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 22
My last day in New York City. Thank God. Once again, a simple trip to the Big Apple had proven itself to be a complete disaster. I left feeling worse about myself than when I arrived. What kind of vacation is that? I have nobody to blame but myself, I guess.
Last night, while watching Leah Remini and her badger claws denounce the goons of Scientology, I began chatting with a variety of guys online. A couple of them wanted me to come over, which obviously didn't happen. I was definitely not in the mood to get down and dirty with a stranger after everything that had happened with Aaron. A Grindr hook up would've only been another bad decision on top of my mountain of regret.
While sifting through the standard mix of horned up middle-aged men and unsolicited genitalia, there was one profile that actually managed to pique my interest. A guy named Levi. We talked for quite a while, actually. Levi was handsome, seemed smart, lived on the Upper West Side, and worked from home. That last tidbit was revealed when I lied, and said that I was in his area yesterday morning. Long story short, Levi invited me over to his place. We arranged a potential meet-and-greet for today around noon.
I woke up still feeling sick about the Aaron situation. That feeling lasted the majority of the day, until I closed my eyes in bed back home in Toronto. It shouldn't come as much of a surprise, but I felt so awful about everything. I was a horrible friend to Aaron. I made a complete fool out of myself, and have potentially ruined a newlywed couple's future in their new home. I am a fucking disaster. After a year of fuck-ups, this was both inevitable, yet completely unexpected. I had been working so hard to clean up my act. I guess I wasn't trying hard enough.
Hoisting myself off the futon in Brooklyn, I said goodbye to Greg as he left for work and thanked him for everything. I really wish I could have spent more time with Greg this trip, but I think my visit ended up being very bad timing for him. Understandable. The madness of the holidays and final work stuff meant Greg didn't have much time – or money – to spare. That was fine, though. To be honest, some of the best parts of my trip were simply hanging out with Greg and Michelle in their living room. It's so rare for me to find people who genuinely make me laugh. When I can have those moments, I'll trade everything for them.
Anyway, I continued to distract myself from the Aaron situation by packing my bags and eventually hitting the town. Of course, I made my stops at every H&M in the fucking city in a last effort to find that damn fur coat. No luck. Running ahead of schedule, it was 11:30 a.m. and I was ready to fool around. I texted the man of the hour – Levi.
Following a long series of messages – including a very detailed description of how I was supposed to gain entrance into what I assumed was Fort Knox – I made it to Levi's building, past the front desk, up the elevator, and to his apartment door. I knocked. Levi answered. Considering this was the literal definition of a booty call, I entered the apartment awkwardly and began my awful attempt at breaking the ice. In other words, I essentially turned into Barbara Walters and asked Levi every single question I could think of. It wasn't hard. Levi's apartment was extremely over-stimulating.
