Sleepless Solitude: The True-Life Journals of a Xanax'd Millennial (Part 2 of 2)

November 4

November 4

Well, I think Hell froze over last night. After I finished writing my journal entry, the conversation with RX continued. Either that, or he was drunk. RX sent me a Mariah Carey GIF, which I obviously responded to. In the nicest way possible, I told him to stop criticizing my passion for Mimi. The response?

RX: "I make fun because it means I like you."

So, that happened.

We exchanged a few more inside jokes, and then each said goodnight. This is why the saga always continues. Shit like this constantly happens. RX's sporadic messages don't rile me up the way they used to, but obviously there's a huge part of me that wonders why – after almost five years of being apart – this is still happening. Natasha says it's because RX is my first love. As such, I'll always be attached to him. Something inside of me thinks there's more to our relationship than that, though.

Why is our connection still so strong? Why, after all of these years, have I still not found someone that even comes close to understanding me the way RX does? I don't regret breaking up. I needed that space to figure out what I wanted. Still, there's obviously some part of me that wonders if RX was the one. Was dating RX like shopping for a wedding dress? The first one you try on is the one you end up with? I struggle with this. I want to move forward, but so much of me is always looking back.

Anyway. Moving on.

I woke up with horrible stomach pains again. They've never lasted this long. Tuesday night was the absolute peak of it. Although I haven't thrown up since then, I still can't touch the upper part of my stomach. I'm looking pretty damn bloated these days. Nevertheless, I went to work and settled in.

Big Bird and I had a meeting schedule with Lawrence to discuss the membership survey we are currently working on, which she wanted to spend the entire morning preparing for. Big Bird also didn't want me working on anything else until after our meeting. I kept telling her that we should just make a basic outline of what we wanted to talk about.

"Let's go into the meeting, and simply ask Lawrence what he wants for the survey," I suggested. "He probably has a very clear vision for everything."

Nope. Big Bird wasn't having it. Instead, we spent four hours typing a one-page Word document. Sure enough, we had the meeting and what Lawrence wanted was completely different from what Big Bird had in mind. After that, she disappeared for most of the afternoon. By 5 p.m., I was out the damn door.

The boys wanted to go to Tapette tonight – the annual Céline Dion party at the Gladstone Hotel. In the mood for some socializing, I said I would tag along. I can't believe it's been a year since the last Tapette. That's actually where I came up with the idea for my MOMENTS party.

My stomach was still hurting and I was completely exhausted, so I walked home to get a bit of exercise before eventually jumping into bed. A few hours later, I woke up and started getting ready. Something felt different. Wait a minute. Oh, my God! I couldn't believe it. My stomach was back to normal! It was a fucking miracle. It was also about fucking time. I suffered through that shit for four goddamn days.

The thing with tonight was that I really didn't want to drink. I didn't want to upset my stomach again, but also, I wasn't interested in getting drunk or wake up tomorrow morning with a bloated gut and pounding headache. It's not worth it for me anymore. I'm tired of feeling gross about myself. After Halloween, I noticed a complete change in my mentality after having had so much to drink. I don't want to return to that level of anxiety and depression again.

Here's the other thing with tonight, though. People treat you differently when they know you aren't drinking. It's ridiculous, but very true. You're viewed as a Debbie Downer. People don't want to hang out with you, because they think Sober Sally will either judge them or put a damper on their night. How does one circumvent this sad reality? I grabbed an empty bottle of gin out of my recycling bin, and filled it with water. I went to the pre-drink at Cody's place in Liberty Village, and that's what I "drank" all night. Nobody had a clue. It was a completely brilliant plan!

Following Cody's pre-drink, the crew migrated to the Gladstone Hotel for Tapette. We arrived at the party, and I loved it. Tapette was about 95% gay men, many of whom I had met before or talked to online. I never go to those types of events sober, so tonight was a chance for me to show people that I can actually look cute and put together.

I wouldn't call it a "goal" for the night, but I definitely wanted to meet guys at Tapette. I also wanted to go home with someone. Despite catching a number of guys making eyes at me, neither of those things happened. Perhaps it's one of those moments where people think I'm intimidating? I don't know what it is. People just won't approach me. Multiple guys stared at me throughout the night. I'm talking about total eye contact without blinking. You'd have thought those queers were professional staring contest contestants. Yet, not one of them came over to me or started up a conversation.

I know what I'm capable of. I'm well aware that I can simply to go up to a guy myself and facilitate an introduction. That's not really what I'm looking for in someone, though. I have enough confidence of my own that I don't need to prove it to someone. I want a guy who's got the fucking balls – and is not a total troll – to approach me and ask a fucking question. Is that so much to ask for? Just make a move!

Maybe I'm going about flirting the wrong way. Somehow, maybe I really am so intimidating that nobody is ever going to approach me. I don't see myself that way, but it's what I've been told. Perhaps I'm doomed to a life of making the first move, and hoping that the guy's balls will drop after that. Something to try next week, I guess.

Overall, tonight was pretty great. The evening sort of opened my eyes to the fact that a night out can still be fun when you're stone cold sober. I had two sips of beer when Dan asked me to help finish his drink, but that was it. I talked coherently with countless guys I've met over the years. I even saw Dustin Hayes. We caught up quickly, obviously swapping Mariah Carey stories from last night, as he was at Hudson's Bay, too. In typical fashion, Dustin told me that we needed to hang out.

This is the part where I get so fucking exciting about moving back to Casa Z. I won't have to do this anymore. I won't have to invite people over to my apartment. I won't have to hang out with people. I'll probably be eating those words when I am lonely in the boonies, but I'm excited to have the excuse of living outside the city to be antisocial.

Tapette wasn't completely drama-free. I had an awkward encounter with a guy I blocked on Grindr a few months ago, along with another run-in with a guy I barely remember from Halloween at Woody's. He was the guy who sent me a video of myself as Mimi. C'est la vie.

As if that weren't enough, Ryan Wolff was at Tapette. Ryan is the guy who I always make an ass of myself in front of. Our most recent encounter was in July during Pride. Tonight, Ryan pretended as though we had never met before. Pardonne moi? Ryan asked me my name – he had mistaken me for someone else – and if I was from Toronto. Seriously? Either Ryan was trolling me big time, or maybe it was one of those rare instances where you've completely overthought everything about your drunken adventures of yesteryear. But, come on. In addition to messaging Ryan on Grindr, I've also passed out on a lawn in front of him at Pride. Maybe he's slow.

Despite this evening's lack of suitors, I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I felt pretty confident the entire night. After Dan got shit-faced and went home alone, Connor and I shared a cab back to the Village together. I had a 2 a.m. snack, watched some Chelsea on Netflix, and went to bed. Maybe this sobriety thing isn't so bad after all.

Goodnight xo