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Mar. 27th, 2017


Friend Date

I haven't written about Cello Guy in a while.

And since Les called him Cello Guy, and I am not friends with Les anymore, I don't know why I have to keep that name for him. Don't know why I even felt the need to disguise his name in the first place.

Bill. I haven't written about Bill in a while.

We haven't spent a whole day together since the day we met, but yesterday I got him all to myself.

I spent about an hour with Angel before meeting up with him.

He took me to a cello recital, and at one point, the conductor said to the audience, "most of you are here because you either love the cello, or love a cellist." I gave Bill a side glance and nudged him. He blushed and produced a big ol' "aww shucks" grin.

Bill knows I have feelings for him. I think he's finally okay with that. I think he's okay with that because he's seen how little it's affected our relationship over the years; how little chance there is that I'd act upon it, knowing it isn't returned, and already being with Angel. And he knows I love him just as much as a friend as I do a crush. I still suspect that if I felt any chemistry between us, I'd probably leave Angel and risk asking Bill out for a real date, but it seems a non-issue right now.

After the recital, we went back to my place to get some food I let him store at my place during a power outage. I ran my heater to his place and brought some frozen foods he had in the garage over to my place. It's the first time he's been in my apartment. It felt a little weird. I don't even have a real couch - just a cheap futon that's crumbling. Tried to make the place presentable in preparation for this moment, but it seems a lackluster result.

Back at his place, he showed me his new toy - a novelty cello in brilliant green. Plays almost as well as a standard cello, with a few little hardships about it. I asked if I could tinker a bit, and he let me. Even got out his own cello to give me an impromptu lesson, as well as a lesson in stage fright management. It went against everything I believe in, which is that the world would be better if I never touched a string instrument ever again, after the unraveling incident of my former violin.

The last stretch of our home adventure was embarrassing. Bill pointed out that I had some lipstick smudged off the top of my lip, and I rushed to the wc to wash it off. I put lipstick sealer on so this wouldn't happen, dammit! And of course, I need proper makeup remover to get it to come off clean, so at this point, I was just smearing it all over my face, running from the one sink to the next, hoping the kitchen would have a stronger soap. Eventually, Bill dug out his witch hazel and I went with that - good enough. At least I didn't look like I spent an hour practicing my kissing techniques with the hoover.

After play-time, we went out for soup - much-loved in this six-degree weather. After soup, coffee at Second Cup, where Bill whispered "oh my god, we're gonna die" at an intersection, in a fear-induced bout of road rage. I got a huge kick out of that. Bill bought some powdered sweets, and I, being on a diet to shed some of my US baggage, could only indulge by sniffing the box, which left me with powdered sugar on my face like a big dork.

We met up with a couple of friends at the movies (finally got to see Get Out! Really worth the $15) and chatted up for about 20 minutes after, and at long last, ended the evening.

Like my relationship with Angel, we don't touch. With Bill, it makes me sad, because I see him touch and even hug other people, but my desire to give him a hug could be skewing that impression.

Still, I went home feeling incredibly happy.

Mar. 20th, 2017

crispin-30 door key

I Peeked.

Coming back in from a smoke break, I had to wait for Angel to be searched, to make sure he wasn't sneaking anything back inside (he has to keep his cigarettes in a lock-box outside the entrance). I waited in the hallway, but I could still see him through the door window. They didn't make him strip, but they did make him remove his bag, his scarves, his coat, and for a few moments, while he emptied his pockets into trays, I saw this slender young man in a hoodie, noticed the shape of his back and shoulder blades, looking his height (he's very tall, but always wears a big, long coat that hides it), and it made me blush - I couldn't look away. He didn't see me seeing him, but he stepped out of view as he unzipped his hoodie. I always forget he has a form and figure and physique under all that baggage and all those layers.

We Don't Kiss (part 3)

We kissed. Not in the traditional sense, of course, because we don't kiss. But he shared a cigarette with me in more than handing me the rest of one he started. He offered a puff to me and I took it, then handed it back, not expecting he'd actually take it (he had another in his pocket).

