Sleepless Solitude: The True-Life Journals of a Xanax'd Millennial (Part 7 of 12)

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July 2

July 2

I woke up on the wrong side of my bed, in last night’s outfit, and on top of the covers again. I rolled over, and saw that Alison was fast asleep beside me. I think I grunted a quick, “What the fuck?” before I stripped down to my underwear, and crawled under the covers.

I woke up again a couple of hours later. Kyle and Alison were getting ready to leave the Witch Cave, with Kyle still on the couch under a couple of scarves that he had found to keep warm last night. At this point, it was probably around 10 a.m. or 11 a.m., so it was a good time for them to leave. I had to start getting my shit together, and also clean up the second bomb of the weekend that went off in my apartment. Once again, there were glasses everywhere, weed ashes all over the place, and wigs and stray hairs in every corner.

I was sitting on my bed in my underwear while Kyle and Alison were putting their clothes on. As I looked at my TV table, I noticed a fully packed pipe, ready for the taking. Alison and I both took a hit, essentially setting the tone for the rest of my day.

The Witch Cave wasn’t as disastrous as it was yesterday. I cleaned it up pretty quickly, picking everything off the ground and washing every glass in my apartment, as I seem to do far too often whenever I have people over. My friends like to drink, and I like to serve.

I continued getting high throughout the late morning, but eventually needed to get out of the apartment to do some errands. My first stop was the mall, because I saw some cute pillows at Connor’s place last night. I wanted one, and obviously could not wait. I needed those fucking pillows! Being the hot mess that I was, I strutted down to H&M in my shortest shorts, looking like an absolute crazy person walking through the mall in my John Lennon sunglasses. There was no way I was making direct eye contact with anyone while it was still light out.

H&M didn’t have my fucking pillows. I was so distraught. On that note, I then went to Hudson’s Bay and bought a set of six champagne flutes. I was tired of drinking out of regular glasses. It’s abusive to drink champagne from a regular cup. I also had two bottles of the stuff in my fridge, so I needed to make sure that I was prepared for anything this weekend. Not only that, but I needed to replace the one I took – and had taken away – from Evan the night we went to Fly. Done.

The next stop was HomeSense, where I bought a garbage can and a toilet brush holder. Don’t ask me why. I just felt that they were necessary in that moment.

My hands were quickly filling up with shopping bags, so I started walking back home. I ran into Connor along the way, and he joined me for my last two errands – food and booze. I had emptied out my new bottle of gin over the course of two days, and needed to take out a mortgage to buy a new one. Fucking Canada and their ridiculous liquor prices. My friends better appreciate the free-pour policy of the Witch Cave.

In usual hot mess fashion, one of my grocery bags broke on the street while I was walking home. Things went flying everywhere. Fortunately, Connor was around to pick up the pieces. I dragged my purchases back home, settled down, smoked some more weed, and went to bed.

The plan was to meet The 4 Single Girls at a pre-drink around 7 p.m. Naturally, I woke up at 8 p.m. and still had to shower and get ready. In record time, I managed to put myself together and actually look half decent. And by that, I mean I looked like a total Pride slut in my booty jorts and “Loverboy” t-shirt, which was as cute a look as it was ridiculous. My hair usually makes up for whatever my outfit is lacking.

Tonight’s pre-drink was hosted at Nathan Duval’s apartment. I’m not exactly a huge fan of Nathan’s. Actually, I shouldn’t say that. Nathan is quite friendly. However, Nathan is best friends with Chad Miller. And Chad Miller is someone I consider to be a mortal enemy – despite having once gone on a date with him 250 years ago.

I arrived at Nathan’s place, and introduced myself to a few people. This included Sean Mitte, who looked at me like I had come back from the dead. This was because, technically, I had.

Obviously, most of the people at Nathan’s pre-drink were friends of Nathan’s. However, I have failed to mention that it was Nathan who originally extended the invitation to that disastrous Riverdale party, which I effectively died at on Thursday night. That being said, it was a real joy showing up to Nathan’s condo and having everybody look at me like I was Toronto’s very own Tara Reid. Great.

I quickly found my crew, who were all drinking on the balcony. I stayed there for the remainder of the pre-drink, only going inside once to get more alcohol. I was not in the mood to socialize with people who had seen me at the Riverdale party. No, thank you.

Naturally, Chad Miller made an appearance. In his most insincere tone, Chad told me that he was, “really worried” about me on Thursday night. I pulled down my sunglasses, and looked Chad up and down. While rolling my eyes, I said, “Oh, I’m sure you were really distraught. Thanks for your concern.”

That shut Chad up, and he didn’t bother me for the rest of the night. Sean Mitte also gave me a really disappointing look the second time we talked, shaking his head as he moaned, “Kurrrrrrt.” Fuck off, people! So, I had 20 drinks, took a Xanax, passed out at a party, tried to run away, and then sprawled myself out on the sidewalk. So, what? Who cares? Let me live!

I was working my foot down to its last Band-Aid tonight, scoring sympathy and a seat in a chair wherever I could. I had a fun time on the balcony. Craig, Connor, Evan, Dan, Derek, and a few other random friends were joining in on the conversation throughout the night.

This summer, I have been wearing a lot more t-shirts than in previous years. The result is a number of people recently asking if I’ve been working out. It’s been slightly satisfying, but the comments also make me self-conscious. For whatever reason, I had decided to share my 18-year-old Walt Disney World fat ass picture tonight. That photo garnered a lot of positive attention. Most people think I’ve had plastic surgery when I show them pictures like that. It’s always somewhat encouraging. I think it shows people another side of me. I like that.

