This is the part of Pride where all of the days have merged into one, and I am still waking up drunk and/or high from the day and/or night before. At this point, I don’t even remember what time I woke up this morning.
I managed to clean up what was now the third apartment bomb of the weekend, but I couldn’t bring myself to do the dishes. There were so fucking many. I swear to God, when I finally move out of the Witch Cave, I want two things: large windows and a dishwasher. I simply cannot live without either anymore. Last night got to the point where I was serving drinks out of cookware, because I had run out of proper glasses. It takes so long to wash them. Seriously, the amount of time I spend doing dishes makes me so angry. I could be doing so many other things with that time. Think of all the Instagram videos or masturbating I could have accomplished if my hands weren’t submerged in suds.
Anyway, like I said, I barely remember what time I woke up, nor do I really remember getting ready for the day. I spent a lot of time responding to the random, nameless numbers in my phone, once again realizing that I could have had so much dick if I hadn’t been so wasted. Live and learn – again, and again. I got my stuff together, possibly had a drink before I left, and maybe smoked some weed. No. Wait. I sparked it all up last night.
I walked along the closed-down streets of the Village, and then got a cab to Kyle and Alison’s. The two of them were hosting a pre-drink for the parade. Despite my tardiness, it didn’t take long for me to catch up to them. I finished my bottle of champagne pretty quickly, did a couple of shots, and was then naturally fed some Fireball by Kyle. As if I hadn’t learned my lesson with Fireball during Pride 2014 – or even in September 2013, when Kyle and I got blackout drunk in a basement together off the stuff. Damn it. This was already going to be a mess.
There were a lot of people at Kyle and Alison’s. I vaguely remember DJ’ing my usual gay tunes, and putting lip tattoos and finger decals on myself and others. Eventually, the large group hit the street and walked to our usual parade viewing location at the North-East corner of Yonge and Dundas. I waved to Cyndi Lauper along the way.
At some point during our pilgrimage to the Holy Land, I was also fed some MDMA. I don’t remember how I took it, where I took it, or how much I took, but I know that I had some. So, that happened.
Naturally, when we were about 80% of the way to our destination, I realized that I had left my phone at Kyle and Alison’s apartment. I took their keys, and went back to get it. This was one of those moments that, looking back on, I can remember doing. However, I’m unable to recall the full details of what happened between the time I left the parade spot, and when I returned.
I remember fumbling with 18,000 keys outside the apartment. The keyring Kyle gave me looked like it belonged to a prison warden.
I remember hoping my phone was actually in the apartment, and not lost.
I remember finding my phone.
I remember doing a celebratory shot.
I remember getting back to the parade spot.
That’s about it.
I definitely needed my phone, though. As with every Pride, I had a lot of people wanting to meet up. Oftentimes, I feel like I am the go-to gay guy for a lot of straight girls. Either that, or they believe I can guarantee them a good time. Honestly, I am fine with either association. I’m a good gay and/or a great time? Works for me.
Earlier, I had told Riley and Veronica that we would meet up for the parade. Around the time I returned to the viewing spot, both girls were messaging me. However, I was now alone. Kyle, Alison, and the rest of our 10+ person group were nowhere to be found. Thus began my search for the crew.
Kyle and Alison are possibly the worst people to try and find when lost. Neither of them pick up their phone when they are sober, let alone intoxicated. I must have called both of them about 17 times each, and I had no luck with either. Fortunately, Riley and Veronica appeared out of nowhere. We stuck together, and it wasn’t long before I found the rest of the crew watching the parade from outside of a Chipotle. Given my relationship with those kids, I don’t know why Chipotle wasn’t the first place I looked. It all seems so obvious now.
We were at the parade for God knows how long. It’s all a blur at this point. I remember jumping and screaming a lot, and having the best time ever. People I knew would also randomly appear behind me throughout the day. This included Kimberly Love, whom I hadn’t seen in years. Naturally, we were siblings once again.
Pride is such an amazing time. Everyone is in the best mood ever, and just wants to have a great weekend. There’s so much love in the air. Love, and nudity. The girls had their tops off for almost the entire length of the parade. Nipples were everywhere. Kyle was sucking on titties like a newborn baby, and another girl was doling out MDMA like it was Pixie Dust. Ah, Pride. There’s nothing like it!
Alcohol certainly helps, too – and there was no shortage of booze today. Riley and Veronica each had Tim Horton’s cups filled with wine – of which I consumed a lot – and basically anyone else who came around gave me a swig of their sauce. That sounds disgusting. They offered me some of their drink, and it was much appreciated. Although, given my mental state at the time, more alcohol was also highly unnecessary.
