Like Flies to Honey

This weekend wasn't so bad. I spent most of it recovering from how badly I fucked myself up on Thursday night. NDN and I had an adventure at the bank on Saturday morning and our lobster dinner on Saturday night. On Sunday I went to my parents house for my brother's 19th birthday. Nineteen was such a critical year for me. When I was 19, my brother was only 11. I can't believe how quickly the time has gone by.

Sunday night, I met B at St. Bart's for a new service they started this week. It's called "EMERGE: Where the ancient meets the urban in a new alternative worship service." It was kind of interesting. They had trippy world-beat techno-ish music playing in the darkness, tons of incense and a huge projector with changing images going the whole time. The cantor sounded like a country/folk singer over African drums. It was a little flaky for my taste, but I appreciate what they were trying to do artistically. If the balance had tipped more towards the dark and less towards the folksy, I would have really loved it. But I just can't overcome my hostility towards strangers enough to want to join hands and talk about fellowship-- even in church. I prefer worship to be a more personal aesthetic experience.

Yesterday was indeed a day for Dr. Jekyll. I had a very productive therapy session in the morning (which prompted what I hope will be a turning-point conversation with B). Then I went back to the endocrinologist (I haden't been there in over six months!) and got severely scolded for my incredible weight gain (grrr....) and total disregard for my blood sugar issues. I told him about the heavy drinking and I've got to go back next week for a whole round of blood tests because the insulin sensitizer I'm usually on can put a strain on the kidneys. Then, I read a few articles for a paper I need to write as well. Scheisse! Long time, no see, Dr. Jekyll!

Later that afternoon B came over. He told me that he's sick of "German neurosis" and "gender anxiety" and needed to get some "hard-core masculinity" and "Italian sap" back into his opera, so he's been listening to Verdi. We had fun singing. I busted out the book of Verdi soprano arias and went crazy. B isn't really a singer, but he even fumbled through the closing duet from Aida with me. (An old-school favorite joke of ours was a dramatic reenactment of Radames trying to bust open the tomb). But I knew I was going to cabaret that night, and I had to bring my voice back down to a lower register. I sang a few mezzo arias to get it back in the right place and then I got obsessed with singing Carmen. I made him play the bass line from the Habanera for me, and sang that. Then I sang the Seguidilla. And then I danced around the apartment singing the Act II "la-la-la" song (that Carmen sings while dancing for Jose) while B played fake castanets and pretended to be Don Jose getting called off to duty. What a blast! All of that singing had my voice uber-warmed up, so cabaret class was just that much more fun. The show is only two weeks away now, and I really am getting excited for it.

After class, I stopped by Cheers for dinner. All was well and good until some creepy drunk boy decided to come talk to me.

"Can I have a bite of your sandwich?" he asked.

"Um, no."

"What??? Really?"

"That's right... The answer is no!"

I tried to ignore him. He stood with a face only a few inches from mine, swaying and leaning against the bar.

"So... What's your rank?" he asked.

"My what?"

"Your rank!"

"I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean by that," I said, turning away. I shot IrishBird a desperate look to get this guy away from me somehow.

"Your RANK!" he exclaimed again.

"What does that mean?"

"Don't encourage him," IrishBird whispered to me.

I nodded and pretended to be interested in the Yankees game on TV. (Sorry Dan-- I know you're a fan, but I did have to pretend!)

"It means-- What are you doing after this!" he exclaimed.

This guy was so out of it. IrishBird came around the bar and asked to speak to him outside. She threw him out. It made me think of Narc getting kicked out of Bar & Books multiple times. I wonder if "what's your rank" is this guy's equivalent of Narc's use of the word "wanker."

Shortly after that creep left, Manwich's friend P came in. (I first met him back in March. He tried to give me his phone number twice. I didn't call him either time. You'd think he'd get the point. Anyway, he seemed like a decent enough guy and he's a friend of a friend, so I decided to greet him warmly.)

"Hey! How are you?" I called out as he sidled up at the bar beside me.

