Friday. Thank the Lordt.

I did my usual morning routine, and then made my way to work. As far as office shifts go, today was pretty busy. I helped Big Bird give a tour for a large group of prospective members, and did a bunch of other random tasks all day. I also took a fairly long lunch, escaping to Starbucks to get a coffee and eat my salad.

This is another main difference between The Clubhouse and other jobs I’ve had. I will do anything in my power to get the fuck out of the building whenever I can. I can’t stand half of the staff at The Clubhouse. At The Toronto Film Group, I used to eat my lunch at my desk every day because I loved the people I was surrounded by. My office was bright, sunny, and it was a generally happy work environment. Now, I’m here at The Clubhouse and work in a dark, fly infested office that gets no sunlight and contains a large, bird-like creature who never stops talking or eating – typically doing both at the same time. As Mariah Carey would say, “It’s abusive.” Mimi would also say, “It’s like going to work in Hell with Satan every day,” and that’s completely accurate as well.

So, I had my little escape in the scorching heat outside Starbucks. Anything is better than the dungeon I call an office. My job fucking sucks. Also, how horrible is it that I’ve disliked The Clubhouse since my first week? That should have been a red flag right there. The paychecks are just so nice to have, though. Not to mention the fact that I don’t have to fill out an unemployment insurance report every two weeks, or constantly search for loose change between my couch cushions.

On the flip side, was I happier when I was unemployed? I was certainly thinner. My new “diet” isn’t exactly going as planned, by the way. I can’t seem to lose the weight I so badly need to after this whole foot debacle. It hasn’t budged. Some mornings, when I’m supposed to weigh my lightest, I seem to have gained two to five pounds. It’s insanity. Total insanity.

Anyway, the day progressed. While Big Bird was giving more tours – my favorite time of any day in our office – I would fool around on the internet and do whatever I wanted. I lie constantly at my job. I have never lied so much in my entire life as I have since working at The Clubhouse. It’s now gotten to the point where I’ve become a complete fraud. A total compulsive liar.

I lie about things I don’t even have to. For example, those extra siblings I added onto my family. God help me when Big Bird recently asked for their ages. Note to self: I am the second youngest child in my family, and my older siblings are 31, 33, and 35. I should probably just make up some names for my brothers and sisters now, because I’m sure that’s coming next. Fortunately, in proper Big Bird fashion, she interrupted her own question by putting on some Janet Jackson music. Hey, it could’ve been worse.

Big Bird isn’t completely awful. She is definitely annoying at times, but at least she’s nice. The thing is, Big Bird is a bit of a pussy when it comes to her job. She cares too much about what other employees will think of her actions and decisions. In turn, Big Bird’s lack of confidence effects my position. I want to implement changes or make requests, but she’s always hesitant to move forward with things. Grow a pair, Big Bird. Better yet, spread your wings and fly!

Anyway, my point on this ridiculous tangent is that when I got back from my extended lunch break, Big Bird questioned my whereabouts. I told her that I was on the phone with the doctor’s office, trying to arrange a time for my foot “follow-up” that I didn’t get to make on Wednesday. I had to continue laying the groundwork for what will be one of my biggest and riskiest lies yet – skipping tomorrow’s afternoon front desk meeting and going to Hanlan’s Point.

There’s no way in hell I’m going to that meeting for one fucking hour. You only get so many beach days in a year, and I am not missing this one so that someone can teach me how to make an Excel spreadsheet like I’m a fucking mouth breather.

As it stands with my lie, I “need” to see Dr. Europia at 1 p.m. tomorrow, and I will “try” to make it back downtown for the 3 p.m. meeting at The Clubhouse. I figure that the trick is to make it seem like I’m really committed and want to attend the meeting, when in reality I will be high as a kite on the beach by 3 p.m. So, that was that. After wrapping things up in the office around 6 p.m., I went to the gym.

While on the treadmill, I made plans with Dan for tonight. Lauryn was originally going to join us, but her plans changed. That was fine. As Dan said, “I don’t want to talk about academic stuff. I want to talk about dicks and Mariah Carey.” And that’s exactly what we did.

Once I was home and showered, Dan came over. The two of us played some video games, drank a lot, and spun a ton of vinyl until pretty late. Eventually, we made it out of the Witch Cave – Dan with a beer and me with a gin-filled beer can – and took transit to the west end of the city. Although I didn’t know where we were at the time, Dan and I met Connor and Craig Martin at Dundas Street West and Ossington Avenue, then walked down the street to Baby Huey’s together.

During the pre-drink at my place, Dan told me that Evan had talked to Connor about how mad he was at me over what had happened during Pride. Obviously, Connor had told Dan and now the news had gotten back to me. Apparently, Evan has been mad this entire time. And not only “mad” – he’s furious. Evan told Connor that what I did to him was, “The worst thing that anyone has ever done to me while I’ve been living in Toronto.” Right. Okay. I guess we don’t count ex-boyfriends or any of that stuff.

