Never Sit on a Couch in Turkey

As I sit to write this weekend update I realize I have no idea what I did on Friday. Seriously. Not because I was too drunk, or out of control in general, but because it blended in. When I talk to the people I grew up with who still live in the suburbs - I'm always hearing about quiet nights in, movie nights, glass of wine and some cuddling kinda evenings. To this I say - 'Well, what did you do on the weekend?' Completely oblivious to the fact that that was their weekend. I think I might be able to count the amount of Fridays and Saturdays I have stayed in (and done nothing) post high school on two hands... And I don't count going to the movies - you can go to a movie on a weekday and be fine for work in the morning. No skill involved there. Just the ability to sit and stare.

The fact that I cannot remember Friday (even though precisely at this moment I DO remember what I did) might mean that I either need to scale back the night outs... in an effort to make each one more memorable OR I could find new places to go. This seems more productive. I will explore my city further, make new friends, destroy my liver and soul in new venues. Any suggestions?

Saturday... I remember. Vividly. Well, vividly might be pushing it; however, it was quite memorable. The night started out like any other, consuming a magnum of wine to myself and then heading out to meet the boys. The bar was pretty much like any other night (Woody's in this case)... until the last 20 minutes. We were sitting at a table talking amongst ourselves when we finally noticed that there was a table of similar aged, good looking men right next to us. After some yell flirting we decided to push the tables together. 20 minutes later the lights came on (which is one of the worst feelings in the world), affirming that we were all reasonably attractive individuals. Time to go home? I think not.

Illegal after hours clubs! First we headed to one on Queen West - though they wouldn't open the door for us b/c some drunken frat dorks were standing outside and making a scene. So DJ suggested we hit a different one - in Kensington Market (Capital of Hipster of Douchebaggery in my opinion... and it's my blog, so piss off). This place was in the middle of the city, but felt completely isolated... Situated down a dark alley, it's door was covered with graffitti. After we knocked on the door, a very tough-looking woman answered and informed us (in a very surly manner) that we shouldn't fu*kin knock and there is a camera mounted so they can see we need to be let in.

This place was dirty. DIRTY. Not only were they illegally serving alcohol after hours, but there was also illegal gambling and I'm pretty sure prostitution going on. The only girl I saw there aside from the bartender (who looked kinda like a younger Grace Jones... but less majestic... and more used) was a tranny prostitute who took a liking to me - see she was Turkish and sells her body, and I'm the whitest arabic person you've ever seen and collect comics... that makes us the same? According to her, yes. After she regaled me with a story about how she offered a guy a bj, and he refused calling her disgusting, then later when he was in the washroom she accosted him and he let her (straight guys, please stop playing coy... it's embarassing) she said goodbye to me and tried to kiss me... I gave her the cheek (thank god my reflexes weren't too impaired). Still - I had to leave shortly after because I was sure I had Turkish Prostitute herpes all over my face and the couch I was sitting on looked like it might have had Hepatitis C.

Attention - Get your A*s to the Dance Floor!

So I have this awesome friend who is a wicked fresh DJ... Goes by DJ TLA.

If you read my blog, this is the aforementioned remix of Lady Gaga's 'Paparazzi' he made. When he first let me listen to it he prefaced the song by telling me it's 'super gay'... That it is - but also super awesome. At least I think so - and my opinion is better than yours... about everything... all the time. Eat it.

Here's the link my duckies - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=83fBv1fCUhA

ALSO! Another post coming today as I have had quite the booze fueled Tuesday night! Until then.

Thanksgiving Extravaganza or Girls Girls Girls!

Thanksgiving weekend has come and gone. I still feel the 'turkey sleeps'... but that might also be my addiction to cough medicine. Apart from the two thanksgiving feasts I put my waistline through over the past three days - I managed to get blind drunk at a pre-birthday, and birthday party. Is everyone familiar with the' birthday week'? Apparently mothers who gave birth from 1978 to 1985 took a whole week to squeeze their litter out.

