Grace
Oh life. When you coincidence, you coincidence strong.
Popped by the LCBO this afternoon. I managed to put in a week's worth of 7-3pm so I decided I'd earned myself a bottle of wine to celebrate my employed triumph. While there, I spotted a Dave-date lookalike, the American I was involved with briefly. The one who couldn't stop writing. The one that turned out to be a Fridge.
He was much slimmer and a bit shorter but bore the same sleeve of tattoos of my former pop-punk flame. Well, the same sleeve but not the same tattoos. Regardless, the dude caught my eye as I admired the cheap Ontario wine and his stupid maroon sailor tuque.
Dave is someone that brought me a lot of joy and then a lot of anger. Typical musician. I wish I had the self-discipline to sit and write a book about my love affair with musicians. Currently I'm listening to perhaps the one that inspired the lifelong battle for me, Jeff Buckley. He died before I could ever let him know how much he meant. SIGH. TYPICAL MUSICIAN AM I RIGHT? I realized tonight how weird it was that I've never listened to Grace in Ontario. So weird. The album that I owe a lot of my romantic ways to. Huh.
Anyway, there I am, on Facebook, trying to imagine myself as a hot Bluenette, when I get a new message request. And I am hoping it's someone I've been wanting to talk to. It's not. It's Dave. Out of f-ing nowhere. So I laugh to myself, because I've had a glass or two of the vino and my favorite love musician in the world is playing above me and well, I'm Toronto-Katie now, which means I'm trying to break the cycle of insanity, which is repeating old behavior. So I check it out. Because I've ignored his apologetic messages before. But now I'm tackling the affairs of the heart again, because I want a reason to stay here in the big city, more than the glimmer of hope that 5 more years of hustling it could offer, and it's Dave... just casually saying hello.
You sumunuhhabitch. Casually, as if it didn't get weird there. As if a close friend of his didn't message me to inform me of his womanizing ways, of his door-to-door "I'm a cool musician and this never happens I never do this" ways. Ugh.
In an effort to turn a new leaf, I indulge. Toronto Katie is cooler, way less concerned about how this might affect the bigger picture, and more in tune with how to deal with my feelings, and hopefully be more realistic about people and people experiences.
It proved to be a rather unnecessary conversation as I didn't gain any new insights into his past choices and lack of honesty but learned he and his current girlfriend are moving into a new place together. I resisted the urge to ask whether or not she knows what an open person he is. Does it matter? "Hey, your boyfriend likes to do the Skinonmyrinkydink when he's on tour. You cool wit dat?"
33 year old Toronto Katie is cool. She's okay with your needs and desires as long as you're up front about them. A girl's gotta have goals. And look, your needs might not jive with her wants and needs but she's had enough life experience to learn that sometimes pepple just want to have a little extra love in their lives. Cool. Let's just have that conversation, k? I'm not saying you're a terrible person but the likelihood of that lending itself to a feeling of security in a relationship with K-dot ain't strong okay? But I can hear you and I can be your friend.
Anyway look. Fleetwood Mac has taken over for Jeff Buckley on youtube, and that's an indication to me it's time to get back to Tinder and secure an IRL date with Mike or Greg or whoever the hell is willing to meet up with me. I'm Toronto Katie, and she is mostly just concerned with finding gainful employment and a good hair stylist. And the right kinda guy. The stage is my sage and that goes without saying, but I'm trying hard to feel established in a city that is a bit of a monster. That's a slightly dramatic sentence to end on but I love a good cliffha
Peace and love,
Katie
Popped by the LCBO this afternoon. I managed to put in a week's worth of 7-3pm so I decided I'd earned myself a bottle of wine to celebrate my employed triumph. While there, I spotted a Dave-date lookalike, the American I was involved with briefly. The one who couldn't stop writing. The one that turned out to be a Fridge.
He was much slimmer and a bit shorter but bore the same sleeve of tattoos of my former pop-punk flame. Well, the same sleeve but not the same tattoos. Regardless, the dude caught my eye as I admired the cheap Ontario wine and his stupid maroon sailor tuque.
Dave is someone that brought me a lot of joy and then a lot of anger. Typical musician. I wish I had the self-discipline to sit and write a book about my love affair with musicians. Currently I'm listening to perhaps the one that inspired the lifelong battle for me, Jeff Buckley. He died before I could ever let him know how much he meant. SIGH. TYPICAL MUSICIAN AM I RIGHT? I realized tonight how weird it was that I've never listened to Grace in Ontario. So weird. The album that I owe a lot of my romantic ways to. Huh.
Anyway, there I am, on Facebook, trying to imagine myself as a hot Bluenette, when I get a new message request. And I am hoping it's someone I've been wanting to talk to. It's not. It's Dave. Out of f-ing nowhere. So I laugh to myself, because I've had a glass or two of the vino and my favorite love musician in the world is playing above me and well, I'm Toronto-Katie now, which means I'm trying to break the cycle of insanity, which is repeating old behavior. So I check it out. Because I've ignored his apologetic messages before. But now I'm tackling the affairs of the heart again, because I want a reason to stay here in the big city, more than the glimmer of hope that 5 more years of hustling it could offer, and it's Dave... just casually saying hello.
You sumunuhhabitch. Casually, as if it didn't get weird there. As if a close friend of his didn't message me to inform me of his womanizing ways, of his door-to-door "I'm a cool musician and this never happens I never do this" ways. Ugh.
In an effort to turn a new leaf, I indulge. Toronto Katie is cooler, way less concerned about how this might affect the bigger picture, and more in tune with how to deal with my feelings, and hopefully be more realistic about people and people experiences.
It proved to be a rather unnecessary conversation as I didn't gain any new insights into his past choices and lack of honesty but learned he and his current girlfriend are moving into a new place together. I resisted the urge to ask whether or not she knows what an open person he is. Does it matter? "Hey, your boyfriend likes to do the Skinonmyrinkydink when he's on tour. You cool wit dat?"
33 year old Toronto Katie is cool. She's okay with your needs and desires as long as you're up front about them. A girl's gotta have goals. And look, your needs might not jive with her wants and needs but she's had enough life experience to learn that sometimes pepple just want to have a little extra love in their lives. Cool. Let's just have that conversation, k? I'm not saying you're a terrible person but the likelihood of that lending itself to a feeling of security in a relationship with K-dot ain't strong okay? But I can hear you and I can be your friend.
Anyway look. Fleetwood Mac has taken over for Jeff Buckley on youtube, and that's an indication to me it's time to get back to Tinder and secure an IRL date with Mike or Greg or whoever the hell is willing to meet up with me. I'm Toronto Katie, and she is mostly just concerned with finding gainful employment and a good hair stylist. And the right kinda guy. The stage is my sage and that goes without saying, but I'm trying hard to feel established in a city that is a bit of a monster. That's a slightly dramatic sentence to end on but I love a good cliffha
Peace and love,
Katie
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