Oh Internet, what am I to do?
I just discovered (well, I didn't discover anything...my doctor did) that I have a gluten intolerance.
That shouldn't be a thing! Do you know what foods contain gluten? ALL OF THE FOODS. Well, anything that's not the consistency of BRICK!! I hate my life right now.
I do get to eat a lot of salad. So...that's a plus.
Like...SO MUCH SALAD.
I give rabbits a run for their money. Rabbits look at me and say, "That man is eating A LOT of salad."
What really kills me is that living gluten-free has become a bit of a fad. WHY IS THIS A FAD!? Why do people hate themselves? High School Musical? I can see why this is a fad. Everyone loves a little Zefron in their lives. Rubber boots? Who doesn't LOVE dry feet? Gluten-free diet? KILL YOURSELVES!!
Not only is a gluten-free diet inconvenient and disgusting, it's also expensive. A loaf of gluten-free BRICK-FLAVOURED bread is twice as much as a delicious Dempster's whole wheat loaf (not to mention half the size). My gluten-free breakfast flakes (this is ACTUALLY what they're called) are SEVEN DOLLARS!
I have friends who simply love their new gluten-free lives. Amy, for instance, celebrates how many chickpeas she eats every day. She just loves chickpeas! CHICKPEAS TASTE LIKE FART! I don't want chickpea flour. Chickpea flower should be exiled. I don't want to add chickpeas to my salad for extra fiber and protein. I want a goddamn chicken sandwich covered in wheat!
I have noticed that I am getting fewer to zero canker sores and that pesky rash has cleared up. Not to mention the fact that I have a totally clear head, better memory and problem solving capabilities... Huh... My hair is thicker, my skin is glowing...I feel awesome...so much energy!
FUCK YOU GLUTEN! You may be delicious but you should BURN IN HELL!
More people should get on the gluten-free bandwagon. There should be more gluten-free options in restaurants (especially Wendy's...its embarrassing having to bring your own bun). The inconvenience, cost and taste aside, I have actually noticed a huge difference in my life in a short amount of time. I have a lot more energy and I don't feel so sluggish and apathetic anymore. I have a clear head and no toilet issues! YAY ME!
Anyway, I realize this post has nothing to do with being awkward or gay...well...maybe awkward. I am really bad at living life like a normal person who can digest gluten without breaking out in hives and shitting blood, so there's always that.
God bless!
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Friday, August 26, 2011
Queen Leer
I'm currently in the middle of the most impossible task of finding an apartment. I'm looking for something that's clean, bug free and not located in the middle of Stab Central. Finding something that meets this criteria and isn't four million dollars a month (hydro not included), is a real chore.
This weekend I went open-housing with my friend Sarah (this is her real name - I feel like everyone knows at least seven Sarahs, so there's no harm in using it). Sarah tells it like it is, whether you asked for her opinion or not, so she was the natural choice for someone to accompany me to find a place to live. She notices things that I tend to ignore. She noticed the bed bug articles posted in one building that I thought was "cute," the creeky, slanted floors in an apartment I thought had "old-world charm" (it had a fireplace) and told me before I entered a particular low-rise that it was located directly above the subway line.
On our little journey, she also noticed something else. Something she didn't bring to my attention until she was sure it was happening.
The apartments we toured were all located around Toronto's Church and Wellesley village (or the "gayborhood"). Naturally, we passed many young, gay men throughout the day. I tend to exist in a bit of a haze on my best day, and because I'm in a happy relationship I don't really notice anyone, gay or not (I really don't even bother looking anymore, my boyfriend is the best ever and no one, not even you, is better).
Sarah, being from a small town in Northern Ontario, was exceptionally perceptive of where we were and the interesting people we passed. Eventually she couldn't take it anymore and said, "Wow, that guy just eye-fucked you so hard I'm going to be walking bow-legged tomorrow!" Apparently, this had been happening all day and I didn't notice.
I began to look out for the "eye-fuckings." I noticed that, yes, I was getting checked out quite a bit (though, this isn't saying much, boys would check out a well dressed mannequin in Sears) but that these encounters were usually accompanied by a scowl. I started to get a little self-conscious. But that night, when Sarah and I were having a drink on a patio, I noticed that boys scowl at each other indiscriminately, no matter what their age or what they looked like.
