Dear friends, I do not think many of you are aware of exactly how drunk I was when I composed that last entry, or maybe you had some clue by the large number of spelling and grammer mistakes. It's a story with many twists and turns, and why I feel the need to share my humiliation I don't know. I am American. This is the internet. What else am I going to do? Write a song about my dream of horses? Ha!
I was having a really good night, attending the Deitch openings with Joe who I haven't seen in a week and a half because his family's been in town. So there was lots of catching up, looking at pretty good art, and then hanging out in front of the Wooster Street space marvelling at how bright it still was at 7:30. And then I see the two figures when they are too close, right next to us, and I had sort of forgot that one day I would run into Matt. I just assumed that it would probably be at our neighborhood homo bar. Kevin and Matt are both really friendly, asked if we had seen Matt's work next door, and said they had to get some wine and went to get it. Joe and I left to go next door to look at Matt's two watercolor pieces of shantytowns in the show, really two very boring pieces that were shockingly selling for 600 and 800 - and later in the night, the gallery owner told Matt that lots of people seemed interested in his stuff, which sort of blew me away. Anyways at this gallery, after looking at Matt's stuff, I wanted to go back to the last gallery, maybe to talk to Matt and Kevin, and Joe says he is going to hang out in that gallery and try to find PBRs, even though they were out of them. I think he knew he was leaving and did not want to tell me for whatever reason that I let him know was fucking rude to leave me alone in SoHo having to talk to Matt and Kevin.
So yeah, back outside the gallery, I talk to Matt and Kevin about something or other. But as I am approaching them, Kevin tells Matt who is talking to two other people, "You should stop talking now." And I sighed and said, "About what? About the dog?" Kevin and I laughed, Matt seemed a little ill at ease. I talked to them about something or other. What the hell did I talk to them about? I talked to them a couple more times throughout the evening, while I hunted for Joe, wondering where he was. I at some point talked to just Matt and something said referenced the dog in passing, and I asked because I am way drunk by this time. I have bruises I don't know how I got - that is how drunk I was. And so I ask him if the dog was really the only reason. And he did that Matt shocked huff of my name, "Charlie!" said real fast in shock. And I pressed him again because I was really curious, I had him cornered and I was drunk. Laughing, he said, "Do you want me to reconsider?" And laughing is so cruel sometimes even if is done out of nervousness or the humor of the situation, it sounds derisive when you are on the recieving end of it. And then more blurs, I tried to find Joe once more, called Peter, told him what a maniac I was being, and then left, walking past Matt yet again on my way to the subway.
I get on the subway, way too drunk and way too sad to even notice what I am doing. And I look at the station names we are stopping at, places I had never heard of - and quickly I look at the map, trying to figure out where I am heading. I can't even figure out which line I am on, what are these names we are passing? I want to ask someone what line this is, where I am going, but I don't because I am too embarrased to ask which line I am on. I finally figure it out and see that I can walk a block to the JMZ at the next stop and take that to Brooklyn. I get off at the stop in the very bottom of Manhattan, wander around down by Wall Street trying to find the JMZ, get directions from quite a few police officers, since police are the only people who are on the streets in the financial district after business hours. Lost and lonely, thinking back to my interactions with Matt - I decide I am going to leave him a message. I did not even think that someone might pick up the phone. This is drunk thinking. Someone picked up the phone, I don't think I was Matt, and I said "No, no, I want to leave a message. I 'll call back." I called back, and the person picked up again, and I tried to explain how I wanted to leave a message and Matt grabbed the phone saying, "Charlie, you're talking to me! What do you want to say?" And what did I say, what did I want to say, what was I doing?
Eventually the phone got passed off to Kevin who was pretty cruel while Matt laughed in the background. I said, Fuck the JMZ and walked the thirty or so blocks up to 14th Street to catch the L, feeling miserable and knowing that it was all my fault, that if I had some self-control, I would not be feeling like a total idiot right now, and could possibly be thinking of how gracefully and cooly I acted seeing Matt for the first time, could have patted myself on the back. But I was not thinking this on that long walk. No, no, no, I was not. I was also cursing Joe for leaving me there alone to my own bad devices.
I got off at Bedford, ate some pizza, and then walked home, finally getting a hold of Joe, finding out that he just left without calling me, without saying good-bye, and told him how mean that was, told him about all the stupid things I did that evening. And then just talking about them, I wanted to talk to Matt again - yes, drunk thinking at its worst - I get off the phone with Joe quickly and call Matt and tell him that blah blah blah, and if you ever want to make out, you should let me know. He sounded surprised, of course, and was like, Um, yeah. This was around twelve. I passed out in my bed shortly after this, luckily to drunk to stay awake and brood about my stupidity. This is the good thing about getting really smashed, cause when you do really stupid stuff, which you always do when you are really smashed, instead of thinking about them long into the morning, your silly actions, you instead pass out drunk in your bed, or if you're lucky, someone else's.
Shortly after three this morning, I was woke up by Matt calling me. I was asleep, still drunk, and very confused. I answered it, and he said he was going to Metropolitian. He was some place loud and could not hear me, but he just kept saying Metropolitian. I lied in bed, really tired, weighing this option. Should I get dressed and go down to Metropolitian in the hopes that Matt is actually going to make it out there? I did not. Sleep seemed too nice an option, but I was glad to fall asleep with my self-esteem not as competely smashed as it was the first time I went to bed. However, I woke up this morning, regretting not going to Metropolitian, because dude, I want sex. I want sex with Matt. And if that had happened last night, I would be a very happy boy today. Or would I? Would I, intead, be racked with guilt?
And then I remember that stupid Frienster message, and had to send one apoligizing for being an ass. Again free unlimited booze = no self control on my part = bad news = embarrasment. Simple math.
Other things learned in the night: Kevin and Matt were indeed scared of Niki and her overzealous writing to them about their apartment. And remember how I am reading The Alexandria Quartet because it is Kevin's favorite book - well it is not. I was like, "Guess what I'm reading?" And I told him, and there was a blank look on his face. And I reminded him that when we met for pancakes he told me it was his favorite book. And he said, No, no it's not. He was reading it at the time, is what he claims he said. I remember differently. He never even finsihed Justine - the first novel in the series. The book suddenly lost a lot of its appeal. This must mean something. What? I am not sure.