found aphorism:
"beware a man in brown boxers."
it looks like i'm gonna be staying at my current address for a while yet: i just paid next month's rent.
yesterday's resolution of examining my motives regarding the whole sex thing was completely shot to hell in what i guess is now my typical fashion: i go out & have my first one night stand.
after moping around for a couple of hours, i lost interest (but not before eating a whole bag of chips) & started reading the weeks-worth of newspapers that i've let pile up in my room, found a listing for a midnight screening of an art house film about transformation, went to see it & was suitably perplexed, had a bunch of change left & so spent it on a large cup of coffee to keep me awake on the way back home.
by then, it's almost 3 in the morning but it turns out there's a party going on in the basement of my building & my flatmate figures it's a good time to get me formally introduced to the neighbors. i go down there in my hyper-caffeinated state & it's a regular debauchery-and-rock 'n' roll kind of party but they've just run out of booze so i'm sitting there on the couch all twitchy & get meet-and-greeted by an absurd shitload of people who i'm sure don't remember me either. it is somewhere then when i get my first kiss from a girl. it was on the forehead, though.
watching drunk people (& compulsively righting knocked-over pieces of furniture) is no fun so i (quite logically) accept the invitation of some guy-with-his-ass-falling-out-of-his-pants' invitation to go back to his friends' place where there's still beer to be had. i mean, i had my pointy-toed, balls-kicking boots on & they seemed to be a pretty harmless trio: totally wasted & limp: i could take care of myself.
then followed several hours of listening to them crack themselves up, talk about snowboarding, & watch hockey with running commentary. all to a background soundtrack of johnny cash & random reggae songs. i would have long since left if during all this one guy didn't pull out his little baggie of coke & start offering bumps all around. ass-guy [i feel kinda bad dubbing him that: he's an ok sort, intelligent & all that. plus, looks-wise, he instantly goes from a 5 to an 8 with the removal of his stupid crocheted toque...] snorted one & i declined my share (aren't y'all proud of me?) & decided to stick around out of curiosity to witness what was turning into an increasingly 'national geographic'-esque scenario: White Boy Crackheads from the Wilds of Vancouver. tres exotic.
my hosts had seen fit to give me only a single can of beer, quickly drank & not nearly enough to cancel out the caffeine, so i was totally lucid & Awake as the morning wore on & order declined. i was more or less ignored by ass-guy's buddies (who'd split the baggie amongst themselves) except for when they decided to lock us out on the balcony & then pass out -- & the brief horrorshow moment when one of the guys got the brilliant (& no doubt coke-inspired) idea of nailing the bathroom door shut "to give us some privacy."
believe me when i say that having the greater part of a 4" nail suddenly appear in the door *this* close to one's ear puts a bit of a damper on things.
a couple of hours later, with a breakfast/condom-run intermission, we lie down in the middle of the main room's floor for a post-coital nap; the other guys have long since passed out in opposite corners of the room. [sad to say, the dirty industrial carpeting was more comfortable than the mattress (so busted up you can see -- not to mention feel -- the individual springs) i have in my room.]
the anticlimatic end: we wake up, hang out a bit, say our see-ya-later's, & part ways.
at least he's seen brokeback mountain on his own so i don't have to drag him to the theater.
cheap red wine & emotionally unsatisfying sex should never mix.
...i'm a fuckin' idiot. a fuckin' idiot with a hangover...
hey, look! i'm all angsted up again! w00t!
"arses of all colours & sizes!"
even if you're not an anglophile, you have to admit that certain briticisms are awesome...
had my first threesome last night. it didn't last very long but was interesting nonetheless.
(note to self: next time don't do it on an empty-but-for-booze-&-pot stomach & after being awake for 2 days -- falling asleep during sex isn't cool.)
normal girls make impulse buys like mascara.
i just bought a secondhand wheelchair for twelve dollars.
(who can resist black leather & shiny stainless steel?)
i can't quite believe that i've been in vancouver for a month already: my life-scarring stay in halifax was only 4 months long, after all.
a month here & no seriously angsty posts. i should be ashamed.
there's a picturesque view of the mountains from the bedroom window but even that is failing to piss me off; nature is much more appealing when one has someone to go on middle-of-the-night walks on the beach with. that plus the fact that there's sex shops, liquor stores, & tattoo parlors within minutes' walk of my place which means civilisation is never far away.