I've labelled this scowl slash eye-fuck as a "Queen Leer." I've actually noticed it before with the gays. For some reason we want to check each other out but also want to give off the impression that we are somehow out of your league. I think this is how we get each other's attention. I've heard it said that ambivalence is the greatest aphrodisiac and I would have to agree. If you want someone to strive to be with you, act like they don't exist. It drives them fucking nuts. If you want someone to want to go to bed with you, act like you want to murder their family. It's simple math.
I think that this "Leer" stems from self-loathing. If you were really as proud of yourself and had that much to offer someone else, you wouldn't have to resort to the Queen Leer. You'd just be your pleasant self and let your own winning personality attract others to you, without judgment.
I would like to be this kind of person. I'd like to think that from now on I'll walk around in gay-town with a big smile on my face, but people will probably just assume I'm on something or I'll attract a crazy. Looks like my best bet is walking around quickly with my head down. I hear this is also how you avoid getting stabbed in my new neighborhood.
This weekend I went open-housing with my friend Sarah (this is her real name - I feel like everyone knows at least seven Sarahs, so there's no harm in using it). Sarah tells it like it is, whether you asked for her opinion or not, so she was the natural choice for someone to accompany me to find a place to live. She notices things that I tend to ignore. She noticed the bed bug articles posted in one building that I thought was "cute," the creeky, slanted floors in an apartment I thought had "old-world charm" (it had a fireplace) and told me before I entered a particular low-rise that it was located directly above the subway line.
On our little journey, she also noticed something else. Something she didn't bring to my attention until she was sure it was happening.
The apartments we toured were all located around Toronto's Church and Wellesley village (or the "gayborhood"). Naturally, we passed many young, gay men throughout the day. I tend to exist in a bit of a haze on my best day, and because I'm in a happy relationship I don't really notice anyone, gay or not (I really don't even bother looking anymore, my boyfriend is the best ever and no one, not even you, is better).
Sarah, being from a small town in Northern Ontario, was exceptionally perceptive of where we were and the interesting people we passed. Eventually she couldn't take it anymore and said, "Wow, that guy just eye-fucked you so hard I'm going to be walking bow-legged tomorrow!" Apparently, this had been happening all day and I didn't notice.
I began to look out for the "eye-fuckings." I noticed that, yes, I was getting checked out quite a bit (though, this isn't saying much, boys would check out a well dressed mannequin in Sears) but that these encounters were usually accompanied by a scowl. I started to get a little self-conscious. But that night, when Sarah and I were having a drink on a patio, I noticed that boys scowl at each other indiscriminately, no matter what their age or what they looked like.
I've labelled this scowl slash eye-fuck as a "Queen Leer." I've actually noticed it before with the gays. For some reason we want to check each other out but also want to give off the impression that we are somehow out of your league. I think this is how we get each other's attention. I've heard it said that ambivalence is the greatest aphrodisiac and I would have to agree. If you want someone to strive to be with you, act like they don't exist. It drives them fucking nuts. If you want someone to want to go to bed with you, act like you want to murder their family. It's simple math.
I think that this "Leer" stems from self-loathing. If you were really as proud of yourself and had that much to offer someone else, you wouldn't have to resort to the Queen Leer. You'd just be your pleasant self and let your own winning personality attract others to you, without judgment.
I would like to be this kind of person. I'd like to think that from now on I'll walk around in gay-town with a big smile on my face, but people will probably just assume I'm on something or I'll attract a crazy. Looks like my best bet is walking around quickly with my head down. I hear this is also how you avoid getting stabbed in my new neighborhood.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
The Roommate
Like all (or most) unwed people in their mid- twenties, I am forced to share a living space with a roommate. Luckily, I live with one of my oldest and closest friends. He and I have been there for each other in some of the darkest times of our respective lives. He is easy to live with, clean and owns all the furniture in the apartment.
I have lived with some DISASTERS in the past. There was Lana, who was ACTUALLY crazy, demanding fresh flowers each week, dinner together "like a family," and a real Christmas tree (even though I'm allergic to pine and she would be home in Alberta for the Holidays). I spent a year sleeping in a tent/fort in the living room of an apartment shared with two straight guys with no concept of cleanliness (one of them even whored out my futon for sex during a party and then lied about it - I found out what happened a month later when I found a used condom under my bed - trust me, it wasn't mine).