Something that touched my lips touched his lips next - it usually goes the other way around, and never back-and-forth. I couldn't remember if we'd touched lips through a bottle of cough syrup, but having the hilarious memory of him accidentally missing my mouth and pouring the sticky medicine down my cleavage tells me we didn't. I suspected he'd wash his mouth out later, but for that moment, we kissed.

Another Breakup Mended

He called me an infectious loser over text, and I stopped responding, knowing this wasn't the same Angel I wanted to fight. We had the longest breakup of our relationship that time, ranging over 3 months, with one, maybe two interludes of him being hospitalized and begging for me to visit and bring him cigarettes.

I took his calls on occasion, but didn't visit. He spent our calls trying to convince me to watch movies with him when he gets out. I didn't even want him at my apartment anymore. He eventually realized, through his non-stop, no-filter jabbering, and my short one-or-two-word replies, that I still had sore feelings over his pre-hospitalized interactions with me, and he gave this sort of half apology without saying it was an apology, but honest amends. He realized I can't jump back into it like nothing happened this time. He started to slow down.

When he'd been checked into a hospital closer to me, I started taking his calls more often. I found out from Kel that he'd actually, really, truly done the impossible, and checked himself into the hospital. That's a level of progress I never thought imaginable. So I started visiting weekly.

I'd bring him coffee, and he'd tell me to bring myself coffee, too, and make it like our coffee dates of old times. I realized I actually missed him, and hoped he would stay on the medicine this time.

We have been seeing each other every week for about two months now, and our phone conversations are more fulfilling, too. He went from having quiet-room privileges with me, to having hallway privileges where we could be in the halls and he could meet me near the front door, to having outdoor privileges where we could go out to the bus stop to smoke, to him getting day passes where he could go to the cafe to meet me in our natural habitat.

"So, you guys dating again?" Kel asked. We both blushed and grinned, giving a glance to each other's way. "Yeah, you're dating again!"

Dec. 11th, 2015


We Don't Kiss (part 2)

Since our breakup, we haven't kissed (quotations insinuated). Our usual elbow kisses seem demoted to elbow bumps, as in, elbows are jutted to each other, but not instinctually. 99% of the time, I initiate, and I'm not expecting a kiss, but I never get one anyway. He'll lift his elbow in response, but we don't touch them together like an actual elbow bump (hence, the kisses demoting). He even seems reluctant unless there's a window between us.

My love life is fucking weird. But I wouldn't trade it in for anything.

Nov. 20th, 2015


A Fresh Start

Angel and I got back together after nearly a month apart, with no sight nor sound from him. Once a week, I sent him a text. "Sweet dreams," which he always liked to read from me. "I hope you can see the eclipse from wherever you are." And lastly, just a simple "Hey," to which he responded with a phone call.

We talked for a half-hour and agreed to meet at our usual spot. My heart pounded as I approached, but he greeted me with a smile, and the day played out like we'd never had a blip in the first place.

"Are we all friends again?" asked our friend Kel. We raised our coffee cups in a toast to our fresh start. "Angel, you're such a fuckin' drama queen."

We've been going strong so far. How often do exes get a happy ending? I didn't think I'd be one of the lucky ones.

Sep. 28th, 2015


An Ending

We seemed a perfect fit, but my time in the sun with my Angel has ended. I'm sad, certainly, but life must go on. He assured me we'd still be friends, but we all know how that goes.

I wish I had a viable reason, though. Surely I'm worth an explanation? But I haven't seen him in a week, and I know it's always a bad lesson to harp on a recent ex over texts. I'll have to wait and see.

Sep. 10th, 2015



In the last summer where I had a sizable load of birthday cash from family members, I decided to give my bedroom a teen dream makeover. I always marveled at the chic bedrooms of magazine girls, and wanted desperately to be as organized and coordinated. So I took my money to the shops and bought new linens and a bunch of fixings for a unified look.

My mother took one look in the buggy and tore into me, saying this shade of red is a whore's colour. The whatsits were fine, but the bedding had to go. The darker crimson couldn't seal the deal either. Too morbid, she said. Like the brides of Dracula (so still too sexual for a teenage girl).

Guess what colour my bed is today?

Sep. 9th, 2015

Being Alone

What It's Like

The humidity seeks vengeance for former winters. It strikes in Autumn (I know Autumn traditionally begins in late September, but it's the month that counts).

