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.