New York in Green

(Brace yourselves, guys... It's a long one!)

Yesterday was a beautiful St. Patrick's Day. It finally felt like spring. And while we may not have many trees in midtown, there are a lot of glass skyscrapers shooting into the clouds. On a day like yesterday, the sun seemed to bounce off all of them, turning smudgy office windows into twinkling stars.

By late afternoon, Second Avenue had been transformed a veritable sea of green--one stupendous block party! The people's faces were stickered with four-leaf clovers and crowned with kitschy plastic hats. All around hung the strains of bagpipes and the scent of beer. When I used to live on the Upper West Side, I never noticed St. Patrick's Day much. Here in Midtown, not far from the parade grounds, and amidst the clusters of Irish Pubs, the whole world seemed to be Irish!

Speaking of the Irish, I met a few on my Wednesday night outing. Of course, I was at Cheers (comme d'habitude) alternately sipping sodas and whiskeys while flipping through some readings for school. Some man kept staring at me the whole night, trying to catch a glimpse of the titles over my shoulder. I felt very mysterious--a girl alone in a bar, downing whiskey and reading lofty material. (Again, aestheticizing life...) I also felt pretty in my brand new green drop-earrings that I had just bought that very evening before a Shabu-Shabu (hot-pot) dinner with Iron Chef on 32nd street. Catching up with Iron Chef was a lot of fun until it turned into a bit of a therapy session for her and she detailed everything wrong with her current boyfriend. I have to say, I zoned out a bit.

I arrived at Cheers at around 10:45; there wasn't much going on. I tried to stick to my reading, but my mind kept wandering. I thought about being there with the Stallion just over a week ago or so. I decided to send him a text:

At Cheers. Wish u would magically appear and meet me.

I wasn't expecting an immediate reply (and didn't get one). Eventually the crowd began to thin out.

Suddenly, with a biting breeze, the door swung open. An enormous Irishman with an enormous laugh and an even more enormous unruly red beard, burst into the bar, followed by two frizzy-headed long-haired cohorts, and joined by a couple--a woman who looked like a masculine cross between Angelina Jolie and Angelica Houston and a severe looking young man with a shaved head, bulging veins in his forearms and hands (and who for some reason, I suspected was a Vegan). Several more of their friends streamed in through the door behind them. Colonizing a good portion of the bar, they settled in and ordered pints. The bearded man had soon covered his moustache with specks of foam. IrishBird lit up. It turns out that they were old friends of hers back from "County Tyrone." It made for a very happy reunion.

In time, IrishBird introduced me to the crowd. I ended up in conversation with the bulging-veined Vegan, who sparked a really irritating debate about the French Revolution. (I mean, c'mon! Don't argue the French Revolution with a European History PhD student!) He didn't want to hear anything I had to say, but insisted on repeating over and over that the whole enterprise was conceived of and executed by the Parisian working class. (Ahem...there was no urban working class at that point! At least not one that acted cohesively with any kind of class consciousness Good God, man! Read your E.P. Thompson! "Methodism and Potatoes," right Hammer?) He then told me that Robespierre's "Reign of Terror" was merely an attempt to consolidate power in order to further oppress the working class.

"I think it's a little more complicated than that," I said. "What about the ongoing war with Prussia and Austria? Don't you think that played a major role in creating an atmosphere of paranoia? Are you a Marxist?" I asked.

He seemed a little uncomfortable.

"I am."

He reached for his beer.

"Well, you're not a very good one. Haven't you read Marx himself on the French Revolution? It wasn't 'working class.' It was a bourgeois victory against the aristocracy."

We then got in a debate about "liberalism," which he refused to acknowledge as a 19th century ideology. He seemed to majorly object to any kind of conflation between the terms "bourgeois" and "liberal." Whatever. The point is that he was royally pissing me off. I excused myself to go to the ladies room and when I returned, made a point of turning to talk to the guy on my other side instead.

The guy on my other side was named Shay. I noticed that he was hand-rolling cigarettes.

"Can you teach me how to hand-roll a cigarette?" I asked.

He looked surpised. Well, sure, but why do you ask.

"Well, a friend of mine asked me to help her with it."

