Take Two

When walking down Bloor Street, it is sometimes impossible not to stop and take a second look at a cute outfit, or a hot pair of shoes, or even the hottie who just passed you with the ugly girlfriend.

When waiting in line at the grocery store, it is impossible not to think about flipping through the tabloids that stare you in the face, only to pass them, turn around, and decide to give it a quick look as you wait to be checked-out.

When playing the dating game, it is even harder to resist the temptation of going back to review a certain play, or player, at a particular moment in time.

We spend our lives dwelling over our decisions. We take second looks at our fashion choices, our menus, our friends, our bank statements, television channels, web sites, and even our men. Some say it is because we are never satisfied. Others think it is because we are always searching for something more, something better.

Either way, we all do a take-two. We take a second look at our lives—the people in them, the things in them, and what makes them what they are. Just like movies have sequels, we always want to repeat, re-examine, or reincarnate another chapter in our lives. And just like sequels, they can either be really good—or really bad.

Amanda is your typical “take-twoer.” From “Cucumber Mike” to Dave, Amanda has done a take-two on everything in her life. Her major. Her minor. Her hair. Her shoes. Her job. But she is more notorious with her men. Amanda and Chris met one night long ago while she was out and about downtown. Chris was a computer science major in Waterloo on co-op with IBM in Toronto. Their connection was instant. But of course, with Amanda being the picky princess that she is, decided it was best that they became friends. As the months pasted, they met up in Montreal over the summer, went to movies, dinners, they had a real friendship.

“I can’t be with him. He’s so not my type,” she would tell me whenever I tried to bring up the possibility of them dating. He was obviously interested in her, and after meeting him, I knew he could be the one for her…at the moment anyway.

But once Chris stopped pursing her and showed interests in other women, and Amanda saw the possibility that he would not be hers, she stopped and had to do a take-two.

“I don’t know. I think I like him now,” she confessed to over lunch one day. I knew it. “But I can’t be with him. He’s so far; he’s not blonde or blue-eyed. But he’s so nice.”

She was making excuses not to be with him. Even when doing a take-two, there must be a reason for doing so. We get that sense that it was meant to be, it was written in the stars, that it’s fate. But then why do we hesitate?

Over at York, Danielle was telling me about her own take-two. Billy, her ex-fling at an old job,
was back for a repeat performance in their sequel. A drug dealer, player, and drop-out, Billy was everything Danielle did not need again. But this Billy wasn’t the same one. He was reformed, changed, a new person.

“He’s not like that,” she gushed in the library. “He’s real, he’s honest, and he wants me back. So I let him take me for a little dinner, a little movie, a little shopping spree. No harm in that. After all, my birthday is coming up.”

But something told me Danielle was doing a little more than a little nothing with Billy. She was re-considering him not only as a friend, but also as a potential lover. It was something Amanda, Ryan, and I didn’t want to see repeated.

Ryan was having a similar epiphany in Waterloo.

At 14, Nelson was the first guy Ryan ever had true feelings for. Although it was a young age, Nelson affected Ryan in ways that still move him. He represented a happier time when we didn’t have to worry about marks, paying tuition, or the dating game. One morning at 2 AM, I got the phone call.

“I have been trying to reach you all night,” he said as I wearily remembered missing all his previous calls. “I’m in town, I’m at Nelson’s house.”

Later that morning, when I had actually had a few more hours of sleep, I found out that Ryan and Nelson had starting chatting again. Out of the blue, Nelson decided to drive to Waterloo and bring Ryan to his stylish apartment at Bathurst and Lawrence for the night. So as I lay in bed while Ryan did the same 40 minutes away, I heard the story and the circumstances. With Nelson’s boyfriend in Montreal, and the feeling of loneliness on Ryan’s mind, it was only right that he was in Nelson’s bed four years later, doing a well overdue take-two.

All around me, it seemed, people were doing take-twos with old partners. So I got to thinking. If it wasn’t right the first time, what makes you think it will be right the second time around? Are we just searching to bring mementos from our past into our future? Why are we willing to take second chances or take second looks? Does it take the threat of another man or woman to make us do a take-two of something that is right at our doorstep?

Inspired by my friends’ newfound openness to sequels, I decided to do my own take-two. I had dated Sunny about a year ago, when after a painful and rather messy cut-off, I decided enough time had passed and I was ready to let him back in. One lazy Wednesday night, I gave him a call.

“I haven’t heard from you in such a long-time,” echoed the voice through the receiver. “How have you been?”

After what seemed like a great reconciliation, we decided to meet up for dinner and catch up on old times.

A few days later, as I was getting ready for work, I tried to look extra special because it was the night I was having a “friendly” dinner with Sunny. As I was about to leave, I noticed I had a new voicemail.

“Hey, it’s Sunny. Don’t forget about tonight. Call me at the office. I’m looking forward to it.”
My take-two might actually be the final take, I thought as I locked the front door.

Later that day, I tired calling him at the office and kept getting the annoying “administrative assistant.”

“Sorry, he’s in a meeting.”

“Sorry, he just stepped out.”

“Shall I forward you to his voicemail?”

