How Rugged Got His Groove Back

I am writing to you now from my favourite breakfast spot on the corner of Oak and 16th. Outside the sky is dark and raining, but in here, the only thing pouring is hot coffee into a bottomless cup. I have been coming to this diner for the last nine years, ever since I moved to the West Coast. Living in a city, where a new condo pops up each time a wave hits the shore, there is nothing I enjoy more than a familiar face and a mushroom scramble.

I have excellent news to report this week! I have finally settled into the Fox Den. Meryl knows it has been a messy few months (okay fine, years); but I am proud to say that my books have found a shelf, and my shoes a rack, to call home. After filling up my fridge with actual food apart from white wine and take-out boxes, I felt like stepping on to my balcony and shouting into the back alley, “Goodbye Frozen Pizza, Hello World!” But let’s be real, this is not the time of year to give up frozen pizza. Moving on.

Now that I have been sober for ten minutes (thank you January) I am starting to dig myself out of the creative rut I have found myself in for the better part of, a long time. The other morning, I dusted off the cover to a self-help book I abandoned years ago called “Coaching the Artist Within.” Lying in bed with coffee, motivation and a slight hangover, I felt like the picture of success after completing the first exercise within ten minutes. All I had to do was tell myself that “I matter,” which I did. Then I rewarded myself with the latest episode of This is Us.

Thank Meryl, for a wordcount is not the only fruit that has returned to my life as of late. These days the Fox Den is not only exploding with creativity, but also, gentlemen callers. Talk about a relief! I would never admit it out loud, but for a while there I was seriously concerned my sex drive had gone out the window with my metabolism and hairline. But as it turns out, it was simply on sabbatical. Thanks to modern technology, newfound confidence, and a location in proximity to oodles of gay men, I have really been making up for lost time.

While I will spare you the details because my Uncle Curt is reading this, I will share with you one observation I have made about dating in the West End. When it comes to meeting men, if you are looking to schedule a date at two o’clock in the morning, any night of the week, no problem! Take your pick. But try, even for a second, to meet a man for coffee or a glass of wine at a more civilized hour, and forget about it. Better luck next time.

If I were to consider myself an investigative journalist on this affair, I would venture to say that Grindr does not sell sex, the possibility of love, or even basic human connection; what Grindr sells is a relief from loneliness that is often times quick, temporary or just plain make-believe.  Of course, I still have a long way to go before I can publish any of these findings; but for now I can tell you one thing is clear: lonely or not, the Fox has got his groove back. And he needs more coffee. Too many late nights.