(I know this sounds ridiculous, but it's true. Just two days ago I got an email from Anxious entitled "Taking Up Smoking (Temporarily)" In the email she wrote:

Can you teach me to smoke? I have a package of tobacco and I'm determined to smoke the whole thing and you seem like the obvious one to teach me. We can share it. It smells really delicious.

She explained that she had bought the tobacco for Scotland--the guy she just broke up with, and wants to smoke it all up in spite. Still, it seems to me like a desperate grab for attention. )

In any case, I asked Shay to teach me. He told me that he works in film (wanting to direct, but really just doing prop-work and stuff) and gave me his business card, which was quite odd. It says "CHANCE" on the front. On the backside it says: "CHANCE: Get out of Jail Free. This card may be kept until needed or sold." Weird. The guy is only in town for a week, visiting friends. He's a Londoner. I stuck the card in my bra and he laughed. We chatted for a while until our conversation was interrupted by an odd turn of events.

The big bearded man had at one point materialized a fiddle. His two frizzy-haired friends pulled out a banjo and a flute--well, not a classical flute, but some kind of flute. One began to tap his foot and all of a sudden, they burst into traditional Irish song. Someone at the bar began wailing away and the whole crowd sang along. I had no clue what was going on. A few people got up to dance. I felt like I was at the fucking Third-Class party on the Titanic. (Remember that scene? Kate and Leo dancing on the table "below deck?") Anyway, this went on for quite some time until the group ran out of songs they knew by heart and piped down.

Shay and I went outside, with freshly rolled cigarettes. (He had let me make one for practice).

After we smoked, he leaned into me. "I'd rather like to kiss you right now," he said.

"Um...Okay," I replied.

And he did.

"You're a very good kisser. I thought you'd be a very good kisser," he leaned in for another. (Hope he's telling the truth there ;> I'm blushing as I write this.)

"Thanks," I told him, "but one is enough. I'm not that kind of girl."
(Okay, I know that I AM that kind of girl, so you can all stop laughing now.)

I don't know why I didn't want to kiss him again. I liked him well enough. I guess I just didn't feel like going there. Wasn't in the mood? (Or maybe still in love?) We went back inside.

Yes, "love" was still on my mind. In fact, I've hardly been able to get him off my mind. And here I was thinking of him again, especially reminded by the fact that this guy works in film (just like you-know-who!). I broke down and texted him. (Yet again. I know...Such a weak mother-fucker!)

I wrote:
Talking to another film director tonight. Making me think of you...so call if you want. I'm off in the a.m. tomorrow.

I didn't realize how late it had gotten, but when I noticed the time on the Sent-Text, it was already 2:53!

Most of the Irish crew started to leave. It seemed as if Cheers was headed for "closing-time," until three frat-boy/hipster college kids strolled in. They were handing out CDs for their band, trying to drum up an audience for their Friday night show at a nearby club. IrishBird put the CD in on the bar stereo. They were actually pretty good. I was impressed. It was a night for musicians I guess. I told them that I'm a musician too.

"What do you do?" they asked.

"Well, I play piano... And I sing...opera!"

They all clamored to hear me.

"Wait! Just give me 5 minutes!" I said.

With that, I raced out of the bar and back to my appartment, grabing my Puccini-karaoke CD. Back at Cheers, IrishBird put the CD on for me. I was super warmed up (despite being tipsy) because I had been walking around my house all afternoon vocalising to Schubert's Ave Maria. (I can be such a dork sometimes!)

"Track 17, please!" (What track was it B? Of course! "Vissi d'arte!")

Those of you who know me well know that I'm usually pretty shy and humble in performance situations (it's a whole other story in private), but I have to say--I was tipsy enough to have lost my inhibitions, but not drunk enough to be fucking up my vocal technique. So I kicked ass on that song that night. The high B-flat was super full and ringing. Yay!!! PumpedUp even came up from the downstairs office and told me that he felt it pulsing through the floorboards. Yay again!!! I love performance-highs! I love to sing more than anything, and never ever get the opportunity to show off like that. It felt soooooooooooo good!

