Sleepless Solitude: The True-Life Journals of a Xanax'd Millennial (Part 9 of 12)

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September 10

September 10

I wet the bed. I wet the fucking bed on my first night in Vegas. Fuck you, Kurt! As if that weren’t enough – and let’s be honest, it was more than enough – I had Greg sleeping right beside me. Oy.

In the early hours of the morning, I awoke from my alcohol-induced coma and quickly realized that I was lying in my own urine. It would still be a few hours before I found out exactly what happened last night, but given my piss-soaked sheets, I knew it wasn’t going to be good. I hate that I know exactly what to do in these situations, but the reality is that this was not the first time I had been woken up by my own bodily fluids. Granted, this morning was probably one of the worst times for it to happen, but it definitely wasn’t the first.

My first instinct was to grab a towel from the bathroom, hoping that Greg wouldn’t notice. Too late. Not only was Greg awake before I could even get out of bed, but he was naturally asking why our shared bed was wet. Greg wasn’t mad. On the contrary, he seemed genuinely curious.

“What did you do? Wet the bed?” Greg asked jokingly, not realizing that he had hit the nail on the head.

Seriously? I could work with this. I immediately went for my standard back-up story.

“What? No, of course not! Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “I sweat the bed.”

To be fair, it wasn’t a complete lie. Such a thing has actually happened to me on multiple occasions, thanks to my sympathectomy. Okay, fine. It was a blatant lie. But, at least it was somewhat reasonable? I don’t know. What I do know, is that Greg went along with everything. I’m still unsure if Greg was simply humoring me in an attempt to avoid any further embarrassment or if he genuinely believed me, but I stuck to my “sweat the bed” story and that was that. I grabbed a towel from the bathroom, laid it down on my side of the bed, and stretched myself out. I needed to sleep off the rest of my booze.

When I woke up a few hours later, Greg was nowhere to be found. Brittany was still fast asleep in her bed. Why Greg and I ended up in the same bed is beyond me. Then again, so is the entirety of last night. Apparently, I pulled my standard move of being fine one moment and turning into a complete mess the next. The last thing I remember is being at The Venetian’s casino with Greg and Brittany, holding a champagne flute in one hand a cigarette in the other. Of course, this was after multiple drinks at the hotel, a fishbowl and flask at dinner, and a jumbo Fat Tuesday slushie for dessert.

I don’t know why I am always surprised when things like this happen. I think it’s because it comes out of nowhere. As if there’s a switch in my brain that spontaneously goes off, and then it’s game over. Greg and Brittany said what everyone else does: “We don’t know how you got so drunk.” Well, I did. Fortunately for me, both Greg and Brittany were kind of amazing about my messiness. Neither of them seemed to care all that much.

As I learned this morning, Greg’s body clock gets him out of bed at the crack of dawn. By the time Brittany and I were rolling out of bed, Greg was just getting back to the room. That boy was fully dressed, ready for the day, and had already hit the penny slots downstairs. Something had happened with Greg last night, though. I can’t exactly remember, but I – OH!

I bit him. I fucking bit Greg! Square in the center of his right bicep. I swear to God. Who am I? It was like some sort of rabies bite, too. As Greg showed me later in the day, I had broken the skin like some deranged animal. What a mess. I don’t know what the fuck they put in those Fat Tuesday drinks, but I have a feeling it’s just a frozen Four Loko mixed with bath salts. Apart from wetting the bed, which was still considered “sweat” at this point, biting Greg was my biggest regret of last night.

Listen. I can live with my own fuck ups. It’s not exactly ideal, but at least I’m only harming myself. However, when other people are involved or my actions affect others, that’s what brings me down hardest. I apologized to Greg profusely. Similar to my drinking, he was fine with the bite marks. Thank God. All of this was especially embarrassing, because I had just met Brittany. Not to mention, I was basically re-meeting Greg for the first time. What a great impression. Ugh. I have to keep it cute for the rest of the trip.

All of that being said, we’re still in Vegas. I wasn’t about to take a vow of sobriety after one rough night in Sin City. Once we had cleared the air about last night, the three of us moved on and started our new day. It’s not that I want to forget my mishaps to the point that I don’t learn my lesson, but something about Greg and Brittany was just so refreshing. They were so fucking fun. I mean, they’re both absolutely hilarious. It’s more than that, though. We’re all of the same mindset, which is that we simply want to have the best weekend ever.

