in all honesty, i'm too intimidated to put up an actual craig's list post

i was busy working on a new craigs list ad looking for dudes to let me play with their feet when brad interrupted. "any word on if they're hiring at your friends place?"
"huh? yeah... no nothing yet."
"is there anything i can do?"
"just, uh, just gotta sit and wait i guess." fussing with the wording i hated being distracted.
"please don't let me bug you...."
"oh shut it. you can barely maintain eye contact with me if there's a hot guy on the tv in the next room."
"i'm really worried about this!"
"i told you, i can cover rent for a couple of months. just take your time and find something if you don't think the publisher's going to foot the next advance payment."
"i feel sick to my stomach...."
"i'm sorry i insinuated you'd have to take your clothes off to cover the rent. it was a joke."
"no! not that... i feel sick thinking that all this time i put into the book was for nothing."
"you've been able to sell everything you've penned thus far. so what if they don't like this draft? they're just dicking you around to try and squeeze some money out of you. did you talk to your agent like i said?"
"he's on vacation until next week."
"you didn't leave 10 messages on his voice mail freaking out did you?"
"Just three."
"not bad!" i turned back to my laptop and clicked around some more hoping he'd get the hint and vacate.
"what're you working on?"
"an ad to solicit men to let me do sexual things to their feet."
stunned he sat there looking back at my glib expression.
"seriously?"
"yep. i've just had feet on the brain. i want to get a guy to let me wash his feet, then manicure and file his nails. then go to town on them."
"i... see? i didn't know you were into that."
"THAT. That... that? you make it sound like some sort of pooping fetish."
"it's not common!"
"right. it's not doggy style in front of a mirror, must be perverse."
"see, you get so fucking defensive when someone doesn't immediately get your point of view."
"probably because i have a fairly straight forward view on things and it annoys me when someone that's smart and hip gets caught up in what's acceptable vanilla sex and what's taboo."
"really don't need this."
"you can either sit there and help me edit this or you can make a pot of tea and we can sit out on the balcony for a bit."
"maybe i should write out a craigs list post?"
"or we can take the streetcar down to the strip club and get you on stage for amateur night."
"wow! you had that ready to go didn't you?"
"fuck kid, even if i weighed another 60 pounds more than you, i'd be stripping full time. not my fault if i have an eye for talent."
"i just couldn't...."
"$3000 first prize, you know."
"jesus!"
"jesus ain't got nothing to do with it. you think me giving a toe job is bad...."
"what would i have to do?"
"take it off. and i mean, it ALL comes off. last kid i saw win got his junk shaved on stage and got blown for a solid couple of minutes. THAT'S entertainment."
"no! no way i could do that."
"guess you're making tea then huh?"
"maybe i could help with the ad instead."
"suit yourself." [ahem] "M4M 34 y/o looking for nice man feet to worship and suck...."
"forget it. i'm making the tea."
"no wait, i'm not done!" i raised my voice for him to hear in the kitchen. "let me pamper your feet and caress them with my tongue for hours on end."
"ok i get it!"
"...i'm ok with oral or hj's, not looking for sex just your big fee..."
"LA LA LA CAN'T HEAR YOU! TEA PRODUCTION IN PROGRESS!!"
"you're a baby. what the hell do you do in bed? just clean each other like kittens and pass out after some stoic dick kisses?"
"why the fuck do i even talk to you?"
"because all your little friends are vapid and even you need some teasing to remind you that you're smarter than your twinky pack but you're a big fish in a little pond. i'm here to remind you about the ocean out there."
"good GOD! and you're stoned too! what was all this talk about you not smoking weed for a couple of weeks?"
"I said nothing about opium."
"OPIUM! no, like, for real..."
"ya for real. just smoked some before you got in."
"maybe it's better for you to just get stoned."
"no, a promise is a promise. i said no weed and i'm sticking to it."
he popped out from around the corner to look at me. "Can i have some?"
"god no! you can't pay rent, you're sure as shit not getting opium."
"honestly! again! do you think i need that?!"
"what? the opium or comments about rent?"
"fuck this, i'm going to chuck this whole kettle on you."
"go for it. i'll just put up another craigs list ad for someone to come be my sexy nurse and change my cock bandages."

zack is my long lost twin brother

UTSDN.jpg (1280�853)

