Needless to say, I didn’t get much sleep last night.

Right before Gunther and I fell asleep for the second time, I had apparently riled him up to the point of climax. I say, “apparently,” as I didn’t know that Gunther had come. I only found out when I moved my hand, and made contact with a small puddle on his stomach. Clearly, Gunther wasn’t bothered. Immediately after my Jodie Foster moment, Gunther once again grabbed onto me and passed out. I was stuck in bed with a semen-soaked hand, and no way to wash off the jizz. I used Gunther’s duvet as a napkin, and fell asleep. On a more positive note, I woke up without a hangover. That was quite ideal.

What wasn’t ideal, however, was Gunther. After our lackluster evening, I still wasn’t into what was happening. Fortunately, Gunther was a bit more coherent in the morning. We continued to fool around after waking up. Gunther was still being fairly aggressive, but I had made the decision that there would be no more visits downtown. To paraphrase The Go-Go’s: “My lips were sealed.”

Gunther and I must have repeated the same cycle about four times this morning. We’d wake up, fool around, fall back to sleep, and then do it all again. Sometimes, it was comfortable while we cuddled. Gunther spooning me, and the two of us resting in a comfortable silence. It was nice. Other times, it felt like I was being smothered by a gorilla who smoked ten packs of cigarettes a day. Gunther had somehow managed to still have horrible ashtray breath.

Eventually, we were both awake enough to not go back to sleep. In case of emergency, I had also set an alarm on my phone last night to give me an easy out of any uncomfortable morning after situation – physically, or otherwise. Once we were up for the day, Gunther and I actually had a conversation, which was nice.

Gunther is so smart. The guy has multiple degrees, and an incredibly complex job, working as a scientist in a laboratory. That’s what I love about him. Brains are so sexy. Unfortunately, it was as though all of those brain cells had been thrown out the window last night. At the same time, I love that Gunther is a bit of a mess. I find that juxtaposition so entertaining. Last night was too much for me, though. For once, I felt like I had the upper hand in the hot mess department. After Gunther told me that he did cocaine at the 20-person birthday party his mom held for her dog’s fifth birthday last night, I knew that whatever ridiculous verbiage fell out of my mouth this morning wouldn’t even come close to that level of fuckery.

Once the gorilla finally let go of me and stopped choking and biting me, I pulled up my undies and began getting my life together. My hand still smelled like Gunther’s spunk, so I escaped into the mansion’s Witch Cave-sized bathroom. You know you’re at an all-male house when there is no hand soap in the bathroom. Barbaric!

I’ve got to say, though – Gunther’s house was truly stunning. As I sat on the toilet, I looked around and couldn’t help but wonder how three guys maintained such a beautiful space. That question was quickly answered while I was returning to Gunther’s bedroom, and encountered the mansion’s weekly cleaning lady. Mystery solved.

I gathered my things, and laced up my Converse. Gunther shouted goodbye from the top of the staircase, and then walked into his bedroom. A perfect way to sum up what was a very lackluster encounter. I don’t regret my decision, but I also don’t think I’ll be going over to Gunther’s place again anytime soon. Ugh. But, his house was so nice! I’m not going to lie, I would consider another hook-up if it involved drinks on Gunther’s patio. Otherwise, the next time I want to be bitten and choked, I will search elsewhere. Perhaps the local zoo. At least when I leave there, someone tells me to buckle up and have a nice day.

As I skipped away from the mansion, I discovered that it was an absolutely gorgeous day. Despite being in the same outfit I’d been wearing for the last three days, I decided to walk home. I stopped for a fresh juice on the way. I felt really happy, actually. While walking home, I caught up on my messages – talking to boys and whatnot – and found myself in an inexplicably great mood. It got me thinking.

If I’m still behaving this way – hooking up with guys, drinking excessively, smoking, and acting generally reckless – why has my outlook changed? Honestly, I don’t think it’s the Lexapro. As in, my anti-depressant medication. In fact, given the sharp drop in sex drive I’ve experienced, I don’t know how much longer I even want to be on the stuff. I can certainly get aroused, but climaxing is truly an uphill battle.

Then, it hit me. It’s the job that’s made the difference. I have something to occupy my time. Even though I don’t exactly enjoy my work, I have a source of (somewhat) significant income now. In a way, it almost validates my behavior. Why? Because a steady job has thrown a responsibility factor into the mix. If you’re just running around getting drunk and high all over town with nothing to balance it out, it’s kind of depressing. You begin to feel like a waste of space. With my new job, the difference is that – at least, for the majority of the week – I know that I’m an upstanding member of society. Now, when the sun goes down, I don’t feel as bad when I turn into the Tasmanian Devil. Or, like Natasha says, “A Gremlin that got water on it.” My responsible weekday behavior validates my irresponsible weekend behavior. I’m not sure if that’s how things work, but that’s what I’m going with.