I was beginning to worry. Was I going to be stood up? He wouldn’t with a cute voicemail like that.

As the day went on, I noticed I had yet another voicemail.
“Hey, sorry I missed your calls. It’s been crazy. Call me when you leave work so we can meet up.”

At 8pm, I finished worked and gave him a call. Of course, I had some time to think over the possible scenarios and decided I would walk out to the bus shelter just in case. As I dialed his number, I saw the bus parked while the driver had a cigarette.

Voicemail.
Take-two. Voicemail.

I was interrupted. “Are you taking this bus?” asked the driver.

I tried one more time before answering. Voicemail.

As I got on the bus, I looked at my reflection in the window and realized I had been such an idiot to think this would ever work. Take-ones end for a reason. Sequels fail at the box office for a reason—because they just plain sucked. I rode the bus home that night, wondering why I ever thought I could get away with a re-make of a bad original.

As for my friends, they all had realizations of their own.

Ryan realized that Nelson and him were better off as friends due to the fact that they were just two completely different people now. Nelson was almost married and not nearly as attentive as he was before (mainly because their “friendship” was a secret), and just because Ryan was happy four years ago, he is now older and wiser, and is equally happy realizing he is better than
that.

Danielle realized that Billy was still just the same old Billy with a few less pounds. And even after a two hundred dollar gift card from the GAP for her birthday, it couldn’t erase the memories of why it ended the first time. That, and because she discovered the girl he said he stopped dating apparently was not aware of it.

And for Amanda, she needed proof. One night, after careful consideration, we missioned to Waterloo. She decided that she needed to know for sure and couldn’t speculate anymore. Out in the dark in front of his student ghetto, Amanda took a serious second look at Chris. From the light of the street lamp, she saw for the first time he was everything she wanted. So, from one take-two, came the happiness Amanda had been waiting for. It is now only a matter of time before they get together.

As for myself, I realized that take-twos are better on paper than they are on the big screen. Keep the photos in the photo album, and not on the coffee table, and delete old voicemail messages, and “I miss you” e-mails. But don’t get me wrong, one in four isn’t bad. But think about it.

If we never did take-twos when walking down Bloor Street, standing in line at the grocery store, or when playing the dating game, we might end up missing out on a great sale or some good gossip, and we would no longer need the phrase “ the one who passed us by,” because we wouldn’t let that happen, now would we?

The 5 Needs

“If you look, you’ll never find,” commented my friends Danielle, Roy, and Amanda on our usual Thursday night out. “It’s just common sense. It always comes when you’re not looking.”

As I walk through the halls and corridors on campus, I can’t help but notice all the couples everywhere I turn. If it’s not kissing, it’s hugging. If it’s not hugging, it’s holding hands. And if it’s not holding hands, it’s sitting on top of one another in the Scott Library. All of these couples, all of these people, each somehow found each other. They somehow fit. So I got to thinking: Why do we end up with a certain person? Do we really have to search to find? Or is it in the last place you look? What do we look for in a mate and why?

As I pondered these questions and the testimonials from close friends, I got to thinking about a criterion we use when deciding if a potential prospect is really worth pursuing. I call these “The 5 Needs.” Essentially, they are the five things we need when deciding whether or not a person is right for us. We base this decision on the qualities of mobility, loyalty, physicality, sexuality, and, of course, friendship.

To make things a bit easier, I will briefly define each of the five needs. Mobility refers to the ability of being able to see each other easily; usually by some form of transportation other the city bus (i.e. driving/car). Loyalty refers to your partner’s willingness to always be there for you, no matter what, and sometimes, at your beckon call. Physicality refers to the ability for your partner to turn-you-on! Sexuality (although similar to, but not like, physicality) refers to the actual act of being intimate with your partner. And lastly, friendship refers to the ability to form a common bond with one another, to have the chemistry you would with one of your close friends—secrets and all.

But if we have all these things, are we completely satisfied? In my experience, if we have a taste of one or two, we always seem to strive to get all five, because if what we have is good, then imagine how great having all five would be. Does this motivate us and keep us searching for ‘the one’?

Over at Seneca, Danielle was having her own crisis. She had prematurely broken up with her summer fling turned semi-serious fling, Brendan, to search for greener pastures. However, she realized that greener pastures don't exist in the real world, and that she missed him. One of the biggest obstacles in their relationship, and a deciding factor in the break-up, was that Brendan went to U of Guelph and Danielle was stuck in Toronto.

As I sat there, in the computer lab, Danielle was frantically trying to find the right words to say.
"I want to be with you....no, that sounds bad. Please call me...no, that sounds needy."
I interrupted "How about you just tell him you love him and want to be with him."
"No, I want him to say that. Ugh..if only he was closer, it would be so much easier. I want him back because I miss him, not love."

Or was she motivated by the "5 Needs"? Brendan had given her loyalty, friendship, sexuality, and physicality, and, because they worked together, mobility by default. And, for a while, it felt so good. But even then, he lived downtown and she lived a little north. Now, that Brendan was away, she thought, maybe mobility and sexuality would be the trade-off. And now that she had some, did she want more? Is there really such thing as having your cake and eating it to? Was it a summer fling? Did she have to face the fact that it was over?

