Yay! I've survived my second Friday from hell of marathon teaching. One might think it's because I learned my lesson last week and got more rest this time around, but lately I've been playing the fool. For that, I've been swimming in self-beration all morning long, and am ready to confess to the cyber-world that I didn't manage to accomplish a whole week of sobriety. But before I start giving myself twenty lashes over the shoulder, to be fair, I drank in relative moderation (for me) and did not fuck up and call Narc.
That said, it was a pretty interesting night. I spent most of the day yesterday out on Long Island, arriving back in the city around 8:30 pm. Since I hadn't eaten dinner, I decided to stop into Cheers for a sandwich and soda. I was very well behaved. I ate my sandwich quietly while drowning myself in a sea of diet coke, Wagner and European politics.
At around 10:00 pm B called my cell. We talked on the phone for an hour (about anything and everything? Of course not! Only about our solipsistic selves). While I was on the phone, PakistaniMan arrived at the bar (if you forgot who he is, refer to Progression or Regression? Part II) Anyway, he was staring at me (quite conspicuously) the whole time I was on the phone. I wasn't eager to hang up, as I didn't really feel like dealing with him. When B finally signed off for the night, PakistaniMan approached. He "broke the ice" by uncomfortably apologizing for kissing me (or trying to) two weeks ago, asserting that he shouldn't have "been so bold" and assuring that he "didn't mean any offense." He explained that he had been very drunk and that he's not used to drunken late nights. I told him not to worry about it. "These things happen and I was really drunk that night too." (Please...who am I to judge?) So he sat down and asked if he could buy me a drink.
Ahh...the moment of truth.
Apparently the "truth" is that I'm pretty fucking weak-willed because all of my determination to avoide booze did not dissuade me from accepting his offer. But I decided to try to be "smart" about it (if that's at all possible) and to only drink wine (which makes me sleepy) as opposed to whisky (which lights the fire that transforms me into Hyde). Anyway, he bought me two glasses of wine and I drank them over painfully akward conversation. He really has trouble talking to women. I had to keep asking him things about himself to keep the conversation going. I wasn't sure why I was bothering to try. I mean, I was getting tired and was not particularly interested in him. On the other hand, I'm very sensitive, hate confrontation, don't know how to kindly blow people off and I certainly didn't want to hurt his feelings. One thing peaked my curiosity--I found out that his father has two wives and I got to ask him some questions about that. Anyway, at some point he got up to go to the bathroom and two other drunk boys started talking to me from across the room. I went over and exchanged a few words with them. PakistaniMan came back and kind of lingered at the table where we had been sitting, not wanting to approach the bar. I think he was feeling a little rejected, but honestly, I'm not interested and was bored and on top of that, didn't want to lead him on. I certainly didn't want to accept any more drinks from him. I tried to balance the scales by buying him a beer. He came over to the bar to accept it and seeing that I had chipped off all my nailpolish over the course of our conversation, announced that he liked my fingers better bare. Then told me I have such beautiful hands. Anyone who knows me (and my inability to play Chopin) knows that I have short fingers and that due to nerves, my cuticles are all bitten up. I didn't know how to take the compliment.
Anyway, a middle-aged man seated to my right suddenly decided to tell me that he's famous.
"Famous?" I asked. "Who are you?"
He didn't like the question, haughtily explaining that he's an economist and an academic and used to teach Shakespeare at Cambridge. He was drunk and had a strong Scottish accent and I couldn't understand everything he was saying which I think profoundly irritated him. He said he had just come from dining with two Columbia professors--a married couple, one of whom is head of the ACLU. Pretty cool. He wanted to talk about Shakespeare, but I was a little intimidated. Our brief discussion of King Lear was rather tepid. A young guy to the right of the Scotsman leaned over and introduced himself. He's a 24 year old Israeli who works at the nearby embassy. The Scottish Professor left and the Israeli kid moved down a stool to sit next to me. We started chatting, but I still had PakistaniMan to my left. I felt akward--like I didn't want to be mean to PakistaniMan, but the Israeli kid was agressively seeking my attention. The Israeli kid started up a conversation about music, enthusiastically urging me, in fact--compelling me to start listening to Nick Cave and Tom Waits. PakistaniMan looked sad and I am so fucking sensitive to those things so I turned and asked him if he had any music to recommend. He gave me the name of an Indian singer he really likes (Kshor Komar) while the Israeli kid said, "wait, I thought I was special..." At this point, the dynamic was starting to stress me out and it was not fun.
