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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December 10
Following an early morning pon de couch and a bad headache, I began the arduous task of packing up the Witch Cave. Mom and Dad arrived around 9 a.m., and the three of us worked for four hours straight – boxing items from every corner of the apartment. We cleared the bathroom, emptied the kitchen, gutted the closet, and unscrewed everything from the walls – the latter of which revealed a series of brutal holes throughout the unit. Thank God, I don't have any money held up in this place. The development company would clean me dry with their repair bills. It's bad.
While Mom embarked on a painfully thorough cleaning job, Dad made a round trip to Casa Z and dropped off some boxes. The kitchen was probably the worst job to give Mom, as she insisted on cleaning every nook and cranny. All I wanted to do was get the hell out of there. You know you've made the right decision when there isn't an ounce of nostalgia to be found. Not an ounce! I wanted out, and I wanted out now.
Once at Casa Z, I wasted no time in shuffling boxes to my bedroom and unpacking. Mom came home with a wholesome serving of Popeye's Chicken, so we reconvened in the kitchen for lunch. It's likely a result of the night I ate and threw up an entire family meal deal, but I can barely stomach Popeye's anymore. Anyway, there's still a lot of unpacking to do. Since I won't be at the house until after Christmas, settling in is going to be a very long process.
Continuing this month's trend of making positive changes, I paid Kris a visit after lunch and we chopped off most of my hair. Seriously. I was almost in shock at how much hair was falling down the cape. Now, I have bangs halfway up my forehead. Recently, I realized that I'd had the same haircut since 2010. I needed an update. So, I did it! I fucking love it. Let's keep these positive changes coming.
Following my bowl cut, Dad drove us both downtown and checked me into my hotel. Since it was either a room at my parents' hotel or one downtown, the Casa Z fire insurance is still covering the cost. I've got a room at the Hilton Toronto for my last week of work. Sweet!
As promised, I tried to write more of my Amphitheatre article this evening. A daunting task, to say the least. Tonight's original plan was to hit up Business Woman's Special for their holiday Mariah Carey night. When I got a text from Dan saying there was a house party option, those plans quickly changed. Now, we were going to a birthday event for a group of gays I've either actively avoided, or hit on heavily over the past few years. Yikes.
Dan joined me at the Hilton. We had a few splashes, took an Uber to Cody's condo, drank more, then walked around the corner to the house party. This place was insane. I'm not kidding. The whole thing just smelled expensive. It also smelled like semen, but that was to be expected given the guest list.
My goal for the night, as it should be every night, was to keep it cute. Not only because I needed to save face from all of the other times this queer cult had seen me out of my fucking gourd, but because I didn't want to be the bad guest at a house party – again. Lest we forget June's Xanax Pride Party. Oh, wait. I already did.
Tonight was actually so much fun. The whole event was a joint birthday party for two guys – both named Logan. I mean, come on. Even Dan pointed it out. It's like there is a Logan curse on me. Either that, or someone is playing a cruel joke. Regardless, I had a great time. I kept it cute the entire night. Also, I remember everything. As stupid as it sounds to make a big deal out of my memory, it is for me. Drinking in moderation is an uphill battle.
In what seems to be a rare occurrence, I feel as though I finally made a good impression on so many guys I've either hit on, met drunk, or have left in Grindr Limbo. There were far too many in that last category, by the way. Oy! If I had a dollar for every Grindr chat I've abandoned, I could retire and move to Boca tomorrow. I'm serious, though. There were so many guys at this party. Even Graham Gordon from last summer was there. It was the gayest party I'd ever been to! Okay. Wait. Maybe not the gayest. That's a tall order. Still, the gays tonight were the ones you want to date in Toronto. The ones with money and good jobs. Oh, God. That sounds so shallow of me. It was a good crowd, though. I had a great time. I was also happy to show off my new haircut.
I took an Uber home with Dan and Zack pretty late. After getting dropped off at a McDonald's near the Hilton, I took my food home and made a sweet and sour mess in my bed while watching ten minutes of Chelsea. Fuck, man. Chicken McNuggets are so goddamn good.