In a last desperate attempt, Danielle wrote the e-mail.

But in Amanda’s case, she had five guys to fulfill the five needs. Steve, Dave, Micki, Adriano, and even our friend Roy were all enough to help satisfy some need she had. She had constantly mocked Danielle and I for searching too hard and often accused us of being pathetic when it came to matters of the heart.

Was this her way of being disillusioned? Did she use five guys for her five needs, but then deny that she even needed them? Confront her, and she would call you crazy, and even pathetic. But I think she, like many, refused to believe that we need a ‘partner’ to fulfill and complete us. You could say she had a lot of pretty, pretty boys that she calls friends. Amanda didn’t need any one person to complete her, she just needed several persons.

And what about me? All of my partners had not fulfilled me, and I am still alone. Was I only destined to have mobility and sexuality? Were those the only important things to me? Maybe what I was missing was loyalty, and friendship, and physicality. But since when did five minus one equal zero? If I didn’t have all five with the people I was with, then is that why I’m still searching, and technically defined as single? Perhaps not having all five can create an equally loving relationship. If so, it wasn’t for me. If so, how long would it last for them?
I had always purchased the package before seeing what was inside of it. Maybe I needed to take a break from the esthetics of love and focus on the feeling of it. Were all my guys just there because I tried to do it ‘Amanda style’?

"Looking for it won't help you find it," commented Amanda on our way home. "I don't need a man in my life because I am independent." No, because you have five of them, I thought, but I dared not say it. I just sat there and looked at all the couples crossing Pond Rd. in front of me.

What are we all ultimately searching for? Is love the goal of life?

So maybe it will take a lifetime to find the answers to certain questions, or to find all our needs fulfilled in one person, but in the meantime, I know there is someone, or something, out there. If we just keep looking, maybe one day we’ll find.

Vintage piece: If the shoe fits

They say shoes are a woman’s best friend. Shoes are also gay man’s best friend. Although I’m not your stereotypical-wait-for-me-while-I-get-my-murse gay guy, I love my men. But I also have another great love: my shoes—naturally. But what happens when the shoe you find yourself falling in love with is on someone else’s foot?

They call the shoe I’ve been falling in love with Adrian, and they call the foot he’s on Ricardo. I came across Adrian one week in January when he kept messaging me on a site that I had posted my picture on about a year ago and had been using on and off ever since.

“Hey there, what’s up sexy? Where are you in the city?” read his message.

He’s hot, I thought, so why not? I checked his profile: “Happily in a relationship and happily welcome friends.” The idea repulsed me. Like many who have had their share of the dating scene and wanted to get somewhat serious, I was through looking for friends; I want real love bitch. No deal, I thought. It was just another sign that this real love would not be found online.

Two messages and a week later, I had forgotten about Adrian’s profile and decided to talk to him. I mean, he had sent me three messages. And that was the start of my obsession with the must-have shoes of the season.

Adrian turned out to be a really great guy. Our conversation was effortless, flowing from topic to topic, likes to dislikes, and the occasionally flirting, as much as there could be on MSN, of course.

“Do you live alone?” I casually asked, hoping a hot make out session after a great first date would be in order.
“Sadly, no. I live with my boyfriend, Ricardo.”

Excuse me? Boyfriend? I quickly rushed to open his profile and saw those three words staring at me: …Happily-welcome-friends.

The next day at lunch I told Amanda the news. “And after all that, he has a boyfriend. How could I be so stupid as to forget he had a boyfriend? No wonder it took him three messages to talk to me. He only got threw to me when I forgot.”

“Don’t get involved. Nip it. And nip it now,” she commented and sipped her bottle of water. I knew that was all she had to say.

Over on the west side, my friend Tina was singing a different tune. “Go for it, what have you got to lose. But don’t fall for this boy, because I’ll tell you right now: He won’t leave this Ricardo fellow for you. It never happens. I know.”

So I got to thinking: Can you ever wait around for prince charming? Could anyone ever really change their mind? Does it ever work out in the end? After all, it had only been a couple of days; I might not even like the guy.

Almost a week had passed, and I still hadn’t found one thing to justify a reason for not talking to the guy. I had to face it, I actually liked him. Is that crazy? I didn’t even know him. What I did know, was that his relationship, one that has been going on for two years and five months, was not going well at all, and the two lovers were having a difficult time admitting to one another they were just roommates. Nevertheless, I was not at ease. Our conversations finally had some sexual innuendos added into them. But what would happen if we met? Was I ready to be the other woman? Could I be the other woman? Could I try on the shoe and not buy it?

They say you can be madly in love with a man you’ve never talked to. You will assume all their personality traits, become jealous or have your days ruined even though he doesn’t know you. He can float from perfect to player to prick 10 times a day and you have never met. And with each transition, you will go crazy justifying his actions, or words at that.

That Sunday was my company’s annual employee get-together. The setting was a chic downtown lounge with all the right music, all the right food, and all the right fashion. I was no exception. It was the night I was meeting Adrian, and I was dressed to impress.

