The Hippy (and Another Dream-o-Meter)

On Monday night, after Hammer and I watched 24, I donned my blue sweatshirt, took a pack of smokes and walked her to Grand Central. It was perfect weather-- warm enough to be outside in my flip flops, but cold enough that my toes were cold. On my way home I stopped in at Overlook for a drink (as Cheers usually closes early on Mondays). I ordered one jack on the rocks and sat down at the bar to brood for a bit. I was flipping through my cell phone, lamenting the erased Narc-texts when I noticed a man stood peering over my shoulder, frighteningly close to me.

"What the fuck?" I snapped at him. "Back off!"

(Remember-- I was in "brooding-Hyde" mode, not "friendly-Hyde.")

"I was not reading your message," he said.

"That's not the point!"

I glared at him defensively and shifted away from him in my chair. He was still standing way too close for comfort.

He had wild tangled hair-- a sort of unwashed afro, although he wasn't black. He spoke with an accent, but I couldn't determine his ethnicity. He looked like a misplaced Hippy (especially in Midtown Manhattan!)--very unkempt, but not in the scruffy, hungover, rumpled Narc way (that I love). This guy seemed actually "dirty." With a drunken grin on his face, he just stood there swaying, trying to engage me in conversation. Nothing that he said made any sense. He kept trying to touch me on the shoulder and I kept swatting his hand away. The bartender there is a friend of Arachnid's, and I know her from Cheers. She gave me a wary look as if to ask if she should intervene. I smiled back at her to reassure her.

"I'm only staying here for one drink," I told this weirdo. "I've got to go."

I slurped down my drink and scooped up my iPod and the pack of cigarettes.

"Can't I convince you to stay for another?"

"It's on me," the bartender quickly interrupted, pouring me a shot of jack. I think she felt bad for me, too polite to blow this guy off completely. Normally a welcome gesture, it wasn't what I wanted at that very moment.

"Don't you remember me?" he asked, that creepy, sloppy grin still plastered across his face.

"Um, no..."

"But I know you!" he insisted.

"You do?"

"Yeah! You live there!" he said, swinging his arm in the direction of my apartment. The gesture looked like it might knock him right off of his feet. "You have a piano in your house."

"You've never been in my house!" I exclaimed, slightly uncertain of myself.

"No, but you told me about it."

Phew!

"I met you at Cheers," he explained. "Don't you remember?"

I scanned my memory. Damn it. So many blurry nights at Cheers. But then I did remember.

"That's right! Your name is 'Hippy,' right? And you work for UNICEF? You made a comment about my high Doc Martin lace-ups."

"Yes. I thought you were very beautiful," he said, inching closer.

Oh yeah-- don't forget he's being drunk, predatory and creepy, Hyde. Abort conversation, Hyde! Abort! Abort!!!

"Yeah, well it's been a while," I said, pushing out my barstool. "But, um... Good seeing you. I've got to go."

"Don't you know why I haven't been back there?" he asked, putting his arm on my back.

I tried to squirm away.

"It's because of you," he continued.

"Me?!?" I was genuinely surprised.

"Yes, IrishBird told me that I was too touchy feely... that I couldn't come back."

"Why? What did you do?"

He put his hand on my back again.

"I tried to put my hand down your pants, like this," he said, sliding his hand lower.

I leaped into the air away from him.

"Oh, okay. Well, I really have to go now!"

He tried to give me a hug goodbye, but I was out of there. I ducked under his arm and scurried down the street as quickly as I could.

Yesterday I stopped by Cheers in the afternoon (to pick up a tape from IrishBird) and asked her if she remembered the incident. She did. We tried to piece it together. It was a while ago-- in my pre-blog days. I think it was in the Fall of 2004.

Then, this afternoon, I was in the Amish Market, picking up some things for lunch, and guess who I saw waiting on line? That same hippy! I made sure to keep out of sight.

And now for my dream-o-meter:

I had this dream the night before last. I keep thinking about it, even though it's nothing too peculiar. It was a Narc sex dream. In the dream we were making out and then he pinned me on the bed, straddling my shoulders, sort of sitting on me. But instead of opening his pants, he put his fingers in my mouth and started to fuck my mouth with his fingers. In the dream I was very passive-- just laying there. Do I want to do this? was the only thought in my mind. Then he jumped off of me to get a condom.

"Alright. That's it. I'm comin' on in!" he said.

(Saying something like that is NOT very Narc-like, but there it was in my dream).

I felt both passionate and absent at the same time, if that makes any sense. It's that strange combination that has lingered with me for the past two days-- a strange, strange feeling. Maybe it's just that with Narc I want two opposite things at the same time.

Other than that, I've been enjoying my week off (well, sort of. Aside from the Narc-mourning). I love my new John Lennon CD. I'm having dinner with Anxious tonight and then it's over to Hammer's to smoke up a bit and watch movies.

It's warm out today. I fucking hate the summer. But it's coming. Not much I can do to stop it...

love,
H

PS: GoldenFinch had a baby boy on Friday. I am SOOOOOOO excited about it! I doubt she's reading, but CONGRATULATIONS GOLDENFINCH!!!