How Could You Just Leave Me Standing Alone in a World That's So Cold?

When I was a kid, roped into attending church services every Sunday morning and Wednesday night to hear sermons about sin and redemption and forgiveness, I never really understood why everyone got so jazzed up about Judas. Okay, yeah, he sold his buddy Jesus up the river. And that's not cool. But he wasn't the one who drove in the nails. What about the dudes with the hammers? Shouldn't we be focusing all of our wrath on those guys?

But now I know: betrayal changes everything.

I saw my ex-husband today for the first time in five years. If you told my 23-year-old self about the conversation we had - less than a minute of pleasantries between strangers - she would have used words like 'not us' and 'never' and 'impossible'. And yet there we stood, completely unknown to each other now, despite our promises to love and honour and cherish for a lifetime.

The events that transpired, the things that were said and done to bring us to today's strange and remote exchange can never be accurately described. But betrayal was the root of it.

The realization that you've been sold up the river by the person who's supposed to have your back is a transformative moment. It changes you, it brings you to your knees, it lays you bare. What you chose to do from that moment on, though - and what you chose to do every day after that - well, that is what defines you as the new person you have now become. Will you become smaller and meaner until you can taste the bitterness of betrayal in every conversation you have with every person you meet? Or will you conquer the world with your eyes wide open to the complexity of human nature and your Slightly Blackened Heart-of-Gold made resilient by virtues of the fires of adversity?

Internet, I think you gotta go with the latter. Am I wrong?

Why I Grew My Hair Out or My Accidental Lesbian Date

I spent most of 2009 and the first bit of 2010 living on a little island on the west coast of BC. It was a very relaxing laid back year and interesting in a culturally anthropological way. Which is to say: I am NOT A HIPPY. I eat meat, I shave my legs and armpits, patchouli oil makes me retch, I watch TV, I think 'organic' is another word for 'getting hosed by grocery store marketers', etc. But I did enjoy living amongst the hippies. And since they're categorically non-violent, they didn't beat me to death with their didgeridoos and djembes and whatnot when I would casually mention how much I loved spring lamb (i.e. not in the frolicking-on-the-hillside sense.) Hippies are so nice that way.

Anyway.

In addition to the hippies, a few Famous People live on this island. And I got to know a couple of them. And I even got to play some music with one particular Famous Person. Somehow this Famous Person got the idea that I was a lesbian. And you probably have surmised by now that I play for the non-lesbian team. Not that I have a problem with lesbians, some of my favourite people are lesbians, hey-ho lesbian power, they're here, they're queer get used to it, etc. But y'know... I'm not. Nevertheless. The word got out on Hippy Island that I was. And if you've ever lived in a small town you know that once the word gets out, it GETS OUT.

I found out about LesbianRumor2009 while having drinks with the Famous Person's Assistant and a Non-Lesbian friend:

Famous Person's Assistant [to the non-lesbian friend]: So... I though you were married to That Guy?

Non-Lesbian Friend: I am!

FPA: Oh... so then you three are all together, ProngTwo lives with you? [This is not an unusual arrangement on Hippy Island]

NLF: Yeah, ProngTwo lives with us!

Me: Um. Wait. I don't LIVE with them. I just... uh.... I'm the roommate. That's it.

FPA: Oooooh. But you're gay, right?

Me: What? No. Not that I have a problem with lesbians, some of my favourite people are lesbians, hey-ho lesbian power, they're here, they're queer get used to it, etc.

FPA: Oh. Famous Person thought you were. Sorry about that. It must be the short hair.

Me: Yeah, I should probably let it grow out a bit...

FPA: ...

NLF: ...

Me: ...

So problem solved, right? FPA tells Famous Person, Famous Person gets the word out, LesbianRumour2009 is reversed? Yeah... not so much. A few months later I made a new friend. She seemed awesome. She gave me a call and asked if I wanted to meet for a drink, and I set that shit up because the average person on Hippy Island is either 73 or lives in a yurt and hasn't bathed since 1994 and Hey! a freshly bathed friend my own age! I was very excited until:

New Friend: ... and then I came out when I was 18. How old were you when you came out?

Me: ... oh. I... um. I'm not actually in the technical sense... or ha ha ha... well, really in any sense, I'm not gay.

NF: But somebody told me that they heard from Famous Person that you were... YOU'RE NOT GAY?

Me: ...oh that. Yeah, he thought I was. But I'm not. Ha ha ha. Small towns, huh? Hoo BOY, the rumours! Nope, I'm not a lesbian, not that I have a problem with lesbians, some of my favourite people are lesbians, hey-ho lesbian power, you're here, you're queer get used to it!

NF: ...

Me: ... plus, y'know it's so great to hang out with a new friend!

NF: Yeah, I don't think I could handle being just friends with you. You're really not gay? That haircut...

Me: I KNOW, I'M GROWING IT OUT.

As it turns out, longer hair isn't that tricky to deal with.