The Pride Parade is approximately six days long. I don’t know how long we watched it, but we were there for at least a couple of hours and things were far from finished. Eventually, Kyle and Alison wanted to get food. Chipotle, of course. On that note, Veronica, Riley, and I decided that we were going to hit up the TreeHouse party at Ryerson University. I think one or two of their friends were with us, but I could barely remember my own name at this point. Remembering a stranger was definitely not going to happen today.
TreeHouse was the same party that Kyle, Alison, and I snuck into last year. Once again, I got in for free. However, this time it seemed slightly more legitimate, as I do not remember crawling through shrubbery to get inside. Don’t ask me how, it just happened. One minute we were outside the party, and the next we were inside, dancing on the grass. That’s one of the joys of blacking out. You kind of just surrender any questions you might have and go with the flow – often finding yourself in places that you wouldn’t be if you were sober.
Once inside TreeHouse, we danced a lot. I was at a steady 25 out of 10, while Veronica and Riley were probably an 8 out of 10 at best. I’m assuming we saw a lot of people we knew, but I have no idea who they were or what they looked like. I have no idea what time any of this happened, either. I only remember it being blazing hot outside, and I may or may not have had any water to drink this whole time.
“Fucked up” would be a major understatement at this point. Unless you were inebriated, I don’t know why you would want to be at TreeHouse in the first place. With that in mind, it wasn’t long before the ladies decided to head out. I remember them being hesitant to leave me. As usual, I must have come off as pretty persuasive while that loaded. I assured Riley and Veronica that I was going to be okay, and they both went home.
Well, that was a big fat fucking lie. Don’t get me wrong. I was functioning. However, I was now at the point where I was so exhausted and messed up that I would walk up to random party-goers and pretend like we had known each other for years. In other words: a hot fucking mess.
One of those random party-goers was my arch nemesis – a guy whose name I don’t even know. Every time I’ve had an interaction with him, I am out of my fucking gourd. I believe his name is Ryan Wolff. Regardless, I went up to “Ryan” and started asking him random questions. The look Ryan and his friend gave me was equal parts disgust and pity. Mostly disgust.
So, that happened. Honestly, my interaction with Ryan was probably the most embarrassing thing that happened to me today. Granted, it’s also the only interaction I truly remember. I’m sure there are an endless supply of moments that never registered with my brain.
Still at TreeHouse alone, I sat on the edge of a small grass slope by myself. Amidst a sea of people, I lay flat on my back while shifting focus between my phone and the sky. There’s actually a video of me doing this. I’m sure I looked really cute while recording it. Oy.
I was trying to get a hold of Dan and Connor, as I knew they would also be at TreeHouse. By the time I had sobered up enough to comprehend my messages, both boys had left the party.
Now, what was I going to do? I wanted to keep partying with the gays, but I didn’t want to do it alone. The thing about being wasted is that you kind of need to be around someone you know. I can do it alone – as I have done many times before – but it’s not as cute when it’s in the same city you live in. Too many familiar faces. It’s not a good look. I prefer my messiness to only be witnessed outside of Toronto.
I left TreeHouse. After another ridiculous chain of unacknowledged messages, I was able to get in touch with Alison and Kyle. There were in a park close to TreeHouse. As I’m writing this, I still don’t know where the fuck that park was. Kyle told me that the group was, “eating mushrooms like Cheetos, and doing a lot of coke.” Naturally, I wanted in. Kyle met me at a nearby street corner, and brought me to the park. I had finally been reunited with the group, which had now dropped a few members and added some interesting new characters.
When I arrived at the park, one of the girls asked me if I wanted to do some mushrooms. I said yes, and she spent the next hour trying to find me some. I wasn’t even that keen on doing the mushrooms, but the girl was trying really hard to find them for me. After her efforts, it would have been rude not to indulge.
Eventually, the girl produced a plastic baggie that had one lone mushroom in it. It had been a while since I’d done mushrooms, but that didn’t stop me. I chewed the thing up into a nasty paste, swallowed it, and chased it down with the bottle of Patrón that was floating around the group.
To set the scene, we were literally a group of maybe seven to eight people, sitting alone in an empty football field, drinking, doing mushrooms, and looking like a bunch of hot fucking messes.
At this point, I had consumed more alcohol than I could remember. Weed, MDMA, and now mushrooms and cocaine were also on the menu. This was shaping up to be the messiest Pride yet! Even without today, this Pride would have still been the messiest by far. I was consistently drunk, high, and blackout for now four days straight. What a lovely chapter of my life for my future kids to read.
“And then, Daddy chewed up a magic mushroom, chased it with tequila, and was even more fucked up than he was before!”
There were two straight guys with the new group. I’m not typically a fan of heterosexual men. My guess was that they were probably in the park because that was the closest they wanted to get to Pride. Well, lucky for them, I bring the Pride with me wherever I go – and today was no exception! In moments like these, I like to turn up the volume on my feminine side. Masculinity? I don’t know her.
