so many things

There are so many things I want to write about but I am horrendously drunk for 6 pm on a Tuesday, so we'll start right here and see what happens.

First off, I only 10 percent remember writing that last post about...soup? This is what I write about when I'm drunk? Soup? My Friend and I have a tendency to get unexpectedly drunk together. This is what happened this afternoon. But our newly cemented Friend status makes getting drunk together totally awesome, and we are even considering living together next year
because my Neighbor confirmed that she got into SCAD and is probably taking off late summer.

Exciting, daunting, everything all at once. Cheers to: The Future...!

I had my one and only final exam this morning at 9 a.m. Instead of studying yesterday, I celebrated Cinco de Mayo by eating nothing but "Mexican" food all day, and staying up until 2 in the morning chatting with Girlfriend about the latest development in my junior high love life. Strangely enough, I only had one tequila drink yesterday, on the holiest of holy days for my preferred beverage, and I realize that there are now three things I have to ingest on a regular basis in order to keep my bowels in motion: cigarettes, coffee, and tequila.

Something happened to me Saturday evening, and all of a sudden I needed to have sex. And when I say "need," I mean it in a very comprehensive way, where my body and my mind and the stars all aligned to make sure I got some action. When I left my apartment Saturday night, I knew I wasn't coming home. I was being pulled by some force greater than me to some form of casual encounter, and nothing could stop it, not even Netflix. I even put my overnight kit (i.e., eyedrops and a pack of gum) into my purse as I left.

There were some days that I recall last year in my months of severe drunkening where I just didn't give a flying fuck and although I wasn't particularly happy, I wasn't sad either, and I couldn't stop laughing, which gave me the feeling of light satisfaction. There was one day I remember where I thought I was holding it together at the office pretty well because I was sating myself by holding an unlit cigarette in my mouth, thereby making me less edgy and pleasant despite being quite dry in the head. It wasn't until late afternoon that I had sufficiently rehydrated enough to pee, and when I got into the bathroom, I saw that I had what looked like several day's worth of eye makeup drying on my face. This was also the time that I stopped brushing my hair (which I still don't do, but now it's about a foot shorter so it's harder to tell), and when I attempted to pull it back into some semblance of dignity, I saw that I had dried blood all around one ear. I don't think I was bleeding out of my ear, so its source was unclear to me. In any case, I found this terribly funny, because all day long some people had commented that I looked like shit, and somehow it never occurred to me to go and check it out.

Sunday I was vaguely aware that this might be one of those days, because I found myself vaguely singing and dancing on the subway platform the morning after popping my NYCherry and heading to school for a crucial review session, during which I volunteered to clean the blackboard with my clothing. I have been blessed with an insomnia-free streak for a little while now, and I also have not yet slept out a single night in The NY, so Sunday was a little jarring for me. Also, Sunday, if you remember, was about thirty degrees warmer than it was Saturday, so I was wearing a long-sleeved shirt under a heavy sleeveless item, and I felt fucken ridiculous. So I tried to alter what I was wearing accordingly, then passed out in the sun for a while after indulging in a much needed slice of Koronet pizza.

This is when I got the call that suggested that Tyler, this boy that I'm so incredibly into, might maybe be at this BBQ back from whence I came in Brooklyn that evening. I have many scruples about anything that seems even remotely duplicitous, so I was torn. On the other hand I really wanted to see Tyler and I didn't have time to go home and shower and make it look as though I had chosen to wear the clothes I was wearing. So I did the only thing I could do: I took a paper towel bath in the restroom, asked my unsuspecting friend to smell me for ball stank, and headed back to Brooklyn.

Tyler wasn't there, but it was still a great time, and I was happy to be with such a mellow group of people who never once referenced anything relating to the existing dominant Manhattan paradigm, any struggle with it, or any acknowledgment that that world existed. I was with people who just...were. And this made me incredibly happy. It made me think that here I was, all stressed and worried about trying to be Somebody, without taking the time to realize that I already am Somebody. Right now I'm Somebody who doesn't do what I want, and the world is feel of Somebodies who are always trying to be Somebody Else without just being who they are, and doing what makes them happy.

This brings me back to my exciting Friday night, which consisted of watching Little Miss Sunshine, which made me (a) miss my family and (b) just want to "Do what you love, fuck the rest." I really, really, loved this movie.

Anyhow, I want to write more about this new boy, whom I will also call by his unidentifiable first name, Joe. I went on a hilariously awkward post-sex, sober, daytime date with him yesterday, and some interesting things were revealed to me, things that I couldn't even respond to because I was so sober, and of course self-censorship and BAC are inversely related. I said so little and ate so much (as you can see, my diet and no-drinking phase lasted all of 48 painful hours) that I was surprised to hear from him again last night, and I am now trying to sober up by blogging, napping, and heading back into the night to see him again. He is a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend, or something like that, which makes me trust him infinitely more than anyone I've met via craig. And this is why I slept with so many people in San Francisco: there, everyone is separated by a maximum of three degrees. Of course, that's also what made it kind of creepy, and why most people don't advise sleeping with roommates or co-workers.

Foolish? I think so. But it's amazing our capacity for self-distraction when faced with an inordinate amount of work and requirements, either self- or publicly imposed. I react poorly to rules.