ButDan (do I have a Dan? I think I do...) Rex (ugh, fake names are hard)is fairly drama free.
Fairly.
A few months ago, Rex complained of not having had sex in a while. This he comes by honesty. We live in the straightest, whitest suburb EVER. I mean, I've never seen white people oppress other white people before until I moved here. Anyway, I suggested maybe using the Internet as a way to meet other guys in the area for some fun. I've heard of this having positive results in the past.
I was WRONG!!
Positive results? In a way...
Rex is extremely popular. Rarely a week goes by without a visit from "Craig" ("Craig" is what we call the rando's he picks up from Craigslist. Clever, I know).
Though this solution to Rex's problem of getting laid seems to have worked to meet his basic needs, I worry about him. On one night, for instance, I knew that "Craig" was paying a visit and I was politely asked to vacate the apartment for a few hours. In fact, I was told that a few Craigs would be stopping by. Not wanting to know too many details, I didn't ask any questions and left. At some point during the evening, my phone died. I didn't have any way to contact Rex to ask for the A-OK to come home, so I waited what I thought to be enough time and went home.
I did not wait long enough.
I knew I was too early when I walked into the small orgy happening all over my living room.
We've seen less of Craig recently. I think maybe Rex has had enough anonymous fun and is ready for some quality over quantity.
I'm just grateful that all the furniture is his.
I have lived with some DISASTERS in the past. There was Lana, who was ACTUALLY crazy, demanding fresh flowers each week, dinner together "like a family," and a real Christmas tree (even though I'm allergic to pine and she would be home in Alberta for the Holidays). I spent a year sleeping in a tent/fort in the living room of an apartment shared with two straight guys with no concept of cleanliness (one of them even whored out my futon for sex during a party and then lied about it - I found out what happened a month later when I found a used condom under my bed - trust me, it wasn't mine).
But
Fairly.
A few months ago, Rex complained of not having had sex in a while. This he comes by honesty. We live in the straightest, whitest suburb EVER. I mean, I've never seen white people oppress other white people before until I moved here. Anyway, I suggested maybe using the Internet as a way to meet other guys in the area for some fun. I've heard of this having positive results in the past.
I was WRONG!!
Positive results? In a way...
Rex is extremely popular. Rarely a week goes by without a visit from "Craig" ("Craig" is what we call the rando's he picks up from Craigslist. Clever, I know).
Though this solution to Rex's problem of getting laid seems to have worked to meet his basic needs, I worry about him. On one night, for instance, I knew that "Craig" was paying a visit and I was politely asked to vacate the apartment for a few hours. In fact, I was told that a few Craigs would be stopping by. Not wanting to know too many details, I didn't ask any questions and left. At some point during the evening, my phone died. I didn't have any way to contact Rex to ask for the A-OK to come home, so I waited what I thought to be enough time and went home.
I did not wait long enough.
I knew I was too early when I walked into the small orgy happening all over my living room.
We've seen less of Craig recently. I think maybe Rex has had enough anonymous fun and is ready for some quality over quantity.
I'm just grateful that all the furniture is his.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Long Distance is Total Pants!
It has become more and more difficult to update my awkward blog now that I'm with someone and ridiculously happy. Happy people aren't funny. I'm still awkward, but its less funny now that someone thinks its charming enough to date it. However, even though I'm in a happy relationship, we still are not living in a universe where good things happen to me.
Allow me to elaborate.
On May 18, the love of my life got on a plane for a three-and-a-half month internship with a dance company in the US. It didn't bother me so much that he would be gone for three out of the nine months of our relationship, but more-so that he was going to be 600 miles away in a secluded mountain resort, surrounded by a bunch of fit, gay dancers. Its like fucking gay Christmas!
Now, we all know what happens when a bunch of gay people think its Spring Break. These are the things of my recent nightmares. I keep picturing my beautiful boyfriend in a pile of writhing naked abs with a big smile on his face.
