After I moved away from my gay friends and tried an unsuccessful living arrangement with myself in an apartment that cost over half of my monthly pay, before taxes, I made my best move ever. I moved in to a cool, big old house with my cousin, and 2 or 3 of her BFF's that she had grown up with in small town Northern BC. I was about 3 years younger than all of them so they kind of looked after me. I needed to learn some basic adult skills like how to pay my bills and make a full meal out of a can of tuna and a cup of rice. I was as poor as I ever want to be that first summer. In fact I got laid off shortly after I moved in and was quite happy to take the summer off and let the government look after me. It was a fine, fine summer.
Two of my roommates were struggling actors trying to make a go in the big city. They would save all their money for acting classes and audition for anything and everything. This was before Vancouver was considered Hollywood North, I'm going to say 1987-88.
Having fuck all to do that summer, it was decided that I would help these two young actresses write an original show for the Fringe Festival that summer. Even though I had very little acting experience they thought I was funny so I decided to give it a shot. We wrote a pretty funny show that was a series of sketches each morphing into the next. One reviewer called it Gilda Radner-esque. We were pretty happy about that.
The show ran at the very beginning of the festival and I had just discovered the Fringe Club, a place to drink and watch hundreds of actors talk about themselves. Did I mention I was single, 22 and cute? ***********************************************************************
Sorry, I just drifted away there. One of my girlfriends had just started dating this notorious Russian, biker looking, intense, musician, crazy, amazing actor guy. She was a little overwhelmed by him so she took me with her on their first couple of dates. So, I'll set the scene. We are walking up the sidewalk to the Fringe Club and I see this tall, blond drink of water coming towards us, black jeans motorcycle boots and a knee length black leather coat flapping in the breeze. My crazy Russian friend introduces us, I pour on the charm. Nothing. We go into the club, I continue to pour on the charm. Nothing. This guy was paying no attention to me at all.
Through the course of the festival we would shut down the Club and wander off to find house parties in the neighbourhood. Superman lived in a notorious house called The House Of Fun, and it was. This place was close to everything but had no neighbours! It was flanked by a street, a church and across the street from a funeral home. It was the perfect party house. One night a bunch of us piled into a friends car to go party at The House Of Fun, I had to sit on Superman's lap. It was then that I noticed that he was starting to take an interest in me.
We smooched that night/early morning and he tried to get me to go upstairs with him. I told him I wanted to go home, take a shower, sleep for a few hours and I would call him. I did just that. He came to my place, and the rest as they say, is history.
That's the Reader's Digest condensed version.
OMG I was looking for a pic to post and I found this. It was labeled, "Superman's Greatest Sacrifice"! Woo Hoo, can't stop laughing. Sooo funny.