It took a while for the mushroom to hit me. When it did, I was really taken aback. One of the straight guys wanted to buy a pack of smokes, so I went along for the trip. I made him skip with me to the corner store across the street. That’s precisely when the mushroom took effect.
While waiting at the cash register, I turned to the bro and found myself with so many questions.
“Why are we here?”
“What are we getting?”
“Can we get candy?”
“Who are you?”
“Who is that?”
“What is this?”
“What year is it?”
Colors were glowing. Lights were buzzing. I found myself so overstimulated inside the grocery store that I had to leave. I made the straight guy hold my hand as we crossed the street.
From that moment on, my sunglasses did not leave my face. If I took them off, everyone would have known my secret. I even kept my shades on well after sunset. Nobody was going to see my eyes! Depending on the trip I was going through, my eyes were either closed or wide open.
For whatever reason, I also became a bit of a bitch during this session. I was being extremely sassy with everyone, calling them “hot fucking messes” all night. The problem with my humor – much like Natasha’s – is that if you know me, you’ll know that I’m just messing with you. If you don’t know me, you’ll think I’m a huge asshole. Calling people “hot fucking messes” was meant to be ironic, because – look in the mirror, bitch! I was the biggest disaster within a 12-mile radius, and I knew it all too well. Nobody seemed to really mind, though. When they did, I let them know that I was just kidding.
It was getting really late. The sun had set, most of the group had dissipated, and it was time to schlep back over to Kyle and Alison’s place to round out the night. We walked for what seemed like 40 days and 40 nights. When we finally got to the apartment, Kyle didn’t have his keys. Goddamn it! The poor guy ended up scaling the side of the house onto a backyard porch, but that was locked, too. Kyle then climbed up the front of the house, and crawled in through a second-story window.
Finally inside the apartment, the vibe was really weird. Alison disappeared into her bedroom right away, and I never saw her again. Kyle was also in his room, doing God knows what. I was sitting alone in the living room in a chair, looking at my phone, and knowing that I was really messed up.
With my eyes wide open like a crazy person, I remember looking around the apartment in amazement. All I wanted in that moment was some social interaction. When it became clear that I wasn’t going to get it with Kyle and Alison holed up in their bedrooms, I ordered an Uber, pulled myself out of the chair I had sunken into, and went downstairs.
I heard a bedroom door open. It was Kyle, asking me if I was leaving.
“No, bitch,” I responded sarcastically. “I’m going to stay sitting in your living room chair alone all night.”
Kyle and I hugged goodbye, and I got in the Mercedes Benz waiting for me outside.
I really did want social interaction tonight. For the first time on a solo cab ride, I made the Uber driver stop his car so I that could sit in the front with him. The driver didn’t seem too thrilled about it, nor did he entertain my request to drive 120 km/h on residential streets, but it was what it was. Don’t expect a big tip, buddy.
The streets were still closed near my apartment. I was dropped off as close to the Witch Cave as possible, and walked the rest of the way. I can only imagine what I looked like to all of the people still roaming the streets. My ass hanging out of my booty jorts, one foot in a shoe and the other bandaged in a flip flop, disheveled blonde hair, and John Lennon sunglasses. I couldn’t have cared less, though. I was in such a happy mood because of the mushrooms. I wanted to talk to everyone.
I walked through the Village, deciding at a certain point that I wanted Popeyes Louisiana Kitchen before bed. I probably decided this around the same time that I realized I hadn’t eaten anything the entire day. By midnight, it was time for some food. I began my pilgrimage for chicken fingers, stopping multiple times along the way because I kept getting distracted.
The first distraction was a guy standing on a street corner, one block up from my apartment. The man was waiting outside of an apartment building, having a smoke. I nodded at him as I turned the corner, and then stopped in my tracks. The guy was cute. I figured, “Why not?”
Without any hesitation, I turned around and walked back to the guy. I introduced myself, and told him that he was really cute. Much to my surprise, the guy seemed interested. We started talking for a bit. Just as I was about to ask for his number, which I was convinced he would have given me, another guy opened the door to the apartment building. I looked at him, looked back at the guy on the street, and quickly realized what was going on. This was a hook up. The guy on the street quickly said goodbye to me, and then disappeared inside the building. Fuck. Oh, well. On to the next distraction. All I wanted to do was talk to someone!
The streets were pretty much dead at this point. Nonetheless, I found two musicians who were struggling to carry their band equipment back to their car from where they had performed in the Village. I offered to help, and carried a table for them. They were really appreciative, said goodnight, and crossed the street to their van.
When I turned around, I realized that I had finally reached Popeyes. I ordered my spicy chicken fingers and fries, which took 20 minutes to make, and then I went home and ate it all in my bed.
When I emptied my pockets, I found Kyle’s house keys. Whoopsies.