How insane is it that Kate is getting married? Honestly, the closer we get to this wedding, the crazier it seems. At this point, we’re approaching Amanda Bynes levels. I suppose it’s not completely unfathomable that two people who have been dating for six years are getting hitched, but Kate is the first of my friends to walk down the aisle. Considering I am probably ten years – or more – away from any sort of wedding of my own, it’s been quite the culture shock.
I don’t know what time Sebastian got home last night, as I was clearly in a deep, weed-induced slumber. Nevertheless, the boy had his things ready to go and was out the door before me this morning, which was great. Adios, Sebastian. Thanks for cleaning my bathroom!
Soon after, I followed suit with my backpack, body pouch, and weekender bag in tow. I wasn’t quick enough, though. When I got to the parking garage, Riley, Veronica, and Abby were all waiting for me. I made up an excuse about Sebastian holding me back, but the reality was that I spent most of my morning trying to make an Instagram video with a clip from the movie Crossroads. This brick of a laptop wouldn’t move fast enough, though. Goddamn it!
Before we left, I met Riley’s billionaire boyfriend. Seriously, though. What do I have to do to find a guy like that? Clearly, I have been hanging out in the wrong social circles. All of the rich, successful gays must be getting drunk at other bars. I thought working at The Clubhouse might have put me closer to those types of men, but finding a gay guy at work is like finding a needle in a haystack. That’s hardly an exaggeration, either. Most of The Clubhouse’s members are about as interesting as a bundle of straw.
Anyway, the four of us packed up the car and hit the road. We also picked up Kate’s cousin Khloe along the way, as she had a last-minute change of plans. Riley sat upfront with me the whole ride, and we had some good conversations between Mariah Carey songs. I’ll be honest, though. Riley wouldn’t shut the fuck up about her boyfriend and everything he owns. We get it. The guy’s rich. I don’t care about his mansion, or the 18 Tesla cars he has in the garage. Congrats, girl. You bagged a billionaire! Now, take your prize money and find out if he has any friends for moi. On another note, Abby – from high school – broke up with her boyfriend of seven years last month. You know this trip is going to be a wild one for her.
We hit a lot of traffic pon de road to Québec. Thanks to my lead foot, we still made it to the hotel on time. With about 15 minutes to decompress before the festivities began at the stroke of Rebecca Price’s Burberry watch, I unpacked my bag, changed, and examined my disgusting, swollen self in the mirror. Fuck. I should have brought a muumuu.
I’ll give credit where credit is due. I must say that Rebecca Price did an incredible job organizing this weekend – considering she isn’t even the Maid of Honor. I was seriously impressed with the attention to detail. I’ve said it before, though. When someone wants to take charge like that, let them. Otherwise, you’re just in their way.
Our group of twelve had three rooms at the hotel. I ended up staying in the main suite with Kate and her two sisters, which I was pretty happy about. The more room I have to spread my wings, the better. Plus, I like it when people migrate to me. I don’t care to move all that much, which is probably why I’m looking more like a beached whale these days than a bridesmaid. I splashed some water on my face, had a couple of drinks during the initial celebration and surprise for Kate, and then the crew was on their way to our first event: pole dancing lessons.
Following a lengthy walk, we arrived at a random alleyway in the middle of the city. After passing through a nondescript door, we walked up a few flights of stairs and into the very back of an empty nightclub where there were stripper poles, corsets, and Pamela Anderson heels scattered throughout the room. This was fucking awesome! Not to mention, we got to bring our own booze. Our roadies were the icing on the cake. Note to self: pop out of a cake one day.
The instructor taught us a variety of moves, all of which we ended up combining together for some great choreography. Obviously, there were ample opportunities for pictures and free styling. The group even got to try on the shoes. Much to my surprise, there were some House Bunny-looking heels in my size. This was otherwise known as a true joy for my inner stripper.
At the end of our two-hour lesson, the instructor gave us a full show. It was insane. Afterwards, Kate was awarded with a prize for being the bride. The instructor had one more prize to give away, though. It was for the participant with the most potential. Naturally, that award went to me. Considering I had more experience with poles, sex, and stripper heels than all of these twelve girls combined, this was no surprise. Hey. When you’ve got it, flaunt it.
