The Plot Thickens

Hammer says I'm like the guy from "Memento." I woke up this morning with the name "Mohammed" scribbled on my hand, and in large blue letters, the time, 7:30.

What the fuck?

Well, before I get to that, first I've got some more weirdness on Raza the cab driver:

After VJ read my post yesterday, she told me something strange. She said that when I put her in a cab and sent her home on Saturday night, that her cab driver was named Raza and that he gave her his number. I don't understand how the same cab driver then came back around Cheers and picked me up to go look for my phone. She said that when she came out of Cheers, I had hailed the cab and was talking to the driver. Did I negotiate for him to come back and pick me up? I don't get it...

Anyway, last night I headed to Cheers for a bite to eat and to meet up with NextDoorNeighbor. I managed to finish grading the first stack of midterms (the ones I promised my class they'd have back today). NextDoorNeighbor came by and we talked for a while--mostly about me and my problem with men, and how he feels about his recent breakup. (He ended a three and a half year relationship back in January). We also talked about his efforts to change careers for a while. He is trying to get a job at the Vidal Partnership which is a huge hispanic marketing and communications firm. The only reason I'm mentioning it here, is that "Vidal" happens to be Narc's last name (who care's about protecting his anonymity, right?). It made me think about him and miss him badly. I didn't drink with dinner, but when NextDoorNeighbor arrived, I ordered two shots of Jager and a glass of Cabernet.

NextDoorNeighbor left at around midnight. And I moved over to the bar. There was some tension between me and IrishBird. I was a little pissed because she never called me back from my Thursday night texts to her, the night the Stallion told me that the people at Cheers talk shit about me behind my back. She was talking to some guy named Joe, an attorney who lives around the corner. I struck up a conversation with him, ordered two more shots, and two glasses of Jack, and soon enough was spilling all of my stories to him. It was kind of amusing. IrishBird told me to tell him the Narc-masturbation story and the guy was shocked and laughed a lot. I guess it's good to finally be able to laugh at some of this shit.

"Why are you stuck on him?" he asked me.

"Because she loves him," IrishBird told him.

To hear her say that made me sad.

Anyway, after a while, Joe left and I was drunk. I asked IrishBird why she never called me back that day.

"Honestly, Hyde, I was busy! But you certainly gave me a hard enough time for it last Saturday when you came in here with your friend VJ. The two of ya's were wasted!"

"I did?" I asked. "What did I say to you?"

"To tell you the truth, Hyde-- you called me a bitch!"

What?!?!?

"I did? I'm so sorry!"

To tell you the truth, dear readers--I'm getting sick of apologizing for things I don't remember doing. The drinking has GOT to stop.

I explained to her why I was so upset about the whole issue. I told her that the Stallion had ripped me up and told me that I had been making out with someone at the bar and that he told me that the people who work at Cheers badmouthed me. She said that I hadn't been making out with anyone, and that nobody said anything bad about me. She did say, though, that his friend Mike showed up later in the night.

"The worst of it, Hyde is that you get obnoxious," she said. "You can be quite an obnoxious drunk."

I felt like I was going to cry. How can I turn into a person that I don't even know that I am? How can I do and say things that don't come from my heart? What kind of impression am I giving to everyone around me? It makes me think of my dad and really seriously hate myself. He was a bad drunk. He got mean and could be violent and turned into a totally different person. When he was himself (his "Dr. Jekyll"), he was sweet and caring and so loving and the best dad in the world. Then he would come home at night and he even looked different. His face and his eyes were red, he smelled different (obviously like alcohol), and his hair was different--rumpled or something. It was like he was two people and I never understood that it was alcohol that did it. My drunk dad was just as much my dad as my sober dad, even if he never remembered the things he said and did. And so I guess my obnoxious drunkeness is just as much me, even though I never want to be rude or obnoxious or annoy anyone or hurt anyone's feeligns. I just want to make the people around me happy and I try so hard to do that. Then I go and fuck everything up, and don't even realize that I did it! I feel really confused and unsettled today. I think that's a good thing though. My therapist likes to say that "complacent people don't change" and that anxiety is a therapist's best friend--it gets you thinking. It certainly has me thinking right now, and I don't want to be an obnoxious drunk anymore.