Tina, in her hot pink pumps, gave me one last piece of advice as I grabbed my coat. “If you do it, do it well. Because you never know.” She was drunk, but she was right. If I didn’t take my chance and try it on now, I might never see the shoe again.

Later that night, I was face to face with myself in his building’s buzzer directory, waiting for him to meet me in the lobby, liked we planned. And there we was, Adrian—the Adrian—like I had planned.

After spending a night out drinking hot chocolate, and walking the streets of downtown Toronto, he asked me if I wanted to see the view of the city from the roof of his apartment building. It was a breath-taking view, an emotional peak, and a realization low. The problem now was that I actually knew the man whose actions I had been justifying.


With him standing right in front of me, and the city all around me, I couldn’t help but think his boyfriend was three stories under me. I realized I couldn’t be the one who he cheated on his boyfriend with. I couldn’t be the one-night stand. Online, Adrian was everything I thought I wanted. In person, he was even more. I couldn’t bear the thought of being the mistress in our relationship; I would rather be the friend instead. So it was settled. As a grabbed a taxi at two in the morning and looked back into downtown Toronto, I had done the right thing. I had returned the shoe to its owner and saved myself from emotional debt.

The next day, I had a nice, long chat with Adrian. Even though I got rave reviews for my g-rated performance from the previous night, I knew it was best that we remained friends, for the time being. Adrian, his boyfriend Ricardo, and I.

And, in the end, if the shoe doesn’t fit, shut the fuck up, and walk on—you’ll eventually find your size.

Seasons of Love

When you meet the perfect person, the possibilities in this world seem endless. When you break up with the ‘perfect’ person, you realize that there ain’t no feeling like being free. But what happens when this feeling of freedom begins to wear off and you find yourself alone—again.

When the weather changes in Toronto, like moods, it can be gradual or happen all of a sudden. I knew fall was in the air when I had woken up in the middle of the night to take out my comforter. The mood would strike me soon thereafter.

It had been almost 4 weeks since I had broken up with BiGuy. My decision had come as a shock to my inner circle of friends, and to BiGuy himself. I explained to him that even though I cared for him and that I had a fun few months with him, I needed something more that what we had and we both agreed that we were looking for different things.

That night, as I struggled to fall back asleep, I couldn’t settle my urge to be lying next to someone else. Like many, I did not want to admit it, but my fall loneliness had begun to come in with the breeze through the open window.

In today’s world of fast food love, a higher significance is placed on independence and the various variations on the “I don’t need a man to complete me” attitude. It is tough to admit that sometimes you just need someone to hug you, to hold you, to kiss you, to touch you. These are things you can’t admit to even your close friends. These were the feelings that made you look weak in the eyes of the ‘completed.’

Ryan had come into town for the weekend from Waterloo and there was no better way to make me feel better, and to get my mind off my growing hunger pain, than a day of shopping.
As I listened to Ryan’s Waterloo stories of Mazen, Asif, and what’s-his-face, I couldn’t help but crowd-watch. From left to right, top to bottom, the Eaton Centre was packed with couples, some with children, some old, some new, and out of no where, I saw a face in the crowd. A very familiar face. It was BiGuy, with another guy. I did a quick turn into MusicWorld and cleared the way for Ryan to see what was sitting right in front of me.

“Who is that guy he’s with?” asked Ryan.

I shrugged. I had no idea.

“There’s no better way to find out then to go say ‘Hi,’” he commented.

As I flipped through CDs, I pretended not to care, and that it didn’t bother me that he was with someone else, but part of me had to know.

And, of course, my cell phone rang. It was BiGuy. The part of me that had to know picked up.

“I just saw you. Why did you run away?” he asked as I strolled to the back of the store, pretending that I had no idea what he was talking about.

“Yes, it was you, I am looking at you right now.”

Ryan tapped me on the shoulder and I turned to the front of the store. I was mortified. Standing at the entrance was BiGuy and the other guy. I was trapped. I couldn’t talk to him. I wouldn’t talk to him. Next thing I knew, I was talking to him.

The guy was Andy. Although I tried not to pass judgment, it was impossible. A punk rocker with a Mohawk (a real one, not one of this where there’s still hair on the side of your head), Andy was introduced to me as a ‘friend.’ Young, cute Andy looked me up and down—the international sign for “I’m not just a ‘friend,’ and who are you?”

Before I had a chance to say anything important or pieces of my soul started to break through my skin, Ryan faked an appointment we were late for and within a matter of minutes we were gone.

“Did you check him out?” commented Ryan over a dinner break. “Can you say faux-emo, teen angst gone on too long?” And he continued.

It was sweet that Ryan was trying to make me feel better, but I just couldn’t help but think that this was all happening in some weird way to make me feel even worse. The seasons were changing to remind me of the love I didn’t have. It was already bad enough that I was missing BiGuy; I didn’t think I’d have to see him for at least another month at the most. I hardly touched my dinner.