The first month was the absolute worst month of my life. I didn't sleep through the night once and, even though we Skype'd every night, I would still read too much into every correspondence and start to think that he was already conspiring against me with his new sexier lovers. That bastard.
I also started to punish myself. I would think, if he were really in love with me and I was really as amazing as he says I am, then he would never have compromised our relationship in this way and he would do anything he could to stay in my life.
It took a lot of talking through this brain-shit for me to understand that Cam also has to think of his future and his dreams of pursuing a professional dance career. That his decision to leave for the summer had nothing to do with me, other than the fact that he has total faith that our relationship is strong enough to survive. I suppose this is a really great way to test just how strong we are and just how supportive I am willing to be.
I'd like to say that I am totally over this panicky, crazy-pants phase, but I think it's going to continue to come in waves until my man comes back. I sleep through the night now, but I still have to breathe into a paper bag when he takes too long to email me back and I have to keep myself from setting his things on fire when he cancels our Skype dates. It's getting better.
His being away did give me an excuse to visit him in the mountains and the ability to tell the following story:
I flew into the Boston airport from Buffalo on a 45 minute flight with about six other passengers. I waited at the baggage claim as each of them excitedly grabbed their bags and headed out to continue living their fairy tale lives. I continued to wait while the room emptied and it became abundantly clear that my bags were not coming out of the little hole. I didn't get mad because I knew that with my luck, this was bound to happen. It couldn't be just a quick, hassle-free trip. I stayed as polite as could be, even when the douche-bag at the lost baggage office didn't apologize and even hinted that this might have been my fault. I knew that getting mad wouldn't help anything.
I kept my cool when the 24 hour wait time became a 48 hour wait time and the totally unhelpful bitch-asses that kept putting me on hold (for a total of three hours of peak roaming time on my Canadian cell phone) continued to locate and then lose my luggage over and over again. When the whole "keeping-my-cool" thing was clearly not working to my advantage, I got really aggravated and became what we in the customer service industry refer to as "a total asshole." I had my bag back within two hours.
In celebration of finally possessing my luggage, Cam and I decided to go on a relaxing swim in a mountain quarry. The water was unbelievably cold, and took me a very long time to finally get in the water. When Cam suggested that we race to the other end of the quarry, I thought, I'm probably going to win because I am an excellent swimmer and a trained life-guard.
I did not win.
At some point during the trip (probably at around the time I told the lady at the Boston airport she was "a useless waste of payroll") I must have forgotten the fact that a couple of months ago my chest collapsed and didn't take into account that maybe my body works a little different now than it did three years ago when I worked at the public pools.
Needless to say when my legs and arms suddenly stopped working and I began to sink, I went into shock. Luckily Cam was there and saved my life by swimming into me and pinning me against the sheer rock wall until an onlooker swam a flotation device over to us. After I stopped puking and my arms and legs began to respond, we both had a good cry and headed back to the hotel.
After my near death experience, we desperately needed to unwind, so we took advantage of the remaining daylight and sat by the pool (though didn't dare to even touch the water...I don't think either of us will ever swim again). We sat out all afternoon, reading some good books and enjoying each other's company.
When we felt we had soaked up enough sun, we went back to our room for some sex. We realized within a few minutes of touching each other that sex was NOT in the cards for our last night together. We had, without realizing it, absolutely COOKED ourselves. We were LOBSTERS. The only touching we could handle was anointing each other's blistering bodies with aloe and After Burn.
Even though I had to wear the same clothes for two days, almost drown in a mountain quarry, ended up with second degree burns on all but one part of my body, waited at the airport all night for my delayed flight and ended up with a $400 phone bill, it was worth it to see my wonderful, faithful, driven, talented boyfriend and I cannot wait for our do-over this coming weekend.
I think it is safe to say that the remaining month and a half will fly by and we will appreciate each other that much more when he is finally home. I am able to trust him wholeheartedly because he is an amazing guy. It also helps that he is one of the only two gay dancers at the compound and the other one has a lazy eye.
We'll be just fine.
Allow me to elaborate.
On May 18, the love of my life got on a plane for a three-and-a-half month internship with a dance company in the US. It didn't bother me so much that he would be gone for three out of the nine months of our relationship, but more-so that he was going to be 600 miles away in a secluded mountain resort, surrounded by a bunch of fit, gay dancers. Its like fucking gay Christmas!
