Hallelujah! Big Bird was away today! With absolutely zero pressure at work, my day was almost guaranteed to be a good one.

After my usual morning at home, I got to work at 9 a.m. in a cute little turtleneck and high-waisted palazzo pant ensemble. As with most people, I feel my thinnest in the morning. It’s only once I have a granola bar that I balloon out to a 38-inch waist. I still haven’t lost any weight, by the way. Surprise, surprise! Maybe it’s because I bought a box of Eggos after watching Stranger Things. At least they were fiber Eggos. Who even knew those existed?

I got a call from Dan this morning about his toe. It turned out that he couldn’t sleep last night, and went to the ER at St. Mike’s Hospital at 4 a.m. After an X-ray, it was confirmed that Dan had indeed broken his big toe. I couldn’t believe it. I thought for sure he was just in a lot of pain from some sort of intense impact. I swear, we are cursed. I wonder who’s next? Or perhaps, what is next?

I spent the better part of my morning working on random items, but nothing was that important. Big Bird and I can talk about different projects all day, but it always feels somewhat empty. I either can’t move forward with things because I need approval on so many levels, or I get pulled away from my tasks every five minutes when I’m asked to process different administration items.

Another problem I’m finding with my job is that Big Bird never follows through on anything. Knowing that, I’m less inclined to put time and effort into something that’s not going to happen. Maybe I need to forget about all of that, though. At a certain point, Big Bird is going to want to see some results. I can only bullshit so much. We have about 12 projects on the go right now, and I haven’t done anything for them. Today, I commissioned an elevator sign to be made. We’ll see how that goes. A sign was also enough work for one afternoon. After sending a couple more emails, I checked out for the rest of my shift.

I had my lunch, trolled the internet, and then met up with Lauryn at Starbucks where we talked a lot about writing. I’m really conflicted when it comes to talking about my writing, especially with someone like Lauryn. Don’t get me wrong. Lauryn is the first person I want to talk to when it comes to writing. Not only is Lauryn an amazing writer herself, but she is always very encouraging and appreciative of my work. To have an established author respect and compliment your writing is an incredible feeling.

When it comes to Lauryn, I’m conflicted because her encouragement is often accompanied by wanting to connect me with other writers. That scares me. I don’t know if I’m ready to write for other people yet. I also don’t have the time right now. I can barely keep up with my daily journal entries, let alone write professionally.

The Clubhouse job takes up so much of my time. By the time work is done, I eat dinner, and go to the gym, I’m left with a short window of time to write an entry before bed. After that, I’m out for the night at 1:30 a.m. – usually as a result of extreme exhaustion, masturbation relaxation, Xanax, or a combination of all three.

I’m really trying to get a better handle on things so that I’ll have the time for writing. Developing that work is so important to me. I don’t want more time to pass by, and then wake up in a year and realize that I still haven’t made any progress. Remember when I was supposed to transcribe my diary during my surgery recovery days? Exactly. Now, it’s three months later and I’ve done fuck all with that. Not okay, Kurt!

Lauryn and I continued to catch up over some iced coffees. Afterwards, I returned to The Clubhouse and continued juggling my own personal tasks amidst the occasional email, phone call, or walk to the kitchen to steal some food. A pretty basic day, really.

Eventually, 5 p.m. rolled around. I wasn’t planning on it, but I went upstairs for today’s After Hours drink special. I ended up seeing a member from Wednesday’s Open House event, so I got a cocktail and talked with her and her friend. Only one drink, though. I had things to do. It was also hot as hell today, and no amount of alcohol was going to keep me on the scorching patio.

My chat with the member was really casual. We talked about things like Netflix and Chelsea Handler. It’s nice when I can be comfortable with the members and have a normal conversation like that. That’s what a fucking Member Relations Coordinator should be doing – not cleaning toilets and vacuuming rugs at the front desk. After all, I should know. I came up with the damn title.

I punched out at 6 p.m., walked to the gym in a fantastic mood, and did my thing for a while. I really love going to the gym. My foot fucking hurts all the time, and I hope I’m not doing any permanent damage to it, but it feels so great to be able to run again. On my worst days, a run can totally change my mood around. Pre-gym Kurt and post-gym Kurt are two completely different personas. I suppose that could also just be me playing into my role as a Gemini.

After sweating out my toxins and showering up, I stopped by the liquor store to pick up a bottle of prosecco for myself and a case of beer for Dan. I owed him some money for the cab ride he paid for when I fucked up my face last weekend, but I also wanted to give him a bit of a “get well soon” birthday gift. That’s what a friend does.

I think Dan was disappointed in how Evan treated him last night during his injury. Quite frankly, I was, too. Evan had apparently left Dan to fend for himself after there was clearly something wrong with his foot. Imagine if one of us had done that to Evan? We would be completely ex-communicated. Ah, the drama. On that note, at least most of my social drama has died down. I think I actually went a full week without any altercations, which was a much-needed and much-appreciated change of pace. Thank God.