The "crowd" broke into wild applause, and the three college kids made me promise to come to their show on Friday. (I'm going to try, but it might be hard to orchestrate with Anxious coming to visit). They bought Washington Apple shots for all of us left there and we drank until Cheers closed up at around 4:30. (Pretty late for a Cheers week-night!) On the way out, the college-band kids asked if I knew a place to score some "medicine." (Why does this seem to keep coming up around me? Does this happen to other people?) I told them that I had erased all my numbers b/c I'm trying to not go down the tubes as a coke-head. They laughed.

"Same with Justin!" they said. Justin took a little bow. "So now we have nowhere to buy!"

"I feel you... " I said. (And I did.)

But seriously, I was really proud of myself in terms of the drinking that night. I only had 5-6 drinks over about 5 hours. I think 1 drink per hour is supposed to be the "normal" rate, so not bad, eh? Better than the 15 whiskeys or so I had on Saturday in only 4 hours!

Thursday morning I was able to sleep in. (Thank God!) Normally I would have headed out to Long Island to see my brother, but since I was sick this week, I couldn't risk spreading my germs around the ICU. Besides, he still hasn't had a change of condition.

Waking up (around 10:00), I called GoldenFinch. We spent a good two hours on the phone talking about anything and everything. It was awesome. GoldenFinch and I were joined at the hip for a while in college and I miss her so much. We just don't talk enough!

After that, I dragged myself out of bed and went to school for a meeting on my paper with Professor PP (or Professor "Political Perv" as he's been dubbed by Hammer). He's currently acting as my advisor for that big research paper. Anyway, the unfortunate outcome of our meeting--he wants me to COMPLETELY change my paper topic and instead to write on Adorno.

Umm.... okay....
I guess I better get down to reading!

I met up with Hammer in the history department. She had to confront Prof. PP in regards to an akward ommission of payment for some editing work she had done for him. Because she's not the confrontational type, I had to give her a push, be her cheerleader and her moral support.

"Just do it, Hammer! Take the plunge! Toss it back like it's a shot!"

We were both cracking up. She left me with a stack of German past-participle index cards to study while she braved Prof. PP's office.

The outcome: she survived.

Prof. PP is very strange though, we both agreed. There were some akward conversations taking place between all three of us. Perhaps more on that another time. I just have too much to write today on other things.

When I got home on Thursday evening, I ordered in dinner and started flipping channels. I didn't feel like doing school work or watching TV or singing or blogging, but I was bored.

Ah! An idea! I called Sunshine. It was cool to finally get to talk to her "in person" so to speak. We talked for a super long time. As Sunshine pointed out on her blog, just like Flash we may both soon be in cell-phone bill hell. It was kind of strange to talk to someone who knows so much about me, but whom I've never met. It was cool though because we definitely have our share of things in common. (Unfortunately for us, many of them concerning our approach to members of the opposite sex.)

After I hung up with Sunshine, I was planning to head to Cheers to check out the St. Patty's scene, but the phone rang again. It was the Stallion!

"So you wish I'd magically appear?" he asked. (Remember, referring to my text from the night before).

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

"Well, guess what girl? Wishes do come true! I'll be back in NY tomorrow."

"What?!?! Tomorrow? For how long?"

"According to plans, this time, for good."

Holy shit! The Stallion is moving back to NY this week!!! How the fuck should I process that one? I'm not sure how to handle the situation. He obviously wants to fuck on a regular basis, at least until his girlfriend arrives in town. But it doesn't sit right with me. I don't want it to be that "easy" for him. Also, I feel like the moral question has changed once we've passed from a one-week fling to a long term "affair." Hmmm...... While I'm not afraid of "falling in love" with him (because he would intellectually bore me to death), I do fear growing attached to his attention, and getting lazy about the search for my own "Mr. Right." I don't know.... On the other hand, how can I turn down all that Stallion-style fun? Ughhh... I suppose I don' t have to figure it all out this very second.

Anyway, after hanging up with the Stallion, I executed the plan for the evening, and headed to Cheers. (Probably around 8:45 or so). PumpedUp and FightingMensch were working the door (even though FightingMensch isn't on staff there). They were charging a cover, but PumpedUp waved me through. (Damn straight... NextDoorNeighbor and I figured out the other day that with all the money I spend on booze at Cheers, I pay the equivalent of a monthly rent! A little sick...n'est pas?) Anyway, the bar was PACKED beyond belief, and honestly, beyond enjoyment. I worked my way through the crowds and said my hellos. The weekend bouncer was there, standing on a crate, surveying the mob. He gave me a big hug and a St. Patty's day toast. He's a sweet guy.