I can’t remember the last time I clicked with someone so fast. It’s so easy with Greg and Brittany. That’s all I ever want. Hell, that’s all a friendship should be, right? There are some friends in Toronto who I’ve known for years, yet I’m not even half as comfortable around them as I am with Greg and Brittany. And that’s after just one night together! I feel like I can be my true self with them. Unfortunately, that’s harder to find in a friendship than one might think.

Anyway, it was time to start the day. By the time we were leaving the hotel, it was almost 1 p.m. By Vegas standards, that was relatively early. After Brittany and I did a couple of shots together, our trio was on the move.

We decided to hit up Bouchon – the French brunch restaurant at The Venetian, which I had gone to with the Menopause Guild back in February. It’s important to note that this was becoming a common theme of the trip: re-doing the same activities from my last visit. Going to brunch at 1 p.m. was exactly what I should’ve been doing in Vegas the first time around, too. In fact, a lot of the things we are doing feel like a moment of redemption for me. That’s not to say my last trip was a total wash, but it kind of was.

Looking back, that entire February trip was a complete disaster from start to finish. It was the realization that Logan was going to drop off, the beginning of a deep depression, blacking out during the Mariah Carey show, and essentially an entire weekend of Sunday Blues. February was a mess. This weekend is my chance at a do-over.

We made the trek along The Strip from Bally’s to The Venetian in gorgeous weather, taking our time and stopping at different resorts and stores along the way – including Fat Tuesday. Hey. I splurged on the refillable cup, and I was going to make good use of it! This time, I opted for something a little lighter on the gasoline spectrum. After my refill, we continued our schlep to Bouchon.

Despite getting a table right away, the service at Bouchon was absolutely horrendous. Taking into consideration my morning hotel shots and Fat Tuesday drink, I wasn’t too concerned. However, after 30 minutes of no service, I began to get a little annoyed. I needed potatoes.

It just so happened that another one of Greg’s friends was in Las Vegas this weekend. A frenemy by the name of Katelyn, who he knows from New York City. Much to Greg’s regret, he extended an invitation for Katelyn and her boyfriend to join us at Bouchon.

It could have been because Greg was trash-talking Katelyn until the moment she sat down at the table, but something about this girl rubbed me the wrong way. I didn’t mean to be an asshole, but I was drunk and had no interest in feigning a friendship with Katelyn. With Brittany of the same mindset, the two of us kept to ourselves for the remainder of brunch. What should have been a short moment with Katelyn and her boyfriend was extended far too long due to some brutal service issues. We left Bouchon without leaving a tip.

Unfortunately, brunch was not the last we’d be seeing of Katelyn and her man. Oh, no. Slowly but surely, the four of us started making our way back to Bally’s. It wasn’t late, but we wanted to have ample time to get ready for tonight’s main event – Mariah Carey. We walked through the casinos, got more Fat Tuesday drinks, gambled, shopped, and gambled some more. Seriously, we were having the best time. Of course, by “we,” I mean Brittany and myself.

From the moment we left Bouchon, Brittany and I had essentially left Greg alone with Katelyn and her lover. The couple stayed with us for an uncomfortable amount of time. It was awkward. That being said, I kind of felt like Natasha in that moment. It was fucking awesome. When Natasha isn’t feeling something, she simply exits stage left without a second thought. I never have the opportunity to do that, because I’m always the Greg in social situations. I’m constantly trying to make everyone feel comfortable, instead of doing whatever the fuck I want. I wish I could be like Natasha all the time. God, I love that girl. Natasha would have absolutely loved Greg. Brittany, too.

With Greg consumed by Katelyn, Brittany and I were left to bond with one another. By that, I mean we spent the afternoon giggling and filming Snapchat videos wherever we went. It was so much fun! I love Brittany.

Eventually, we parted ways with Katelyn and her strange little man and returned to Bally’s. As suspected, Greg needed a nap after his early rise. While grandpa rested in the room, Brittany and I ventured to the pool for a dip. Unfortunately, it wasn’t much of a swim. The lifeguard called us out of the water less than five minutes after we had jumped in. Pools in Vegas close absurdly early. It’s almost as if they don’t want guests getting in the water when they’re drunk. But, it’s Vegas. Come on! Most people don’t sober up until they’re on their flight back home. Oy.

With our pool moment squashed, Brittany and I returned to the room and began primping for Queen Mimi. From Bally’s, we walked across the street to The Colosseum at Caesar’s Palace. The rest is history.

