I'm sitting here in TO, actually doing work for once in the job hunting field, but naturally I still have my msn on. I'm talking to my friend Sean, whose status is set to Available. Consequently, he appears at the top of the dialogue window as Sean (Available).

This got me thinking: what if instead of indicating physical presence, msn statuses were involuntary emotional indicators, like a digital mood ring. Think of the emotional energy we would conserve if we got this imperative straight out of the gate!

Available would mostly like remain as Available, but here are some others I've thought of:

Away = Distant: despite Johnny Erstwhile's proclamations that he really is looking for commitment, you know the truth.

Busy = Withholding: if you're so busy, then why are you online, douchenozzle? This will tell you exactly what kind of role you really play in this guy's life.

Be Right Back = In Recovery: He's not a bad guy, but there's been some choppy waters recently and he just isn't available right now. There is hope, however, and a potential 'WB' may be in your future.

Out to Lunch = Bat Shit Crazy: 'nuff said.

Appear Offline = Absent: it's over, dude. You're being ignored and phased out from his msn...and his life.





PATENT PENDING!

Despite opinions to the contrary, I do not feel even remotely brave laying on this bed in my relatives' house where I've been holed up for the past two days. While I have met some of my goals for this move out east, I generally feel fed up and demoralized with the whole process. I haven't worked in two and half months and while there's no monetary urgency to find employment, I have far too much time on my hands. In the past when I had but a fraction of my day unscheduled, leisure time was like gold and I would spend it accordingly. This summer's lack of regimen has produced nothing but fool's gold, mostly in the form of far too much you tube - six seasons of Golden Girls in a month; three seasons of Britain's Next Top Model in 5 days. My sense of adventure has completely waned along with my social life, to the point where I've even stopped going to the Y, justifying this in my head with thoughts that I'll soon be two doors down from my new building's fitness room. This apathy really began with the funk that occurred after June's serendipitous meeting, but unlike my desire for physical prowess, it has stuck around for going on two months now. There have been some truly great times in there, such as my final week with Chai (a 3 hankie affair), my parents' brief but timely visit this week and my newfound addiction to IKEA. Still, my funk (yes, I'm claiming ownership) has produced some truly weird moments.

With all this free time I even stopped blogging, partially because there's not a whole lot to say, but mostly because I spend so much time with my own thoughts that their publication seems unnecessary. 5 possible unrealized subjects:

-My mother's discovery of text messaging and unfortunate accompanied discovery of my generations cellular spelling: "Wood u take fin out 2nite."

Seriously.

I had to explain to the woman that the director of education at the MB Law Society could afford the 4 or 5 extra characters necessary to make adult sentences. Granted, I also had to explain that there was more punctuation available then just periods.

-The random conversations I've been having with strangers while I've been here. I went on an interview to do subscription sales for the TSO and while waiting I had this really cool conversation with this chick about sexuality in art, municipal pride and race post Obama. I didn't get the job so I'll never see her again, but it was oddly motivating.

-My intense dream about and consequent desire to see the jerk from last June. And October. And January. As cathartic as my reunion dreams can be, they usually force me in love with the person for a 48 hour period that leads to rather awful thoughts, if not actions. I later feel disgust for these feelings, almost like a bad emotional one night stand, but when faced with a reality, subconscious as it was, that brought true happiness at the end of a rather brutal conscious past, it's understandable that these thoughts would occur.

-How saying goodbye to you for the second was inconceivably worse than the first time. Who knew? Honestly, it was the only one that actually made me sad.

-How despite a two month absence, I seriously have nothing to blog about. Sorry. I'll try harder.

Most amazing quote from my pretend life partner Jay Brannan:

"I always wanted to be bulimic but I have no gag reflex. So pretty much, you can either be skinny or give great head."

Which would you choose? Given that I haven't been to the gym in about 5 days, I'm thinking that proficiency in oral sex is clearly my calling.

Otherwise, not a lot. In Toronto, not having the best day. Job interview yesterday that went well, if a bit Jewy. The guy looked like the photographer from Just Shoot Me in a yamulka. Apartment hunting is not nearly as fun as I thought it would be now that I realize what $900 gets you in this town. To make matters worse, my parents told about this amazing building with a fitness room and rooftop terrace... and rent starting at about $1,200. Why is my dad such a bitch?

Pride was fun, though I had one of those fateful nights that are equally impossible to plan as they are to forget. It was amazement embodied in what I nearly possessed, if you can ever actually own someone. Coming face to face with what I almost had has left me with an emotional hangover, which is resulting in not going out today and eating a lot of cheese. Unfortunately, my aunt and uncle don't eat any cheese that are remotely comforting. Neither a brie nor Camembert in sight. It's hard to get an endorphin rush off of parm reggiano and stoned wheat thins. Entertainment value in a city where you know only a handful of people and like only some of them is rather low. My hetero lifeline is doing a bang up job at being a one person support system, but it's unfair to ask any more of him. I miss the comforts of easy friendships at home, those that know your history, all of your rememberthattime?s.

Only 6 more weeks of this nomadic bullshit.

Well now seems as good a time as any to do a little Toronto update.

Despite having only been here for three days, the city is really starting to feel like home. Exhibit A: I've already lost my wallet on public transit and recovered it within 2 hours. Exhibit: I've already tripped over gravity. Not fallen down, but lunged just so as to jar my back enough to remain in child's pose in the YMCA quiet stretching room for a good 56 minutes.