2 white pit bulls

"nah nah, it's insane. you have to experience it for one day and then you'll really get the breadth of the cuckoos nest they have festering."
"how can one restaurant chain have such a disparity between locations?!"
"i know! i told antony he should do a paper on it for his MBA. it'd be off the hook to do a deep dive analysis of what the fuck is happening. no matter, even the few shifts a week i pick up there are entertaining. like, i know i get to leave and come back here so it's more like a safari."
"you have GOT to be fucking kidding me. this place?" george gestrured wildly towards the restaurant we were sneaking in a joint behind.
i sipped on the smoke for a rapid succession of tokes before launching into my best Fargo impression. "Oh-a yeuah."
"don't even believe you for a minute. you're just trying to get me to cover your shift if you have to work there, aren't you?"
"oh jesus boy, you're so PARANOID!" i knew that gave him a pang of hurt hinting that he could be anything like his newly minted ex boyfriend. who got the boot for being an unrepentant coke head paranoid basket case. which i shouldn't have brought up. let alone mock george for being paranoid... and i really shouldn't have kept saying to myself before my shift "make sure you don't bring up coke, paranoia or money with george tonight" since i know i fixate and can't NOT blurt it out when i'm saying it over and over again. it's like a baby stroller careening out into traffic in slow-mo. my brain is screaming, "aahnoooooo!!" trying to reach for my id kicking me to say something stupid. too late. i had already absently asked george if he wanted to split an 8 ball with me this weekend. and i REALLY didn't mean ask him for that $50 he owed me. i don't even fucking need the money! but boom. this'll be a good conversation! idiot.
and now this. george was looking at me stunned and i put the joint into his mouth.
"i'm sorry."
"did you tell yourself not to say it?"
"yeah."
"did you practice all the way en route to work?"
my head drooped. "oh yeah." sometimes it's a relief when close friends have a working knowledge of your mental illnesses.
"well...." he took great long hauls on the joint and made it clear that i wasn't going to be getting it passed back. "i understand that you tried and failed." he pulled his glasses off the top of his head and tapped them back up the bridge of his nose as he leaned in to me. "TWO WHITE PIT BULLS!!!"
i threw up my hands and let out a hearty italian scream of "OH!"
while it's great when friends know what's poppin' with you on the sanity front, it can be a disadvantage. especially when they're privy to phrases that make me obsess on them for hours, sometimes days. over and over again when i'm walking alone... listen to music, trying to take an order at work. it's nothing terrible, but i will repeat it over and over again. eventually it just fades away, but until then, it's enmeshed in my consciousness.
"well thanks for that, george. you're a fucking saint. you know that?"
"honestly! you hear yourself speak!!"
"hey puppy cakes, you think i can fucking help it?"
"no, well yeah well... fuck it. we better get back in there. you should drop the visine."
way a head of him i was already plopping it in and wiping my eyes down. i had to wait behind him as he put his drops in with him bent over forward. for some reason he'd never been able to you know, DROP them in his eyes from above.
i waited until he was mid fuss to put visine into his other eye and jostled him from behind. "COME ON NOOBINZ! we're going to be late."
"agh! FUCK! really?"
i put my hand up to make a crack about having a lack of impulse control due to brain damage when i actually stopped myself. better add that to the list of shit i shouldn't bring up. wait, i shouldn't put it on a list. or.... like a list but don't think of the list?
"come on you god damned man child! keep this up and you're not coming out to baseball this week."
"oh no! you know how much a forced endeavor that requires me to be outside and do something sporty makes me horny!"
"you shouldn't have signed up as a sub in if you didn't want to play."
i hustled him back into the kitchen to make sure we didn't catch hell for taking a long break.
"YOU! YOU signed me up and told me about it after! you're the one who needs to get a god damned fag hag to do all this shit with."
"you're perfectly aware of how annoying i find straight women. we have an agreement that you cover off all the shit that's missing in my life outside of fucking, dating and clothes selection."
"again, that little arrangement thing was drafted without my consent or knowledge. i'm not going to really buy into it until you get my lawyer a copy to review. look sharp, people already think you're some little polish mail order husband of mine so don't bicker with me."
he spun around to lay into me but thought better of it when he saw my apron being tied on. usually that's when the serious face came out and the guy you talked to on break wafted away leaving a much more severe and unfriendly character.
i strode to my section and mumbled under my breath, "two white pit bulls." shit. this is going to be quite the night on the line.

trick or twink

Trick or twink.

"That's disgusting! Don't call them tricks!"
Enjoying my roost behind my sunglasses i threw back my wine and gave a grunt.
"Don't humph like some silver back gorillia at me!"
"It's distressing to think that you're so far into denial that we're arguing about this. you bring home TRICKS. Tricks are what you pick up at the bar and have a threesome with. Twinks are who you go out on a date with. Get it?"