This was too dramatic to me. When I saw Connor tonight, I gave him a piggy back as we walked to the bar and he told me everything. It’s all so ridiculous. The worst part is that there is no confrontation on the horizon, because Evan isn’t planning on bringing it up. Great. Now it really is going to be The Real Housewives of New York during our trip later this month. Anyway, I forgot about the drama and moved on. I was wasted.

Craig got everyone into the bar by sneaking us to the front of an extremely long line. At this point, I’d already had a ton to drink and had completely lost track. Wow. What a surprise. I had mixed so much alcohol at the Witch Cave, the beer can of gin and water on the streetcar, and then I bought two beers and two gin and waters at the bar, all of which I chugged as though I had just spent a week walking through the Mojave Desert. I’m writing this journal entry after the fact – and sober – so I can tell you right now that this was not going to end well. Unfortunately, I didn’t know it at the time.

I was hell-bent on finding a guy to make out with tonight. I lost track of how many straight guys I approached and tried to hit on. The bar also played Mariah Carey after I harassed the DJ all night. Basically, I was being a complete shit at Baby Huey’s. A full-on brat. I’m embarrassed by my behavior. That’s a total understatement, too. I was even getting mad at the bartender when he wouldn’t serve me after 2 a.m. Nothing good ever happens at a bar/club after 1 a.m., and I should have known that. This was all building up to my impending doom.

After the bar closed, we all decide to go home. Connor and Craig left in an Uber, and Dan and I were going to make our way back to the Village via transit. When we left Baby Huey’s, I tried to get into a stranger’s cab. I actually sat down inside of it. When Dan asked me where I was going, I replied, “I don’t know,” and he dragged me out. I then tried to get on someone’s bike and ride away. Dan also put an end to that. Don’t worry, it’s not over yet.

Dan and I started making our way to the streetcar. As per usual, I decided that I would put Dan on my shoulders. We’ve done it so many times before, it didn’t seem like something dangerous. At this point, things are quite hazy.

I kneeled down to the sidewalk. Dan climbed aboard, and we began our short walk up Ossington Avenue. Before I knew it, I had lost my balance. Dan was about to topple over me.

Breaking both of our falls, I dropped down on my right knee. Dan fell over top of me. What happened next is going to give me nightmares for the rest of my life. At the risk of sounding like Evan, in this split second it’s possible that the worst thing that’s ever physically happened to me occurred.

Along with my knee, my face also made contact with the sidewalk. The entire right side of my body, actually. My eye, my eyebrow, my cheekbone, my ribs, arm, and worst of all – my teeth. Yes. That nightmare I’ve had since I was a little kid – the one of me running along a sidewalk, tripping, and landing on my teeth – had now become a reality.

I felt it all happen. When I stood up and touched my face, I knew the unimaginable had occurred. I was missing teeth. I had smashed my face so hard into the cement, that I had managed to break off the corner of my right front tooth and more than half of the smaller tooth beside it.

This was not happening. I held my mouth in complete disbelief. How could this happen? I mean, I knew how it fucking happened. But, this could not be happening. Not to me. These were my teeth. My fucking teeth! My pride and joy. My favorite thing about myself. The first thing people compliment when they meet me. Now, they were gone.

I stuttered to Dan that I had hit my teeth, but he thought I was joking. That is, until I looked up at him with blood all over the right side of my face and opened my mouth. Then, he knew. I had to go home that instant.

As I’ve said, I’m writing this journal entry sober and after the fact. Details have since been filled in. However, looking back on things, I was extremely drunk. I knew I was wasted, but I didn’t think I was that bad. Once all of this happened, it sent me off the edge. I’m sure there was a bit of trauma and shock that added to my lack of memory.

We immediately hailed a cab, and made our way home. Dan and I were both sitting in the back seat. For some reason, I insisted on Dan filming me. Well, he did. Dan has still yet to send me the actual video file, but I’ve seen it. Perhaps I’ll transcribe it one day. To sum up the four-minute short film, it’s essentially me repeating the phrase, “They’re fucking GONE!”

I had broken my teeth. Even writing this now, the whole thing still makes me cringe. I can’t believe this happened. One split second, one wrong move, and it was all over. This has always been my worst nightmare. Teeth don’t fucking grow back, you know? You get one shot. After years of dental work and thousands of dollars, it had all gone to shit.

The cab dropped me off at the Witch Cave, and I went upstairs alone. I think I washed my face, and I know that I found my old Invisalign retainer and popped it in. I probably smeared Vitamin E ointment all over my face, too. I crawled into bed, and I don’t remember anything after that. Whatever my dreams would bring, no nightmare could be worse than what had happened tonight.

Goodnight xo