May 13, 1999.

I'm listening to the hockey game as I write this. I just gotta say for the record: it's hard for me to be a sports fan. I've been trying, you know, which I guess is the really strange part. Before I started dating the Boy, I had a strict "don't waste my time" policy about sports. I believe I've gone into my probable psychological motivations for this desire in another entry, so I'll just leave that alone for now. The point is that I find it difficult to work myself up about sports.

But now the Leafs are in the running for the cup. So my civic and national pride is on the line: as little as I care about sports, I ache for the Stanley Cup to come home to Toronto. It seems like an indivisible (although somewhat ludicrous) part of my national identity.

Tribalism at work, folks.

I got my new glasses yesterday. I haven't had new glasses for 2 1/2 years...which was just before Morgan's wedding. Now, of course, she's divorced. Which means that it's definitely time for new glasses, huh?

I decided to go out on a limb with this purchase and get something funky, as I usually get large round specs. And with my new haircut, I look even more like a dyke stereotype. Little Spider calls the Boy & myself "the ambiguously sexual couple." Hmph.

Have I ever mentioned that I thought the Boy was gay when I met him? I suppose that's an unusual comment to make, but then again most of my confessions are unusual. Onward. So, he would ask me out for coffee, and I would listen to him talk and think, "cute, but definitely gay." I told all my res girlfriends similar things. Obviously, this never made it into my public diary at the time.

And how did I overcome this idea to become the happy Amoretta you see today? Well, I eventually used a stratagem to answer my inner query. I said that Dirk...who people mistake for gay...gave me a vampire anthology for my birthday, not noticing that it was an anthology of gay vampire stories. Oh, the laughing. At which point, the Boy told a similar story, confirming his ambiguous sexuality. And the floodgates of lust were able to open.

What an indecently beautiful day today. The Boy and I spend the afternoon doing errands around the sun-dappled, wind-chilled campus. I picked up a letter of reference, he checked out the job bulletin board, and we chowed down on chinese food truck fare. Finally, as a grace-note to the beauty, I checked into res. It feels so good to be back in my own place again, with windows and furniture and lots of space for my things. So good to be in a lovely home where I'm wanted. So good, you can't even imagine.

It's a relatively enormous room too, especially since my old room was the smallest living space in the building. It'll be nice to have furniture again...even if we did find a pair of lacy underwear forgotten in the chest of drawers. Two years ago, Wilson lived there. I wonder if they're hers...

The Boy wishes me to make known our contributions to Pamie's foot-in-mouth pill advertisement. If you haven't read the entry, it refers to a product that puts you to sleep after you say something stupid to your SO...before you make things worse. Here's some real-life situations where it would've come in handy:

1. After the party

Me: I heard he said Little Spider was cute.
The Boy: Well, she is really attractive.
Me: Really. She's that attractive, huh?
TB: Well...you see...uh...zzzzzzzzzz.

2. Average

Me: I read somewhere that my bra size is the average for women in Canada.
The Boy: Really??! Wow.
Me: Why are you so surprised?
TB: Uhhh...because...I...zzzzzzzzz.

Order now.