Validate me!

just another faggot slutty, but well read

Friday, May 30, 2003 :::
Waiting for a friend to finish up a conversation, I notice that the incredibly handsome muscular guy in the impecably cut suit, the same one that I'd been salivating over since I arrived, is advancing towards me:

Him: Hi, I couldn't help noticing you. (or something along those lines, just a tad inebriated by this point)

Me: Stares blankly, says nothing.

Him:*confused look* ummm...

Me: drops the two, count em, two, martinis in hand. Looks down at puddle, glances back up and continues to stare blankly. Lights cigarette, trying to pretend nothing happened.

Him: Retreating, hastily

Me: *taps friend on shoulder* I need another drink!

::: at 4:00 PM

Decided that a bar with a "$25 for all you can drink" night was the perfect way to start the evening. Arrived at fundraiser in the 2-3 am vicinity. Arrived at home 7:30 am. Work at 10 am. Will no doubt make suicide attempt by 5. That or an unfortunate clothing purchase. Can't decide.

Guy standing on chair, yelling to crowd: "I love you"

My hero: Throws drink, connects.

::: at 2:35 PM

Thursday, May 29, 2003 :::
Oh, and speaking of trannies and their agencies. Girls, we know you gotta work, but if you have us over, turn the phone off! I'm an understanding guy, but everytime I'm over I hear the ring, the "yes, I'm available right now", and then I'm being shoved into the other bedroom (sans drink *gasp*) while you, ahem, work. It might be a little easier to deal with if your roomate's stuff was a little more interesting, but my interest can only be held for so long by family (snore) photos and old issues of Fab. Put a minibar or something in there! God knows there's enough traffic!

::: at 2:25 PM

As I vainly attempt to gear myself up for tonights festivities, I was reminded of a certain social quirk that really gets under my skin. The + 1 scenario. Now, why would this bother me? Well, first off I don't feel a guest is necessary half the time. I'm not part of the pack mentality, meaning I don't need a gaggle of back-up dancers prancing about to validate my being there. Most of the time I don't even want/need one person being there, I prefer flying solo most of the time, that way I don't have to be constantly fretting about the needs or concerns of someone else, and if I feel the need to ditch the situation I can, without first consulting with the troop(s) to see "What they feel up to?".
Then there's the fact that whomever you choose to bring is automatically considered your latest love interest. Which, if you take into consideration the fact that I hang with a pretty diverse group (ie: straights, trannies, drag-queens) can cause a tad bit of confusion amongst people as to what exactly you're prefference is. I actually don't mind that part really. I quite enjoy it when people automatically assume that my companion for the evening will "obviously" be my companion in the sack later on, especially when it's my hot (but straight) male friends, or any of the above mentioned trannies. Infact, if you space them correctly, you can create quite the fantastic web of love in people's minds. Of course, it's up to you wether or not to tell the truth when people invariably ask "So how long have you been together?". Best response: "Oh, just an hour, their agency costs a fucking fortune!".
Tonight will be all about me though. The fact that I was told I wasn't allowed to bring a guest notwithstanding (please, you can always cram another in there), I had already made the decision to go on my own. The place will be chocfull of people I already know, and people I would like to know, so the thought of being tied to someone for the vast majority of the evening, and sharing drink tickets *choke*, didn't really appeal to me. "Oh and this is my dear friend Blah-blah", really, does anyone give a shit? The only way I would have gone with anyone, is simply that. Go with them, but part ways the minute you're in the door and occasionally meet at bar or in bathroom to compare notes/gossip, not trotting them around like a fucking show pony, which is insulting to both parties.
I guess it really comes down to the fact that you will invariably have to face the judgement and assumptions of others no matter if you're singular or plural, so do whatever the hell you want, you can always just steal their friends!

::: at 1:36 PM

Wednesday, May 28, 2003 :::
In the "Umm, whaaaa?" category we have:

-"PM Ariel Sharon meets with Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown."

::: at 12:29 PM

To Ball or not to Ball?

Where are my drink tickets??!!