A few hundred dollars and a trip to the LCBO later, I found myself late for a night out with the boys and girls. I had come home and decided to catch up on some sleep, woke up and had ice cream straight from the carton, and cracked open my bottle of Vodka to take a small starter shot. I was beginning to spiral into a big emotional mess that I call “what I had failed to confront in the past.”

I believe we all have one of these emotional messes waiting at the end of our spirals. Things we ignore like family stress, friendship issues, feelings of low self-esteem, pretending you’re fine ending a relationship when deep down inside you’re not—things of that nature. I just wasn’t in the mood to confront mine.

But why do we choose to ignore these issues? Why can’t we ever be to the point with our emotions? Or are we just destined to keep going through the seasons of love?

I stood there, looking at myself in the mirror; I had to snap out of it, I needed to have fun tonight.

By the time my friends pulled around, I had polished ¾ of the bottle all to myself and got the sudden urge to make everyone little coolers in sippy-cups. At the time, I thought it was genius.

One little cup with both a sweet and a bitter tasting liquid that only came out when affected by outside forcing, namely a person taking a sip. I kept saying this to myself over and over as I mixed the drinks on my kitchen counter. Except the sippy-cup contained my soul, and the person sucking it out was BiGuy.

Why do we let people we supposedly want nothing to do with get to us? Of course the answer seems obvious, but there must be more to it.

That night, I kept affirming I was a psuedo-cowboy for a Halloween party that we weren’t going to. The downward spiral continued. As soon as we got to the club, I was on the dance floor. I had no time to waste, I had to catch me a man.

By the time we left the club, I had given Jon my number and we had talked about getting together later in the week. In times like this, I had done the man-binge diet; I was not willing to do it again, so I figured one guy would do for the night.

The car ride home was the worst from what I can remember. I was tired, and the alcohol had begun to take a turn for the worst. I was full throttle now.

In thirty minutes, I had managed to pick fights with Danielle, Ryan, and Kevin. There might have been some bitchy remarks made and some “shut the fuck ups” thrown their way, but somehow, my loneliness had managed to let itself out.

The next morning, I woke up feeling like the world had fall down on me and I was too tired to move it. I knew there was one thing left to do. I picked up the phone, and called BiGuy.

I threw myself into the spiral headfirst.

“I didn’t expect to hear from you until I found you behind some bushes in the street,” he said when he realized it was me through the raspy voice.

And so we talked—about everything. I admitted to him that I missed him, and that I really didn’t want it to end. And that I hopped he realized I still cared for him. Of course I didn’t expect, nor want, us to get back together, but it felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders to let the truth out. I was now comfortable knowing everything about Andy, and I found out there was a lot more to his Mohawk than just bald spots around it.

As for my friends, I needed to call them and make sure that I didn’t accidentally end our relationship either.

“You were really bad last night,” affirmed Danielle. “You ate half a pizza by yourself.”

Ouch. I didn’t even remember that part. Turns out I didn’t exactly put my heart out on the dashboard, but I did get a lot off my chest. And it turns out the sippy-cup didn’t exactly contain my soul, just the toxins it filtered out.

Later that week, I got a call from Jon, the guy I had given my number to and forgotten all about.

With a newfound feeling of peace, I decided it was time to do it all over again. So with that, I went out with Jon. Although it was fun, and a great official start to my fall, we both knew it wasn’t a match and we would be better off as friends, since I wasn’t willing to allow anymore toxic men into my life.

I was feeling better about the past few weeks. Maybe I was just looking for a complete closure between BiGuy and I? Or maybe I was just going through the motions?

Whatever it was, I was myself again, and actually embracing my loneliness. And, just like the crossover between seasons is short, I found my mood slowly fading away with the leaves.

Extra! Extra!

The summer brings out either the best or the worst in people. From silly flings to engagement rings, everything seems to change.

However, some key things always manage to stay the same.

On a typical August night, I was already running late for dinner with Tina. I just go back in town for the weekend after spending several of many weeks working in small town nowhere Windsor, Ontario. As glamorous as it may sound, and even though the shopping in Detroit was amazing (Diesel tote bag and boots half off with killer exchange rate!), I was excited to be back home—for the weekend. I had been gone so long it felt as if I was disconnected from the city and from my friends.

As I walked out the front door, I was happy to see Tina had not changed.

“Hey!” I yelled as I got in, excited to see the new goodies Tina had picked up from her usual Saturday trips to Kensington.

She simply smiled. I knew something was up. Either she wasn’t feeling well, she had a bone to pick with me, or she had some really big (and juicy) news.

“Okay, so what did Marnie do?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“Did you bring your Tumbs?”
“Not that either.”
“His name?”
“I’ll tell you over dinner, I’m starving.”

This must have be some big news, I thought, as we drove down Bloor.

Over on the North end, Ryan was getting some new information from old news.

Nelson and Ryan had not seen each other since January when they fooled around in Nelson’s apartment drunk off wine while his boyfriend was out of town.

“Nelson, gosh, it’s been so long,” said Ryan as he stood up to greet Nelson at Under the Sun.

It turns out that Nelson had moved into the area and gave Ryan a call, one of those ‘my boyfriend’s out-of-town on business’ calls, to which Ryan certainly did not object to…if the meeting was in a public place, of course.