Gym Guy

A lot of people who hear about Prong Two have suggestions as to where I can meet prospective dates. One of the more popular suggestions has been the gym. "There are LOADS of single guys at my gym," they boast! "You're way more likely to find someone who takes care of themselves and who's in great shape," they claim. I sort of don't care about The Dude being in great shape. But that other stuff is probably true.

And yet, I am not keen on the gym as the dating Mecca. Unless! Are we thinking of the gym as a litmus test? Because then maybe we're onto something. Any guy who sees me flailing around on the elliptical machine, purple-faced and sweaty in my ratty Canada! t-shirt and the boy's gym shorts I purchased at Zellers seven years ago and still thinks I'm eligible may be okay with me.

I did give the gym a go a few years ago. The results were not good. No wait. That's not entirely true. When asking myself if my ass looked good in various skirts, the answer was mostly a resounding "Daaaaaamn. YES." But as way of generating dating prospects: not successful. As it turns out, I'm not the sort of person who can pick up guys at the gym.

First of all, the only way I could convince myself to go to the gym was to go as soon as I woke up, before my brain could form enough compelling arguments to not go. And since my daily routine included a long journey on the Bus of Hellfire and Damnation to my office in scenic Industrial Mississauga, this meant that I was at the gym at dark o'clock each morning. This may be shocking news to you, internet, but there were not a lot of likely dating candidates at the gym at 6 am. In fact, most of the other patrons were of the geriatric variety. I'm not being unkind; without me in the mix to skew the results, we're looking at an average age of 72.

But then! Then Gym Guy started showing up. And soon, me, a dozen seniors and Gym Guy were there every morning at 6 am. It was miraculous! Frankly, Gym Guy was waaaaaay out of my league. Each morning he performed countless fancy maneuvers on the weight machines, muscles rippling and flexing effortlessly as he smiled dazzlingly at the other patrons. He helped the seniors adjust the machines and made pleasant conversation! He turned the t.v. channel to Newsworld, but first checked with other gym-goers to make sure it was okay! So polite; so blindingly handsome! I looked on, gasping and flailing from my post on the elliptical machine, smitten and mute. I thought about doing something drastic, like buying yoga pants at Lululemon. But who are we kidding? Are a pair of $90 yoga pants going to magically transform me into a glowing and fresh and graceful exercise ninja instead of sweaty and raspberry-hued klutz? No. No they are not.

I felt sure my relationship with Gym Guy would be limited permanently to the maniacal grins and muttered greetings I flung compulsively his way as he passed by on the way to the water fountain. But then something truly amazing happened: one morning Gym Guy made a sharp detour from the weight machines and climbed onto the elliptical machine NEXT TO MINE.

I decided to play things cool. I continued my flailing. I kept my eyes glued to Newsworld. And then, for reasons unknown even to me, I deviated from the 'playing it cool' plan. Or maybe I took the plan too far? Regardless, saying 'hi' to Gym Guy while casually taking a swig from my water bottle proved to be an insurmountable physical challenge:

Me: [picking up water bottle] Hi!

Gym Guy: Good morni..

Me: [sputtering the entire contents of water bottle down my shirt] *cough* *cough* *cough*

GG: Oh hey! Are you okay...?

Me: [trying desperately maintain footing on the elliptical machine] *cough* *cough* Sure! *cough* *cough* I'm o.. *cough* okay!

GG: Are you sure?

Me: [catching my toe on the pedal thingy] *cough* *cough* *cough*

GG: Woah there!

Me: [spectacular wipeout and subsequent face-plant on gym floor] *cough* *cough* *cough*

GG: [turning off his machine] Are you SURE you're okay?

Me: [leaping to my feet] I'm okay! I'm okay! Yeah, that bleeding should stop any time now. No big deal! Woah, is that the time? I should head out. Work! Gotta keep that ear to the grindstone! Or is it 'nose to the grindstone'? I can never remember. Ha ha ha! Anyway. Don't worry about me, I've got a trick knee, I always limp like this. Time to hit the salt mines! Have a great day!!!

GG: ....

Gym Guy steered clear of the elliptical machines after that. Shocker. And now, anyone who suggests I try meeting guys at the gym hears that story. There's always a brief pause followed by ..."The grocery store! That's supposed to be a great place to meet people!"

Prong Two - the beginning.

Prong Two is a product of A and T.

When I visited them here in Toronto last November, they were both immersed in multifaceted creative projects. As T discussed his project, he said,

"Well basically, my album release will be a four-pronged approach...".

From that point on, ANY activity with A and T was a pronged approach: "Dinner downtown will be a two pronged approach", we claimed. "The Lord of the Rings marathon will be a seven pronged approach (given than none of us can stay awake past ten p.m.)". You get the idea.

It was that week in Toronto - the week away from my sabbatical in The Land of the Hippies - that I decided that my return to the city would have to be a two-pronged-approach.

PRONG ONE: Find a job. [nb: an interim solution to Prong One has been implemented, although it's not entirely ideal. Phase two of PRONG ONE is underway....]

PRONG TWO: Find love.

These pages will detail Prong Two.