Without much effort, this time, I've managed to have my name scrawled on the more coveted part of the clipboard, the "he's to important (or at least pretends he is) to pay" portion. Sure it's a fundraiser, but at $150 a ticket it cuts out a large part of the Toronto art community that it is supposed to pander to. Please note I said 'supposed'. The one fault here is that it's really the other way around. More often than not this turns into a bad episode of 'Wild America', wherein Toronto's financialy abled get to observe the rituals and mating habits of the artists they pretend to support, and go home feeling that they've really contributed to the cultural landscape, and that they won't have to feel bad when they axe 30% of their company tomorrow, leaving some of said artists without day jobs, forcing them to into some rather precarious positions such as screenwriting, stripping, and working at MuchMusic.
Sure, you generally get enough drink tickets to sedate a Rat Pack member, but that can sometimes bring forth some unfortunate confrontations, like when I told a internationally know director to stop being such a "retiring pussy" and to "get some balls already!". Or when my friend decided to examine the architecture of a certain major art patrons bra a little closer. Which is all fine and dandy, until your forced to pitch ideas to them, or ask them for money, in which case you get full payback with interest for your earlier indescretions. Sure we could just behave ourselves, but really, who the fuck are we kidding?
Last year the Hidden Cameras performed, which delighted us all. Especially since they invited every friend they knew to be a back-up dancer, which capped at 40, I think. Nothing takes the edge off an evening with the nouveau riche like boy's in ski masks and jockstraps. We have no such luck this year, even with a glut of incredibly talented and interesting local bands. Instead we get a 'revue' of some sorts, by way of some avant-queens from Montreal. I'll pass judgement when I see it, but I'm not getting my hopes up.
I'm still undecided as to wether or not I'm going. My cold aside, I don't know if I'll be able to tolerate the shamelss networking and self promotion that takes place at such events. Yes, It's necessary for survival sometimes, but I'm sick of explaining why a natural history museum is a great place to shoot pornography.
We'll see, we do get to see the gallery director in a custom thong though!

::: at 11:48 AM

Tuesday, May 27, 2003 :::
When your body begins producing the colour "Arsenic" by Farrow & Ball, it is time to steal all the orange juice you can from the company fridge, grab whatevers left of todays paper, and head home for a much needed nap (and the remnants of afforementioned peach and apricot crumble).

Later kids.

::: at 12:20 PM

Last night I treated myself to a peach and apricot crumble, homemade of course. I know that's very K-Martha, but I'm a bit of an old-school fag, so wadda ya expect. It was a very classy evening, I must say. Me lying on the couch, in my underwear. My face smeared with peachey goop, singing along, badly, to yet another Billie "I never sing a song the same way twice" Holiday compilation. How am I single, I mean really.(I'm joking, put away that folder!)

::: at 11:13 AM

Monday, May 26, 2003 :::
Expect random non-sequitors and alot of spittle today, folks. Everything points towards energy and production, but it still lacks any amount of focus or substance.
{ed. That's the closest he's gonna get to continuity}
(My Note: If you were any better you wouldn't be manning this little dingy, bitch!)
The ranks (wrank? well, they are union) are getting a little restless. No marching orders quite yet, and they've rifled through the last of the porn and and are wondering why I won't renew the subscription. I'm giving them orders to dig another pit, no reason really, but saves any superfluous thoughts running through their heads. I don't need another up-rising on my hands, I've still got a good portion of my men cleaning up from the last one, even though their strength could be allocated to much better use elsewhere.
Head Office could so use some reno's. All that dark wood is getting on my nerves. Wenge? Ugh, and the toile! Who the fuck approved this? I swear that's the last time I hire a hetero decorator.
All is errr...something in this runaway, disastorous kingdom. I'll update you the minute I find the minutes from that meeting.
"Ms. Gooch! Get the Westons on the line and order me a...Gooch?"

::: at 2:33 PM

My crack-ass team of financiers is working at a breakneck pace, to figure out a way to keep my sorry butt afloat for another month. I'm starting to think that it wasn't a good idea to have Beckett leading the group though. Sure he's all dark and irreverent, and makes everyone really uncomfortable, but he's going to have to start pulling his weight a little more. I can fully respect the need to run around the office with a makeshift bandage around you're head, but this is crunch time people!! I need results! There is no "I" in team, and stop arguing that there's no "being" in there either, I'm quite sick of you're 'individual' voice. Infact, if I have to hear one more desktop proclamation of the "impending" I'm coming at you with a stapler.
Fucking writers....

::: at 2:00 PM

To the men that drunkenly follow me home, hoping that I'm as drunk as I was the last time, drunk enough to nail you're sorry ass again, tough shit! I'm only drunk enough to have the gaul to laugh in your face when you tell me how "sexy" my eyes are, drunk enough to heave your squishy body off me and onto the floor, drunk enough to then haul you out of my apartment, still laughing, jeering you despite the fact that you're begging and wimpering like a starving orphan, which is soooo sexy by the way, then slamming the door in your face.

"Please baby...just let stay for a bit"

Me: Pulls taser from pocket, jamming it into his neck, cackling wildly

"Please baby...just aaagggghhhh.....just let aagggghhh

::: at 10:02 AM

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slutty, but well read

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