Now, we all know what happens when a bunch of gay people think its Spring Break. These are the things of my recent nightmares. I keep picturing my beautiful boyfriend in a pile of writhing naked abs with a big smile on his face.
The first month was the absolute worst month of my life. I didn't sleep through the night once and, even though we Skype'd every night, I would still read too much into every correspondence and start to think that he was already conspiring against me with his new sexier lovers. That bastard.
I also started to punish myself. I would think, if he were really in love with me and I was really as amazing as he says I am, then he would never have compromised our relationship in this way and he would do anything he could to stay in my life.
It took a lot of talking through this brain-shit for me to understand that Cam also has to think of his future and his dreams of pursuing a professional dance career. That his decision to leave for the summer had nothing to do with me, other than the fact that he has total faith that our relationship is strong enough to survive. I suppose this is a really great way to test just how strong we are and just how supportive I am willing to be.
I'd like to say that I am totally over this panicky, crazy-pants phase, but I think it's going to continue to come in waves until my man comes back. I sleep through the night now, but I still have to breathe into a paper bag when he takes too long to email me back and I have to keep myself from setting his things on fire when he cancels our Skype dates. It's getting better.
His being away did give me an excuse to visit him in the mountains and the ability to tell the following story:
I flew into the Boston airport from Buffalo on a 45 minute flight with about six other passengers. I waited at the baggage claim as each of them excitedly grabbed their bags and headed out to continue living their fairy tale lives. I continued to wait while the room emptied and it became abundantly clear that my bags were not coming out of the little hole. I didn't get mad because I knew that with my luck, this was bound to happen. It couldn't be just a quick, hassle-free trip. I stayed as polite as could be, even when the douche-bag at the lost baggage office didn't apologize and even hinted that this might have been my fault. I knew that getting mad wouldn't help anything.
I kept my cool when the 24 hour wait time became a 48 hour wait time and the totally unhelpful bitch-asses that kept putting me on hold (for a total of three hours of peak roaming time on my Canadian cell phone) continued to locate and then lose my luggage over and over again. When the whole "keeping-my-cool" thing was clearly not working to my advantage, I got really aggravated and became what we in the customer service industry refer to as "a total asshole." I had my bag back within two hours.
In celebration of finally possessing my luggage, Cam and I decided to go on a relaxing swim in a mountain quarry. The water was unbelievably cold, and took me a very long time to finally get in the water. When Cam suggested that we race to the other end of the quarry, I thought, I'm probably going to win because I am an excellent swimmer and a trained life-guard.
I did not win.
At some point during the trip (probably at around the time I told the lady at the Boston airport she was "a useless waste of payroll") I must have forgotten the fact that a couple of months ago my chest collapsed and didn't take into account that maybe my body works a little different now than it did three years ago when I worked at the public pools.
Needless to say when my legs and arms suddenly stopped working and I began to sink, I went into shock. Luckily Cam was there and saved my life by swimming into me and pinning me against the sheer rock wall until an onlooker swam a flotation device over to us. After I stopped puking and my arms and legs began to respond, we both had a good cry and headed back to the hotel.
After my near death experience, we desperately needed to unwind, so we took advantage of the remaining daylight and sat by the pool (though didn't dare to even touch the water...I don't think either of us will ever swim again). We sat out all afternoon, reading some good books and enjoying each other's company.
When we felt we had soaked up enough sun, we went back to our room for some sex. We realized within a few minutes of touching each other that sex was NOT in the cards for our last night together. We had, without realizing it, absolutely COOKED ourselves. We were LOBSTERS. The only touching we could handle was anointing each other's blistering bodies with aloe and After Burn.
Even though I had to wear the same clothes for two days, almost drown in a mountain quarry, ended up with second degree burns on all but one part of my body, waited at the airport all night for my delayed flight and ended up with a $400 phone bill, it was worth it to see my wonderful, faithful, driven, talented boyfriend and I cannot wait for our do-over this coming weekend.
I think it is safe to say that the remaining month and a half will fly by and we will appreciate each other that much more when he is finally home. I am able to trust him wholeheartedly because he is an amazing guy. It also helps that he is one of the only two gay dancers at the compound and the other one has a lazy eye.