I've already seen two apartments. Well, the first one was technically rented by the time I TTC'ed my ass down there, so technically only one. Shaddup. In the end, I think it was all for the best as my immaculately ruined collection for discounted designer clothes didn't really match the melted lime Popsicle and immigrant families congregating around the front entrance. The second place was better. Obviously. It was on a lovely side street in the village (yes, I'm trying to rediscover my love for teh ghey) and was only half the size and $250 more in rent than my current place. Not bad! Not great either, though. At least the current tenant who showed me the place was cute and also a GLBTTQIX;3& community member. We even had a bonding moment over our shared purchase of a Superstore 'Japanese' screen. Not enough of a bonding moment for afternoon delight, but I would guess that sweet lovin' would have gone down had the next other potential tenant not shown up and had I not grown gills from the copious amounts of sweat dripping down my pits from all that lovely Toronto humidity. Damn other potential tenant...

Job-hunting (the dowdy, not nearly as fun cousin of apartment-hunting) has also commenced with resume polishing and cover letter compositions a-go-go. I've found some meh-looking jobs to investigate and hope to secure something for mid-August as quickly as possible. There's just so much welder/linecook/surrogate cow impregnation work out there for which I am waaaay too overqualified. There are also, apparently, several positions which I am not qualified. Evidently, Bay Street is not ready for sound financial advice from a 25 year old music graduate. I'm-a call antisemetic, homophobic gimp-hating shenanigans on this one.

More later. Passing out in a pool of my own sweat now.

So Auntie just sent me a digital photo frame and I know they're suppose to be all cool and expensive and shit but here's my problem:

The actual frame is slightly more panoramic than standard photo sizes, but rather than just crop the photos to the correct dimensions, it actually just stretches them out, making my face look even rounder than normal and my ass like Kim Kardashian's. Trite pop culture reference aside, I'm sure you can sympathize with my dilemma. Consequently, I've now how to resort to both bulemia and diuretics to stem the extra kick to my body dysmophia.

With this in mind, I've decided to open up the first interactive Fleekin Floygn comments forum to help me with my potential assular tenderness. I anticipate getting fives of responses, people.

Topic:

Toilet Paper Techniques

Potential Talking Points:

- How many squares?
- To fold or not to fold?
- Flying Dutchman: fact or fiction?
- How do the Charmin bears even buy TP? They have no income!
- Courtesy flush: basic politeness or wasteful Earth-ending environmental shenanigan?
















This is disgusting. I'm so bored.

Sarah is threatening assault with a semi-automatic weapon so I suppose I should update, lest she gets her Columbine on.

Um, what to say though?

I haven't really been in a blogging mood for the past couple months, most likely because I'm so tired all the time from having to wake up at 5:30 while the big dummies upstairs don't STFU until midnight or later. I write angry mental letters to them nightly. Of course, by the time morning comes, I puss out and continue on until the anger reemerges later that night.

I have a new boyfriend. Well, in my head I do. His name is Jay Brannan and he is that rare combination of beautiful, talented and just as fucked up as I am. Despite having played a model in the movie Shortbus (he's primarily a singer-songwriter) , the man named his last tour the "Fat is a State of Mind, Not a Shape Tour". Be still, my neurotic heart. It's actually to the point where I can't watch him on Youtube because he's too beautiful not to be in my pants.

Who says I'm not a romantic?

Apart from that (and aiming to watch every episode of So You Think You Can Dance?), all I'm doing is preparing to go to Toronto. And by "preparing" I mean watching Chelsea Lately videos and going to the gym every second day. I have this theory that if I just show up in Toronto, then my new life there will just fall into place. Could happen. Afterall, that's kind of how my life in Winnipeg has gone.

Meh.

We'll see.

10 Things I Love Right Now

1. Sardonic bitch and host of Chelsea Lately, Chelsea Handler. I'm sorry to everyone that's spent time with me in the last week and thought, "What the hell happened to Vamos? He's an asshole." Now you know why.

2. The new bikes at the gym with steerable handle-bars and a dragon-chasing game. Pssst, that's code for staring at nakedness in the locker room.

3. Raw scallops

4. Raw sex.

Anybody? Anybody?

5. The new Metric CD and the Wicked soundtrack. My iPod is seriously bipolar right now.

6. Being in the 25-34 age demographic. Yes, it was traumatic for a moment, but then I realized that it's like being the young hottie of the group all over again. 25 is the new 18.

7. Trying to be a more graceful person and failing nightly when I lie awake every night cursing the boys upstairs and their tap-shoe-wearin' ways.

8. Chai. Just kidding - it's eating my brain and I fucking want to kill everyone. But all y'all should still come on down May 19th to see why I've been such a douche of a friend for the last couple months.

9. Ebola

10. The following letter, which came across my desk the other day and which I have lovingly typed out for all of you to read. Enjoy!




Dear David,

Um, so, what the shit? I know you're all rah-rah-rah about joining the Y (dream big, friend), but we've seriously got to talk about a little something United Nations Secretary General Ban Ki-moon likes to call moderation. I know me and my pal, who incidentally is busy being humped by Finnigan right now, have been kind of douchey to you for the past, oh, 17 years but if payback's a bitch, you bought out the whole goddamned pound. I know you felt like a big man doing your 10-9-8... countdown reps on the leg press, but damnit man, you nearly killed us. We're practically eligible for disability benefits at the moment. So go, do your thing, but seriously du-...aw, shit, Finnigan just peed on Lefty. Sonovabitch!...

Love,

Your Right Quad Muscle