IrishBird and one of the Columbians were working the bar. It took me a good 15 minutes to make my way over there. The whole joint smelled of beer, sweat, whiskey and testosterone and the people were so wasted that they kept falling into me. I just wasn't in the mood for it. The floors and the counters were sticky with spilled drinks and I felt like I kept getting groped. Apparently people had been drinking from the end of the parade onwards (so at least for a good four-five hours at that point.) I got my drink and manuvered towards the back of the bar where I thought it would be emptier and where I could hang my coat. The place was filled with cops and firefighters too, and the whole scene was totally bridge and tunnel. It was also most likely the most Republican's I've seen in one place since the Convention was in town in August.

At one point, members of some military-type band came in, dressed in full regalia. There were at least two snare drum players and a few guys on the bagpipes. They played all sorts of Irish songs and the crowd cheered. Ughh... I even spotted the guy who I had that "incident" with in December (he once grabbed my arm and wouldn't let go until I left Cheers in a stream of tears-- a story to be recounted another time, for those of you who don't know it). He was red-faced and bleary eyed, dressed in a kilt and leaning against the wall for balance. Yuck. I decided to leave. I headed to the back to pick up my coat.

The line for the men's room--at least 16 people long.
The line for the ladies room--none.

Enough said.

It was such a relief to feel the cool air on my face and in my hair stepping back onto the street. PumpedUp looked shocked.

"Well pinch me, because I must be dreaming!" he exclaimed.

"Why?" I laughed.

"Because! Hyde leaving? It's a first! Hyde isn't closing us out tonight?"

"Maybe I'll be back later," I said. "I just can't take the crowds right now. I'm not in the right mood."

"I'm sure we'll see you later!" he said.

"You always do," I replied. And with that I headed home.

Back at home, I tried to wind down a bit. I talked to B on the phone for a while and then to my mom again on her way back from the hospital. But it was after 11:00 and I was getting a little hungry. I decided to run accross the street to the deli for a snack. NextDoorNeighbor heard the clicking of my door and popped out of his apartment.

"Hyde! Wait! I just heard your door opening. I wanted to ask you something."

He asked if I would tape his show again. I told him "no problem." We chatted for a few minutes and he decided to walk me to the deli.

"Let me just stick my shoes on," he said. (He must have wanted the inside scoop on whether VJ told me anything about him.)

On our way back from the deli, I stopped in front of Cheers to say hi to PumpedUp and FightingMensch again. They laughed and said they were taking bets on whether and when I was coming back. I told them that I was still on my way home, but I might stop by even later. BarMan was on his way into the bar (to party, not work) and stopped and gave me a big hug. I like hanging out with him and really did want to come back later, but I was just so tired and still fighting off illness. Jekyll and Hyde had a little "meeting of the minds." Thankfully, Jekyll won this time.

NextDoorNeighbor and I headed back upstairs. He invited me in, and we talked over our late-night snacks. Finally, home and to bed!

I got in bed around 1:00 am. At about 1:30 am the phone rang.

Was it Narc?

Nope...the Stallion, again!

He was calling me from the airport, wanting to make plans for Friday night. I told him that I didn't think I could because I have plans with Anxious and an invite to two parties (not to mention that rendezvous with the band I met the night before). I told him that one of the parties was out in Brooklyn and he told me to "be careful." I thought it was really cute and kind of sweet. I don't know. I think half my interest is that it's flattering how much this guy is into me. Well, I guess he doesn't really know me, but it's a physical interest. I guess we don't really connect on any other level. It kind of sucks. Why can't I find a guy who can offer the whole package--chemistry, kindness and common interests? Why not? Is it really too much to ask?

I finally fell asleep around 2:00 only to be awakened by the phone a few hours later. My land line rang at about 5:00 am. I picked it up, still thick with sleep.

Who was it? Yep... you guessed it! This time it was Narc!

"Oh, did I wake you?" he asked.

