Battling With My Muse (or How I Became Homeless For Three Days)
(**This post is the full story of the events that transpired over the weekend. If you want a shorter and funnier version head over to the Audio/Video section of this site to hear these events as I perform them onstage**)
Where to begin?
This post has been a little difficult to begin writing. On one hand I promised myself, and you, that I would ALWAYS be honest and share the incidents in my life as I see them. But in this case, how do I explain the events that took place on my birthday without completely burying the person who I thought I could love, and trust implicitly only to have all of that thrown in my face?
I guess I will be honest, and try to keep the humor up as some of this is really quite mean, nasty, and unforgivable. The sad part is I still care for this person very deeply, and I've begun to realize how my mother must have felt years ago when she finally left the abusive relationship she had with my father. Yes, it seems I am suffering from a form of abused women syndrome. That being said, I guess here we go.
To be honest most of my birthday's in my life have sucked. Being born around the Victoria Day long weekend, or as we Canuks like to call it "the two four weekend," it was always tough to have a party as most of my friends were away camping, or up at the cottage with their families. Leaving only my sister, and maybe one or two friends to come over for cake and a small party. It hurt a lot when I was younger, now I've just grown to accept it. But this year was supposed to be different. And in the beginning it was.
The deal she laid out was this: "You don't have to do anything you don't want to. It's your day, and I want you to enjoy it." We had just moved in together about a week and a half before, and money was kind of tight, but she did her best. I woke up to her making me breakfast (normally when we're together I do all the cooking),after eating she handed me my XBox controller, a pre-loaded bong, and said "go have fun."
It started off as a great day, she left for a meeting with the owners of the new Whiskey House bar in town to try and book me a hosting gig for a monthly pro-comedy night. She thought it was best that I stay home, and stick to the "no working" deal we had made the day before. When she returned that's when things started to go south.
Perhaps it was the kidney infection she'd been battling for a week with no relief, or maybe the enthusiasm I showed when she told me she got the room wasn't up to what her expectations were. I was happy, don't get me wrong. The opportunity to not only get paid myself a good chunk of money every month for one of my passions, but also booking many of the talented and funny peers within the community really appealed to me. Whatever it was, she immediately started to yell, I tried to apologize and explain that I was happy and excited for this opportunity. But with fire in her eyes, she told me to "shut the fuck up for an hour. I don't want to hear you talk!"
Now if you know anything about me it's I tend to handle arguments with my partner by just walking away, waiting until we both calm down and then discuss it rationally. To be honest, she really hates that. But I have found it works really well, she has a tendency to say a lot of very hurtful things (I think we all do in the heat of the moment) which I know she doesn't really mean.
So I left, and went to the dive bar just down the block. Seeing as I used to work there, I was immediately greeted with a "Happy Birthday," and a beer. Surprisingly I wasn't that angry, or upset, I just took it as one of our usual little spats and by the time we had to meet my friends for a late dinner everything would blow over.
I received a text from my friend Nick, who generally just likes to stay at his house and not really go out, inviting me over for beers before we all headed to dinner. I got there and everything was great! We had a few drinks played some NHL 13 on PS3, and chatted. That's when she texted me:
"Where are you?"
"I'm at Nick's. We're just getting ready to come get you."
"Oh, I was ready to get into my PJs. My kidney's still really hurt."
"I understand hon. If you don't want to come to dinner you don't have to. I know you wanted to meet a couple of my friends, but we can do that another time."
"No, I'll come down for a glass of water and say hi."
So that was that, Nick and I headed to the apartment. As soon as I walked in, I could feel something was off. I glanced over to the dining room table and there was one of my many note books, open to the page of notes that I used in my set the night before. She looked me dead in the eye and asked, "what did you say about my client last night?"
Now before I continue I have to state her "client," and I use that term very loosely as they have no contract, is Shawn Evans the contestant from our home town who made it to the series The Bachelorette. She had booked a premier party for the first episode, that due to her renal issues she couldn't host. So being the good boyfriend I hosted for her. The following Thursday, I included the story during my stand-up set. Here is the bit verbatim:
"In this line of work you get to do a lot of weird things, like occasionally hosting events you have no interest in. Earlier this week I did just that. I hosted the premier party for London's own Shawn Evans who's currently a contestant on The Bachelorette. Well I really shouldn't say 'currently' as he didn't make it past the first episode. Now I know nothing about The Bachelorette, or anything about him. My gut instinct tells me anyone who tries to find love on a TV show is most likely a douchebag. I looked at his photo, and he has all the makings of a douchebag. When he arrived he and I chatted for a bit, and it turned out he was an okay guy. Then the show started, during his 'date' he started bringing up that he was an 'amateur sex coach.' That's when my douchebag alarm went off. He was on national television and discussing anal with this poor girl on the first date! And what the fuck is an 'amateur sex coach?' He's trying to move past the wham-bam thank you ma'am disposition that lacrosse playing losers like him always use, and actually try a little foreplay?"