Back at the Witch Cave, I unpacked, changed, and drank some of the vodka that Connor and Evan had left at my place during Pride. We’ll just call it a holder’s fee. The bottles have been there for a month and a half, so I don’t think they’ll remember the exact milliliter measurements. Plus, I was fucking thirsty. It was also my mission to keep it cute tonight, though. After the events of last weekend, I’m quite turned off by the idea of drinking. Yet, somehow, I still manage to find myself doing two shots of vodka alone in my kitchen? Oy.

I gathered my things and schlepped over to the insufferable Chad Miller’s apartment. Dan was doing a joint birthday celebration with Chad’s roommate, Danielle, whom I actually really enjoy. The girl is a hot fucking mess. I love it. Danielle comes as a pair with Chad, though. As such, I don’t think we’ll ever be close. Chad is a fucking nightmare. Despite hugging him hello – I guess I was trying to be overly polite? – I can’t stand the guy. I don’t like to be fake. If asked about my feelings towards Chad, I would freely express those opinions. However, I also need to be civil. Chad welcomed me into his home, after all.

Tonight’s party was alright. Dan and Danielle were also celebrating with a third straight guy named Sam, so the mixture of friend groups was quite jarring. You had:

Dan and all of his gays, including our entire New York City group
Danielle and her straight girls
Chad and his gays, featuring all of the ones who saw me drugged out of my mind on Xanax during Pride
Sam and his frat buddies
A resulting playlist of rock, country, and Fergie songs that would change every few minutes

It was a very odd night, to say the least. Dan was also on crutches, which was quite a sight. Nonetheless, it was nice to catch up with friends and have a little bonding moment with the guys I’ll be spending next weekend with in New York City.

As I’ve said before, I enjoy being sober at parties. It allows me to show people that I am a functioning member of society. I know I shouldn’t care so much about what other people think, but it does bother me when everyone thinks I’m a mess. I’m so much more than what people think of me. That being said, I don’t even know what people think of me. I wish I did, but I also don’t want to care. Who gives a fuck, anyway? Me, I guess.

I brought a champagne flute with me and sipped on prosecco all night while gorging on candy and chips. I would never host a party with generic brand chips, by the way. I would rather miss a rent payment than do that. And Chad thinks that I’m the mess? No, honey. Get your chip shit together. What a disgrace. Fuck. Now, I want Miss Vickie’s.

Eventually, most of the boys had their fill of the smorgasbord of party attendees. We decided to migrate to a local gay bar. Dan had gone out for a smoke, but hit on his toe on the walk back upstairs. The result was extreme pain and an automatic end to his night. I put Dan down on Danielle’s bed with some ice, but he really just needed to go home. Dan shouldn’t have gone out with his foot like that in the first place. Although, coming from someone who went to the beach last weekend with open wounds and missing teeth, I’m not exactly one to talk.

The birthday party was getting to be too much, and not in a good way. Now, the struggle had become how to get Dan home. Evan and Connor wanted to drop their stuff off at my place, so I gave them my keys and continued playing caregiver. I decided to take Dan to his apartment in an Uber. Even before that, I was unbuttoning Dan’s trousers in the bathroom, because he couldn’t manage the balance with his foot and crutches combination. I felt especially bad for Dan, because I had just experienced all of this firsthand. I know how shitty it feels to be completely reliant on someone else. For people like Dan and myself who are very self-sufficient, it’s not a great feeling to require help for something as simple as taking a piss. It hurts the pride, dahhhling!

I managed to get Dan out of Chad’s apartment, into an Uber, up to his apartment, in bed, and with ice on his foot all whilst holding a champagne flute filled to the top. If that’s not multi-tasking, I don’t know what is. Dan was incredibly grateful, and I was happy to have been able to help him out.

Instead of taking an Uber or walking like a normal human being, I decided to run back to the Witch Cave from Dan’s place. Connor and Evan were there waiting for me, and the idea of them sitting in bad lighting was making me break out in hives. Running was an incredibly stupid idea. Although I got home fairly quickly, I was drenched in sweat and couldn’t recover for the rest of the night.

It’s 7,000 degrees in the city right now. Even though it was pushing 1 a.m., my run completely took it out of me. After a quick stop at my apartment, Connor, Evan, and I went to Woody’s to meet the other guys. I was soaking wet and had no desire to do anything. I sat in a chair while the guys danced like nearly over-dosed coke queens from Queer as Folk – mainly because they were. You always know that when an entire group of people disappear together for a moment at a party, something is being snorted or swallowed.

I attempted to dance, but I didn’t want to drink anymore. As a result, I didn’t have the energy to contribute to the group. Instead, I tried hitting on a guy I saw beside the bar. Once it clicked with me that I was pursuing a five-foot-nothing bearded Hobbit, I knew it was my time to leave. That, plus the bar had closed and the lights were about to be turned on. I was in no condition to be seen in full lighting.

I’d officially had enough. While the boys were congregating outside, I yelled, “Bye!” and walked away. Naturally, I then passed by Tacorrito and realized I was extremely hungry after having only eaten a salad at 2 p.m. today. With a big ass burrito now in-hand, I went home and proceeded to binge eat in my bed while watching half an episode of The Comeback.

I need an intervention.

At least I wasn’t risking another broken tooth with tonight’s burrito. It was fucking good. Damn. Now, I want another burrito.

Goodnight xo