"Well, yeah... It's five o'clock in the morning and I have to teach tomorrow," I said.

"Oh, that's right. You Friday-teach. Well, go back to sleep then. Go back to sleep, I just wanted to talk for a bit." (He sounded a little drunk--typical, but not bad).

"Okay, well, good night," I said.

I fell back asleep pretty quickly (I'm good like that.)

A half an hour later, the phone rang again. I picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Oh... Hey, it's Narc again. But, um... I don't know... If you have to teach, go back to sleep."

"I told you I have to teach."

"So go back to sleep."

"But why did you call again?"

(I know I should have just told him to fuck off and stop calling me so late, given the way he's treated me, but part of me is just so drawn to him. I just don't understand myself on this one!)

"Well, I didn't think you would pick up. I just wanted to leave you a message."

(Yeah, right. If that was the case, he could have texted me!)

"So... What's the message?"

"Well, just that I wanted to talk to you. I mean... I guess, I'm feeling weird. I mean, I'm feeling a little confessional, you know? And I don't really know who else to talk to about this. But I don't know... I don't want to bother you now..."

"What are you confessional about?" I asked.

(As much of an asshole as he is, he did peak my interest a bit).

"Well, I've been doing all this work to process out all of these negative things... You know what I mean?"

"Like what?" I asked. "Like you mean when you said you've been working out?"

(By "negative things," I thought he was talking alcohol or too much drama or something.)

"No, well, I have been working out, but it's not that..."

"Go on..."

"Do you remember when I went to see that guy a few months ago? The one who works with the 'pathwork' people?"

"Who? Your life-coach?"

"No. That's someone else. This is the guy who did the thing where I had to shout outloud and stuff...'No! No! No!'"

"Oh yeah, I remember..."

(Incidentally, if you guys are as confused as I am, you can go check it out at pathwork.org, but I can never keep track of Narc's new age attempts at finding meaning in his life and a way to let himself feel love/loved.)

"Well, I went to see my primary pathwork advisor and she told me it was time to follow up and make another appointment with that guy and I really don't want to. I mean... I've been avoiding it."

(Okay, if you're still confused, Narc has an EXTREME trauma in his past that I don't want to tell you all about; I was shocked that he was able to share it with me (back in November) and I get the sense he doesn't talk to people about it or deal with it in general).

"I totally understand. I know that can be really scary," I said. "But you have to ask yourself, realistically--what are you scared of? I mean, nothing can happen to you anymore. And whatever comes up--they're only feelings."

He didn't respond.

"Narc, what do you think is going to happen? I remember that last time you went you told me you felt better after. Remember?"

"I don't know. This is stupid," he said. "I just want you to come over here so I can come in your mouth."

(Sorry to be so crass, but that's just what he said, and I find it quite revealing. I'm sure by now you can all recognize the classic Narc progression: 1.) he feels close to me and reaches out. 2.) he realizes that he's too close and goes into panic mode. 3.) he does something mean to hurt me and make me cry or he does something to degrade and humiliate me so that I no longer threaten his ego or his sense of stability. 4.) Either I suck it up and hang in for more or I get hysterical, we fight, he blames me for being hysterical and we split for a while. What a fucking Prince Charming!)

Well, I didn't know what to make of all if it at 5:30 am. I akwardly dealt with his "come in your mouth" comment by saying that I couldn't come down there the next night because I had plans with Anxious. (Ah, sneaky Hyde! You all know that I of course brought up Anxious for a reason... I was dying to see what he would say on the "Masturbation" issue)

"While I've got you on the phone," I said, "I wanted to ask you... I heard something really strange from Anxious."

"What's that?"

"Well, that you masturbated in front of her on Valentine's Day."

"What? What are you talking about?" he asked. (He was clearly flustered). "I mean, when did she tell you this? What kind of thing did she say I was involved in?"

"Oh, she told me about it a while ago," I said, casually. "I just didn't have the chance to talk to you about it before we split."

I recounted to him what Anxious had told me.

"Well, that didn't happen," he said. "I mean, we fucked around...well, I don't mean we fucked around, but we just hung out, you know? But nothing passed between us. Nothing happened. That's just absurd. Why would she say a thing like that?"