I know this to be true because I am a 1981... and everyone I call a friend was born circa '78-'85. All of these people have multiple events for one occasion (kinda like straight people and weddings... seriously, like 7 functions for a wedding??? I'm glad you're in love but f*ck off).

Anyway, this past weekend we were celebrating the birth of the one and only DJ. On Friday after consuming a pre-bottle of wine to socially lubricate ourselves, B-rock and I headed over to DJ's place for the pre-drink... It is a tradition of mine to always preempt the pre-drink with booze so I don't spend the first 20 minutes of the pre-drink downing copius amounts of booze to deal with my conversational awkwardness. At his place, there were upwards of 20 very good looking eligible gay men. Could it be things were looking up for Malicious?

No. They were not.

Where do 30 drunk gay men go for a birthday to dance? Church Street? No. Queen West? Are you kidding? The Brunswick House? Uh... ya? Yes, we went to the Brunny (which I have described to people in the past as 'where frat boys go to date rape stupid girls'). Despite my initial reservations I had a great time... I think. All was a bit fuzzy after B-Rock and I polished the 26 er of Crown at DJ's place and then everyone was buying everyone shots... and then THIS happened. At a party filled with gorgeous goodlooking men - drunk and having a good time. I picked up a... girl. Yes - I was making out with a girl all over that bloody bar. In the end I remember three things from that night:

1. Screaming 'Don't Stop Believing' at the top of my lungs into the poor persons ear beside me
2. Girls mouths are small
3. There is nothing worse than falling asleep with a messy shawarma still in your hand

Thanks Booze.

Love,

Malicious

Today's Post is brought to you by the Number '3'

Ever since I heard the old adage, 'Good things come in threes' - I have been terrified. What is the shelf life of these supposed 'good things'? Does it mean 3 good things will happen to you in your lifetime? Or is it more like a renewable cycle - after every 3 good things that happen, do I get three more at a later date? How long do I have to wait to qualify for my next set?

Conversely, does this mean bad things come in threes as well? Must I go through a trio of terrible events in order to redeem my good gift card? Or do these things happen concurrently? I also contemplate the magnitude of the good or bad thing that happens - is it like physics? Does every action have an equal reaction?

I am going to go back to Yesterday evening and count...

Hailstorm called me with a free ticket to a movie - GOOD THING
Did not die in my sleep - GOOD THING
iPod played a continuous stream of good songs while on shuffle during walk to work without me having to press 'next' a billion times - GOOD THING

Person brought dog into the office today and it took a sh*t right beside my desk... almost vomitted - BAD THING
(*side note: this is a prime example of why I am a cat person through and through)
Yogurt that was purchased three days ago says the expiry was Sept. 17 - BAD THING

So as it stands I am waiting for one more bad thing to happen to me - and tonight I will be seeing my ex for the first time in months at a mutual friend's party... he will most likely bring his new special friend... hmm, maybe i'll pass away before that... which could be more pleasant (side note part two: this is why I love objects now). If I die I leave all my assets to Hailstorm... thanks for the movie! Enjoy my comics.

Bizarre Love Triangle

I have a major dilemma... Nelly ft. Kelly Rowland style for real. I used to laugh at the people who cheated (and worried about it) - s*x and intimacy could totally be separated. Right? I thought so.

So... I should tell you (if you don't already know), I am an objectum sexual. I don't love people, just things (check out http://www.objectum-sexuality.org/). I don't really understand why people fall in love with other people, they have thought processes and entire lives of their own! How can you control that?! I mean, what good is spending time with someone if you have to do what THEY want to do sometimes, or god forbid anticipate how something you do will make THEM feel?! Madness. Plus it's so passe.

Being an Objectum Sexual is hip... and I am the hippest because I am involved in a sordid affair, caught against my own better judgement between two formidable suitors. What could be worse? I'll tell you - they both moved in with me over the past few months, so now it's just so darn awkward to be in my own home. I just can't bring myself to ask one of them to leave.

