I am wired. At 5pm I took concerta and now I feel like a fucking maladroit superhero. Kind of like when Valea from Bro’Town got hit in the head and started quoting literary classics and beating Robert Fisher at chess. I guess I should say that I also started taking my reduced dose of Zoloft and started PrEP again today too. This is all pretty great considering the apartment heat pump broke and it’s -12 celsius outside. My landlords a dumb, galoot cunt and I am obvoiusly very cold so I’m borrowing a blanket from my neighbor.
I took the bus to Raven’s stripper party at NDG, and ended up spending the entire night ducking in and out of bathroom smalls like a yo-yo doing coke off phone screens belonging to various girls with bright hair and hot French names (and likely latent BPD) cramped in there with me. I bought a .5 gram from a dealer for $50 and he looked at me like I was a freak about to pour molten formica into the acephalous cavity of Haftvad’s worm. I should have promised him I wasn’t going to. I sat at a table across from this one girl who talked at me for 20 minutes about the story behind her tattoo, and I was enjoying the performance. One of the other girls (who was very hot) brought her sub with her. His name was ‘Bitch’ and he called her ‘My lady’ and he was also wearing a leash. It was interesting and clearly kind of perverted, and it made me feel uncomfortable. Zizek said something about this. There’s something rotten in the state of Denmark, and Montreal, but this ain’t it baby.
At 3 am the party died down, so I left NDG high and pissed off the cheapest vodka that I could convince these sotadists to buy me. My hands were cold so I breathed on them and rubbed them together while I sat on a curb waiting for my bus to come and stare down the street — I squinted and the cars started to look like little pustules with bright lights shining on them over God’s Urban Sprawl. While I sat there, this short girl with black hair came up to me and asked “Do you want to go to an after party?” so I said, “Yeah, okay, sure.” and then she immediately pulled out her phone and bought us an Uber. We hop in, and during the ride she told me that we were heading to her gay Spanish friend Henry’s condo in Hochelaga. He’s married to an Olympic figure skater, and is ‘loads of fun!’ (in her words). I think about how obviously high I look, and why this bird picked me up like that. I try not to question it too hard though. A society in the condition of anomie, I guess. Rock and roll, and all that kind of buzz.
We pull up at this neat, clean apartment complex, and rush in an elevator to his boujee apartment full of expensive and minimalist shit. It reminds me of Bateman style home deco, although most yuppie things look the same to my uncultured sybarite eye. Chrstina introduced me to Henry, who is a little surprised to see that she brought a friend, and who is cold to me, but I think he’s a nice guy or at least being polite, and so we sat on his couch and did lines of cocaine off a platter and drank wine while watching TV footage of his husband (currently away) competing in various big time competitions. He was really into showing us, I think.
Henry told us that he wanted to go to bed soon, so I quickly used his bathroom before we left and saw a fucktonne of expensive moisturizers that I keenly asked him about to seem interested but he doesn’t reciprocate. Christina (the girl who took me here), bought us another Uber and the two of us left for her other friend’s house.
We’re both very yaked, and I guess the makeup I was wearing was pretty smudged and my thinning hairline didn’t do much to compliment the hair that hadn’t been shampooed in 3 years, because when this guy opens his front door for us he immediately says that I look like Joker. This guy really sucks. We walked in and it was this weird place full of antique furniture and accoutrements like cigarette cases and lighters from 1920. It was very strange. The dude was really shitty and belied being an intellectual on God’s Forsaken Land, and kept making fun of me. I wanted to say something clever and mean back but couldn’t think of anything. At one point he made a weird comment about Asian people cooking food that smells bad, and got super self conscious about seeming racist and wouldn’t shut up about the supposed discrepancy between an observation and a remark or some such shit. He also didn’t believe that I was a Jew, and said that I wasn’t being honest about something. It was very harsh and accusing.
At 8 am he kicks us out so Chrstina buys yet another Uber for us to get to her parents house, and apologizes for her bizarre dickhead friend. We arrived at her parents house, which was this big renovated Church on St Laurent, and while we’re walking in the former house of worship, gentrified, she tells me that she’s a ‘sexsomniac’ meaning she has sex in her sleep the same way as others sleepwalk, which I guess might have been her way of telling me she didn’t want to fuck. Or maybe she was trying to share, and I shouldn’t judge. Either way, I missed the point and wouldn’t stop asking her about it once she opened Pandora’s Box. Clepatera once dissolved pearls in her drink in an attempt to swallow a fortune. I was done, so I gave her the rest of my cocaine baggie, and she rips it apart and licks offals from the corners of the plastic. I crashed in her bed with all my clothes on, and she kicked me out at 2pm.