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

November 11

November 11

"Tired" and "lethargic" pretty much sums up my day.

The first event of this morning was my meeting with the C.E.O. of Amphitheatre Entertainment, Edward Tilton – something that's been in the works since May. Overall, the one-on-one went really well. I met Edward at the Amphitheatre headquarters on University Avenue, and we had a great chat. Thank God, too. Just before Edward entered the massive boardroom I was waiting in, I realized that I was totally unprepared. The whole thing could have been a complete disaster had the guy not been as laid back as he was.

In an attempt to review exactly who the hell I am, I had emailed myself my resume before the meeting. I forgot to print off a copy for Edward, though. On top of that, I couldn't even think of a damn question to ask the guy. To be fair, I wasn't looking for a job. I don't even know what kind of job I want, so what was the point of this meeting anyway?

As I said, this morning went well. We discussed different career options and paths based on my interests, and Edward wants me to send him my resume so that he can forward it to different departments. Our discussion was very casual, which I think helped my case. I typically don't fare too well in formal environments, so being able to let my guard down and express my personality was a nice surprise. Edward couldn't have been nicer. We'll see what comes of our meeting. I got some free movie tickets out of it. At the very least, there's that.

I arrived at The Clubhouse around 11 a.m. Big Bird didn't make a peep for about half an hour. I wasn't sure if she was mad at me or actually focused for once, but I think it was the latter. The whole day was pretty laid back. I didn't do much work again. Big Bird made me stay for After Hours, which I loathe, but I pulled through with only a couple of awkward conversations. At 6 p.m., I ran out of the building.

Lately at the gym, there has been this guy who just straight up stares at me. No blinking. No flinching. I call him my stalker. The guy just sits on his machine and follows my movements with his entire fucking head as I walk past him in the weight room. One time, his glare was so intense that I almost asked him if there was something on my face. I didn't. Instead, I opted to keep the same eye contact, with a bit more furrowed brow. It's so weird!

Tonight, I saw my stalker on the treadmill as I was leaving for the sauna. Later, when I came out of the sauna, he was in the locker area – staring at me.

Avoiding eye contact, I grabbed my face wash and bolted into the shower stall, drawing the curtain behind me. Not even a minute later, my stalker walked into the stall beside me. Was this guy trolling me? As I thought about it in the shower, I actually started to get hard. That's not so easy to cover up when you're in a towel. How did all of those closeted gay boys at Western University play sports, and not get an erection in the locker room afterwards?

When I came out of the shower, my stalker had his curtain 75% of the way open – as if on purpose. While walking back to the lockers, the guy turned around and looked at me. Soon after, he walked over to where I was and started getting dressed beside me at a glacial pace. Like, slower than it should take any human being to dry off and put clothes on.

I didn't know how to handle what was happening. I could have been reading the situation completely wrong, but it felt like a really strong pick up. In hindsight, I should have been more forward and made better eye contact. What if my stalker wasn't coming on to me, though? I thought about it after. Come on, Kurt. Let's be real here. If someone's making eye contact with you while they're naked, chances are they're looking for something.

I panicked. I jumped into my jeans as fast as I could – without any underwear – all while my fully beefed stalker stood a foot away from me. Once dressed, I began to calm down. Now, it was time to have some fun. I couldn't resist letting the whole thing go to waste, so I pretended to be interested in the guy's running shoes and asked him a question about them. That's when I realized my stalker was fresh off the fucking boat from Europia.

This guy had a really strong accent. I wouldn't even call it broken English – it was shattered. At first, he couldn't even understand the informal words I was using. My stalker certainly wasn't shy, though. Once I asked him my question, he continued to answer very enthusiastically. Maybe it was one of those moments where I just had to say something to start the conversation. You know, break the ice. Let him know I was not an asshole and that I was, in fact, approachable.

To give my stalker some space, I walked over to the urinal and pretended to pee. Just as I was fidgeting with my button fly, he started for the door.

"Goodbye," he called out.

"What's your name?" I asked, turning my head over my shoulder.

"Illyando," he said.

I can only imagine the look on my face when my stalker gave me his name. There was no way in hell that I was going to be able to recite that back to him.

"Cool," I lied, buckling my belt as I walked towards him. "How do you spell that?"

"L-E-O-N-A-R-D-O," he replied.

"Oh, Leonardo!" I said as the lightbulb above my head lit up. "Got it. I'm Kurt."

While shaking the hand that I had just finished peeing with, Leonardo informed me that he had just moved to the area. After that, he left the locker room. I have a feeling this won't be the last of Leonardo.

Back at the Witch Cave, I found myself very riled up from my gym encounter. I was so horny that I rubbed one out to locker room porn, thus living out my fantasy of what had almost happened tonight.

I was going to meet Dan at Crews & Tango this evening, but by the time he got there, it was after 12 a.m. I don't care if it's Friday night. That's too fucking late! I want to meet guys, but can't I do it before midnight?

Goodnight xo