We'll be just fine.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Hottie on the Subway
I had a bit of a passive aggressive fight with my boyfriend tonight (which I am completely responsible for but still feel totally justified) so I quietly and slowly stormed out of his apartment and got on a subway that would take me home to dwell on our mutual future and why our relationship is a sham and why he is the worst guy for me ever and how I don't need him and his insensitivity anyway, when something a little life-changing happens. A hot guy enters my train. I'm sure everyone has seen a hot guy on a subway before. I mean, beautiful people need to pay too much to travel three blocks at a moderate speed too, right?
But not everyone has seen this guy.
He had wavy, dark brown hair, a little overgrown from what must have originally been a sexy haircut but because he's so beautiful it looked amazing anyway, paired with some light blue eyes. Dark hair paired with light eyes is a deadly combination regardless, but add some pouty lips, long eyelashes and a not-too-out-of-season tan and what you get is a scenario I never thought I'd be privy to witness anywhere but on a sitcom. Everyone, including myself, puts their lives completely on hold to take in his magnificence. And I mean everyone. The two teenage girls sitting across from me even take a picture with an iPhone. I would have too if I werent too afraid that my phone would make an embarassing, telltale sound. The old lady next to me simply stared and the young woman by the door stopped mid conversation with her friend to bring this sexy stranger to her attention.
The craziest thing is that he wasn't exactly textbook hot. He wouldn't be considered for a magazine spread or a guest spot on 90210. He was just naturally and effortlessly beautiful.
It is now my goal to try as hard as I can and have as much surgery as is necessary to look naturally and effortlessly hot enough to cause that much drama on a subway. If God's not willing to help me out with flawless genes, I'll just have to take matters into my own hands.
Love.
But not everyone has seen this guy.
He had wavy, dark brown hair, a little overgrown from what must have originally been a sexy haircut but because he's so beautiful it looked amazing anyway, paired with some light blue eyes. Dark hair paired with light eyes is a deadly combination regardless, but add some pouty lips, long eyelashes and a not-too-out-of-season tan and what you get is a scenario I never thought I'd be privy to witness anywhere but on a sitcom. Everyone, including myself, puts their lives completely on hold to take in his magnificence. And I mean everyone. The two teenage girls sitting across from me even take a picture with an iPhone. I would have too if I werent too afraid that my phone would make an embarassing, telltale sound. The old lady next to me simply stared and the young woman by the door stopped mid conversation with her friend to bring this sexy stranger to her attention.
The craziest thing is that he wasn't exactly textbook hot. He wouldn't be considered for a magazine spread or a guest spot on 90210. He was just naturally and effortlessly beautiful.
It is now my goal to try as hard as I can and have as much surgery as is necessary to look naturally and effortlessly hot enough to cause that much drama on a subway. If God's not willing to help me out with flawless genes, I'll just have to take matters into my own hands.
Love.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Real life.
So Cam and I have been together for a week!
I mean that literally. We have LITERALLY been together for a week. I sleep at his place, he at mine. We have our meals together we brush our teeth together we take the subway together. Because we're in the same show, we see each other at work (though its mostly brief encounters in passing while we're ripping one costume off and throwing on another in six seconds).
The only time we weren't together this week was for about four hours while I was re-dubbing some audio for a short film I shot.
I'm pretty amazed that we're not at all sick of each other. Usually, I start having murderous rage blackouts if I spend more than five hours with the same person, but I just can't get enough of Cam. He is just so entertaining and awesome (he says the same of me...*blush*).
Not to mention the toned, tan body and amazing make-out ability.
But I fear a dark day has dawned...
(Whoa drama)
The show has closed, so we won't see each other every night of the week and he has just gotten on a bus to Montreal for a week to work with a modern dance company...full of hot, gay dancers who are probably way more fit and flexible than me.
I know...its just a week, right? WRONG!!
He gets back on Sunday and I go in for some MAJOR SCARY BLOODY SURGERY on Wednesday. I'll be in the hospital for a week and then recovering at my parents' house two hours away for another week.
I feel a little ripped off. The timing has been bad from the start. Just when we finish the show and begin the process of proving that our amazing relationship is not a showmance, he leaves for a week and I leave for another two.