After a few Martini’s, Ryan was starting to forget his “in public” rule. And fifteen minutes later they were speeding up Yonge Street.

“Do you like the new house?” asked Nelson as they walked into the 1.5 million dollar Aurora home. With a classic brick exterior, 40-foot kitchen and 11-foot ceilings, marble flooring, and an all-oak staircase, Ryan didn’t really know how to respond without sounding impressed. After all, it was Nelson, the guy who lived in a room of a condo of an Asian family a short four years ago and left love to be with money. Lucky bastard, thought Ryan.

On that note, “How much of this did you actually buy?” he responded coyly.

“Enough to know that I have the right to make love to you in any given corner.”

Over at Spring Rolls on Dundas, I was gearing up to get what I knew was big news spinged on me. After a few minutes of minor chatting up, me talking about my new work in Windsor, she about her new search for a meaningful fashion job, I couldn’t take it any longer.

“So I told the receptionist she’s been such a big he—”

And then she said it.

“Bruno.”

“Excuse me? What Bruno? Firstly, she’s a she, and it’s the receptionist we’re talking about.”

“His name is Bruno.”

I quickly tried to think of who it could be and no one came to mind. Jean, Marco, Doug. Nope, no Bruno. He must have been hot off the presses if I didn’t hear about him.

“Marnie’s friend.”

“Marnie’s friend? But she’s like eighteen.”

“I know.”

Wait. Stop the presses.

It turns out Tina had been fooling around with Bruno for about a week. It happened one night when he came over to see Marnie, Tina’s younger sister, who is, for the record, six years her junior. Bruno had a crush on Tina since he was freshman doing his homework at their house. The only reason it started was because Bruno has become legal and had to make a move on Tina, especially since he caught her at a time when she was getting uncomfortably single.

According to Tina, the way he grabbed her and kissed her was so hot that one thing led to another, and before she knew it, they were sneaking around from house to house fooling around during the week.

“Tina, it’s hot when you’re the babysitter inviting your boyfriend over when the kids are asleep. It’s not hot when you’re the babysitter sleeping with the kids.”

“Shut up! He’s a perfectly grown man. He does construction!”

“You want construction workers, there are dozens of men up in Woodbridge who do construction that are a little closer to your age range,” I pulled out my cell phone. “Here, I have a couple of numbers.”

“Put down the little black book.”

“Don’t say, Tina Marie Carmichael.”

She just looked at me with those sad eyes. I was too late.

Over in Aurora, Ryan was looking into a pair of hungry eyes.

Sex with Nelson was always the best when Ryan had a buzz off wine, but this time it just felt dull. No matter what had happen between them, this was beyond Ryan. He wasn’t going to play sideline story to a headliner.

“So I’m meeting with Miguel on Monday for lunch,” I told Ryan while we were shopping the next day. I could tell he didn’t approve. “Now before you say anything, we have tried to meet up several times in the last few months, but our schedules never work out. Either I’m away or he’s not back in town. So it has to be done, I need to see him.”

“Gosh, how long has it been since you last saw each other?”

“Like two and a half years.”

Miguel and I dated about four years ago, when I was considerably younger, and he was considerably unaware of my age. I had been judging Tina this whole time when I had been in a situation similar only four short years ago. At that time in my life, Miguel was my love, my all; I would have done anything to stay with him. But with time, I realized that we weren’t ready to with one another at that point in our lives and I just had to let him go. We still, as far as I’m concerned, love each other, but right now it’s not what we need.

Since I last saw Miguel, I’ve talked to him a few times here and there. Not much has changed besides the fact that he started law school, moved to a new city hundreds of kilometers away, and was practically engaged. Despite Ryan’s worries that every time I see Miguel, I’m sent into an emotional reminiscent spiral, I was excited to see him, to catch up on young times.

As I told Tina’s story over dinner, Ryan went from shocked to excited to happy for her. “As long as she doesn’t fall for him, then it’s all good, let her have her fun it’s summer.”

“But that’s the thing, I think she wants him as more than just whatever they are.”

“Well, I, for one, am proud of her. She’s really inspired me give things a chance. Like, with Nelson, I just kept thinking of the negative, I could only do so much besides telling him that what we do is wrong. If he still wants to go for it, and it makes me feel good, then power to me.”

As I walked home that night, I realized that maybe I had judged Tina too quickly. So I got to thinking: If Miguel had given me a chance back then, why shouldn’t Tina give Bruno a chance right now? You’re never too old to try new things, right?

The next morning, I woke up to a much anticipated text message.

Pick you up at 1:30 read the words across my phone screen and I couldn’t be have been happier.

As the time drew nearer, Miguel was at my house at exactly 1:37pm and, like old news, I wasn’t in his car until 1:57pm.

“Miggggg, sorry I’m late.” I laughed as I saw him in his sleek Gucci shades.

He smiled and put his hand on my head. “Some things never change.”

The ride to the restaurant was awkward, and it felt like after the filler questions like “How have you been?” and “What have you been doing?” the conversation seemed to sag.

