make out or just read a book while he chewed on the articles in Men's Health. it was grounding and i couldn't believe all the sights and sounds that were available with my head popped out of my ass.
after all that miserable time spent doing something that didn't make me happy i really believe that's when i opened my fucking eyes to see what was out there and that it was a hell of a whole lot more appealing to Pasha to hire a friend who was mentally stable vs one who needed a pill for each major meal of the day to ensure no one died in my presence.
as squeamish as i get about my current job and what it means to other people, i do feel smug that i managed to nail down a career that provides me with rent payment but no urgent desire to die every morning before i commute to the office. what a wonderful shift.

Via Audio - Digital

crispy

it's already starting to get retardedly hot in the house... i can tell already i'm going to have a hissy fit or breakdown and pay a friend to help me set up the huge a/c i have in my window.

i do keep in mind if i over talk something it falls flat... but i have been making myself cook a lot more. which is amazing for me because i've been such a swinging bachelor with meals. i've looked in the fridge and only seen 2 types of mustard, aged cheddar [2 year minimum PLEASE] and a brita water jug. at least i always seem to have crackers to pair with the cheese and mustard.

the new roommate is trying to eat well after a very organic and earthy diet during a 2 month trip to Hobbit Land. aka New Zealand. not that we're being insanely good... i drank a can of pop today and she had what can only be described as a catastrophic amount of corn nuts. it really helps that she works in a fancy-tits restaurant and i attempt to woo her from being reluctant to try my cooking. i'm rather bad with getting a few things down pat and then not straying too far so i'm taking the all of 3 seconds needed to look up shit that i think is tasty and do a check to see what's in the fridge.

currently i have a total bug up my ass to make apple crisp but feel like it's going to get swamp ass hot in the kitchen if i turn the oven on. cool air is pouring into the windows that we were clever enough to get open so a few more bowls, a couple more pints of water and maybe it'll be go time... although i'm thinking i might chicken out and just open a can of rice pudding and add some cinnamon & mango slices. mmm... bland. my kind of dessert.

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.