Obviously the bit isn't that strong, and to the room of barely 20 people who were there it went over like a fart in church. I told her the bit, and she sat and stewed during our entire meal. Barely speaking to me, the only time I was addressed was to receive criticism that I was smoking cigarettes and I stunk. I did my best to let it go, and finally she got up and went back home.
Ten minutes later I received a text:
"Hey baby, do you want to come home and have a little birthday fun before you go to the show?"
We were on a fairly tight schedule as we were trying to make it to Call The Office to see what is for my money the best band in the city, The Matadors. I looked around my table of friends, and one of my oldest and best friends, Wes, looked at me and said, "you're going to get laid aren't you? Just go man, we'll be here."
Wes is a solid guy, and most of the time we don't even have to speak we can read each other that well. So I briskly walked the two blocks back to the apartment. I got upstairs and we started to have a magical time, I won't go into all the details. All I will say is she got off twice, then she just pushed me off of her. Yes, on my birthday I didn't even get to cum. I jokingly told her that I'd, "be back to finish up later." As much as I enjoy sex, a relationship is so much more to me than the physical side of love.
Then out of nowhere she launched an attack on me about my set the night before. Stating I, "disrespected her client," and that I'm, "a fucking loser that should be happy to be associated with him."
That's when I launched back with all the bullshit he's put her through, such as not showing up for the 12 radio interviews she had booked for him, the fact they have no contract and he's already being courted by an agent in L.A. Yes he did tell her that, and as someone who has an agent I had to tell her that without a contract he can walk and she'll get nothing. I knew in every ounce of my being that this guy is going to fuck her over, it was just a matter of time, and that my bit on stage the night before was actually defending her and really who gives a shit about a dude who was kicked off a crappy reality show on the first episode.
That's when she spit in my face. Yes you read that right, she spit in my face. Now to me that is the lowest, most degrading thing you can do to a person. I would have rather have her punch me in the face than do that. I was livid. I wiped her saliva off my face, and told her that "perhaps she should blow him next time and maybe he'd actually pay her."
I turned and walked out the door. I had friends waiting for me, and I knew within a few drinks and watching Hooch and the boys I'd be in a better mood in no time. I thought I was safe as the elevator doors closed, until her arm shot in and she was there. "Give me my key. You're not allowed back here, ever." This is something she's done a few times to me, so I tossed the key over her shoulder and into the hallway behind her. Just as the elevator door closed, she yelled, "Happy Fucking Birthday loser!"
I headed back to the bar to collect my friends and head to CTO, I did my best to hide my anger and sadness. Apparently I couldn't hide it that well as everyone asked what happened. I relayed the story, and decided to just go have fun, and boy did I! The Matadors' show was fantastic as always, and it was (for them) a very stripped down show. No FX, no hooplah, just three guys tearing it up. From here it gets pretty foggy, as my friend Lindsey made sure I had two drinks going constantly. I also apparently played the Walking Dead pinball table that night as well. Or at least I took a picture of it.
The next morning
I'm not sure what happened after the show. All I do know is that I woke up under a bridge near the Thames river, just behind the Art Gallery. I was hung over, broke, confused, sad and then realized I didn't have my iPhone charger, and I had no way to contact anyone until I could find one. Oh, by the way, what the hell is it with my friends who have iPhones, but haven't upgraded? I made my way back downtown and ran into a few people, one of whom was sweet enough to buy me a coffee, and then a Caesar. I spent the entire day walking around, trying to figure out what I was going to do. By 9 pm that night all I wanted was to see my cat (who's my best friend, and I knew he'd be freaking out by now), grab my laptop and belongings and find somewhere new to live. I was so heartbroken and alone.
Luckily a friend allowed me to stay on his floor that night. But the next day, I was back on the street. I slept under the same bridge again, only to wake up at 4 am covered in spiders. Now I suffer from arachnophobia so this totally jolted me awake, and I walked until the sun came up. It was Monday, and from working at a dive bar I got to learn through a lot of the regulars that St. Paul's Church has a lunch. I hadn't eaten in over a day, and was still lost and confused as to what to do.
I wandered into the church, and went down to the basement where the lunch was being served. As I sat there I watched as the poor, and homeless I see everyday slowly filed in. My mind was racing, is this my future? I didn't have my medication, and I was on day two without it and I knew if I hit day five and Zoloft ran out of my system I was going to be in real trouble.
The lunch itself was pretty good, the church had a BBQ over the long weekend so we were treated to foot long hot dogs, and burgers. There was even cake for dessert.
Where I am now
I've realized that this has gotten quite long, but I want you all to know that even though there was extra drama and stress, I did get my phone charger, some clothes and laptop back. I'm staying with some friends in the west end of the city, and I'm trying to find a new place asap. The girl and I have exchanged a few texts, in fact two days ago she was saying that she "missed me," and "was sad that it was over." However when I saw her yesterday to get my laptop, all those sweet words meant nothing. She insulted me, and told me that she's debated about giving my cat away.
The worst part of the whole thing is, I still love her. I call her my muse, because that's what she is to me. She inspires me, and most times is supportive and encouraging. Although as much as I want to go back, I know I can't.
Still... At least I got cake on my birthday.