I’m pleased to write that I kept my drinking in check tonight. I remember absolutely everything about Mariah Carey’s #1 to Infinity. The whole thing was absolutely stunning, both visually and sonically. I also cried multiple times throughout the show, some of which was caught on video during “Hero.” Truth be told, I could have cried simply for the fact that I’d managed to have a second chance at this moment. With February having been such a disaster, tonight felt like a complete blessing for me. Being able to experience Mariah’s show the way I should have five months ago was incredible. I felt so lucky. I am so fortunate to have been given this opportunity for redemption.

The trip isn’t even over yet, but everything feels like it was meant to be. As if this is the bookend on one of the hardest times in my life. Now, I feel as though I can finally move on from all of the negativity that has been smothering me since that first trip back in February.

To be fair, February wasn’t really the beginning of my darkness. That pain has always existed inside of me on some level. However, it was during that infamous winter weekend when the floodgates opened and I truly started drowning. Logan disappeared. After Logan, there was Bryan. Then there was therapy, the disaster that was MOMENTS, prescriptions, foot surgery, binge drinking, weight gain, breaking teeth, forgetting bags, and so many failed attempts at finding my happiness. Now, it’s as though I am closing the door on all of that trauma. I don’t know how to describe it any further. Tonight, I felt as though a weight had been lifted off of my shoulders. I was so happy.

Following the concert and a quick visit to the Mariah shop, we ventured down The Strip to Planet Hollywood. At this point, Brittany was getting antsy. Our poor little nymphomaniac hadn’t slept with anyone today, and she was desperately in need of a bedroom moment. This girl was not playing around, either. Brittany packed her fucking pajamas and a change of shoes in her purse for a hook-up that hadn’t even been arranged yet.

Fortunately for Brittany, finding a suitor didn’t take very long. I suppose that’s what happens when your Tinder profile reads: “Open for business.” By the time we got to Planet Hollywood, Brittany had swiped a match on Tinder and was off to meet her man. This meant Greg and I were alone for the rest of the night.

With Brittany on her way to another hotel, Greg and I decided to have dinner together at Planet Hollywood. Sitting in the middle of the casino at a random bar, our casual meal was one of the first moments where I got to have a real conversation with Greg. It was nice. At the same time, I was still unsure as to what our situation was. We’re clearly friends, but was there a possibility of more this weekend? I’m not looking to date Greg, but we were also sharing a bed. With Brittany out of the picture tonight, what was going to happen? I decided not to think much of what was happening. Instead, I simply enjoyed getting to know Greg on a deeper level. Greg is a very nice guy.

After a long night yesterday and a booze-filled afternoon today, the two of us were pretty tired after dinner. We decided to return to Bally’s, have a couple of drinks, and go to sleep. With our bed sporting some new – and dry – sheets, we opted for the same sleeping arrangement as last night. With both of us under the covers, Greg turned off the lights. After some pillow talk, we began to drift off to sleep. The only problem? I wasn’t tired anymore. Not only that, but it would have been a shame for all of our drinking to have gone to waste. I was buzzed. I wanted more.

Don’t pull out the lube just yet. It’s not that steamy of a story.

It seemed as though I wasn’t the only one with an ulterior motive tonight. Slowly but surely, Greg and I began inching our way closer to one another. Considering we were sharing a double-sized bed, our migration across the mattress didn’t take very long. Soon enough, the hands started moving, too. The whole thing was so strange, though.

Listen. I wanted something to happen tonight. Given the way Greg was taking the lead, I thought things were on the right track. Greg was rubbing my arm, touching my inner thigh, and moving closer to my package with every passing minute.

Naturally, I started to reciprocate. Through very subtle movements, I would get really close to the same parts on Greg’s body. Except, every time I got too close, Greg would either move his body or move my hand. I didn’t understand what was going on. We weren’t making out, but there was definitely some neck kissing involved. I mean, come on! Anyone who’s done anything remotely sexual would’ve taken all of the above as a clear sign that something was going to happen. Unfortunately, nothing did.

With our movements having slowed down, Greg and I began to drift back to sleep. I was hoping there might have been a second wind a few minutes later, but as luck would have it, Brittany returned from her hook-up at that exact moment. Fuck. Brittany told us all about her escapade, which I half-listened to before officially powering down.

What an odd ending to our night. At least I kept my dignity. Not that there’s much left, but still.

Goodnight xo

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