Hi, I'm Kurt. A binge-drinking, pill-popping disco diva with a heart of platinum and an appetite for self-destruction.
Welcome to Sleepless Solitude: The True-Life Journals of a Xanax'd Millennial (Part 2 of 2).
Adapted from a collection of nightly...
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September 9
Today was finally the day! Waking up at 5 a.m. is obviously never ideal, but when you're heading to Las Vegas, you pull through. I was so excited to get away for the weekend that nothing else mattered. Goodbye to the fucking Clubhouse. I hope you burn down while I'm gone. Fuck, man. I hate that place so much.
After some last-minute packing, I took transit to the airport and checked into my flight without any issue. Actually, the whole thing was pretty seamless. I was in the air, sleeping, and then touching down in Vegas after what seemed like only a few hours. It was great.
Naturally, the first song I heard playing inside McCarran International Airport was "Always Be My Baby" by Mariah Carey. Excellent. This trip was already off to a great start. I found my way to the shuttles, paid my fare, and got on a bus to Bally's, which is where we're staying this weekend. Greg and his friend Brittany were only arriving later in the day, so I had a few hours to kill by myself.
The entire process of getting to Bally's felt like a bit of a blur, but that's only because there were so many steps involved. In reality, it took me over two hours to get from the airport to the hotel. I was the last fucking stop on the bus. Oy. I wasn't in a rush to do anything, so it didn't really matter. To be honest, I was just eager to get on some Wi-Fi and start swiping through Tinder and Grindr.
Finally at Bally's, I dropped off my suitcase with the bell desk. The room was under Greg's name, so I couldn't check in. After that, it was time to hit The Strip. I figured I would wait to start drinking until the others arrived, so I schlepped over to Caesars Palace to do some shopping. Let's be real here. Nobody wants to be dragged around The Forum Shops while I spend my entire paycheck in the Mariah Carey store. If there were ever a time for a solo moment, this was it. A few hundred dollars poorer, I returned to the sunshine and relaxed outside Caesars.
By this point, I had been talking to a new guy on Grindr for about an hour. A 31-year-old Australian by the name of Hayden, to be specific. Tall, handsome, and looking for banter, Hayden was visiting Las Vegas for a work conference and was staying at the Bellagio.
Eventually, it became clear that Hayden was interested in meeting up. It was one of those moments where every sign was pointing to yes, but I was still very hesitant to go over to this stranger's hotel room. I mean, I had just gotten off a five-hour flight. I was sweaty, probably somewhat smelly, and not exactly confident in my readiness to be penetrated.
All of that being said, I also had nothing else to do. I wasn't going to continue wandering The Strip. I was having major buyer's remorse over my Mariah Carey purchases, and didn't want to spend any more money. Might as well have sex, I guess! While sitting outside Caesars Palace, I told Hayden that I would meet him in the lobby of his hotel in 20 minutes, and to wait for me there. Life without Wi-Fi is so archaic.
I walked over to the Bellagio. Hayden was nowhere to be found. I don't say that because I thought he was going to bail on me. No. On the contrary, I knew we would be fucking. I mention it, because it was incredibly awkward and obvious of me to be wandering around the Bellagio lobby for 15 minutes, pacing back and forth like some abandoned hooker waiting for their trick. Finally, Hayden appeared. We met at the elevators, and went up to his room together.