On our walk back to the hotel, we stopped for some pizza before returning to our rooms and getting ready for the evening. This weekend was a whirlwind trip. There was no stopping for anyone, or anything.
After some primping, the maids congregated in our suite to drink and play some games – all of which Rebecca Price kept on a tight, by the minute schedule, by the way. Oh, another thing. When we arrived at the hotel earlier, I mentioned the weed I brought. Rebecca overheard, then scolded me. Apparently, the front desk had made it very clear that there was to be no smoking in the rooms. Okay. Fine. I’ll blow it out the window. On that note, I sparked up and had purple take me higher. I was lifted, and I liked it.
The crew was sufficiently buzzed. We’d also had our fill of reindeer games, so we migrated to the night’s second event: a male strip show at Le 281.
I thought I had seen it all. I figured we were just going to another version of Toronto’s Remington’s Men of Steel, but I could not have been more wrong. We sat down at our Last Supper-looking table, and the show began.
Never in my entire life had I witnessed anything like I did at Le 281. I think my jaw is still on the sticky linoleum floor, actually. When the men started dancing, I went into complete shock. Tonight’s show was easily the most erotic thing I have ever seen. I was so aroused, it wasn’t even funny. I turned to Riley, who was sitting beside me. Her mouth was wide open, too.
“Oh, my God,” I said. “I finally get it.”
I finally understand why people enjoy this Magic Mike XXL bullshit. Everyone except the girls in tonight’s group, of course. At one point, some of the dancers had swarmed our table, yet none of the girls seemed to be enjoying their presence the way I was. They were embarrassed when the guys approached them. They found it extremely corny.
The girls were buying Kate lap dances left and right. A couple of the girls were also danced on, typically when Kate pawned them off. I think Natasha bought Nicky a dance, too. I wasn’t about to buy one for myself, but I can guarantee you that if one of the guys gave me a lap dance, I would have jizzed in my pants right then and there. The show was so fucking hot. I could barely move. I don’t think I blinked once the entire time we were at Le 281.
Eventually, the girls had their fill of cock. We migrated to another bar to dance the night away, all of which seemed like a happy accident. Not only did all twelve of us get into the club at the same time, but we also managed to slip into multiple bottle service booths. It turned out there was some weird minimum spend on bottles, so all of the private booths were overflowing with alcohol, which they were fine to give away. Who the fuck needs seven bottles of Grey Goose between ten guys? Even I know that’s a little ridiculous.
We’d been inside the club for about five minutes. I was trying to do a count on our group number with Natasha, but we couldn’t find Abby. Thirty seconds later, we both turned around in search of our friend and found Abby dancing like Cousin Vicky from Vegas Vacation, on top of a table with one of the guys from the booth. It was fucking hysterical. I have never liked Abby more. You go, girl!
I was less than enthused by tonight’s musical choices. Although I had ingested an alarming amount of alcohol since we’d arrived in the city, I wasn’t that wasted. I was drunk, but I wasn’t past my limit. The reason for this sobriety was because I kept chugging water whenever I had the chance. I’ve also asked Riley and Veronica to help keep an eye on me this weekend, suggesting water whenever they think I’m entering dangerous territory.
I’d had enough of the straight sausage fest that was this club. I wanted to leave. I told Natasha, and we bounced together. Fuck, man. I love that girl so much. Being with Natasha is an instant upper for me. The girl makes me happier than anything. I love her spirit, her energy, and how comfortable we are with one another. Natasha is my best friend in the entire world. I only wish I could spend more time with her. I love her.
Wheezing our way into the hotel after climbing the steepest fucking hill in all of Montreal, which was probably worse for Natasha considering she was the one in heels, we collapsed on Kate’s bed in the main suite. From there, we smoked weed out the window, listened to music, and went through old pictures on my computer – one of our favorite things to do together.
The last thing I remember is Natasha walking around the room, mumbling something to me. I responded, Natasha said, “Wow, you’re not as drunk as I thought you were,” and then I passed out. The smoke got me, as it always seems to.