demonesskage

The first time I ever met the human who was to become first my roommate, then my best friend, and finally my boyfriend was December 11, 2005. I needed portfolio work, needed models and needed a photographer. Luckily for me he volenteered. The get-together where I applied makeup to myriad humans was fun, and some useful knowlege as well as useful shots came out of it. We actually hardly spoke at this shindig, except to say hello as he was bringing all the lighting equipment in. And homeboy has a lot of lighting equipment. My first impression was mainly that he was a quiet goodlooking guy who was really into what he was doing.

Our next correspondence was over a month later when out of necessity we both happened to need a roommate ASAP. I knew this guy not at all, but at the same time I was willing to take a chance on it to get away from my parents. I think we met at the Starbucks on 16 and Broadway in late January to dicuss the actual location of appartments. It took us a little over a month to locate something- we signed our lease on Febuary 28th. I had just finished an opera, and was about to go out of town for a huge company training. I wouldn't be able to move in for at least three weeks. In fact, at our housewarming party only my coffee table was in the apartment along with a couple boxes of stuff. None of my other furniture was even there.

Let me prelude everything by saying both of us were in relationships. I had been with my boyfriend for well over a year and a half at that point, and while things weren't going especially well, they weren't bad either. Our relationship was also "open"- in a nut shell this meant I could do what I wanted, so long as I didn't tell him about it later. Yeah, I know. Sketchy. I'm telling you this to tell you that there was another person, one whom I was becoming increasingly infatuated with that I spent time with.

We lived together in relative serenity. His girlfriend came and went, although either of us was rarely there. I was working nights, he works days, and he was also working on I Kill People For Money at that time. He was gone when I got up in the morning, and asleep when I got home. On all my days off, I was either in Davis visiting my boyfriend, and after April when we broke up, San Francisco. Even when my boyfriend and I broke up, I was so preoccupied with the other guy I was sleeping with that I greived for a week or so, and then got on with things.

Meanwhile I'd say things weren't going well between him and his girlfriend. I knew this not because he would tell me- we still didn't really talk much even though we'd been living together for a couple months. We were friends of sorts so she and I would go out and smoke, and she'd ask me for advice. Since I still hardly knew anything about him, I gave her the best advice I could, and I'm pretty sure she didn't follow any of it. Honestly, it was my percecption that they were very different people, at very different places in life. And so it came to pass that in early June, they broke it off. It happened to be that very next Sunday that we shot my set, which after all this time and a rejection letter later I'm still totally stoked on.

I was spending all my days off in San Francisco by this point, and was completely obsessed with the person I was sleeping with. I knew I wasn't in love with him, and I knew my obsession was totally unhealthy, but I was having a really hard time shaking it off. When I wasn't down there, I was pretty depressed all the time. He was still greiving for his relationship, and it was at this point that he started to open up a bit. Misery loves company. When we'd rarely ever spent time together before, it was now very common for us to get quite drunk and watch movies. I was realizing that we had quite similar tastes in movies, as well as in music. It was round this time that we discovered at roughly the same time the band She Wants Revenge. I'd been hearing it at clubs having no idea what it was, so when it turned up in the CD player, I freaked out. I was also informed that they were playing in Sac the following week. I buggered off quite quickly to purchase a ticket.

All of you are pretty aware that I am a fairly heavy drinker. In my typical fashion, I got all dressed up for this show, and then proceeded to get drunk too. Most of you who know me well know that dancing is one of the great pleasures of my life. So if you dress me up, get me drunk, and play excellent music that has highly sexualized lyrics, I'm going to dance, and definately molest the nearest likely-looking attractive chap. Unfortunately, the nearest likely-looking attractive chap happened to be A) my roommate and B) my friend's ex. What happened next should be pretty obvious.

I woke up the next morning when he leaned in to kiss me goodbye. I heard the front door click shut, and then I freaked out. What had I done? This could make for a potentialy very awkward living situation. I was friends with his ex. I was also completely obsessed with that other guy still, even knowing it was a bad idea. I was also completely horrified by how absolutely terrible I had been in bed. I obsessed over it all day at work. My coworker who had also been at the show grinned at me when I came in and asked "What's up with you and your roommate?" I blushed and groaned, snapped out "Nothing!" and went into the back. I spent fourteen hours in a state of abject panic rehersing the spcheal I knew I had to give him when he got home, hoping to salvage the situation. It went something like this: "I had a great time last night, and I think we needed to get it out of our system...and I don't think it should ever happen again. I don't want to ruin our friendship and possible future business dealings."

I was informed at a much later date that I was totally full of shit. Which, as he appears to be mildly clairvoyant, appears to be true. Several weeks passed. I kept my distance. I was still going to SF all the time.

Then he went to France.

I was miserable. I ended up laying around the apartment, which I kept as dark and cold as possible, in a state of near catatonia. I was useless at work. And obviously, I was as drunk as possible, all the time. I know I lit up like a lightbulb when he finally go home, and almost started crying. If I hadn't had a friend over at the time, I probably would have sobbed all over him. It would have been obscene. And yet, I was still obsessed with that guy in San Francisco, and still completely in denial.

I'm sure you all recall how disgustingly wretchedly hot July and August were. Our apartmen is like an oven. In absolute misery, we'd pulled the futon off the couch in the living room, and had taken to sleeping in the living room under the air conditioner. Even this went on for at least a week, before I broke down (and yes it was I that broke down) and jumped him in a state of desperation. In fact I think I literally said "I'm going to jump you now. Do you mind?"

I wasn't going to San Francisco quite as often anymore. I had finally managed to tell myself that I shouldn't go down there anymore. Then my parents stole my car, and I couldn't get down there if I wanted to. I wanted to go down one last time, so I bought Amtrak tickets, and off I went. That's a fairly long trip- Amtrack to Richmond, get on BART at Richmond, get off in the city, and then hike 8 to 10 blocks. The whole trip ended up being something of a disaster. There were also very, um, obvious, signs that I had, er, been very... busy... the night before I came to visit. Now there was no pretense of monogamy, but I can still imagine it was surprising. When I got back home, I told him "I'm not going down there anymore. He's bad for me." I am actually still friends with that guy, and I haven't seen him since.

We went to SF for that absinthe party shortly there-after. Here's us sitting together, dressed to the nines, wrinkling our noses at what they were passing for absinthe, and surveying the crowd in a thoughly pretentious manner, fully aware of our superior looks, clothes, knowlege, and dancing ability. I think that night was when I noticed that we had stopped refering to ourselves as you and I but rather the collective we and us. And our collective sentiment was "We're too good for these humans. Let's blow this popcicle joint." We did what any intelligent humans in our situation would do. We went back to our cheap hotel room and had mindblowingly awesome sex.

A bunch of things happened in quick sucession after that somehow led to me giving the best back massage of my life. If you've ever given a really long back massage, you generally spend that time in thought because the recipient isn't talking. This was a very long massage, and I had a lot of time to think. I watched this wonderful wonderful boy desolve under my hands like sugar in water, and I had an ephipany.

Who the fuck was I kidding? What was I fucking around for? Everyone knew but us. Oh fuck. Who am I kidding? Everyone knew but ME. So all these things are going through my head and suddenly I want to some serious together time involving several hours of sex, followed by several hours of discussion. Of course, in the wake of this thoroughly awesome massage I'm giving him, the boy has fallen asleep. I don't have the heart to wake him.

The next morning after he'd gone to work, I got up and wrote him a long email in which i tried to articulate the situation and how I felt about it, and about him. That was August 15th. It took me nearly two months to pull my head out of my ass. And I am soooooo glad that I did.