Gidi was a horrific pouter. Puffing of air, ugly scowl and flipping his head around until someone noticed how furious he was. I am a button pusher. i love how people react when i throw down with them. being introverted and a good listener affords me an enormous reference book of anecdotes, personal history and an instinctual ability to hiss the most cruel insults.

The time i spend with you is merely collecting, not an actual friendship or social interaction. when i was younger i was so depressed and torn up that the time i put into listening to people was never matched. And, really, give me a break. I observe and collect because i'm mentally ill, not because i realistically feel anyone can match that. The ephiphany came to me and I was awash in The Clear. I'm cluttered with sounds, noises, thoughts and demands from my brain. They're always there but I do have eeirie times where it all halts and suddenly it happens. The first time it hit me was when i was very little and I had been trapped in weekly ritual of being savaged by my aunts boyfriend. i might as well have short circuted. I was so agreeable. I was so eager to please and being ripped apart was such a contradiction. But I did what you wanted and you're still punishing me? I was mute and stunned. This went on for a few more rounds with me being a perfect fuck doll that didn't move and also didn't put up a fight.

all the voices in my head that kept me going stopped arguing in these incidents and began screaming. they all sounded different... but in terror they made a sweeping agreement to cry out at the same time. i couldn't believe he didn't hear them all... he had to have heard them shriek and beat the bone on my forehead. there's no way i was the only person who heard it.

each time it was over, i was picked up by my arm and chucked into the shower. he'd leave me in there and i was trained to know i had to wait a bit. inside the tub i felt so out of it... the screaming was calming down... only a few of the voices cried out to me asking what happened while the more stubborn ones left to regroup.

he must have flushed a toilet downstairs and the water went so cold it made me gasp. there it was so clear and focused. no chatter only understanding. instead of my machine gun fire of thoughts and anxiety i was calm.

you need to get dried off and go downstairs. you need to go downstairs and you need to take out the biggest knife in the butcher block and throw yourself into the wall with it pointed to your heart.

up i went and felt as casual as anyone would walking through their house. i took an extra towel to dry off my hair and made my way into the kitchen. the tv was on. i'm sure it must be tiring to rape children, might as well take it easy and catch what's on the tv.

pulling out the big cutting knife i felt it wobble in my small hand as i turned it around. The Calm was still there. a pat on the back telling me i pulled out the right one and it was time to get things finished.

he caught me walking out of the kitchen and calmly asked where i was going with the knife.

"i'm going to kill myself, it's ok."

The Calm stood behind me and i felt like there was a hand on my shoulder squeezing me. be careful....

"No... just give me the knife, ok?"

"it's going to fix things. I don't want to give it to you."

He looked terrified. A dead kid in the house where he was supposed to be babysitting? A dead kid that no doubt would have lead to an investigation and review on why a 10 year old had a blown out asshole and a knife run through him.

But I realized in all my inane chatter with him I had his number. Standing there i felt a tiny river of warm blood run down my leg like a streak of piss. the knife handle felt much lighter and The Calm showed me what it's actual intent was. And I smiled.

"you're in trouble, roger."

"listen, nathan... put the knife down."

"no. I don't think I will. I hurt all over and I don't think your daughter will let you see her kids any more if I tell her what you did to me."

"what?" he couldn't understand what was prompting me.

The Calm hooked a transparent arm around me from behind. A little squeeze. you're doing such a good job.

I was doing a good job, dammit. I saw how much ground I was gaining, how terrified he was that the passive little fatso was turning mean and downright evil.
"Roger you need to understand something... You can't do That anymore to me. Never again. Do you understand?"
"i... I... I do. please put the knife down. your aunts will be home from bingo soon."
"I know."
the dead bolt clapped open. Did The Calm know they'd be home any time now?
i ripped the knife down my left arm in one sweeping cut and let the knife clatter to the floor as I immediately felt faint from the instant steam of blood. down I toppled as my aunts screamed at the mess i made. Roger wasn't around much any more after that.

The Calm wasn't something i could command on a whim, but I was greatful that I found it. The incident let me know just how brutally smart I am manipulating people. I could have just called the police. I could have told a teacher... but no, the only thing Roger didn't rape and fuck was his daughter and grandchildren. The horror in his eyes told me I got to the quick of the issue in the most brutal of methods. It's never left me but served me well thus far. from something so terrible i gained my greatest super power. hurray for me.

yeah i love dub step... and i'm aware it's 2010

LA ROUX - BULLETPROOF (FOAMO DUBSTEP REMIX)



whum whum whumwhummmmmmWHUMWHUM wum. wum. wum....

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.