A Black Hole of Lust

Why do I even bother to pretend that I want to have a quiet evening out anymore? I have about as much willpower as Liza Minnelli in a pharmacy. With a speed that is quickly becoming all too typical and perhaps even alarming, what was supposed to be a sedate evening quickly turned into yet another night of debauchery.

You heard it here first: Monday is the new Thursday.

I spent the afternoon basking in the sun and drinking pints at the Artful Dodger with my lovely roommate and a friend of ours. What can I say? When the idea of drinks was tabled, cold beer suddenly regained its appeal. As we were preparing to leave around six, I ran into my two dj buddies who were seeking out a patio to talk about our gig this Friday. Off I went, of course.

I explained to my friends how this "running into people purely by chance and ending up hanging out with them thing" had been constantly happening to me lately (forgive me that god-awful sentence). We all agreed these unplanned encounters usually result in some of the best times out.

"I know!" I exclaimed. "It's like... organic socializing."

Seven jugs and a few chicken wings later we were rather pissed and before I knew it, it was time for my Monday date with Daniel. No tete-a-tetes this week - I brought along five friends. In my defence, it was a group of people who are interesting and creative and with whom I rarely hang out, so I didn't want to waste an opportunity to spend time with them. Woody's was partly under construction, and much to our disappointment they weren't playing the pop videos Daniel and I usually watch every week with sing-a-long gay glee. Boo.

One by one our friends trickled out, and others trickled in. I was talking with someone when I look up and see a strange but familiar face. It was Jonathan, a guy I'd danced and exchanged numbers with quite a few months ago. I'm surprised I recognized him so quickly, seeing as it had been so long (and let's be real, I've been letting men in and out like a revolving door of late - the turnstile I ordered should be here next week sometime) but I blurted out "Jonathan?!" immediately.

He was cuter than I remembered. That never happens.

He remembered me, too. I asked him why he had never called me again, and apologised for not calling him instead. I explained I didn't have his number.

"Well, you said to give you a ring if I got up to anything interesting." He shrugged. "I didn't."

I laughed. I had said that, but I didn't think he would take it so literally. At the time I'd wondered for a couple of days if he'd call again, and then I'd kind of forgotten about him. Our one phone conversation had been extremely interesting. He talked my ear off about how insane his family is, how crazy the bar/restaurant he works at is, and all about his other job as a physical therapist of sorts (he's a trained dancer). In fact, I remember that I didn't say much other than "wow," "no way," and "really?" I wasn't sure what to make of him exactly. I'm not used to encountering people who are so, well, real. He seemed to lack any kind of pretense whatsoever. Which was refreshing and unsettling.

Anyway, we ended up hanging out for the rest of the night, talking and holding hands. It was all very comfortable and boyfriendy. Naturally I brought him home with me. We made fun of Toronto Life magazine and then made out on my couch. When we came up for air, there was a lot of staring into each other's eyes and smiling at each other like grinning fools. We went into my bedroom, where I realized I'd forgotten I hadn't remade my bed after doing laundry. He flipped through a book while I laid down fresh sheets. It was very comfortable and casual. And then we had ourselves some fun.

He knew I had to work today, so he didn't spend the night. As I let him and his bicycle out, I said "talk to you soon?"

I liked his reply. "I hope so!"

I made sure that, this time, I got his phone number.

So we'll see what happens.

It occurred to me on the way home today that I'm not necessarily a slut. Easy, yes, I won't deny that, but not necessarily a slut. I was thinking about all I'd been up to of late, and my mind for some reason drifted into shopping fantasies. My roommate just got a brand new computer, full of bells and whistles, and I can't help but be a little jealous. It's pretty, and fast, and has lots of storage. Even thought my computer is perfectly fine, I couldn't help but fantasize about getting something better.

When I bought my iPod a year ago, an upgraded version of what I had purchased came out about a month later. It was lighter and smaller, and had the capacity to play videos. I felt a bit robbed - you blink, and suddenly there is a new and improved, more appealing version of anything you can imagine. But it's all a trick - the only way to keep making money is to convince everyone they need to upgrade, that what they already have isn't quite good enough. When really there's nothing wrong with what you have already, but we are so bombarded with this "more more more" mentality we can sometimes lose perspective. Phones, computers, shoes - it's a black hole of lust, a void that can never be filled: there's always going to be something hotter than what you just brought home.

As I checked out some guy walking past me, I realized I was looking at him in a way that was not dissimilar to eyeing up the latest gadget at Best Buy, weighing this feature against that feature, wondering what I could live with and what I could not. I realized - I'm not a slut at all. I'm a consumer.

That's not to say, necessarily, that I objectify men. At least, I never used to - but the parallels to shopping are there, and it kind of grosses me out. What a horrible way to treat a person. And here I though I had my consumerism in check. I'm keenly aware of the way it's running rampant in our culture, and I try to avoid getting sucked in. Turns out I've been treating men like products.

Sometimes it's important to be satisfied with what you have and appreciate it. I know this. Now I just need to find the willpower.