Back at the Witch Cave, I had a bit of time to relax and continue getting my life together before I embarked on my very eventful Saturday. After dancing around in my underwear for a few songs, I took the car up to Newmarket and got an amazing haircut with Kris. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again – nothing makes me feel better about myself than a fresh cut and color.

From Newmarket, the next stop was the town of Loretto – wherever the fuck that was – for Jessica’s housewarming party. Driving to Jessica’s new house in the sticks was slightly nauseating. I absolutely adore the girl, but I couldn’t fathom how someone who once lived for the downtown lifestyle could ever move to such a cow town. The town didn’t even have a Tim Horton’s. If a town doesn’t have a Timmy’s, is it really a town? Listen. I’m happy for Jessica and everything. Absolutely. This is something she really wanted. I just don’t understand why she would want it.

As I’m getting older, I keep seeing this happen more and more with my friends. It’s as though people are making these moves and transitions because they feel expected to make them. As if they are fulfilling a prophesy, or something.

What if you don’t want to own a house? What if you don’t want to get married? Or have a baby? Are my friends making these decisions because they feel they have to, or because they really want to? Perhaps a part of my confusion is because I’m gay. I’ve already explicitly declared that I don’t want any part of the heterosexual narrative. After you push back against society once – and in such a big way – doing it again isn’t so bad.

I also keep thinking about death. However, in a much less negative way than earlier this year. I think that once you accept your own mortality, you are free to be who you want. To do as you please. Because, who the fuck cares? We’re all going to die. That’s not me being morbid. It’s me being realistic. With that outcome in mind, we might as well live the life we want while we have the chance.

Due to a double booking today, I gave myself a two-hour time limit at Jessica’s party. During that time, I toured her new house, had six glasses of punch, and consumed an assortment of potato products – including, but certainly not limited to, vodka. I also talked to a girl named Charlotte, whom I am friends with on Facebook. I avoided using her name at first, as I wasn’t entirely sure it was her. However, once we were reacquainted, Charlotte was the main person I talked with at Jessica’s place.

My jaded ass is going to be blunt right now. Charlotte wouldn’t shut the hell up about her “boyfriend” of six months, who currently resides in Chicago. As a long-distance couple, Charlotte teaches the guy how to cook via FaceTime – amongst a variety of other lovey-dovey activities. If the isolation of Loretto didn’t make my stomach crawl, that conversation sure did. Quelle drag.

I love Jessica. However, any group that gathers in Loretto is not my crew. I need to know that I can get a donut or find a gay man on short notice. Loretto is not the place for either of those orders. When my two hours were up, I jumped in the car and drove a little further south to Kate and Adam’s house, as they were holding a small birthday celebration for Kate tonight.

I pulled into Kate’s driveway around 8 p.m. – two hours after she had requested – and I was shocked to see that Natasha was not in attendance. I thought that she might be coming later, but the girl never showed up. I don’t really want to get involved with it, but Kate was obviously upset about the whole thing.

Natasha is one of the most wonderful and thoughtful people I know. On the same note, she has a habit of bailing on plans with little to no notice. That kind of flakiness really sucks when you’re counting on Natasha for something, and she doesn’t follow through. It’s not right to do that to someone – especially when it’s one of your best friends. I didn’t let Natasha’s absence kill my vibe, though. I had a great time with the group. It was nice to celebrate Kate’s birthday with everyone.

After some food, a lot of prosecco, Snapchats, beer, and a dance party, I packed it in around 11 p.m. On the way back downtown, I ran in and out of Casa Z for a baggie of Backyardigans weed, and continued driving to the Witch Cave at around 160 km/h the entire way. Considering the amount of alcohol I had ingested at both parties, that probably wasn’t the smartest idea. But, I wasn’t drunk. I just drove like a manic. There’s a difference.

I arrived downtown in record time. Dan had texted me earlier that he was at a Business Woman’s Special party on Church Street, so I decided to join him. I took some gin shots, lit up my pipe, changed my underwear – I’m classy like that – and raced down the street from my apartment. It’s full-blown Pride mode in the Village right now, so the streets are closed. It’s awesome.

With my new hair, and a slightly slimmer figure from earlier this week, I felt really good about myself tonight. That confidence might also have been the gin talking. Or the weed. Whatever it was, I was in a very good mood.

