Do you ever feel like life is sending you a message? So sometimes when I'm writing this blog I'm happy for the kind of candor I can only have with strangers; I think I tell you guys shit that I wouldn't tell some of my closest friends, or just stuff I can't say out loud cause it's just what's in my head and it's too much to say to someone I know in person without changing everything. This post is going to be crazy but there's just no easy way to summarize what's happened to me this past weekend with any kind of grace, so here goes.
I met PokerFace for dinner in Brooklyn on Saturday- we fooled around at his place first, went to this really cool local restaurant, then a bar to get beers, and then back to his place. I had been worried it might be awkward but it wasn't, it was a lot of fun, and it felt really comfortable. I spent the night at his place.
We got brunch in the morning and I went home and did my run.
That night I met up with my gay friends downtown, and I kind of had a crush on one of my friend Alex's friends, so when he had to leave for a date, I hung around to chat up his friend a bit. That somehow led to me getting way too drunk. I don't think I did anything that embarrassing at the bar (that I can remember) but here's where the story goes nuts. I mean, I was drunk- like blackout awful drunk. And... when I came to... I was in lockup in a police station.
So my arrest I've pieced together from the officer's account, and apparently I was in some kind of shouting match with a cabbie, and somehow police got involved and I was refusing to pay the fare (it was $3.80!) and I got belligerent or something. Anyway, I guess I got processed and took a mug shot and I don't remember any of it until I was sitting in a lockup and getting fingerprinted. And I was stupid drunk.
They cuffed me again, and moved me to another precinct for overnight holding, and I was in a tiny cell by myself with just a wooden board and a metal toilet. They told me I would get processed in the morning and I should be out of there by 8:30. I fell asleep.
At 8 they woke us up with sausage biscuits and cokes from mcdonald's. Then they came and called people to go to the court to see a judge, and they called everyone except me. The officer said my paperwork must still be in transit, but that I should be out by noon at the latest. They said I couldn't make my phone call until my paperwork was processed.
I sat in that cell for hours; I read my property claim ticket front and back probably 10 times, and tried not to read the crazy grafitti on the cell walls from previous occupants. OK, I'm getting sick just describing it again, but basically it was hell. I had no concept of when I'd get out and as the time stretched on I was convinced my paperwork had been lost. The officer only came by every few hours, and he never had any details. I've never felt more disgusted in myself than at that moment. I had dark thoughts, which I just never want to face again.
At 3pm, they finally called me out, and put me in another lockup room with about 5 other guys also waiting for their court appearance. We were there for about another and a half. At this point, they served us more food, which I guess we were supposed to have gotten around noon, but they forgot, so they were cold hamburgers- it didn't really matter because I was starving.
Finally I met with my legal aide and he said since it was a first offense and such a petty charge, he would ask to have it reduced to an "ACD", which I forget what it stands for, but basically if I don't get arrested in 6 months, the charge is expunged from my record. I have to serve 2 days of community service, which is, unfortunately on this weekend... gay pride weekend here in NYC.
So the other thing is I lost my phone. Now I don't know if I lost it in the cab, at the bar, or if it was confiscated and lost at the police station, but that's that. It's just a phone, I'm not going to sweat it.
I got home, took a long shower, called my boss (who was more relieved to hear from me than mad, thank god), and then my BFF, who had sent me an email because she thought it was weird for me to not talk to her or respond to her texts.
Then I called PokerFace. I told him what happened and I was practically in tears. I asked him to come over. He came over and was just amazing. He just listened to my story without judgement, and was completely sympathetic and I mean, just awesome. We watched some stupid movies and tv shows, and ordered in some Indian food. I didn't think I'd be in the mood for anything, but after we made out a bit, and my mind was off the whole day, I got pretty horny, and just wanted to think of something normal, so we jerked each other off. We watched some more TV, and went to sleep, but I was having trouble- not only did things keep reminding me of the cell, but I also had bruises on my wrists from the handcuffs, and on my elbows and ribs, I guess from the arrest. I felt like a jerk for keeping him up, but he was totally understanding and eventually I did fall asleep. We woke up in the morning, took a shower, and got breakfast together.
So that was my weekend, including the worst night of my life that turned into the worst day of my life. And what have I learned? I need to fucking grow up. Enough with the binge drinking and pathetic attempts to win the meaningless approval of strangers.
More importantly... I know now that I don't deserve him, but I want PF to be my boyfriend. I almost blurted this out when he was staying over, and I started to think that when I tell him I want it to be special- and not some trauma-induced needy bullshit that doesn't mean anything.
So... like I said before- do you ever feel like life is sending you a message, and in a way that you just can't ignore anymore? I'm pretty sure the message I got is that I'm a fucking mess.