I need a date redux

And so life at the Chateau becomes all the more unlikely: check out my Craigslist personal.

Thanks to Voula and Ming for encouraging and then perpetrating - of their own initiative, I repeat, with little or no direction from me - what could be a most bloggable social experiment. And also for the kind words that made me blush.

Bonus points for me if I get more than one date out of it.

Chateau Nice - are we avant-garde or what?

Last night I dreamt I was making out with Doogie Howser.
No, not the child. Yes, still disturbing.

food of the gods

Shortly after 7:30 last night, Z showed up with not one, but two associates. (Where was the wine you'd promised?)

A took notes, J filmed the process. Z told her stories of blood and pus (meh), gastro-intestinal surgery (ho-hum), torture techniques during World War II (zzz...) Maybe she felt that no decent human being would be able to stomach solid food after hearing about the atrocities/science experiments done to people. (This, she referred to as her best material.)

The residents of Château Nîce could not be broken. After 20 minutes of gross-out stories, Z stopped. Our three guests watched us stuff our faces with turkey chili, tossed salad and fresh crusty bread.

We couldn't let them go hungry, so we filled their glasses with wine. We even packed them a little dinner to go. What can I say, I'm a sucker for any struggling art student who can't afford cheese (but she can afford a coat from Aritzia?)

For dessert: Voula's lovely ambrosia salad. A tasty mélange of mandarin slices, pineapple chunks, shredded coconut, grape halves, sour cream and colourful little marshmallows (the green ones are the bestest!) I gave them some of the ambrosia salad to take home, which they reluctantly accepted.

They were in and out in less than an hour. Flavio and Z had briefly discussed the Punshine shoot which was part of the deal. Something tells me that it won't be happening any time soon. Z offered to write her own pun.

F: Betcha it won't be a pun, but a play-on-words.

A thank you e-mail the next day:

L,
Thank again for the delicious chilli and bread. J tried to eat the ambrosia, but was unable to. A and I declined to try it. I believe the boy we gave it to was very happy to eat it all.
On behalf of A and J, I would like to say that they had a lovely time, and feel bad they couldn't talk, but I would not let them.
Sincerely,
Z

How can these ladies call themselves artists if they can't take a risk? A delicious risk, if I might add. In hindsight we should have only made a vat of marshmallow heaven, faked a gross-out and watched the artist and her associates gobble the salad down. ^_^

Sunday Dinner

Dear Z,
I know this isn't part of the deal, and I also hope this doesn't fuck up the results of your project, but how about this: IF you do not manage to gross us (there are 3 of us) out, then NOT ONLY will you have to watch us eat (you may drink wine, of course) BUT YOU WILL ALSO be asked to pose for my roommate's website (completely tasteful, I promise you). He's always looking for more Punshines. We've exhausted every possiblity in our social network.
I have assured my roommates that you will only be telling us things to try and gross us out, and not doing things (ie. tossing your friend's salad at the dinner table while toepainting with mayo). Please let me know if that is not the case -- and I won't tell them.
Look forward to hearing from you
L ^_^

L,
My shtick is entirely verbal, I assure you.
I agree to your demands. What time do you expect us, and where?
Z

V: Aw man, this is going to be good. I feel bad that she’s going to go hungry.

Ack!

I's almos midnih and as i'm wiin an aicle ha was due yeseday, my keyoad dies!!!!
le B oes, hen he v. so i unplu he keyoad and hen he t, he z, he gand een he x die!
hank od o pa's lapop.
i een had o cu and pase my lo in and passwod.
uck.

lost appetite

Dear roommates,
Zeesy Powers has many projects on the go. I have invited her for Sunday Dinner, to participate in her Lost Appetite project. I sure hope that she will be able to join us. Respecting Voula's diet of white meat and fronds, I will attempt to make Turkey Chili :)
Zestfully.
lsc

very nice cat but scared

This poster has been up for a few weeks. No one's taken it down, so we can only assume that Buddy still hasn't found its way home.

Poor Buddy. He looks so happy. I miss Andromache and Brie.

double take

The last time I remember doing a double take, I was walking home, along Bancroft Way in Berkeley. 1998. It was sunny. I came up from behind a pick up truck parked along the curb, passed it. Although it was a truck, I remember it being low enough for me to see in. Dunno, maybe the sidewalk was built higher, maybe the tires were smaller. There was a dude in the driver's seat, hand clamped around his penis. I'd caught it out of the corner of my eye. My pace never changed, but I managed to look again for half a second longer, and he looked at me. Young, blonde. I just kept walking.

Walking along Dewson tonight, I was half a block from home when I heard a cough across the street. I looked over and saw a man in the laneway beside 99 Dewson, bent over, pants around ankles, ass lit by a streetlamp. Looking ahead of me, it wasn't until half a second later when it registered that I had just witnessed something out of the ordinary. So I looked again, gait never changing, and yes, there it was. Pasty-assed man, looking at me with both his eyes and his crack. I was tempted to call out "Excuse me sir, are you OK?" But by the time I worked up the nerve, I was walking up the steps to our front door.