The line for the Business Woman’s Special party was at least an hour long. Dan came outside to meet me, but it became clear that I was not going to be getting inside. After conversing with a few random gays outside the club, Dan was ready to leave. We walked along Church Street together, catching up on some recent drama in the process.

Earlier in the day, Evan had sent me another two messages regarding last Friday night. Apparently, the Fly incident with Lexapro was still bothering him. I found that to be a complete joke. After ignoring last week’s texts, I figured that it was finally time to deal with the non-issue.

I responded to Evan with a huge message, which was both respectful and reasonable. I guess that wasn’t good enough, though. Soon after, Evan sent me back an equally long text, arguing everything I had written. I never responded, nor do I plan on it.

I cannot believe Evan is mad that I left him in a gay bar. With our friends! Fucking get over it, man. Stop being so whiny and dramatic. This isn’t an episode of The Hills. And if you think it is, that’s fine. You can be MTV, and I’ll be HBO – one of us is a little more basic than the other. Along with everyone else aware of the situation, Dan took my side.

I don’t have time for this drama. Maybe I would want to spend more time with Evan if he weren’t so consistently insufferable. The most ridiculous part of all, is that if Evan were in my position – single, crippled, and at a gay bar with a guy who was ready to jump into his bed – don’t tell me for one fucking second that he wouldn’t have done the exact same thing. Bye, Felicia!

As Dan and I were walking home, we ran into his friend, Sean Mitte. I’d never met the guy before, but he seemed to be instantly obsessed with me. It was funny. Apparently, Sean is the weekend host of a kids’ radio station, which is fucking hilarious. Sean was a riot. A tall, lanky German, with no fucks to give. Just my kind of guy!

Sean wanted to go to Woody’s, so Dan and I migrated up the street with him. Once inside the bar, we immediately lost Sean. As Dan and I were sitting on the edge of the dance floor, just about ready to leave, I looked to the far end of the bar and saw a very handsome man staring at me really intensely. I never know how to deal with those situations, but I reciprocated the eye contact. I winked, flashed my chops, and then I chickened out and turned away. I pointed the guy out to Dan, and asked him to stay with me until I locked down my catch.

After some more eye contact, the guy came over to where I was sitting and pulled up a stool beside me. Dan quickly left. Now, we were talking! Except, this was one of the weirdest encounters I have ever had at a bar. Brace yourself.

I’ll start off by saying that, although the man and I exchanged names, I do not remember his. As a result, he will now be referred to as “The Stranger.”

At first, The Stranger told me that he was an artist. Two minutes later, he told me that he was a server. As a result, I lost my boner pretty quickly. I wasn’t looking to hook-up with the guy, but I enjoyed talking with him.

Despite being from Manitoba, and having lived in Toronto for four years, The Stranger had a really odd accent. I couldn’t figure out what it was. Nevertheless, we talked about a lot of different things over the course of maybe fifteen minutes.

Not that this really affects what comes out of my mouth, but The Stranger was one of those “artists” – are you really an artist if you call yourself one? – who had really strong opinions on just about every topic. I’m talking, to the point where you are afraid to speak freely, because you’re constantly at risk of offending the person. It was a bit much at times.

The Stranger told me his story. At one point in time, he wanted to be a film actor. Unfortunately, The Stranger was told that he wasn’t “marketable.” He didn’t look good on camera, and the acting thing didn’t work out. Then, The Stranger told me that I was marketable.

“You could easily make money off your looks,” The Stranger said.

“I wouldn’t want that,” I responded. “There are a lot of other things I would rather make money off of.”

“Like what?” he asked.

“My brain,” I said.

With that exchange now under our belts, The Stranger then said something that completely caught me off guard. In fact, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.

“I don’t know what it is about you,” The Stranger said, looking into my eyes. “It was no coincidence that I saw you from across the bar. You have a star quality. And whatever your passion is, go all the way with it. That star quality will lead you to success.”

At first, I thought The Stranger was just giving me a line to pick me up at the bar. I thanked him, and sort of played it off. But, the guy insisted on confirming his statement, telling me that he wasn’t trying to, “pump my tires.” The Stranger meant what he had said. I thanked him again.

Soon after that, The Stranger’s friends appeared from around the corner of the bar. The Stranger said goodbye, and the group left together. That was it.

I exited the bar about 45 seconds after The Stranger, but didn’t see him or his friends outside. He had simply disappeared. How bizarre for The Stranger to have told me all of those things, and then just leave – not wanting anything more than our short conversation.

I walked home, collapsed on my bed, and thought about what The Stranger had said to me. I washed the day off my body and face, and fell asleep.

What a day.

Goodnight xo