I was different at night. I was loose. I liked the person I became when my vices took over. Fun. Wild. Unapologetic. A blind thrill seeker lost in a world of lights and stimulation. For a couple years in my 20’s I was the most famous person in a 5 block radius. I was Madonna. I was Courtney Love. I was Lady Gaga’s less talented, gay younger brother. Sometimes when I see Gaga on TV I feel like she stole my life. Every time I did a line I pictured her on SNL singing about her dreams coming true. But those were my dreams too. I wanted it just as bad. My desperation is no different. How did hers manifest into global stardom and mine into a decade of hangovers. If I was paid every time I watched the sunrise through the eyes of cocaine fueled club I would be a billionaire. I could take Gaga out for a big bloody steak every night until I convinced her she was a thief. I would get her so drunk on the most expensive champagne and push her out into the streets. She would stumble out in front all the paparazzi and fans she stole from me. And as her limo driver speed up to the restaurant to pick her up she would tumble down from her sky high heels and he would run her over. She would die and I would be avenged. Her limo – or my limo rather – would come rescue me from the kingdom I currently inhabit. I am the ruler of this land. This place somewhere between a bender and breakthrough.