I get home, anxious to tell someone -- anyone. Flavio was the lucky one to find out first. His reaction? To throw on his coat and march right out there with his camera. But he was too late. Assman was gone -- and he didn't even leave us turds/souvenirs to post on this site :(

complete waste of time

since initial 'fitness assessment' went well with nice red sweatshirt staff member, i decided to try my luck at the Y again. a month later. i was working lots of nights.

barely remembered how to program the stationary bike but somehow managed.
found my orange card that was supposed to guide me through the process.
got back on the bike.
by minute 6, my legs were burning so much I had to stop.
so fucking lazy.
get off machine and stretch.
start again.
reprogram bike to level 1 instead of 3 (out of 12).
10 minutes later, finish that workout, barely breaking a sweat but the heartrate thingy said i was within my target range. fine.
walk over to machine #8 to attempt some leg swingy excercise.
card says to set seat in position 1. um. it's been a month since the 'fitness assessment', not sure how to do that.
look at machine, look at organge card feeling stupid, look at machine.
orange card no help.
put down waterbottle.
find a staff dude in red sweatshirt.
wait for him to finish his conversation with dude who's obviously done this before.
"um, can you show me how to adjust a machine?" [outloud]
hesitates, "which one?"
turn around and see super sweaty man on my machine.
"guess he didn't see my water bottle and bright ORANGE card right next to the machine." [in head]
"oh, it was that one (pointing to #8), but I guess number 9 is fine." [outloud]
walk over with red sweatshirt dude.
"you just adjust the seat to the number."
"ya, no shit." [in head]
show him orange card
"i know, i just can't remember how to do it (smile supidly)." [outloud]
"oh, you just pull this and adjust it."
"fuck, now what" [in head]
"ok, now what do i do? it's been a while (smile again)" [outloud]
inching away, "just put your arms on there and crunch down"
"like this?" [outloud]
"i feel like a moron" [in head]
red shirt guy glances away, obviously more interested in helping dude whose leg is bigger than his head
"keep your chin on your hands"
walks away
"thanks jerkface, i thought you guys were supposed to be helpful" [in head]
reassure self that i'm doing fine.
do crunches.
3 reps of 20.
barely feel a thing.
convince self it'll all get better.
alrighty. sweaty man gone from my machine.
go over and figure out how to adjust seat on machine # 8 based on previous logic.
read vague instructions on machine.
"now is it swing all the way left and push towards middle or start on right and swing towards middle?" [in head]
"hmm" [outloud]
read machine instructions more closely.
no help.
pick one option and swing legs 20 times.
doesn't feel right.
try other way.
doesn't feel right.
look around to see if anyone notices.
look for red shirt dude who's nowhere in site.
fight back tears of self pity.
look at machine instructions one more time to see if they've changed.
feel stupid.
realize i don't actually have to be there.
get up and march towards filing cabinet.
put back orange card.
march to changerooms fighting back the tears.
look at schedule to find a class that might be more useful than random machine experience.
all classes are held during days.
fucking housewives.
march home with tears in eyes contemplating when to give in and cancel membership.

should've gone to korean grocery store with loretta.

I need a date

Let it be known - this post is an experiment in meeting new people in my cold & heartless Toronto.

To wit - Friday November 25th, 7:30 pm at Ristorante Boccaccio in North York. I have two seats at a fancy Italian dinner - ticket value $85 per.

Since my existing female friends (many of them burdened with significant others) are weary of me harrassing them to act as seat-fillers for various engagements (judging from the minimal response I get when sending out slapdash mass emails), and following on a renewed desire to meet some new and interesting strangers, combined with my general loathing for Lavalife and similarly sadistic social technology, I am putting the 'online word' out to the lady population of Toronto. If you've read my posts then you already know a bit about me (and so I will not explain my life story - please judge me by my anecdotes).

The proposition: if you are female, age 20-35 and want to be stuffed to the gills with delicious Italian, as well as have the effervescent Bonhomme as your dinner companion on the aforementioned eve of Nov 25, then make your case on this blog by leaving a comment. If you are shy about leaving your name and email, don't worry - use a codename and we can find a way to negotiate.

Otherwise I will ask the crazy women in the bus shelters.

The Amazing Race

(aka trying to force it)

Ok say something interesting.
How can I when Voula is passed out on the couch? (to Voula) Isn't it hard to contribute when you're horizontal?
You're trying too hard to be scripted. Quoted I mean. This candy is pretty.
(drops candy)
Don't put it in your mouth.
I'll give it to you.
It's already been in my mouth. I have put every single one in my mouth, spat it out and blowdried it. That one should taste like bacon.
Too many blondes on this show (The Amazing Race).
Are we being too quiet?
Yes.
I really have nothing to talk about. I did all my bitching and complaining on the streetcar.
What about praising?
Braising?
Praising.
Who can I praise... Ooh - I just farted. (to Voula) Hey is this your favourite blanket? Ooh I'm so gross... stall number one at my office was blocked up again.
You clogged the toilet?
Someone else did. The toilet paper was completely saturated. You know when, it's all, like, chocolately? It's so hard to go when all you can smell is poo. And when you leave the door open you smell it in the hall.... Also, the sculptor down the hall doesn't wash after she goes!
You can't just force this. It's organic.
No - this is blogging laxative.
It is verbal diarrhea. My tongue hurts.
Maybe it's from all that rum you drank today. (to flavio) You didn't say anything.
I just did.
Are you actually posting this?

Profound saying of the week

"People who treat dogs like people, treat people like dogs."
~M. Bonhomme.

My my - how very clever.

In hindsight

Half a platter of super cheesy nachos at 3 a.m. may not have been such a good idea. I think I've just become lactose intolerant.

all alone and lonely blues

the chateau is empty. I miss my housemates. how come they always work so late? I don't think I talked to 3 people all day. I thought I would miss it, but for me, since I resolved to become a new man (in the middle of June, when I acquired the love of my life, named Peaches), working from home is a baaaad idea... too much freedom, reminds me of the bad days, in prison, seduced by the keyboard... mind starts to flirt and wander... work does not get done. lonely lonely lonely, old habits and days spent writing stuff I can't even comprehend, or believe it possible to write. luckily the plumber came by to fix the girls' faucet. he remembered my name! and then there's bubble tea with peter. sweet sanity - thy name is bubble tea. (and just then the phone rang :-) it's peter... there is hope)