Get Myself Together

by theappliedprocess

“It’s all over like steps in the first snow. Something’s been building up and it’s gonna blow.”

Anxiety.

Friday morning ‘Nickle’ had left before I woke up. He wrote me a note saying he was sorry but he had to go to work. It’s all good, I had to do the same. I got to work a bit late on purpose because I didn’t want to deal with the clean up from the event the night before. The day was uneventful.

I left work at around 7 to go meet ‘The Lady of Derbishire’ for yet another art opening. This time: Andy Warhol at Gagosian on 21st. The show was amazing, to say the least. It was only about his screen prints of Liz Taylor, and ‘The Lady of Derbishire’ and I got inspired for our Halloween costumes. Without giving much away, they are going to be amazing. We ran into ‘Afterline’ who, in his usual way, suggested we go to some “hip” party at the hideous Dream Hotel in Chelsea where James Murphy, of LCD Sound System fame, was DJing. I was hungry and so was she so we told him we’d go eat and meet up later. We left promptly and walked to Blossom on 9th and 21st for some upscale delicious vegan yumminess and to talk about our future trip to Texas.

After dinner we went to Dream hotel for a drink and to wait for ‘Afterline’ and co. I was texting with both ‘Nickle’ and ‘Jose Maria’ to potentially meet either of them if I didn’t end up staying for James Murphy. Three drinks and an amazing conversation later, we decided to leave and I decided to go home. I was tired and I wanted my time alone.

I got home and drank all the open bottles of alcohol I could find. Wine and vodka mostly. I had been getting overwhelmed with the whole ‘Nickle’ situation feeling like I was losing myself and my independence so I wanted to find someone on Grindr, go meet them at Metro, and have a random make out session with a complete stranger to prove to myself that I’m still my own person. Stupid perhaps, but I thought it therapeutic. Sadly, the Grindr boys did not deliver.

Once I had a decent buzz, I took ‘Toto’ for a walk and stupidly strolled in front of The Abbey. I ran into ‘Nickle’ who greeted me with much excitement (as usual). He asked me to stay but I mentioned I was tired and would go to bed soon. He asked if he could come over later, and I, being the nice idiot who never says no, told him to text me when he was going to leave and if I was still up he could. I thought that was a nice compromise although to be honest, I shouldn’t have compromised my night at all. I was a bit annoyed at myself and anxious.

I went back home and continued my quest for some fresh lips to kiss. It was still very unsuccessful. I decided it was time for bed when destiny slapped me in the face and just as I had turned off the lights and plugged my phone to charge, he texted me saying he was coming over if I was still awake. I should’ve not replied, but for some bizarre reason I did. What’s wrong with me!? I turned the lights back on, went on facebook and firmly convinces myself that I was only going to wait ten minutes or two songs’ time, whichever came first, and then I’d really go to bed. Again, just as the second song was about to finish I heard the bell ring. The handsome Floridian had arrived.

I’m not sure if he was expecting more but I told him I was still very tired and would just go to bed. We kissed for a second and cuddled the night away.

Saturday morning we got smoothies and he took a cab with me to work. The trains weren’t running and he needed to get back in the city to pick up his bike. ‘The Cock of the North’ was outside smoking a cigarette when we walked by. We all had a brief conversation and then I went to work and ‘Nickle’ went for his green vehicle. At work I was interrogated whether this man and I were boyfriends. I said no, not me, no way, no sir. I only stayed for a couple hours because I had made plans with ‘The Wife’ to go to Philly so we could then go to Camden, NJ and see our favorite band in the whole world Blink 182. Don’t laugh. I made it to my train just in time and I slept the whole ride west.

While in Philly, we quickly grabbed a bite to eat at some tapas restaurant that was actually surprisingly good, bought a bottle of whiskey, turned it into road sodas, and cabbed it to the venue. We got just in time to see My Chemical Romance open for the boys. I wanted to puke, not because I was drunk, but because of the music and the crowd, so I decided that if I was indeed going to vomit it would be out of too much drinking and went to get another unnecessary drink. We then finagled our way to better seats and waited for our teen idols to perform. I was more drunk than I thought I was and a bit sad because I really wanted to remember the show so I started texting myself the names of the songs so I’d at least know the set list. Somehow, we got even more drunk and did something quite embarrassing that we managed to block out of our memories for the time being. We peed on the bleachers not once but twice!