As the afternoon went on, it felt as if we had nothing left to talk about expect for old times and of what could have been and what had been. He told me about his blissful days with the rebound who is still around after four years, and I told him about Sunny, BiGuy and all the ones in between. But something was missing.

And as he paid the bill, like old times, and drove me home, like old times, there was no goodbye kiss at the end unlike old times.

I always said that Miguel and I would be together in ten years. My whole reasoning behind the break-up was that we needed time to grow up and stop being kids. But have we reached the point where we’re ready to have our own kids? It felt like in all the growing up we did, our lives became so settled. Miguel was still my first love, but no longer the kind of guy I saw myself with in ten years. It took me two years, but I realized we were better left as old friends with new news. I was truly ready to let go of the old days and embrace what was next.

Jokingly, we scheduled another lunch date for two years later, but something deep down told me it might actually work out that way at the rate of personal and professional schedules as he drove off…in the same old red car.

New

Every year in Toronto, there is a massive hype surrounding the ever popular New Years Eve festivities. Whether you spend it at the trendiest downtown lounge, a loud and expensive nightclub party, with family, or at Nathan Philips Square with almost every other Torontonian, there is always something for someone to do.

We were headed to Montreal. A frequent traveler to Montreal, I was not-so-excited to start another new year in the same not-so-new city. The drinking, the parties, the people, it was all very last year, but I was determined to have a good time and make the most out of doing something different.

Every year, there is also the famed New Years resolution. Some resolve to lose weight, be independent, finding the ‘one.’ I was resolving to be happy. I had spent the year repeating my patterns with men: BiGuy, Sunny, Mau, and this year, I was determined not to become a player in the same games, and lose myself in a draw. It was time for the new Paul, the new sexy-approachable, go-with-the-flow, don’t-care-if-you-don’t-call-me Paul. I was ready to be a whole new me, as clichéd as that may sound. Danielle, Amanda, and Ryan didn’t believe in New Years resolutions, feeling they were easily broken before they even started, so I kept mine a secret, hoping to prove them wrong.

Our New Years getaway increasingly seemed like it would be a less-than-perfect trip. Our hotel room was accidentally booked a day later than planned, we had not been able to reserve our New Years Eve party tickets, and Danielle’s company had a mix-up with payroll and no employees were paid on time. Two days and a six-hour bus ride later, I was in Montreal.

“This is it?” asked Amanda. With a double bed, and a pull out sofa, the room was almost as big as my closet.

And so that was the beginning of my so-called ‘new start.’ After a little unpacking and dinner at Pino’s, a Montreal hot spot, we were ready for a night on the town. Already a little tipsy from the drinks we had in the hotel room, we managed to make our way to Unity II, which hosts one of the best parties on a Friday night.

The music was hot, the men were hotter, and the drinks were cold. There were risers, two levels, and a nice, dark lounge in case you just wanted to sit and mingle. As we made our way around the club, we met up with our good friend Alex, a Montreal local we had met on our last visit. In the classic Montreal tradition, Alex was ‘chic,’ fun, and uncommonly handsome, and had a certain “je ne sais quoi” about him. He brought along his friend Iyss, a hot lesbian with wild hair.

Since their first meeting in August, Ryan had been infatuated with Alex. Up until that point, they had spent hours on end on the phone. This was Ryan’s chance, but all Alex seemed to want to do is dance—alone.

As I watched their dance floor body language, Alex was clearly trying to make himself seem available to the locals, leaving Ryan on the outskirts of town. So Ryan decided to do the next best thing and act like Alex wasn’t worth a thing.

Once I realized Ryan had things under control, with drink in hand, I decided to make my rounds around the club. Looking sexy-approachable, I smiled at all the guys I found attractive, and just as I was coming down the stairs I got a smile from a familiar face. A Torontonian’s face.
I had gone out with Tyson a few times in Toronto almost a year ago. It was very insignificant at
the time that I almost forgot his name.

“What are you doing here?” he coaxed me to the side of the stairs.

I explained to him that, as every other traveler, I was here to spend New Years and have a good time.

“Well,” he said into my ear. “You look great, and I know how to have a good time.” I wanted him to push him down the stairs so I could get to the real men, but instead, I listened. “I’m staying at the Governor Hotel, take my number.”

I reached into my pocket and grabbed my mobile, and handed it to him. As I was saving his number, I realized he was waiting to give him his phone. As we said our goodbyes, I couldn’t help but wonder: did I really want to start the New Year this way? I was looking for new, not old.

“Call me,” he yelled as I made my way down the stairs.

Three hours and two drinks later, I found myself at the corner booth in a trendy little restaurant in the village. I had begun feeling sick and decided to order a Ginger Ale.
As I sat there, I looked around at the other people in the diner. What were their new years resolutions? It was four in the morning the day before my new life was to begin, and I was drunk in another city sitting across from two virtual strangers, a drag queen, and some weird guy in a trench coat. Was this the new me I wanted to bring into the New Year?

As I stumbled into my hotel room in the early hours of the morning, I noticed the text message alert flashing on my phone.

