What if I fell into a Crater in the Faux Hill Village

Last Sunday I sat reading Freud at Starbucks. This isn't a joke people and yes it was pretty "meta" - as in Josh Schwartz/OC meta... like I'm reading Freud, audience, do you get how fucking smart and self important that reference is?
But really... where have I been? Who knows really... I'm sure if I had blogged over the past couple of months I would have multiple self important stories about my sordid life neatly and wittily catalogued - alas the daily affirmation of my own wit are but distant memories these days; like errant coffee grinds at the bottom of a tall starbucks latte.
In short... I broke up with the Rama; as much as someone can date and subsequently argue over email, got a real job, in advertising - a job description that seemingly no one asks any more questions about... "The FHillary, bubeleh, he's in advertising." Saw the M Brad in Montreal, who ran away like a little rabbit.
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Actually a really funny story just popped into my mind, one which I will run with and detail to you my loyal readers. To most "the Village" in Toronto is codeword for Forest Hill. However, to some, to those with an affinity for the same sex, rainbow flags, and Diesel t-shirts, "the Village," refers to the Church and Wellesley gaybourhood. It so happened that one night after my Business Law class, my friend Matt and I ventured out for a drink on Church Street. Matt was having a small argument with his boyfriend, and yours truly, permanently single, decided a drink in the Gaybourhood was exactly what Dr Cher, patron saint of all things gay, ordered. As we sat on a patio we eventually struck up a conversation with a lovely professor, who was in town for a conference. By the end of the night enough stollen glances had been exchanged from the much older professor that this young pup realized if he so wanted he had a very interested bite on his rod - which was sadly getting a bit rusty with disuse.
And so we flash forward to the next night, when yours truly meets said professor for drinks... a lovely conversation ensues, we discuss coming out, academia and I realize that although this will clearly end in a one night stand, at least it will be an impressive notch on my belt- a notch that can be hotlinked to ratemyprofessor.com. And so after the good professor swipes the amex card to pay for our drinks, we go back to his hotel room, where I kid you not, he declares that my left toe is bigger then my right one... and soon enough lips locked, clothes in a minor disaray a caveat is presented, "my partner is driving in from Detroit. How do you feel about Philipino's and threesomes?"
As I grab my t-shirt I state with certainty, "I don't mind the first and I've never been in the latter. I gotta go." And with a smug smile on my face I flee the Delta Chelsea and go home to the computer - low and behold, "Professor X - don't waste your time ladies on falling in love with this eye candy, he's gay." "Professor X - gives really hard reading assignments." And I laugh...