Anyway, things were wrapping up at the pre-drink. I had downed a bottle of champagne, and a couple of gin shots. The crew then headed to Buddies in Bad Times, where we were going to dance the night away. We got to the club ridiculously early, and the queue was around the building. This was because the fucking place hadn’t even opened yet! We were able to jump ahead pretty far, but still spent the next hour and a half in line.

During that time, I did cocaine multiple times with Craig Martin in front of everyone in line. It was definitely not my cutest look, but it was what it was. Queues for gay bars take so long, because everyone just injects themselves into the line as soon as they see a friend. By this time, the small group that we had originally joined with had grown to well over 20 people. If we were letting friends cut the line with us, you can bet your bottom’s bottom that the other queens ahead of us were doing the same thing. The plus side of this was that, when new people arrived in line, they usually had a roadie with them – which meant more alcohol. Of course, that also meant me getting progressively drunk as we stood in a standstill line.

At one point, a cute-ish guy joined us in line. His name was Liam. Liam was the kind of “cute” that, while drunk, I would want to be bouncing up and down on. Sober, I would wonder why his eyes were crossed.

Liam started talking to Evan, who was standing behind me. The two of them were flirting quite heavily. I don’t know what came over me, but I became a bit of a bitch in the moment. After overhearing their conversation, I turned around, looked at Evan, and asked, “Evan, how’s your boyfriend?”

The look on both of their faces was that of pure shock. As one might suspect, Evan’s also had a bit of rage mixed into it. If I wasn’t on thin ice with Evan to begin with, I was definitely six-feet under at this point.

Naturally, Liam quickly moved away from Evan. However, what I didn’t expect to happen was for Liam to latch onto me for the rest of the night.

A few minutes later, Evan turned to me.

“You need to mind your own business,” he said sternly.

“You need to be faithful,” I responded, half-joking.

Evan was definitely going to murder me. At the time, I didn’t think he was mad. Truthfully, it seemed like more of a joke to me. Like, that was funny, right? Maybe? No? I’m not sure anymore. Writing this now, I’m beginning to think that Evan has probably already made a voodoo doll of me.

After what felt like 47 weeks, we finally got into Buddies. The place wasn’t even that busy, but was definitely understaffed. It would take an eternity just to order a drink. Considering the amount of alcohol I had been guzzling, I should have been blackout drunk at this point. It was likely the coke keeping me a bit more stable than normal, though. I did a few more bumps with Craig in a bathroom stall. I swear, the bathroom stalls of Buddies have seen more action from me than my own apartment. If only those stalls could talk. On second thought, it’s probably best that they can’t.

Later, I began chatting with more guys that I met at the bar, because I knew one of them from Grindr. Actually, I had seen the guy in the line as well, but only talked with him and his friend once inside. I ended up being more attracted to the friend, but still got both of their numbers by the end of the night.

I still danced a lot with the boys I came with, but ended up sneaking away with Liam for a bit. We made out in a dark corner, purposely out of sight. At one point, I knew that Evan was watching me, though. That was because I saw him standing still in the middle of a bustling crowd, giving me a death stare.

I probably won’t be talking to Evan again any time soon. Oh, well. His loss. I have a bottle of Evan’s vodka and two champagne flutes for him at my apartment. I do feel kind of bad. It was a shitty thing to do as a friend. A part of me wonders if Evan is actually mad, though. Would he be? I made out with someone that Evan couldn’t, because he is in a relationship. Tough break, kid. Ugh. Shit. Fuck. I’m such a bitch.

I continued making out with Liam, continued flirting with those guys at the bar, and also continued texting PW to try and get him to come to Buddies. No luck. Finally, I made the decision to leave the club. I’d had my fill of dancing. I also had three or four unsaved numbers in my phone.

Walking home, I ran into Ross Brochant and his crew on the street. We chatted for a bit, and then Ross did what he usually does – invited himself over to my apartment. I’m totally fine with that, though. Also, when I am as drunk as I was tonight, my motto is, “The more the merrier!” I invited the rest of Ross’s crew, and we all walked over to the Witch Cave.

Ross is one of those people who goes everywhere with a huge posse. Tonight, that posse was nine fucking people! Three is a crowd in my shoebox apartment, but we made it work. I actually knew one of the other guys, too – from that Fashion Week gig I did back in March.

Just like every other night, drinks were liberally passed throughout the Cave. Ten drinks for ten people, the bottle of gin flowing until it was almost empty – and perhaps flowing a bit too heavily. One of the girls spilled her drink all over my floor. Witch!

Our nightcap was fun. I drank out of my new champagne flute, and we all tried on my wigs, talked, and watched music videos on full blast as usual. If my neighbors didn’t know all of the lyrics to Mariah and Britney’s discography before I moved in, they should be well-versed by now. Perhaps a little deaf, too.

Eventually, everyone left the Witch Cave. I collapsed on my bed, attempting to respond to some of the messages I had been ignoring all night. If I wasn’t such a mess this weekend, I would have probably been having sex with a different guy every night. I don’t know what’s worse – missing out on that, or being blackout drunk every night.

Looking back on my messy nights, that is always my regret. Not the missing out on sex part, but being too drunk to remember things and function normally. The drinks – and drugs – got me! Damn substances. Darn this substance abuse issue! Darn it!

Tomorrow should be interesting.

Goodnight xo

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