So dear Jeff asked me how the weekend went, and I figured I might as well just throw together a post.
It was really freaking fun. It wasn't particularly busy, but by Fly standards th DJ was quite good. I danced my ass off, and brought a boy home. It was my first drug sex in a while. That's unfortunate because drug sex is amazing, but fortunate because it makes me want to die the next day.
If you've never had sex on E, you really owe it to yourself to give it a shot. A back massage on E is better than sober sex, so you can imagine what the sex is like. Just don't plan on doing anything, feeling anything, eating anything, caring about anything or talking to anyone the next day.
Did you ever see that episode of Star Trek: TNG where Data keeps dreaming about the crew with straws in their brains? That's sorta how I feel right now. Like someone is sucking my brain out through a straw.
It also doesn't help that my work is a nice oven of unbearable humidity and stagnant air today. It's one of those lovely 70s era buildings has no circulation and is probably growing mold like Vancouverites grow pot.
Regardless, the weekend served its therapeutic purpose, for the most part. Of course it's hard to feel attractive when you keep visualizing yourself vomiting, but I'm closer than I was on Saturday.
Taking next weekend off would be advisable, but I've got a friend coming from out of town. Then the weekend after is Easter and a friend's birthday. In other words, I've got another couple of rough Mondays ahead of me.
What a depressing thought. Now where did I leave that extra pill?
Image courtesy of Star Trek episode guides
Mirror mirror on the wallI, like most people, spend a decent amount of time looking in the mirror. Here's what I've come to realize: When I look at other people I see what is physically there. I can tell what looks good and what doesn't. I can spot improvement or neglect. But when I look at myself in the mirror, what I see is more a reflection of how I feel about myself than anything.
Tell me why you make things fall
Mirror mirror look at me
Tell me why we disagree - The Wild Strawberries
Today I'm depressed. And when I look in the mirror I feel ugly.There's not an ounce of rationality in that feeling. Which is why it's pretty much impossible for me to change it. I'm not a Vulcan.
Now on to the good part: As a druggie I can engage in a practice called self-medication. It's the proverbial patients running the asylum. Or, giving the prescription pad to the hypochondriac.
Is this a good thing or not? In the past it's been a good way to let off some steam and I'll feel better for a while after. In other cases I come home and crap on myself for doing drugs for the wrong reasons.
Of course a lot of people lose themselves in the cycle of drugs and depression, but I've managed to dodge that so far and I'm not nearly as stupid as I was this time last year. The danger has passed.
So I have access to a drug that will make me happy, pretty much no matter what. Whether it's good or bad, once you have the option it's difficult to turn it down.
Hell, I've been well behaved these past few weeks. I'm going to go out, dance my ass off and feel good. I can weigh the moral implications tomorrow.
Image courtesy of Wikipedia.
Oh man I loooove making up new words. So let's say you're a gay man who's sleeping around a lot. Like, a lot. You're not using protection, and of course you're in Toronto so that's pretty much begging for HIV. What are you?
You're a suiskank.
Genius! Now I'll just sit back and wait for the honorary degrees to start rolling in.
So I noticed I'd lost my VISA the other day. I've lost my driver's license and my debit card many times, but this is the first time I've lost a credit card. Anyways, assuming this was no big deal I rang up CIBC to let them know. They started running down the charges on the card.
"Did you go to Cracker Barrel in North York?"
"Uh, no." Whoa, what the hell is going on here?
"The movie theatre for $20?"
"I don't go to movies?" A light panic starts to set in.
"La Senza?"
"I have never in my life set foot in La Senza." Apparently CIBC doesn't realize that I'm gay man who is not a drag queen.
That's right, somebody stole my VISA and decided to go on the lamest shopping spree in fraud history. I mean, is it really worth the risk of going to jail so you can save $20 on the latest Sandra Bullock movie? La Senza raises a whole other raft of questions. Is this is a woman? If so, are the clerks not noticing the very male name printed on the card. Maybe it is a drag queen after all. Although I'd expect some charges to Mack in that case.