This is my own version of Alanis Morissette's 'Unsent'

Dear Slow Cooker I like you alot,
You were first in my heart and second to none
I hope you know that
I want you to know that I truly appreciate
Coming home from work tired and hungry
To find that you have been slaving away all day
Delicious Pot roast.

Dear Space heater, you rocked my world
Our love is new and truly exciting
I hope it lasts
You should be privy to the fact that I glow
When you cuddle me to sleep at night
The best is that you're still there when I wake up
Toasty blankets.

As you can see I am at an impass. How do I live without one of these lovers?

It's not cold in here, you're just dying

It's Saturday 11:04 am and I feel surprisingly coherent after spending a night out with Brett. Yesterday morning everything was terrible and today - 180 degrees my friends. Why you ask? Two magnificent words - Space Heater.

Explanation: Okay so I live in loft ( a REAL loft, not a chi chi one) on the top floor... we are talking concrete and exposed bricks. It makes for a living space with real character, but the unfortunate side effect is little to no insulation. Translation: When the weather turned chilly this week I became dead-like. At first to combat this - I bundled. This is a hard thing for me to do, I loathe having to wear more than skimpy underwear in my own dwellings. Baggy hoodies, jogging pants, that sort of thing. Needless to say this would not do. I will be semi-nude in my own home regardless of the weather damn it! I don't care how much energy I have to waste - to hell with you Mr. Suzuki.

So I went on Craigslist (this site is magic, provides endless hours of amusement for me) and found myself a space heater for 30 bucks (brand new!). After, I went to meet the man in a sketchy part of Toronto (Big ups Allan Gardens), he told me the heater was in his car in an underground parking garage. My spidey-sense was on the fritz so I went along. When he opened the trunk there were three things in it - my space heater, a crow bar, and a bag of red onions. So I gave him the 30 for the heater and traded a little quick s*x for the onions - what! a boys gotta eat!

Which brings me back to my beginning... It's like Jamaica in here.

Last night I went over to Brett and Williams place with a giant bottle of cheap wine (I'm not really the type to drink for taste... and if I do... it's Tang), a pack of smokes, and my freakum threads. When I got there, Brett was drinking as per usual, and William was baking up a vegan storm - two layer lemon pumpkin cheesecake - because he had entered the vegan bake-off (happening TODAY at harourfront ... 4pm-7pm... 2 bucks gets u all the samples you want!). Drink Drink Drink, smoke smoke smoke... Good Handy's.

So in an attempt to spite Big Primpin (gay hip hop party) for being so west-endy, we decided to go to the 'Dirty Sexy Party' at Good Handy's (Toronto's Pansexual playground... this is the actual tagline). This event is really an excuse to ogle pornstars... they fly one in from somewhere (usually the US) and that person does everything on stage shy of going all the way, and then moves to a private party upstairs where he does in fact go all the way in front of a select group (and yes... I am cool enough to be invited apparently). Everyone gets hot and bothered and you eventually end up going home with someone and regretting it. I left with someone... Brett. Except we went to Fran's Diner where I consumed my weight in Hollandaise sauce.

Overall the night was 80% dirty, 10% sexy, with the remaining 10% being mostly made up of mystery meat.

Today/Tonight - Vegan Bake-off and Nuit Blanche!

My Life Episode III - The Mormons Strike Back/Help! The maritimes stole my best friend.

Because of sensitive subject matter I have decided to omit all questionable and/or offensive material from the Saturday/Sunday episode. I was left with this:

Went to house party... delete delete delete... went to Buddies... delete delete delete... went back to house party... delete delete delete... woke up in a room wearing an oversized flannel house coat (neither of which were mine) and nothing underneath with a bucket next to me... delete delete delete... went for brunch with B-Rock, Cpt. Pierce, and DJ TLA (gay polygamists unite - I'm first wife!)... delete delete delete... Uber homosexual pool party with Caesars and Mimosas... delete delete delete... Hazy memory of pizza and burritos... Wake up with feelings of shame and wasted potential... Fin.