Text messages can only get so hot before you get bored (or they get super awkward).
We have agreed to constantly call and text each other. He's been texting me from the bus for the past couple of hours about how sore his ass is from sitting for so long.
Yeah...we're already at that point...
I'm going to watch something Disney and eat some cookies and then go to bed. Alone. For the first time this week.
I mean that literally. We have LITERALLY been together for a week. I sleep at his place, he at mine. We have our meals together we brush our teeth together we take the subway together. Because we're in the same show, we see each other at work (though its mostly brief encounters in passing while we're ripping one costume off and throwing on another in six seconds).
The only time we weren't together this week was for about four hours while I was re-dubbing some audio for a short film I shot.
I'm pretty amazed that we're not at all sick of each other. Usually, I start having murderous rage blackouts if I spend more than five hours with the same person, but I just can't get enough of Cam. He is just so entertaining and awesome (he says the same of me...*blush*).
Not to mention the toned, tan body and amazing make-out ability.
But I fear a dark day has dawned...
(Whoa drama)
The show has closed, so we won't see each other every night of the week and he has just gotten on a bus to Montreal for a week to work with a modern dance company...full of hot, gay dancers who are probably way more fit and flexible than me.
I know...its just a week, right? WRONG!!
He gets back on Sunday and I go in for some MAJOR SCARY BLOODY SURGERY on Wednesday. I'll be in the hospital for a week and then recovering at my parents' house two hours away for another week.
I feel a little ripped off. The timing has been bad from the start. Just when we finish the show and begin the process of proving that our amazing relationship is not a showmance, he leaves for a week and I leave for another two.
Text messages can only get so hot before you get bored (or they get super awkward).
We have agreed to constantly call and text each other. He's been texting me from the bus for the past couple of hours about how sore his ass is from sitting for so long.
Yeah...we're already at that point...
I'm going to watch something Disney and eat some cookies and then go to bed. Alone. For the first time this week.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
A Surprising Update
Okay internet, some surprising news.
After totally giving up on Cam and ending the backstage flirting, I am now dating him.
Yep. Here's what went down.
After expressing my concern that the constant backstage flirting may lead to me being locked up in a crazy-house for stalkers and cutters, Cam and I held to our promise not to flirt with each other. For about twelve minutes.
In fact, it got worse.
He finally told me that he was in a very awkward position. He had only been dating his boyfriend for a couple of weeks when we met and regretted that he rushed into things with him. We came to terms with the fact that though we both have feelings for each other, that it would be mature and honorable to keep these feelings at bay until the circumstances allow us to express them further.
We implemented a strict "no touching" rule. Even when I missed a train home and had to sleep at his place. No touching!
Eventually, I told him that he is going to have to break someone's heart if he wants to be happy and that I am prepared to back off if he decides its me. I'm super impressed with my selflessness at this point (I needed to earn some extra karma points, badly).
He broke up with his boyfriend. (**insert girl squealing noise**)
We're not committing to anything super official at this point. We're both conscious of the 'showmance' curse and don't want to end up hurt in the end. I hope I`m doing the right thing...
After totally giving up on Cam and ending the backstage flirting, I am now dating him.
Yep. Here's what went down.
After expressing my concern that the constant backstage flirting may lead to me being locked up in a crazy-house for stalkers and cutters, Cam and I held to our promise not to flirt with each other. For about twelve minutes.
In fact, it got worse.
He finally told me that he was in a very awkward position. He had only been dating his boyfriend for a couple of weeks when we met and regretted that he rushed into things with him. We came to terms with the fact that though we both have feelings for each other, that it would be mature and honorable to keep these feelings at bay until the circumstances allow us to express them further.
We implemented a strict "no touching" rule. Even when I missed a train home and had to sleep at his place. No touching!
Eventually, I told him that he is going to have to break someone's heart if he wants to be happy and that I am prepared to back off if he decides its me. I'm super impressed with my selflessness at this point (I needed to earn some extra karma points, badly).
He broke up with his boyfriend. (**insert girl squealing noise**)
We're not committing to anything super official at this point. We're both conscious of the 'showmance' curse and don't want to end up hurt in the end. I hope I`m doing the right thing...
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