The Free Thinker

I broke a promise to a close friend this week.

See, way back in the day Meaghan made me promise that I would never, ever date another Adam. I guess having her friend Ryan dating another Ryan was stressful enough.

I'm so sorry Meaghan. But he's just too hot. However, I will admit that it takes some getting used to. I'm usually one to say a partners name during intimate moments and, well, needless to say I won't be doing that in this instance. In my brain he sort of...has no name. And every so often I'll remember his name is Adam and consider how weird it is.

Anyways last night we had a date and it went pretty well. In fact, isn't this more likely to go well because we have the same names? That's like Harding's Law or something, right?

Having the same name led to a very cute event at dinner last night, at least. He was checking his phone, then turned it and showed me that he'd named me "Cute Adam" in the phonebook. Then I pulled out my phone and showed him that I'd named him "Hot Adam." It was quite the little moment.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to found a gay Garden of Eden. All we need now are a couple of Steves and a really hot straight guy to act as the forbidden fruit.

Image courtesy of Wikipedia.

I met a friend for brunch today and somehow we started talking about the big blackout in the summer of 2003. For my generation, it's one of those key life moments, like September 11, Woodstock, or Expo 67, except more universal and in no way depressing.

Everybody remembers what they did that weekend, and everybody had a blast. And all weekend you knew you were going to remember it, because it was such an exceptional event.

People ventured out into the streets. Friends gathered and just spent time together by candlelight. It's like life decided to pull away all the things that keep us apart and said "Now you'll realize that you still have everything that matters." Nobody cared that the TV wouldn't turn on. After a while people stopped complaining about taking the stairs. Internet withdrawals faded as old friends met in person for the first time in ages.

I ended up going to the Lusk caves in Gatineau Park with a bunch of friends. Everybody came. Nobody was too busy and nobody was tethered to their cell phone. It was a freaking blast.

Deep down, I hope the people in charge of fixing the problem were incompetent, so we can have another blackout weekend. What did you do when the lights went out?

Image courtesy of GirlReporter.

The ex would tell you I have a lot of trouble setting priorities. He'd be right.

I've been pretty much living at the gym for the last week and a half. Before that I was going steadily, but this whole three-hours-a-day-every-day thing is more excessive than I'm used to. And you know what? I can't stop. I'm getting into that state where if I miss a day I'm going to be very cranky.

I guess I've sort of replaced partying with exercise, for the time being. Of course I'll continue replacing it with sex whenever possible, but I don't have as much control over that.

This is good, and it's bad. Obviously it's good to exercise. But, as always, I've taken it too far. You're looking at someone who can find three hours a day to spend at the gym, but struggles to find 90 seconds to take out the garbage. Somebody who would rather cancel coffee with a friend than miss the gym, if he had to work late. Somebody who is now completely antisocial on weekdays because he's too busy lifting weights and doing crunches.

I've stopped returning calls promptly. I've reduced my daily social time to a few minutes on MSN before bed. Every time I show up to the gym, I fear the attendant will utter those awful words, "Sir, I think you've had enough."

But I don't see myself having enough until I can replace the weights with a cute boy. You're looking at a life-long gym junkie. Who wants to be my methadone?

Image courtesy of midiman.

For those of you living under a rock, last night the Oscars were on. And you'd have to be living under a rock, because I have absolutely no interest in the celebrity circle-jerk, and I still got slapped in the face with the thing several times.

It's kind of funny, actually. I take no more interest in the Academy Awards than I do the Super Bowl. In both cases, I found out incidentally the day of that the event was on. In both cases I was apathetic and found something better do. If given a choice, believe it or not, I'd probably pick the Super Bowl. Wouldn't Dad be proud.

As usual, some movies I've never heard of won a bunch of awards. The only movie I've seen in the last year is An Inconvenient Truth, and believe it or not, Al Gore did a better job of holding my interest than most Hollywood blockbusters do.

I just don't like movies. You have to sit there for like two hours, staring at a screen and absorbing. There's a dearth of interaction that just ruins the appeal for me. TV has a similar problem but the time investment is a lot lower. And even then, I watch very very little TV.

If I want an engrossing story, I'll read a book. Quite frankly, I think movies suck as a storytelling medium. They're good with visual things, but for character and plot development I'd rather have the author speak directly to me.

The funny thing is, I can screw around online for hours on end. but at least then I feel like I'm contributing in some minor way.

And honestly I think movies make for a crummy social experience. I would never, ever take a date to a movie. Isn't a date supposed to be about getting to know somebody? How the hell am I supposed to do that when I'm staring at a screen for two hours?! If I'm going to spend two hours not talking to a guy, it should be because he's got...erm...something in his mouth.

Same deal with friends. I don't have a huge amount of time to spend with my friends. I'd rather spend it conversing. There are lots of activities, like shopping, playing games, and, of course, clubbing, that let you be social at the same time. So why resort to sit-and-stare? There's no excuse unless you've got nothing left to say. And those of you who know me know that's not likely to be an issue anytime soon.

Image courtesy of Wikipedia. I love you Wikipedia.

So after three months of dragging my ass into Etobicoke every day I'm finally getting some benefits at work. I dropped off my form at the one-woman HR department today and she noticed I didn't fill out the beneficiary for my life insurance. So I grabbed the form and wrote down a name.

My ex's name.

I realized a while ago that's it's weird to best friends with somebody you dated for 36 months, lived with for 22 months, and had cats with for over a year. I asked around a bit, and apparently putting your ex on your life insurance is pretty whack.

Now let's not blow this too far out of proportion. I'm 24 and, despite this stupid nasal infection and my heavy partying, I'm in good health. Plus it's just my work insurance which won't pay out much cash anyways.

Regardless, it does send a strong message. But hey, when I think of who knows me well, who I trust, and who could arrange for a gorgeous funeral he's at the top of all three.

The funny thing is, he's still my first and only ex. Maybe not being jaded from other relationships helped me leave on good terms. Maybe leaving before things got bitter was a good idea.

Or maybe, unlike most relationships, we were both good people, and neither of us were assholes or whack jobs.

Anyways, I've given him the relevant instructions: If I bump off tomorrow, throw my body in Lake Ontario and spend the money on a kick-ass party. I'll see you there!

Image courtesy of germanyengland.

So I was supposed to move in with a friend February 1st. He wasn't getting along with his roommate and I hate my place, so we were looking for a place. Last night he decides to tell me that it ain't gonna happen. Not only that, he KNEW it wasn't going to happen all last week, but said he was waiting until he had me alone on the phone to tell me.

I talked to him at least four times last week. The real story: he's a prick and a coward and procrastinated on telling me as long as he could. Clearly he made up with the roommate and decided to screw me over to make his life easier. Now I've already given my notice here and I've lost a valuable week of hunting time. Aint (ex-)friendship grand?

That's right, he's cut out. In fact, cutting people out has become something of a hobby of mine lately. As I've realized that most of my friends here suck, it's been highly therapeutic to shed myself of these hollow entanglements. When I told a (real) friend about this cutting out business, he said "that's a very Toronto thing to do." Maybe I'm getting the hang of this city after all!

Anyways today I looked at one apartment. It's $80 more expensive than the one I have now, is about the same size, but has a kitchen sink and a balcony. No thanks. On the plus side the Annex is a very pleasant area and I had a chance to come across the most ostentatious bargain store in all of creation! Take a look at that thing! Makes you wonder how they can afford to power it with those low, low prices. This place ranks right up there with Zanzibar on Yonge Street.