“I’ve done the merry-go-round, I’ve been through the revolving door, I feel like I’ve met somebody that I can stand still with for a minute. Don’t you want to stand still with me?” – Carrie Bradshaw, Sex and the City, Season 1 episode 7.
Toronto is no different from any other big city on this huge planet. People keep their distance. We introduce ourselves like we’re selling real estate. I’ll Facebook you is the new ‘I’ll call you’. And being thirty is apparently the new twenty…at least this is what I’m told.
In this vast space of a city you would think that an attractive, young thirty-something guy could meet another young thirty-something fella. After all, there’s plenty of fish dot com, gay dot com, and we now have Grindr, a gay GPS to track where all the beautiful men are. Meeting men at your fingertips. Easy right?
True, part of my new year’s resolution is to not date for one year. 365 days of single. I deleted my online dating profiles. Stop making eye contact with cute guys. And stop pretending to be interested in conversations that I’m not really part of anyway. Time to invest in me. My life. I made this decision after a break up…a ditch? Still not sure exactly what to call what happened (he told me he never loved me that I was only a sexual experiment) but it’s over now. As a result, I have all this regret (shut up bitch, there is such a thing as regret. If it doesn’t exist I wouldn’t have any). I learned that I put myself, my life, on hold for my ex and as a result I almost lost myself completely. So I figure one year spent losing myself requires one year gaining an identity.
Am I over thinking? Most Libras would say yes. Thankfully I’m a Capricorn and over thinking is what I do best. But this time I think I bit off more than I can chew. Quitting smoking is easier (another new year’s resolution). I’m keeping distracted with Self-help books, enrolling in a second career program and connecting with friends…well, the ones I have left.
2010 wasn’t the best year, but it wasn’t the worst. When it was good it was great. After all I did fall in love. But when it got bad it was a nightmare. I lost more jobs in one year than I had in my entire career of working. I lost myself completely.
Where’s the balance? Why does it feel like the world has shifted on its axel, knocking some of us on our asses? The world is in a recession and despite the reports on the news that it’s over, more people are still getting laid off. So in the middle of all this chaos why am I writing about finding the one? Insane?
To be honest, part of me screams there’s no such thing as love. That it’s a hallmark greeting to sell a piece of paper. But the young, naive, hopeless romantic in me silently whispers: it does. Don’t give up.
A really hot guy in the television industry once said to me at a trendy club in the Film District, “You can’t find love if your heart’s not open” He said this as he massaged my bottom lip with his finger after sliding his cigar in my mouth for a taste. His words echo in my head like a bad dream after I wake. Is my heart frozen? If so, when did I become this cold person who runs from love instead of toward it?
It reflects like a ray of light off a mirror. People see it, I guess or he wouldn’t have said it. I want to be open. I want to be ready. But every time I try to take a step outside of the refrigerator some idiot will say something completely out of line. First words from a douche bag who didn’t bother to say hi first said, “Are you a top or bottom?” This is the gay introduction. Whether we’ll get along or not. Another snot rag off POF sent me a message before I deleted my profile, “I’ll be single in a month, want to hook up?” Are you for real? And when I refuge to my safe place, my bookstore on Yonge Street, the manager – a 62-year-old plumber, and a scholar in sexually transmitted decreases told me for new year’s he celebrated by hiring a hooker and never wears a condom because he’s a top. What kind of world am I living in?
My hooker friend, yes I have a friend who is a prostitute. But the agreement to our friendship is that he stay in school or the deal is off. He’s getting his PhD in sexuality and in my eyes justifies what he is doing. If it weren’t for school he’d just be a whore…not cool. Anyhow, we smoked a joint after a beer and told me more about his life. He has three boyfriends, five booty-calls and 10-clients. His life is literally a merry-go-round of sex. How he doesn’t shit himself when he sneezes is beyond me. But I don’t judge. It’s his life. However I am part of it.When we’re together we sneak off to the dark corners of earth and laugh and pretend we ‘get’ each other. In a way I do get him. Sex is a game. It’s a job. It’s fun. It’s dirty. It’s fascinating.
I use shopping as therapy. I downloaded songs and movies as a rebellious attempt to screw the system but all I’m left with are CD’s with scratched words with black marker. My friend, the Hooker, says that I shouldn’t think about love because it doesn’t exist. In Montreal, where he’s from, people don’t bother to look for love that it apparently lands on their laps. Sex he says is a Toronto thing and if I’m looking for more I need to look else where.
So I shop and wear fancy clothes in my apartment in downtown Toronto. Turned off. Single. And I watch Sex and the City off a burned DVD. People say I’m Carrie Bradshaw but I think it’s only because I’m a writer. I’m not as cool or as smooth or even as cute as she is. In her own dysfunction she knows who she is. What she wants. I don’t. Not anymore. I’m so dizzy from 2010 that 2011 is about making sure I don’t throw up all over it.
If my friend Laura was reading this she’d probably say, “You’re so dramatic sweety, have a drink.” But I don’t want to drink. I don’t want to get drunk. I want to stand still with someone at 3am and as the January chill blows past but not be cold. I’d smile back at Laura and say, “Sure where do you want to meet?” I ignore my wants and agree because this is what I do. It’s company. It’s a Toronto thing to be out and about and not be captive at home because you never who you might meet.
“In a city with infinite options there’s no better feeling than knowing you only have one.” – Sex and the City.