I like being alone and basking in the peace outside the every day calamity that is September. What is this month but one big traffic jam full of angry and confused students?

At least I won't need to put in much effort until later, when schools start grueling into their theatrical performance of the semester. I've heard there's a dramatic retelling of Raiders of the Lost Arc. I'll be crafting Nazi flags and banners, and an arc. Well. The little angel statues on top of the arc.

But the solitude feels nice, coming home every day and drinking a cold beer or a hot dessert tea, depending on the weather - even the hottest days can cool off sometimes. I think of the feeling of this, and only this. If I let my mind stray too far from the moment, I start thinking, and we all know where that leads.

Misery. It leads to misery. And memories. And more misery.

As my good friend Matt said: In case of memories, stop thinking immediately.

Aug. 17th, 2015


We Don't Kiss

Angel and I don't kiss. We don't touch. We don't usually touch. So any other way we can kiss, I'll take it with joy.

We shared our first kiss in May. Flowers had just been planted at the cafe, and the snow had nearly all melted. We still wore our full armour against the cold. And someone had left two little stuffed doggies in the branches of a city tree. We made them kiss and looked at each other with stars in our eyes. I felt really close to him in that moment.

We kissed last week, when I felt at an all-time low for no reason (most likely a post moon-sickness). The wind picked up and our empty coffee cups flew onto the ground and rolled to each other. The lips touched, and Angel said, "Look, they're kissing!" My mood lifted a little bit, and I smiled for the first time that day.

Our usual way of kissing is in the form of a pre-agreed touch, not often, but enough for both of us to show physical affection: elbow bumps. Like fist bumps, but we just elbow each other, knocking funny-bones. I've learned it's not always his desire to do it on every encounter, so I let him offer first.

Tonight, we had what is probably the closest we've come to real kissing. He rolls his own cigarettes, and I asked if he'd roll me one. Instead of rolling one for me, he took the one from his lips and passed it to me. He never does that! Never. He looked as I put it between my lips, and it seemed like he really meant it. I'd say that was the highlight of my night.

Aug. 16th, 2015



Angel calls me a demon, and rightfully so. I've always called myself a demon, too, even before we met. I am an atheist, but if I had to believe in something, I would believe my mother tore the soul from my body in childhood, and for that, I must always be the villain, just as Lucifer must always be the villain, and bear the weight of our own personal Hell.

So rightfully so, Angel calls me a demon, but that doesn't mean we are enemies. Angels and demons can work together and be friends and may even love one another.

Angel doesn't touch anyone ever, so this relationship is something new, but I also feel myself growing from this. I've always been a hugger, a toucher, a very personable person. It's only ever gotten me into trouble a few times, with those who never told me they don't like to touch (and so I get the worst mixed signals of affection mixed with a sense of disgust of me). Angel said right away NO TOUCHING.

But we do sometimes, and I think sometimes he doesn't mind. His OCD has him rush to the washroom to clean his hands at least twice if someone touches his hand. He has "cleansing" ticks if he can't do that, or doesn't want to right away. He uses his cleansing ticks to clean off the very thought of touch, too. Some things make him spit, some things make him shake off the 'filth,' some things make him run to a sink. And he calls every bath a baptism, which for him is accurate.

I only feel bad sometimes, when it looks like he could really use a hand of comfort, or a hug, or some fingers through the hair when his head hurts or he needs to relax. Or when I do. But those things that would relax others wouldn't relax him. Hair-play is the most enjoyable act of platonic intimacy I can imagine. He knows this, and gave me a love-lock when he got his hair cut. I put it in a large locket with a pigeon feather he plucked off the ground. I wear my Angel Hair when I feel lonely.

But we still have really romantic dates.

May. 25th, 2015


The Ones I Love, Part Three: 2013

And then I met someone. And then I lost someone.

Les called him Cello Guy, which stuck. We met on the set of an indie film. I worked costume detail while interning with the makeup artist. He won me with a smile.

Writing in bulk like this, I realize I am easily won. I can't say how I feel about that. Easy? Dumb? ALIVE???

Alive (dumb).