"I don' t know. I find it unsual too," I said. (Interesting that he's bothering to deny it...Does he think he's THAT good that I believe him?)

"Maybe she just really wants me." he suggested. "I don't know. I mean, it seems like she was trying to steal me away or something. Did you guys ever date the same guy in the past or something?"

"No! Besides, I don't think that's what it's about," I said. "I don't think she particularly wanted you. I mean, I wasn't there. I don' t know what happened. But if she lied about it, the only reason she would have made it up would have been to get to me... to be competitive with me. Not to get to you."

(You all know, I believe that she was telling the truth though).

"Well, leave me out of it," he said. "I don't want to be involved in your girl-fight."

"It's not a fight. We're fine. Besides, you and I aren't together now, so whatever... I just wanted to ask because it's such a curious story. Besides, I thought you would find it funny."

He seemed to want to get off the phone at that point.

"I should let you get back to sleep," he said. "You have an early morning tomorrow. Gotta stay fresh for molding young minds!" (Funny, he didn't care about that an hour ago when he started ringing me!)

"Well, I'm giving them a midterm," I said. "So I don't have to be so sharp. I just get to sit there and administer. And besides, I can't go back to sleep now. My alarm's set to go off in less than an hour. I have to get to my office early to photocopy the exams."

"But I want you to go back to sleep," he said. "I want you to get your sleep."

"Well, I just told you, I'm not going to go back to sleep."

"Well, then, I guess I need to go to sleep," he said.

"That's fine. Good night, then."

And that was it.

The whole thing struck me as odd though. I mean, not odd that he called me drunk at 5:30 am, but odd that he called me when he knew I wasn't available to come fuck him; and odd that he called to talk to me about his insecurities and childhood trauma after everything we've been through. What?!?! I can't tell whether he called me because this has been on his mind and he really needed to talk and couldn't go to anyone else with this, or if he called me to "soften me up" by making himself sympathetic and to push my "nurturer" buttons (prepping me for a "come-fuck me" call this weekend).

In either case, it was still ALL ABOUT HIM. The shithead didn't even ASK about how my brother is doing!

Nevertheless, all day today I've felt weird. I'm not sure what to make of it. I mean, he hasn't changed a shred and there's nothing about that phone call to convince me to take him back on any level, but there it was--that amazing chemistry sparked yet again. I feel nervous and physically excited just by the fact that he called (and even the way he "insulted" me). I hate being oriented this way sometimes.

I don't know... Sometimes I think I'm an awful person. For example:

This morning I sent an email to Anxious. It seemed okay at the time, but in retrospect, it's probably a little passive-agressive of me, being that she has no sex on her horizon.

I wrote:

Got a call from the Stallion last night. Guess what? He's moving back to NY (for good) TODAY!!! He called me from the airport. What the fuck!?!?!?
Also, 5:30 am call from Narc. We talked for 1/2 an hour or so. pleh! ughhhh! huh?
(As you can see, mixed emotions).

Can't wait to see you later!
h

Her Response:

Hi!

Well, it looks like your plan to rest, relax, and recuperate from illness has been shot to hell by all the men in your life! What with staying out all night with the band on Wed., and the Stallion and Narc calling last night, I can't imagine you've had much sleep lately...

The Stallion has a perfect right to move back to NY, but theis does complicate things!

As for Narc, he's just horny, and really lazy...too lazy to go out and find someone else. Lots of men are lazy that way.

(Then she goes on about our plans for tonight a bit).

-Anxious

I don't know if I'm still trying to find reasons to be mad at her, but I thought that what she said about Narc is really obnoxious. I don't care how much she dislikes the guy, but how does she know why he called me? It's insulting for her to assume that he doesn't care for me on any level and that the only interest he has in me is driven by laziness to find someone "better." I mean, whether or not she's right, it's not her business to say so and in fact, I find that to be just plain rude.

To me, that comment was pointed and intended to put me down. That said, it's not worth picking a fight over. I'll just file it away as a piece of observational data in my mental "Anxious" file.

I guess that's it for now. I'm in my office on break between my two classes. I have to run, and will most likely not have a chance to post until Sunday night at the earliest.

Hope all of you in blogland are well!

Have a fabulous weekend!

-Hyde