The silver lining is that CIBC isn't making a stink over it. I've had credit with them for almost six years now, and really, who's going to lie about shopping at Cracker Barrel? So they're reversing the charges, and they're going to mail me an affidavit to sign. Easy peasy...so far.
That's right, I'm saying good things about a bank. I feel dirty now. If only I had some frilly black lingerie to cheer me up! *shakes fist*
Image courtesy of babasu.
A photo from behind, who'da thunk it? After taking a look at this photo I'm not entirely sure if I like my back or not. Not that it really matters. I never have to look at the damn thing. Oh and what the hell is with the veins on my arms? They don't usually look like that, do they?
Look forward to next week when *gasp* I might provide a side shot!
Well looks like my pays-too-little but easy-going job is crapping out some fringe benefits. A client of ours from New York has asked my employer to fly me down for a little event she's doing.
As someone who's barely been anywhere his whole life, this is wet my pants level exciting.
Now comes the hard part: I have to get my freaking passport. I have six weeks or so. Should be okay, I think. But I'll have to pay extra to get it rushed.
The event is on a Thursday, so I'm going to ask them to book my flight back for Sunday. You know what that means. Party weekend! I'll have to arrange my own accomodations for the weekend, so I'll probably go for a hostel. More money for partying, right?
Anyhoo, if any of my dear readers can recommend some good clubs in the big Apple it'd be greatly appreciated. Requirements:
- House or trance music
- Hot, shirtless, gay men in my age bracket. It doesn't necessarily have to be a gay club. New York's answer to the Comfort Zone would be the bees knees.
- Must be a drug club where drugs are easy to get relatively inexpensively
- Must be after-hours
Perhaps this is something I could address to the author directly, but since his commenting system is utterly broken I'm going to publicly lash my fellow blogger over this post. Essentially it details his efforts to find Urban music in the village. Allow me to tenderly remove the juicy bits:
With a daunting line up at Crews, a friend and I made that long and painful walk to Zippers, we got in and there was no line up(surprise?) and almost immediately we were greeted with dance remixes of all the cutting edge showtunes available. We got our drink, went to dance, got bored and went to ask for some Urban music. I was told and I quote ‘No, not a fan, not a fan’ and the look I received, if that slight attempt at acknowledging my existence upon uttering the phrase R&B could be considered a look) alone told me that I both had no right to ask, and that I was obviously in the wrong for thinking a DJ would actually play what people who(albeit got in for free) were patrons of the club wanted to hear.After that they gave up, waited in line for Crews and lived happily ever after.
That said, I somehow doubt it would have gone over well to hear anything but the dance versions of songs that had their ‘original’ mixes recently top the charts worldwide, I digress. too literal?Realizing we weren’t so welcome, we happily left for another experience.
The Crews line up seemed even longer so we went to Vice, and lo and behold, a dance remix of The Pussycat Dolls “Buttons” welcomed us on the way in. After a drink and a bit of dancing, I ask if they’re playing any urban music, surprise surprise I was told no, but not just no, upon asking what the problem the ’strip’ had with Urban music I was told that perhaps I should start my own club if I have a problem with it, wonderful!
Now here's the thing: Anyone with a decent knowledge of the scene knows you're not going to get urban music at Vice, and especially not at Zippers, a piano bar for crap's sake. There's also the fact that DJs generally stick to their own genre. Do you think every DJ in town carries around house, trance, R&B, hip hop, top 40 and jungle just in case someone comes in and asks for it? This is the clubbing equivalent of going to Staples and demanding that they make you a sandwich. And how dare they refuse to cater to a paying customer!
I'm sorry you didn't want to wait in line at Crews, but when the lineup is too long at Fly I don't go over to Crews and demand that they play house music, do I? No, because everyone else is there to hear the kind of music they play at Crews.
I think in the past month I've sort of gone soft on the blog, leaving behind the offensive posts of the early days. Well it's time for a rennaisance my friend, because you are getting the jackass award!
If anyone wants to suggest someone else who deserves an award, just drop me a line. The bitch is back!