How to deal with anxiety a la Hyde? I finished off my third glass of wine and had two shots. By then it was about 1:00 am and IrishBird decided to close due to the small crowd. The problem was that both PakistaniMan and the Israeli kid wanted to walk me home. I took a while to pack up my stuff, hoping one or both would take off, but they both waited outside for me in the rain. (I wasn't yet drunk enough or on the right stuff to have become Hyde with her enormous ego and boundless self-power. So, despite my anxiety, self-loathing and introspective Jekyll was quite flattered.) Nevertheless, I begged IrishBird for assistance. It was such an akward moment. She laughed and told me that I was causing the boys to "drop to their knees" and asked "who needs Narc?" While she was cleaning up she gave me a single red rose that some eager Prince Charming had left for her at the bar. How would I get out of the present dilemma? She told me to tell my suitors that she wanted me to go with her to the deli. A poor excuse, but I took it. We left the bar and I told PakistaniMan I had to go with IrishBird.
"Wait!" he said. "I have to talk to you."
I asked him what about. He pulled me aside and told me that he has "very intense" feelings for me (wait, WHAT???) and that he would like to "be with me." (Um...this was out of control!)
I didn't know what to say. So I told him that I thought it was best if we "just be friends" because I am not looking right now, coming off a breakup, yada yada yada. I thought that he would get the point and embarassedly bow out, but instead he looked at me "intensely" and said "I will wait for you." (Yikes!) Well, I know that the guy only hangs at Cheers on Thursdays, so I guess I'll be steering clear of Thursday night revels for a while.
During this little exchange, IrishBird had taken off and the Israeli kid had moved away, lingering on the corner. PakistaniMan departed and the Israeli kid approached to walk me home. He wanted to go up to my apartment to listen to some of the music he recommended and to hear what I like. (Yeah, I'm sure that's it). Anyway, he lives very nearby (in FightingMensch's building) but his parents are staying with him for the month, so an invite to his place was not an option. I told him "I didn't think so," but that I might see him Friday night at Cheers. (Now that it's Friday, though, I think it's in my best interest to stay in for the night). He asked for my number and I gave it to him, even though I'm not really sure that I wanted to. I mean, twenty-four is a little young for me. Besides, I am still so hung up on the Narc situation. Anyway, by that point we were standing under the awning of my building. With IrishBird's rose in hand, and Israeli guy about to move in akwardly for some kind of kiss, I saw the druggie kid who lives in my building walk by. Not wanting to be kissed by the Israeli kid, I called out to the druggie.
"Hey! What's up?"
Druggie stopped and we exchanged a few words. The Israeli kid gave me an akward hug and made his exit. I strolled into the building, finally out of the rain, walking with Druggie towards the elevators. Druggie eyed my rose, obviously concluding it was from the Israeli kid. I asked him how he's been. We made small talk in the elevator and I stupidly asked him if he wanted to hang out for a while. As the words tripped off my tounge, I remembered all the reasons I generally avoid him. He was brown-bagging a beer and I told him that he couldn't drink any of my alcohol. The last time that happened he went completely insane. I mean, he got frighteningly fucked up. I remembered how I had to physically block him to keep him from my booze because he wouldn't stop; I remembered that he had drank the gel from inside my gel-cap sleeping pills and then puked all over the floor; I remembered when he had messed up that party I had two summers ago when he went crazy and started talking to himself, spitting and pouring wine all over the floor until VJ took charge and dragged him back to his apartment, as he chased her through the stairwells; I remembered the time he creepily left me the DVD of Beloved under my door with no note and didn't comment on it for months; I thought of when he and his friend rang my bell one morning at 7:00 am, both of them high off their asses with some strange unknown drug in tow. I could go on and on. Anyway the point is, once made, I regret my offer, but he was already there and on my living room couch. I guess I have especially been avoiding him since the sexual tension started in July. We had stayed up all night one night doing "medicine" and he got really confessional and then told me that he felt connected to me and tried to kiss me. I didn't let it happen, but since then, every time we've hung out there's been really weird sexual tension on his end. One time I was in his apartment talking to his brother and Druggie was drunk beyond belief and sitting next to me and just leaned over and kissed me while I was mid-sentence. I pushed him off and his brother started yelling at him,
"What the fuck, man? What are you doing? God damn it! What the fuck?" etc.
Anyway, since then, I haven't wanted to get into a similar situation. I was right about it too because last night right away he started saying weird things. For starters, he asked me if I hang out in my living room naked when I'm home alone; then he asked if I wanted to make out with him; then he told me that he's sure I have a million boyfriends because he always sees me coming home with guys. (Actually, it's strange, but I have bumped into him a lot of times when I've been either standing outside Cheers with a guy, on my way to see Narc, or being walked home by one guy or another. The other half of the time it's probably B, but whatever...) Anyway, I told him that I don't have "a million boyfriends." (Please...just one would be nice!) He started going on about how he and I just have this crazy sexual chemistry (I beg to differ), and he feels it every time we're in the elevator together. He thinks it's because we've shared so many "intense" moments. Well, I'm sorry...the guy just freaks me out and I have no interest in being with him on any level. I told him that we had to wind things down for the night because I had to go to bed. I don't know what he thought I was implying, but he asked me flat out if I "wanted to have sex." I looked at him exasperatedly and ushered him out the door.
"C'mon. Be serious. Good night."
And that was that.
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