I didn't know anyone on the set at the time I arrived, and he came right up to greet me with that pie-man smile. The first night of the shoot, we warmed ourselves in the pickup on set and he dazzled me with words. We locked eyes in a way I've never been eye-locked before. Without knowing the appropriate length to stay locked, shyness took over and I broke my hypnotic gaze. Such nice eyes, though. Endlessly deep.

Turning 36 in a few months, and once again, I'm feeling like a teenager.

When the shoot ended, work had him traveling to Thailand, much to my jealousy. Bangkok is breathtaking at night. Three months later, upon his return, I did the thing.

I asked him on a date. I wanted to get to know the charming and sweet guy I met. And coming back from Asia, I knew he had great stories to tell. I asked him to Second Cup. He agreed. And he also invited some other friends. Just coffee. Social beverage- emphasis on Social, so I can't scrutinize this situation so unfairly. He probably didn't know I meant it as a date. But it turned out to be one anyway. His friends couldn't make it, and he and I talked for hours. His tales of adventure blew me away tenfold, but amidst the chaos of emotions, I couldn't sense chemistry between us. I tried to hint things, like leaning on him while he shared photos on his phone and such. I know the old adage of spelling things out for guys, but I'm not ready to get my pen and paper.

At the core, we're very similar. I don't mean in an Amino Acids sort of way, but in personal tastes, hobbies, interests. But on the surface, surface being most seen, we're from different worlds. I can't go into the details. It exhausts me to think so superficially. But that's where it counts, sadly.

I won't end my pursuit there, however. I haven't so far. That's how far I've gone off the deep end.

On occasion, I've asked him on more dates, and will always do so until our friendship falters for good.

Les, who has not only thrown himself headfirst into the Friend Zone by his own volition, with no complaints from me, decided New Year's Eve would be a good time to rear his Green Monster's head. No idea where this came from. I asked him what he wanted to do for the holiday, and he said he didn't want to make plans. I said if he didn't want to decide, I was going to ask Cello. Somehow putting his decision before Cello's meant in Les's head that I made him Plan B. No idea what transpired, because Les was never jealous before, due to us not having any romantic connection whatsoever, and Les was in the middle of playing head games, which I don't play.

He said some really hurtful words, and before I knew it, our friendship reeled into the abyss.

The Ones I Love, Part Two: 2012

Never has one been so sure of her life's choices than when she's gullet-deep in steak sauce and being riveted by a Shamwow infomercial in a bar at 2am.

After one disastrous sort-of relationship, and a loss of friend for Ben due to said disaster, and more post-production blues (caused by some great tech-week work I helped create not making the final cut for the performance) having me second-guess my career, I found myself feeling pretty lune.

A whole year passed with nothing but a few misfirings in the lunar bits. Except one solid hiccough. One minor heartbreak, caused by a friend, and sort of crush. Very crush. Okay, I fell for him ages ago, and the feelings have bubbled back up again. He'd moved away, and my heart sank. When he came back, just a week ago, he blew a hole in the bottom of my ship. And I sank with it this time. He didn't tell me he came back. Only for a week, he said. We could have had a week, but I saw him waiting for his bus back out of town. He has a distinctive way of holding his cigarette between his lips, like James Dean, like Jeremy Irons, like my beloved Camus. He half-heartedly apologized, but never looked at me. He thumbed the numbers on his phone non-stop. The Big Apple has changed him so much. He never liked the idea of texting before, and weeks later, when I tried to text, and even call, he snubbed me.

Forever, I'll always desire nothing more than to return to that time when I only cared for characters in my books, the CD player on the fritz, and the weather's decisions to allow me to eat lunch on the rooftop. Alas, it's now a time where I stay awake nights to allow my fantasies of what might (not) be slap me in the face with what would (will) be.

I admitted my crush because it felt different than before, or other crushes. Like this time had more urgency, more reality than my early 20s college-girl romances.

That would have been much easier to handle. Fuck.

Ben said I need to get a life, but immediately knew it was Zeke who gripped my heartstrings like an amateur fiddler. I should at least fall for people who would call me back, that's what Ben said. I told him that I'd still feel for him, even though it hurt, and when I finished that text, I checked the book of faces to see that he'd de-friended my account.

"I think I just got over something," I declared.