Anyway, at some point, two new characters came into the bar--a guy named Brady and a girl named Becky. I was drunk and started buying them shots. Oh! Also, the red-faced lawyer was there--the one who grabbed me last December and made me cry (if you recall, I also bumped into him on St. Patty's day). It was his birthday yesterday, so I decided to "reconcile" and led the singing of "Happy Birthday" for him. I bought him a shot, and I bought shots for Brady and Becky. He called me "Victoria" and I told him that wasn't my name and laughed. Later, another guy came in--Jeff. Since I was buying shots all around, I bought him one too. He works at a restaurant over on First Avenue and invited me to come by "any time."

I was feeling pretty shitty about what IrishBird had told me though. I feel like I owe everyone in Cheers an apology. I feel like my life should be one big apology at this point. (I feel like I owe the BIGGEST apology to my dad.) I said as much to IrishBird.

"You don't owe anyone an apology, Hyde... Forget it! It's just that you and me are friends, so it can get annoying to me, you know? To see you like that. It's not that anyone else who works here cares. Maybe BarMan, or PumpedUp, they don't like to see you like that. I mean, everyone knows that you drink too much, but c'mon..."

"I know I drink too much," I said. "It's not about that. It's about being obnoxious and having called you a bitch. There's no excuse for that. That's not me, and it's making me sick to think about it."

Just then, PumpedUp came upstairs from the office. I ran over to him to "apologize" and to thank him for finding my cell phone the other day.

"It wasn't that hard, Hyde. It was right on the table." He smiled at me. "But no problem, though."

Cheers closed up soon after that. I went across the street to the deli. Something happened at the deli I usually go to. I don't remember what it was, but I remember getting annoyed at the guy who works there and leaving. (Maybe I was trying to buy alcohol and they said no?) I went to the deli half a block away. I bumped into IrishBird and PumpedUp there and said hi. After that, I don't remember anything.

I woke up this morning to my alarm-- makeup washed off and boots and earrings off, so I guess I was still relatively okay by the time I arrived home. I was still feeling drunk though. I had a few missed calls on my phone from a mysterious "917" number, starting at 7:30 am. What the fuck? Hammer called me early to see if I was okay. I left her a few drunk messages last night because I was worried about her, dealing with her Wizard heartache and all. I had to rush to get out of the house in time to teach. On my way down the elevator, I called back the "917" number. A man answered.

"Who is this?" I asked.

"Hyde?"

"Yeah... You called me this morning, but I'm not sure who this is," I said.

"It's Mohammed. From the deli? Remember? You asked me to call you this morning at 7:30 to make sure you woke up. Sorry I didn't get you up earlier, but you weren't answering your phone."

"Oh!" (First the cab driver is calling me, and now the deli man. What's WRONG with me?)

"Well, thanks for calling me. That's really sweet. I'm up and I'm ready, and I'm going to be fine getting to work."

"Yes, well... You were really drunk last night."

"I know," I said. "I guess it was just one of those nights."

"Okay, well I'm glad you got up in time."

"Me too. Thanks again SO much!"

"Okay, bye."

So there's the mysterious "Mohammed, 7:30" scribble explained.

Teaching was rough this morning when I started out, but I soon got in my groove and the drunkeness faded. I was teaching the causes of World War I. I love it when I get to teach the world wars. It just makes for good drama in the classroom.

After class, Hammer came by my office. She's going for a jog in Central Park and needed a place to leave her stuff while she runs. I'm supposed to meet her downstairs in another ten minutes or so to give her back her stuff and then head to my voice lesson.

One more bit of drama though-

Do you remember the Wall Street Guy who payed my tab after I sang last Wednesday and then took me to a bar up on 84th street? Well, he just called my cell phone a few minutes ago. He said that he thinks he was drugged that night. He completely blacked out, although he usually doesn't get like that. He said that he lost $8,000.00 and a pair of diamond earrings that he had on him. He even went to the police about it the next day. He asked about the last thing I remembered. I said I remember talking to him in the bar on 84th by the payphones and that's it. He said that the proprietor there told him that I left with some other guy (What?!?!) and that WallStreet stayed until 2:00 am. WallStreet's doorman told him that he showed up back at his place at 6:00 am, so he lost 4 hours there. I feel really bad for him. He said that he was hoping he had given me his stuff to "hold on to." I told him that all I had was that police badge and that I left it with IrishBird. The whole thing is so strange. I promised him that if I find anything, or think of anything that I'll call him. He said thanks, and that we should get a drink sometime. Whatever.

By the way, sent Narc a text last night asking if he wants to fuck. I'm so pathetic. I don't know how he can possibly have any respect for me at this point.

You guys, I HAVE to stop drinking like this.

I HAVE TO
I HAVE TO
I HAVE TO.

-a very ashamed Hyde-