What I thought would be a brief and bland courtesy conversation quickly became a lot more strange. First of all, I found out that this guy is one of the most bitter people I've ever met. He claims to have been on the team that invented certain windows software before it was pirated by the likes of Bill Gates and Steve Jobs back in the early '80s. He went on and on and on and ON about that forever. I was having trouble feigning interest after a while, and again, desperately turned back to the Yankees game for help. He told me that he now works somewhere in midtown in the mailroom of some big company. He started telling me how he had just come from another bar where some guy "coughed on him."

"This asshole just kept coughing on me!" he exclaimed. "Would you believe it! The motherfucker! I'm trying to control my anger issues. I mean, I've been working on it for a while... counseling and stuff, but this guy was just asking for it!"

Um.... what? P was starting to freak me out.

He rambled on. "So, I turned to him and said 'Good thing I'm a nice guy, or I'd shove a knife up your ass until it came through your nose!'"

As he spoke, his face was turning red, his mouth twisted with rage. He looked anxious and started shifting from one foot to another. Then he started to tell me about some secretary in the office where he works who coughs on him while he's bringing around the mail.

"This girl thinks she can just cough on anyone!" he said. "Her fucking asthma!" he whined, imitating the poor girl. "Doesn't she know she can give that asthma to someone? And someone who makes $8 an hour can't afford all her fancy fucking treatments!"

"Um... Asthma is not a contagious disease," I wanted to say. But I kept my mouth shut.

P went on, shaking his fist, fully turned towards me now. (And no-- it was NOT a turn on. Ha ha ha, Hammer and NDN!)

"I told her she needs to get off her high horse and stop coughing on people! One day she'll cough on the wrong person and he'll knife her! Cut her throat! You know? I was doing her a service to tell her that! Fucking secretary to the partner! Thinks she's better than everyone else."

I told P I had to go.

"It's getting late and I've got to get up early," I said.

"No, stay! Can I buy you a drink? What are you having?"

"Just soda," I said. I agreed to have one more. (I know... I know... "I'm just a girl who can't say no.")

After that, I excused myself and left. On my way out, I paused to kiss IrishBird goodbye.

"That guy is fucking nuts!" I whispered.

"I know!" she laughed. "Hyde! You draw in all the crazies! I don't know what it is, but they're like flies to honey with you!"

Two girls sitting nearby (both of whom I know, but neither of whom have blog code-names) laughed.

"Maybe it's because I'm crazy?" I suggested. "Or maybe it's because I listen to their rantings and give these people the time of day and act interested?"

"Whatever it is, you're making my job easier," she said. "You distract them all at the bar, so I don't have to talk to them and can do my work!"

"Maybe you guys should pay me," I said.

Then I went home.

So, that's that...

I still have Narc on my mind in every other thought. That hasn't changed, but I'm hoping it will. Monday night was especially hard. I was supposed to watch 24 at Hammer's place, but we crossed wires and ended up missing each other. I watched at home by myself and went to Cheers afterwards and got drunk, hanging out with BarMan, ThursdayGirl, BulgarianGuy and JerBer. I couldn't stop thinking of Narc. Every other Monday he's in midtown. I knew he wasn't far. He usually makes it a habit of crashing at my place on those nights. I half expected a call from him, although the call never came. It's not that I want things to go back to the way they were... I just want... I don't know. I can't finish that thought.

Last night I got into bed and watched American Idol. (Kelly Pickler has to go!). Idol made me think of Narc. Then I turned off Idol and watched a few minutes of Conan. Conan makes me think of Narc. I woke up this morning and was searching for an old student email. I passed a lot of messages from Narc. (Narc! Narc! Narc!) I put on my iPod and selected an old play list. A few minutes later, Golden Vein by the Cocteau Twins came on. Golden Vein is a Narc song. So, that's what my days are still like. Every other thing that happens reminds me of him.

I'm feeling good today though... relatively. I just taught the Reformation. (The last time I did that, all was well with Narc and I had a date with MuscleGuy!) I had to hand out student evaluations today. When the students finished them, they had to put them into an envelope without me seeing them. One of the flirty boys smiled at me when he turned it in.

"Hey, Prof! You aced MY test!" he said.

Ha ha...

Anyway, that's it for now. Oh-- and by the way-- I heart valium.

Love,
Hyde