And then I met someone new.
crispin-what is it

The Ones I Love, Part One: 2011

Ben, Omah, James, and I started "Midnight Monthly," where we ate bar food at the end of every month at the same place (Sneaky) and December brought in one of Ben's tag-alongs. He came in strong, flirting with the best lines that weren't lines to anyone but me, in accordance to Ben's master plan, I'll wager. "I wish I had Strange Powers like Stephin Merritt." Won over. Instantly.

We kept it loose, the way I like it, for a small chunk of the year. I have an aversion to getting too close too soon, but Eric crossed that boundary with the most brilliant trickery I've ever seen.

Mix Tchaikovsky, my darling Tchai-Tchai, mix him with (D)Aronovsky, a movie about a stunning ballet performance, and pay for my ticket before asking. I agreed, without knowing his parents would be there. And then the infamous Black Swan scene that no one should see in casual company: Mila accompanies Natalie back home and goes muff diving while parents and teenagers who are watching (because they thought it was a film about ballet) freeze in their seats and unblinkingly stare straight ahead, no eye contact, no flinching, feigning disintrest. Coupled with the little knuckle scene, and you've got one hell of a "meet the folks" date.

I survived that, and so did Eric. This is how much I liked the guy. He also took me for my first cup of hot cocoa at Second Cup (Toronto lifer, Cup regular, and never tried their cocoa. I know, it surprised me, too). Won. Instantly. Again.

We followed the rest of the year with many failed dates and missed opportunities. I work with keeping things loose for this reason, but sometimes things get the best of the system. We missed out on Emilie Autumn, The Pixies, and the Edwards Garden Manhunt.

Work and Lady Lunacy got in the way by coincidence. The Lunacy took a whole month of post-production blues. I found that there comes a time in every person's life when the realization hits that the little 7-year-old you bonded with during one production will not remember you during her next production, only a year later. Post-production blues got the best of me for this one.

Then the Green Monster began taking over Eric, against my usual time-vampires, including my time with the friends who introduced us in the first place. I ditched comic con plans for a night at Pour Boy with some Winnie friends who took me to Mississauga for a little sneaking around at the abandoned Regal. We missed a Jane Goodall lecture in favour of the big Pillow Fight, which he didn't enjoy, and I went to the Slut Walk with Omah, which he didn't approve. DIDN'T APPROVE.

Oh no. Jealousy will not do.

We invited him camping, to try to smooth things over, but I warned him that we are not attached with that many strings. This is what it means to keep things loose. Standard Rules do not apply. He spent a lot of time on his mobile, ditched us during tent-pitching, and got angry when I tried keeping him involved in shenanigans. We had a lot of fun swimming, but we came to the last straw when he put the blame on me after discovering he's allergic to pecans.

We said our final goodbye to Eric before Autumn. Omah was especially defensive against the Green Monster, ending that final evening with her perfect attitude: "I'm a lover, not a fighter, but I'm also a fighter, so don't get any ideas, buddy."

May. 24th, 2015


The Ones I Love, Part Zero

"I was born in 1979 without a soul. At least, that's what it seems. Yes, '79. Not sure about the soul. If souls exist. It would explain a lot."

These were my last thoughts to you, LiveJournal, scrawled in an auto-saved passage that didn't want me to forget it upon starting up this blog again. Unfinished, incomplete, yet surprisingly complete. Surprisingly final.

I've spent the past five years falling in and out of love while crawling from the depths of a sort of lunacy. Off and on lunacy, but mostly on. Something akin to magic, something akin to death, something akin to sleeping belly-up on the linoleum floor of a sopping wet washroom in an unknown bar (let's face it, the bar is probably Sneaky).

The next handful of posts will account for the past handful of years I've spent mucking-about, pulled from the pages of my diary, and their topics will most notably, most probably be...

The Ones I Love.

Oct. 17th, 2010

dash x

The Past Comes Back to Hold My Hand

I've been in a sort of open relationship (I know, if it's sort of, it is pretty open) for about 6 months. It's nice. It's easy. And it's slow. And things are speeding up. Not much, but the hand-on-knee base is getting further and further above the knee, and it's starting to stir our hormones. We are comfortable with just sitting by each other and touching in some way. Hands next to each other, with one finger just barely grazing, or, as stated earlier, hand-on-knee... Stroking has been occurring. Thumbs going back and forth across the leg or the hand or the arm or whatever. Or up the arm and back down.

