being vs. doing

I was thinking of discontinuing the practice of asking people “how are you doing”. Instead I’ll ask them "how are you being”. Should generate a much more interesting, and perhaps shorter answer and yet still give the effect of my caring somewhat about the condition of the world beyond my own sweet skin.

Fun with Language

I was thinking about date-guy, thinking, “geez (yes I really thought that, "geez") I probably won’t see him at tonight’s social function”. Tonight’s social function consists of an aging white gay male doing a performance piece that deconstructs femininity and gender codes in relation to Puccini’s Madama Butterfly.
And there’s cheap beer.

It’s happening at the a local artist run centre, which date-guy, who doesn’t know Pilates from a pot-hole (which is not a value judgment!) would probably think is a legion he hadn’t discovered. He’d be right about the cheap beer.

So since I wouldn’t see him there and probably wouldn’t see him at any social function I’d usually attend with either half of my platonic boyfriend, where would I see him? And this got me to thinking about what shape our relationship – should we choose to accept the assignment – would take…

I imagined that we would just see each other at his apartment behind the Kentucky Fried Chicken. We’d have hot sex, drink beer and eat chicken. Then I’d go home to sweep my floor. We’d never go to openings or parties together, no that’d be an activity reserved for my ‘platonic boyfriend’ who/which is made up of two art boys currently suffering from post traumatic breakup syndrome.

I decided I’d have to have a special name for date-guy, and that name would be “My Fucker”.

“And who’s this?”
“Oh this is X, My Fucker.”
Oh!!! How long have you two been…(extended pause)…together?”
Oh, we just started…seeing each other.”
And then the concerned friend pulls me aside, “You go through so many Fuckers, I just can’t keep track!”
“I know, “ I reply sheepishly, “But this one’s the best Fucker yet. Really. All those other Fuckers were just practice. This Fucker’s for real. Long term. Trust me.”
“Well he is cute. Does he have a brother? I just dumped my Fucker. He was such a, well...”

And on it goes.

this is a date, right?

I went on a date!
Sort of.

I met this guy on the annual neighbourhood pub crawl. He's quite the character. He was completely and absolutely in lust with me. Astounded by his discovery of me. There's absolutely no future in it but it's good practice. He asked me to go for breakfast and said he'd call around 10am on the weekend. Which he did, at 2 minutes to 10. We met for breakfast at a bar that serves breakfast - how handy. The Lions were playing Saskatchewan on 5 different tvs. It was an interesting anthropological experience. I lasted an hour and a half and left him drinking beer with his buddies who'd joined us.

This is a date, right?

He's a lovely, sweet, exuberant guy who's finally quit his crack habit and has almost paid off his $40,000.00 debt from being an addict. Soon he might even get a phone.

(Why me? Why me?)

He's so NOT artsy that he didn't even know what pilates was.
But he's sweet. And cute. And rides his bicycle to his job moving pallets around; he rides, because he lost his license as a result of his drinking. Oh, did I mention that he's a self-professed alcoholic?

(I'm killing myself laughing at this point, listing all his..."qualities"...oh, no wait a minute, I'm crying)

He says he'd like to hang out with me again and will call me after he's debt free in 2 weeks.
...um, okay.

This conventional life is full of surprises.

mummy, i'm scared

i suppose the only reason i'm writing this, well there are two really, one is because i'm a bit hung over and am too tired/dehydrated/hungry (yes this is a multiple choice) to go out foraging for food or slumping in the cathedral of cinema down the street. besides i have a dvd here which is enough to sway my rather weak will and keep me well ensconced on the chesterfield.

the other reason; because my friend has one.

writing like this brings up all kinds of questions, musings, ideas.

(there'a funny translucent greenish bug sauntering across my key board - how auspicious!)

questions:
does one have to spell correctly - or can I follow the path of my favourite writer whom I've never read - Mr. Jack himself - and indulge in spontaneous bop prose, just for the hell of it?
who would take any time to read this?
is this a path, a slippery slope toward further self-agrandizement, something my vocation pushes me violently toward as it is.
will i get dates? (proabably a recurring theme that will be noticed if either of us stick with this)
are you the least bit entertained?

I am.

off for now,
me