Highlights

• Weekend starts with a good friend's thirtieth birthday party at the local scummy coke-front bar. Free cigarettes in a stand by the door, smoking inside. Also, bar mix with sunchips and cheetos.
  

• Mile-end loft party. Live bands first, followed by a big drunken dance party. You can bring your own or buy from the bar.

• Lots of hipster boys with caved-in chests and striped t-shirts dancing trying to jam to dance hall unironically. Their bandanna-ends whip back and forth.

• Cops come, hang out in the doorway for fifteen minutes talking to the host, leave.

• I get hit on by the brother of a boy I once slept with. I don't think he knows I did it with his twin. Either way, I'm not interested. Awkward.

• A short French guy all gangsta'd out keeps rubbing up on me from behind, trying to dance. I keep moving away and he keeps following. When he finally gets the hint he complains that my hair was in his face. I say “move, then” and he pushes me. I walk away. I wish I could have kicked the shit out of him.

• Very cute boy from Newfoundland, a sous-chef at L'Inconnu, buys me a beer. I let him even though I have Pabst in my bag. He tells me it's a pleasure to meet a nice American, and a pretty girl at that. It's a weak line, but I don't care. He talks about putting two pounds of butter in his beurre blanc. He asks me if I have a boyfriend. I leave him to go to the bathroom and return to see him being dragged out of the party by an angry-faced girl. Fuck.

• Two fist fights.

• 4:30am, lose track of my friends, walk home alone.

Don't even ask about the Spanish lessons I agreed to