After yesterday’s long chain of events, I ended up sleeping in pretty late today.
I can’t stop thinking about last night’s encounter at Woody’s, and what The Stranger said to me. A part of me feels like it was fate. Was that guy a guardian angel or something? I know it sounds ridiculous, but I am being dead serious.
What if The Stranger was sent to Woody’s to tell me all of those things, knowing that those were the exact words I had been looking to hear my whole life? A mystery man validated me and my struggle. It was so bizarre. Baffling, really.
I don’t even know who The Stranger is. Does he even exist? All I know is that The Stranger lives at Dundas Street and Ossington Avenue, and works as a server at an upscale restaurant in the Entertainment District. Oh, and that he also makes anonymous short films about, “the darkest areas of human emotion.”
The whole thing freaked me out a bit. The Stranger’s words really struck me. Everything he said sort of confirmed something I’ve always hoped about myself.
There is something special about me. I don’t know what it is, but I’ve always had this feeling. I’m different from other people. I don’t mean to say it in a “holier than thou” way. I just know that there is something which makes me stand out from a lot of people – and it’s not just my height or white hair. I’ve always banked on the idea that this indescribable “something” will be what leads me to success with my passion. The problem is, I still have to figure out what my passion is. Maybe I am “marketable,” like The Stranger said. Whatever that encounter was, I’m telling you that it was fate.
My exchange with The Stranger also happened at the end of a very unusual day, during which two other oddities occurred.
First, it was Greg’s birthday yesterday. I sent Greg some messages, and he called me via FaceTime from a bar he was at last night. I ended up having a ridiculous video chat with a 60-year-old woman named Peggy, who lifted up her dress and kept grabbing her boobs while looking into the camera. Greg always meets the craziest people when he’s out on the town – he’s very charismatic. During the call, I also took my shirt off and pretended to bite Peggy. Typical.
Shortly after hanging up, Greg messaged me.
Greg: “I want to marry you. You’re hilarious, and everyone treats you well because you’re pretty – but you’re weird as fuck.”
That is 100% accurate. Although I certainly feel like it at times, I know that I’m not Shrek. My looks draw people in. However, as soon as I open up my mouth, they either love me or hate me. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Lately, I have also been feeling much more confident in myself. Seeing as confidence is a quality that I find very attractive in other people, that’s what I want to exude. Confidence is the sexiest trait a person can have.
On the note of Greg, I also woke up to another message from him this morning, thanking me for making his birthday special. Greg said that the last few months have been really hard for him, as he recently lost his dad – which he noted he would never admit to or talk about, but that he appreciates how I make him feel. That’s really all I want in my life. I want to facilitate happiness. I want people to know that they are loved. I want to make people smile, laugh, and enjoy life – even if it’s just for a brief moment. I know from personal experience that the smallest bit of joy can make a very big difference.
Now, back to my story about “Strange Encounters of the Homosexual Kind.”
The second encounter yesterday was with that Sean Mitte guy, who Dan and I ran into on Church Street. Sean was instantly infatuated with me, and kept throwing compliments my way. Sean said that I was kind, genuine, hilarious, beautiful, and one of the nicest people he’s met in the city. Sean was likely drunk. Nonetheless, Dan confirmed everything – telling Sean that I really was the best.
At the very least, last night was a huge ego boost when I needed it the most. I’ve been having so much fun lately. I love it. I finally feel like I’ve crawled out of my hole. The sun is shining, and I can see my shadow. It’s Groundhog Day, bitch – and I’m Wireton Kurty.
After a slow start to my morning, I decided that it would be an excellent idea to get stoned. Before I sparked up, I messaged that Marcel guy from Grindr, as we were supposed to hang out today. That was at 10 a.m. By the end of the day, I still hadn’t received a reply. So, I guess that’s the end of that? Just when you think you have a handle on your husband, he skips town. Damn it.
Now that I had confirmed I’d be alone for the day, I got high and took the car out to Walmart a couple of hours later. After a wonderful, wide-eyed shopping experience, I spent $150 on groceries and loaded up the trunk with my treasures. I didn’t get very far after that, though. The car wouldn’t start. Actually, it did – just very angrily. In fact, the car was so angry that a guy standing in the parking lot started yelling at me, shouting that there was smoke billowing out from underneath my hood. Fuck!
Meanwhile, I was in such a haze that I:
Didn’t know what the fuck to do.
Didn’t really care what the fuck to do.
I asked the man in the parking lot how to fix the problem. Let’s be real here. Basically, anyone with a car knows more about them than I do. The man said that there was something leaking from underneath the car, but that I should try letting the engine run again to see where the smoke was coming from. So, I did. I then tried to back out of my parking space, but the breaks seized up. I couldn’t go anywhere. That’s when the man shouted that I should turn the engine off, as the car could explode. Fan-fucking-tastic.
Naturally, I called Papa Bear for help. We came up with a plan, and I jumped in an Uber to go back to the Witch Cave with my groceries.
“Do you want to come back for the car?” the Uber driver asked me.
“Fuck, no! Somebody else can deal with this,” I said. “Let’s drive!”
Fortunately, I had my backpack on me. I did some rummaging, then found and took a Xanax. That’s what Sundays are for, right? I melted into the backseat of the Uber, and had a “Calgon, take me away” moment. Thank God, I have parents who can come to the rescue when I need them. I mean, I know how to do things by myself. But, to be honest, it just easier if my parents do it. I hope that doesn’t produce long-term issues. Whatever.
I arrived at my apartment, and immediately unloaded my melted groceries. Note to self: do not grocery shop while stoned. Shortly after that, Dad grabbed the car keys off me and headed to Walmart to deal with the tow truck. I smoked more weed, and then continued with my plan of relaxing in Trinity Bellwoods for the rest of the day.
After a long trek to the park, I settled in and relaxed on my blanket for a couple of hours – smoking, eating vegetables and candy (a great mix), listening to music, and texting friends. I love the park. It’s so nice to just lay on the grass and do nothing. I am so ready for this foot to be back to normal. Partly because I want to walk like a normal person again, but also because it smells like garbage. Hardly surprising, considering my foot hasn’t been washed in almost six weeks.
There was an adorable kid in the park today. He was running around, petting dogs, and saying hello to strangers. Then, he’d return to his mom and collapse on top of her. It was so cute. The boy was probably about three years old, maybe younger. I want a kid.
As if I didn’t buy enough during my Walmart run, I stopped for some more groceries on the way home from Trinity Bellwoods. Afterwards, I settled in for the night, getting stoned again almost immediately. My cupboards and fridge are now fully stocked. Naturally, I went to fucking town on my kitchen. I ate so much – including an entire bowl of fat-free Jell-O chocolate pudding – that I am now about to vomit everywhere.
I need to go to bed. Talk more later.
Goodnight xo
Waiting with my melting groceries and explosive car. Dufferin Mall, Toronto