I've decided that I'm going to turn this summer into the summer of the date. And so with determination I've now gone on two dates in the past week. To quote ER, "You're a DATOR." Admitedly I use such endevours to frustrate lonely Rama who (after beaing told that I went on two dates with one guy) responded passive agressively, "so you're seeing someone?" Well not really Rama, simmer down their kiddo, I'm still sitting in Toronto pining for you and you love it.
Date number two saw yours truly a little out of his league. I met my friend Debo and her friends at Sneaky Dee's on the sketchy side of College (well as sketchy as College gets, but about a block or two east of the martini bars). She wanted to set me up with a fresh off the boat artist (from Halifax; not from France or some European locale, that would have been hotter). Sadly as the table waxed and waned with various writers, film-istes and people variously affiliated with the Gladstone Hotel, I realized that I just wasn't that artsy; or I wasn't THAT type of artsy. Sure I write, a lot, but I have no desire to sing Seasons of Love in a dirty bachelor apartment that reeks of patchouli.
In that realm, I was only a voyeur (shit my jeans could have paid for someone's rent) and there is admittedly a part of me that enjoys the more expensive things that a life if Faux Hill has accustomed me too.
Pretentious, sure? Self admitted, yes; I mean I'm the kid that used to go to Pusateri's with KB for lunch, carrying an empty cake box to pretend that we actually shopped there.
Sadly my week long dating blitz has left me pining for a little bisexual in Alberta who shops at Caban... and who wears expensive jeans only "because I have big thighs" sure buddy, I'm just calling for the return of Seven on Seven Action. K?
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