My hotel? I’m alone…

It was Tyson. As I sat on the edge of my bed, I seriously considered the idea of making an early morning escape to his hotel room. And so I wrote to him:

Let me sleep a little and I’ll get back to you…

After a two-hour attempt at sleep, I grabbed the first outfit I could find and was in a cab on my way to the Governor Hotel. As he met me in the lobby, I realized I should have come better prepared. Walking out on to the executive business floor 28, looking at my reflection in the full-length mirror under the chandelier, I realized I did not belong here in my state of mind.

And so, with that, I found the only way to feel comfortable was to get rid of my clothes and I found myself making out with Tyson, under the expensive sheets. As Tyson got up to go to the bathroom, I looked over at the clock and realized that in twelve hours it would be a new year, one without these meaningless men where I was free to be happy. Before Tyson had a chance to come back and leap into action, I was already dressed and ready to say my goodbyes for a second, and final, time.

As I wandered the streets of Montreal, I got to thinking: could I have great, meaningless sex and still be the fabulous new me? Or did the fabulous new me mean no more meaningless sex?

An hour later, I was wandering the streets looking for the best New Years Eve party tickets with Danielle, Amanda, and Ryan. It was between Jet Nightclub and LaBoom, both very hot and expensive parties.

But then came a new problem to ruin my new year. Ryan decided he didn’t want waste his money when we could get drunk cheap on his own, go to a “not so hyped up” club, and buy a new pair of shoes with the rest. It complicated things even more, and on less than two hours sleep and already feeling down about my encounter with Tyson, I couldn’t take much more stress of this trip.

Amanda and Danielle settled on LaBoom, and Ryan and I settled on winging it. Back at the hotel room, the thought of the four of us not being together on New Years started to bother me more and more to the point where I couldn’t keep my sadness and anger inside.

Right there, on the sofa bed, in beautiful Montreal, on New Years Eve, I let out a small, but powerful cry that stopped Amanda from curling her hair, Ryan from mixing drinks, and Danielle from planning her outfit.

I felt like such a fool. I was four hours away from the new me, and I couldn’t believe I was leaving 2005 with tears. As I sat there overlooking the city, I got to thinking: was I placing too much pressure on myself to be this new person? Or did I just want everything to be perfect for the New Year? What is the price you have to pay to be the new you?

So as I saw my reflection in the window: red eyes, wet cheeks, I looked at the clock. It was about to be New Years and I wanted to do it right. So I picked myself off the couch and decided it was time to get dressed.

The night was amazing. Not only were the drinks good, but I also realized that spending New Years with one of my three best friends was still good enough, even great. And the girls would be back at the hotel room when I got there, so it was finally time to stop worrying about time and start having a good time.

“10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1. HAPPY NEW YEARS!” was all I heard around the club. And as the clock struck 12:01 AM, I realized it wasn’t so bad.

Later that night, Ryan and I found our way to a hotel party with a couple of guys from Boston. We thought they were cute and they thought we were sexy. As I started making out with a hot cop in the corner, I couldn’t help but affirm how much I liked the four-hour old new me. I was confident, approachable, and had managed to meet a sexy guy who I didn’t feel any emotion for and just wanted to have a good time with.

Our kissing found its way to his hotel room. As things progressed, I heard my phone ring and saw it was Ryan calling. I had to answer it.

“You ready to go?” he asked. “I’ve had enough of this guy.”

I looked over at the hot cop from Boston and decided the new me had enough fun for one night. “Yes, I’m ready. Meet me in the lobby in two.”

The next night, we did it all over again, but instead of ending up in a restaurant with strangers, or in a hotel room with Americans, we ended up at Second Cup, where the new Ryan felt like he had to get something off his chest.

“I felt really stupid that night with Alex. I can’t believe I was such a fool.”

I felt bad. Ryan was far from a fool, it was Alex who tried to lead him on and it was bittersweet that Ryan realized it in time.

“You feel bad?” I comforted him. “Do you remember me last night on the couch?”

We both laughed. “I know. It’s just sometimes, I feel like I’ll never be anything to anyone. This whole new me, its a flop, my resolutions were a joke.”

Suddenly, I wondered if the new anybody would ever work out. We are who we are for a reason. We’re built the way we are through our battles, our struggles, our lessons, our heartbreaks, and our stress. Who we are is simply based on our past. We’re not one new person, we’re a mix of events, stories—a mix of years. So like wine, maybe we only get better with every New Year.

As we sat in the empty coffee shop at three in the morning, we knew there was nowhere else we’d rather be than with each other or no one else’s we’d rather be than ourselves.
The next day, I woke feeling better than I had the past few days. I was ready for the New Year and couldn’t wait to get back home.

As we left the hotel room and got into the elevator, I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I was still the same old Paul. My face was no different. My eyes still held the same truth. And I got to thinking: why was I trying so hard to be a different person when I like the person I see in front of me? What did the new me have on the old me? Was there even a new me?

I had done and felt so much in the past three days that I was ready to come back. And so I got on the bus that would bring me home to Toronto to start the New Year, and my not so new life, as the not-so-new me. And that was just fine by me.