I'm not at all sure what I did Thursday night. I know that the day began normally enough. Our Rudius techmeister, editrix and I went to the upper west side to shoot some buildings one of our new writers grew up in. I art directed the photoshoot and when it got so cold our eyeball glaze froze, Miller the editrix said, "Let's go to a dive bar and get some grub." And sure enough, right across the street was a bar literally called "Dive Bar." I don't drink much any more, but come on. That's a sign from Dionysus. It says "Drink, my children. Drink and be merry."
So then we had expensive beer and brilliant conversation, which unraveled into cheap beer and conspiracy theories, which further descended into shots of tequila and me pulling out my knife. I thought it was pretty, but everybody else thought I should just put it the fuck away. Later, I could understand why. I had been blathering on about various creepy-deepy close calls with stalkers, the two year period of my life during which I had bouts of blackout rage, and how much I really, really liked Zodiac, because it put a human face to the cold machinations of sociopathic slayers, and then I whipped out a knife. I was being scary. Sometimes I forget how scary I am.
After "Dive Bar" was a subway ride to Midtown, where Miller's boyfriend--the dude who lived with me during the two-year period I had bouts of blackout rage--was hosting a techie karaoke party, which was seriously a bunch of IT people in a trendy little room singing Prince and Madonna along to a television. I grabbed the mic from anyone and sang a bunch of shit. I'm sure it was just lovely. Then I flopped down onto a couch next to the dreamiest Mexican guy. The top half of a his face is a brown something in my memory, but the lips were wicked. They were pink and poufy. Lucky for everybody's ears, the lips were poufy. His name was apparently Hector--a knowledge I picked up later by questioning wittnesses--and though I don't remember a single thing about him (besides the lips) I remember we had a passionate conversation about a subject now lost to Dionysus. Wouldn't it be nice if we talked about his troubles with Agamemnon and Achilles? If I had to take a guess, I'd say we talked about serial killers.
This more fascinated Hector than frightened him, or maybe I just told him I wanted to fuck him. I like to think we skidaddled for a more romantic reason. That's where my night ends. I woke up in Miller's boyfriend's apartment on his couch, and Miller had this to say.
Yeah, you left with Hector, but you weren't gone for long. About half an hour later, we closed out the room, and realized that a guy who was going back to India the next day was missing his bag. Luckily, you guys had it and came down to [her boyfriend's apartment] to drop it off. The Indian guy and his friends met you in the lobby, then the front desk rang saying that you were coming up. You plopped down on the couch and that was that.
I imagine several scenarios:
1) The communal pitcher of beer I drank from while singing "Like a Virgin" had drugs in it. The half hour I spent with Hector was spent half conscious, and nothing particularly out of the ordinary happened.
2) My liver said "No!" and shut down the rest of my body. The half hour I spent with Hector was spent half conscious, and nothing out of the ordinary happened.
3) Dionysus poisoned me to gain control of my brain and body. During the half hour I spent with Hector, I snorted rails of Oxycontin or some other opiate based substance. We then murdered a vampire hooker with AIDS, drank it's blood, carved the likeness of the hooker into my pancreas and set fire to my liver.
The third scenario makes the most sense to me, considering the hangover. I've not "hung over" like this ever. Not even the day after I woke up in a CAT scan after having consumed the majority of a bottle of Rumplemintz. That hangover was cake in comparison. I haven't been able to eat, drink or see straight for three days, and this morning, day four, I nearly ralphed my oatmeal.
What the hell did I do? Did you see me? Clearly, I felt so bored amongst you grid people, you boring upper islanders with your order and cleanliness and homogeneous cubes, that I felt the need to erase the evening from my memory. Its all your fault. Bastards.
Posted by The Bunny at 11:47 AM