Fleekin Floygn

Great weekend with the out-of town-friend. I feel that any bi leanings he may have had in the past have definitely fallen to the wayside, though not for a lack of open-mindedness. This is the guy who, in high school, confessed that he felt he was bi because the idea of kissing another boy didn't totally gross him out. I'd councelled him that there were some additional body parts he would need to consider before rendering a verdict, but had appreciated his candour nevertheless. He stayed in his bed, me in mine and ne'er did a mattress we share except for when watching Glee reruns on my laptop. The running joke for the weekend was the fact that I sleep next to a body pillow roughly the size of an eight year old. A very bloated eight year old. We named him Paco.

Highlights from the weekend included seeing (for free!) the premiere of Philip Glass's (that's right: 's) new violin concerto, an hommage to The Four Seasons (Vivaldi, not Motown) and was played by the most God-gifted violinist I have ever heard. (I really need to learn how to better formulate sentences or cut back on my use of parantheses.) We also went to this queer hipster party night (growing trend? Hopefully.) that predominantly featured old school hip hop. Thanks to 3 double vodka sodas, I have never been blacker in my life. I'm not sure if it was the fact that this was the most Caucasian place I've ever been in the multicultural bastion that is Toronto and being the lone Jew boy made me the most ghetto person there or simply the fact that I've really been enjoying Russell on So You Think You Can Dance. Regardless, I got crunk and may have attempted crumping, 'specially during the random mid-set playing of All That She Wants.

I haven't seen ESLothario in nearly two weeks. I do not know how I feel about this. While it likely aids my mental sanity, this distance, due largely to conflicting schedules and winter illnesses, is definitely causing a drift. My initial plan two months ago was to become ubiquitous in his life, which worked for a bit but was ultimately painful during those unintentional reminders that I am not at the forefront of his thoughts, causing me to pull away. Apart from one friend who offered to fetch him, grab his tongue and stick it down my throat, the general opinion from others is that he sounds like a bit of a tool and yet I still can't let it go, likely because I feel I still don't get him. If I understand someone, their way of thinking/living, and I feel shot down, then I'm perfectly capable of getting my irrationial resentment on and moving forward. However, he's so hot and cold, in my head at least; I'd almost prefer just to get shot down than attempt this any longer.

I'm housesitting my aunt and uncle for the next ten days. Evidently, my packing list did not include "Any Other Pants Than The Jeans You Have On" and so today I went to work wearing my uncle's size 38 pleated wool trousers. The only enchanted place that could be visited via his wardrobe is the Land of Salvation Army. They are so large that the crotch is almost at my knees, which would be tragic if not for the recent fashion reemergence of harem pants. Evidently, I can touch this.

Anyway, these relatives live quite a ways from downtown, not the suburbs but still enough to add some new isolation onto the heap. The up side? They have a hot tub, mafakas! It is perfectly built for two and by "two" I mean "two people who are fucking" as it would be very difficult to sit in without multiple extremities touching/converging. If this hot tub fails to get me some before my time there is over, I am becoming a lesbian.

Happy Hanukkah.