...i have paint stains on my pants that look like cum-stains but i don't care bcuz im happy lol
*drools lobotomizedly*
incidentally, the first time i did ecstasy was the night i arrived in vancouver -- coincidence? i think not.
"miasmatised."
"tatterdemallion."
"batratchian."
"bureaucruds."
,& last but not least: pseudomammaria.
all from this one story.
in other news, i burned a significant portion of my bangs off in a pot-smoking accident. serves me right for having look-at-me-i'm-ironic hair & those ubiquitous, overgrown-over-one-eye bangs, i guess.
even though i was doing it way before it was cool.
i just found out that i can use the guy downstair's wireless internet connection if i bought my laptop (yep, i got it back from far off toronto) out into the living room!
typing this at the airport in calgary at the ups store for 25 cents a minute... i spent the night here & got only a minor nosebleed this time around. some random airport-guy just bought me a cup of coffee & a doughnut...one of the few benefits of looking like an impeccably-dressed and sketchily-groomed street urchin, i guess (the downside? many, many propositions from pervy, trenchcoated bastards for $20 backalley fucks.) calgary, quite frankly, sucks balls: yeah, it's bigger than halifax & the chartreuse is a dollar cheaper, but there's absolutely fuck-all to do -- it's essentially a gigantic mass of suburban sprawl pretending to be a city. the "downtown" is all but deserted because everybody is at the megamalls. most places are closed on sundays too.
my weekend wasn't completely terrible though: i got to hang out with my country boy some more (polyamory's definitely the way to go, people), introduced him to the fabulosity that is brokeback mountain, chartreuse, & indian cuisine (all went over better than the sushi) & i managed to sneak some of my stickers into the art gallery of calgary's graffitti exhibition (there's not much in the way of security or people so i just basically stuck a bunch of my stickers to the underside of the stairs...hopefully they'll stay there until the end of the exhibit).
so i'll be back home in a couple of hours with half a bottle of chartreuse, some clothes, several increasingly-heavy pounds of chainmail, & other objets d'art. (why the fuck did i choose to work in metal? i get into enough trouble with airport security as it is.)
my airport-waiting novel that i finished reading sometime around 4 in the morning & left in an elevator for the next person: time of desecration by alberto moravia.
3:40am in toronto right now, here only-because-i-have-to-be & got gently reminded that it's fuckin' winter out here on the east coast by having the safety pins in my ear literally freeze. see how out of touch from reality being happy makes me?
masturbated in my new room for the first time last night...
i'm still busy buying & hauling thriftstore furniture from all over the city back to my flat on the edge of bohemia & slum. (i found a beat up wooden chair with voluptuous legs for $20) i gave away my new blanket & spent 6 bucks on a used one; i'm getting a kick out of sleeping in something someone may or may not have died in. (you know what your parents always warned you about second-hand things: smallpox, anyone?) next week i'm gonna be going back to toronto for a couple of days to pick up some more clothes (a girl can't live out of her backpack forever, y'know?) & to grab my portfolio. & presumably to spend some quality time arguing with my family. (this year's was the first chinese new year i spent 'alone.' my only concession to the occasion was to order chinese take-out for lunch -- which i then proceeded to eat with a fork.)
found book title:
"men are not cost-effective"
typing this at an internet cafe while waiting for my laundry to be done. i am washing my new blanket & sheets on which i blew 70 dollars. the blanket -- the cheapest one on sale -- is one of those crappy, microfibre ones & it sheds enough to make me look like all my clothes have been rolled on by dozens of iridescent cats.
i've found myself a new place, which for $450+utilities/month is about $50 more than i can afford & i'll keep looking, but at least i have a place to stay until march; the flat itself is quite gloriously slum-like, with cigarette burns blending seamlessly into the ground-in dirt on the carpet... not everyone's idea of home, but i like it (last night i accidentally set fire to part of the carpet but you can't really tell). my flatmate this time around is no tattooed, shapely blond but one of the Original Punks, a 60-ish year-old guy who looks like a cross between iggy pop & alice cooper & knows way more about music than i ever will [i'd like to take a moment here to plug his radio show, the downliners crypt].
life for me is truly stranger than fiction.