Up the arm and back down caught me off guard today. His hand came up above the elbow and under my sleeve and lingered on a secret. "Scratch," he said, and realized it was raised. "Or scar." Yeah. "And another." His hand trailed back down to my hand.

"Lots of scars," I replied quietly without looking. And like never before, his hand squeezed mine. Like he wished he could have saved me. Or like he wanted me to know he's here if ever another scar arises. He's not just a guy in an open relationship. He really cares about me and my inner workings. And he'll listen.

I felt very warm.

Sep. 29th, 2010


We Haven't Seen You Here In Quite Some Time

I'm going to try to write a little more often in my LiveJournal. More often than every few years or so. I don't want to abandon something which thrives on words instead of the more addicting Facebook which thrives on petty tweet-sized updates, quizzes, and game scores. So here's my day.

I ran into two friends over in the KPC. I had been trying and trying to get breakfast but kept getting distracted (an easy thing to happen in Kensington Market, though most of mine happened at home). Finally, I arrived at Kensington Cafe and as I stepped foot in front of the door, these two friends came up to me in unnecessary excitement. Jesse, of whom I was less fond than Brenda, confessed that I made an appearance in her dream last night. I had all the answers, she said, to which I amusingly replied, "I often do." And she wastefully cheered on about how crazy the dream was and how she'd run into me just now, and finally, she calmed down long enough to expect another reply from me, which I obliged. "I, on the other hand, dreamed last night that I went to a whore-house." I meant to say 'brothel' but the word wouldn't come to me. I do love that name better than its more descriptive sister. My statement was followed by the most uncomfortable silence, made more awkward by the guttural noises coming from my dumbfounded friends, who said goodbye upon deciding they had no other way to respond. At last, I sat down to my delicious scrambled eggs and fried tomato. And mid-savor, I was met by James and Omah. I told them all about the dream sequence. My ability to render Jesse speechless astounded Omah. Apparently, no one has ever done this. James summed up the whole experience perfectly, though: "You make awkward classy."

Jan. 30th, 2009


Because Sex Was Always Supposed To Be A Spine-Chilling, Technological Nightmare

Direct from Warren Ellis's blog:

RealTouch: a technological orifice that jacks into your computer and turns a subchannel of haptic commands into a servo-driven nightmarish despunking ordeal while watching your favouite porn star on VOD. There’s also a set of commands for homosex where the RealTouch simulates the most frighteningly muscular rectum you ever feared.

The funniest part? It was designed by a former NASA engineer.
Where is MY Mega-Man sex box?

My apartment smells like Chinese food. I must find the source, for I have not had any such food here in weeks.

Mar. 30th, 2008


Home of the... nothing.

Well, I knew there wouldn't be as much here as there is in Toronto, but on top of that, I have had a whole week of crap weather getting me down. Wake up, Mother Nature. It's almost April. The leaves should be in bloom, and it should be light jacket weather.
With all the precipitation out there and the fact that nothing interesting is in walking distance from me (though I could bus uptown if I hadn't gotten so lazy since coming here), I have gotten FAT! Okay, I know it's superficial to say that I'm fat when there are those who are fatter, but I've gained 18 pounds! Do you know how much that is in coconuts? Do you?? No, really, I'm curious to know.

In any case, staying with the family was swell, but the swelling's gone down and the kids and I are officially living in a Rochester 'burb called Henrietta. Also known as commercial town. It's all buildings, and a mall. No hangouts (except for the 24-hour diner at which Omah landed a job).

Well, that's the news. I think I'm going to go to school. Maybe. For some kind of theatrical works. I've always dreamed to be behind the camera and having fame's appearance in my clutches. Now I just have to find a school that offers such a thing. I wonder if I can find a Villainy 101 class somewhere.

As for a job, I'm at a grocery store, which is currently all I want right now as far as responsibility goes.

Dec. 4th, 2007


Emily keeps up appearances, so why can't I?

Emily the Strange - RUESP Quiz

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