The show ended and we uselessly tried to get a cab. There were nowhere to be found. Then we tried hitchhiking but I don’t think Jersey people are very fond of New Yorkers or Philadelphians so that proved futile as well. We eventually just went to a bar to let everything die down and wait, but after some quasi sobering food we decided maybe we’d try and walk the bridge. Luckily, we found a cab around the corner, pretended to be whoever the cab driver was supposed to pick up, and stole it. ‘The Wife’ passed out on the way and my pigeon-like sense of direction kicked in so somehow I lead us home. Our plan was to stay up for a while, but again, we were more drunk than we’d like to admit it and by half past midnight we were already in bed.

Sunday we woke up and went for bagels and juice. I was supposed to catch my train at noon, or so I thought. Again, I didn’t have the best luck with cabs because I forget we’re not in New York and we actually have to plan ahead, so I ended up getting to the train station fifteen minutes past my alleged departure. When I tried to change my ticket, the lady pointed out that I was actually 12 hours and 15 minutes late as I was supposed to have left the night before. Silly me. I paid the extra twenty bucks for the next train and left 13 hours afters I was originally supposed to leave.

When I got back to the city, ‘Nickle’ had texted me that he wanted to see me. I reluctantly agreed I would. He suggested we meet by the ferry, take the boat to the city, and bike to the West Village to meet his friend who was about to finish an HIV/AIDS charity bike ride from Boston. Although I still wanted my alone time, this sounded fun so I accepted his invitation. When he rode in to the dock he was looking extremely handsome in his gold bike helmet (which he recently spray painted), aviators, a blue sweater, jeans, and chucks. How can I resist this man?! To add insult to injury, the boat ride was too damn romantic. Again, how can I?

We rode for half hour till we got to 13th and 7th. His friend was just coming in. I started getting really bad anxiety for some reason. I did not feel comfortable. ‘Nickle’ knew a lot of the gays present, which is fine, and is why I like him, because he’s so different from all of them, but there was something about the whole thing that just rubbed me the wrong way. I felt odd and was ready to make an excuse to leave till the damn mind reader suggested we go eat and then meet his friends for drinks. I reluctantly accepted. Again.

Off we went further into the West Village. We ended up at Tortilla Flats for some very mediocre Mexican food. Another one of his friends joined us, this one I really like. We then went next door to some bar for the post race celebration. Again, my anxiety started fucking with me. I was briefly introduced to some of the older more “established” gay men I often try to avoid. There was something going on because I felt so out of my element, I couldn’t socialize with any of these people so I told ‘Nickle’ I would go because I had to meet a friend for some birthday drinks. The friend in question? ‘Latin T’. He offered to come with. I wanted to run away and scream but whatever, the bike ride over the bridge helped calm me down. We dropped our stuff off at my place and meet some of his friends, the ones I actually like, at some bar near my yoga studio. I didn’t stay long, they invited me to karaoke but I said I was going to meet my friend as promised and I’d catch up with them after.

I biked to Union Pool to a ‘Latin T’ surrounded by all female hair stylists. It was a nice time. I had a couple drinks, ate some tacos, bought him a shot, and then tried to stop him from getting into a fight. The man gets crazy when he drinks and has been banned from many a establishments. The altercation as well as some very personal revelations he was making were my cue to leave so I said my goodbyes and biked back to ‘Nickle’ and co. They were at some karaoke bar two blocks away from where I’d left them. I got drunk and sang Miley Cyrus – See You Again. They loved it. We dance and chanted and acted retarded amidst a rain of glitter that ‘Nickle’ had purchased for his biking buddy but had forgotten to give to. Me and ‘Nickle’ stepped outside and had yet another heart to heart. What can I say, he knows what buttons to push. Keep on digging that damn dagger into my chest, handsome, one day you might actually penetrate the concrete cardiac walls and get somewhere. We spent the night ensemble.

“I got, got to get, get my head back on. I got, got to get myself together.”

 

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