Monday, September 20, 2004
Pushing the Limits of Spontaneous Combustion
It is astonishing that neither myself nor Freud exploded into flames this weekend. Looking back, there are so many moments when one or both of us should have spontaneously combusted from our combined and individual assholery, and yet, unaccountably, while edging ever closer to the point at which this would occur, we never quite reached it. But I will get to this in a moment.
Friday Dr. G came over for dinner and wine-drinking and to meet the man-kitten (I know, I know, I need to do a post about him and to post a picture. I promise that will be forthcoming this week). Very fun and relaxing, and then Freud called me at 1:43 AM (after not having called me all week long) wanting me to come over. Needless to say, I did not do this. He said he would call me the next day.
Saturday I should have done work, but, of course, I did not. Instead, a wasted the day and then did a series of beauty treatments in the event that Freud and I would get together that night (pathetic, but not for nothing). I read a really stupid book called Milkrun, and having finished it was just beginning to feel sorry for myself that Freud had blown me off when, around midnight, Freud called. So. We decide to go get a drink at this bar by his house. And upon our arrival at said bar, Freud busts out his credit card and tells me that I'm not paying for drinks. This is odd, as he is a poor graduate student and I am a woman of independent means. However, free drinks are free drinks, and so I courteously allowed him to buy them for me.
We closed the bar, and I was drunk, having not eaten very much that day. We get back to Freud's, and I say to him that I would like to go to bed. He says that I will not be going to bed because he wants me to stay up and drink more and he calls friends to come over and hang out with us.
I should have gone to bed. At this point, the downward spiral begins.
Friday Dr. G came over for dinner and wine-drinking and to meet the man-kitten (I know, I know, I need to do a post about him and to post a picture. I promise that will be forthcoming this week). Very fun and relaxing, and then Freud called me at 1:43 AM (after not having called me all week long) wanting me to come over. Needless to say, I did not do this. He said he would call me the next day.
Saturday I should have done work, but, of course, I did not. Instead, a wasted the day and then did a series of beauty treatments in the event that Freud and I would get together that night (pathetic, but not for nothing). I read a really stupid book called Milkrun, and having finished it was just beginning to feel sorry for myself that Freud had blown me off when, around midnight, Freud called. So. We decide to go get a drink at this bar by his house. And upon our arrival at said bar, Freud busts out his credit card and tells me that I'm not paying for drinks. This is odd, as he is a poor graduate student and I am a woman of independent means. However, free drinks are free drinks, and so I courteously allowed him to buy them for me.
We closed the bar, and I was drunk, having not eaten very much that day. We get back to Freud's, and I say to him that I would like to go to bed. He says that I will not be going to bed because he wants me to stay up and drink more and he calls friends to come over and hang out with us.
I should have gone to bed. At this point, the downward spiral begins.
- 5:10 AM - I call Jezebel on the phone, asking her whether she is sleeping. When she responds "yes," I apparently say I am drunk and hang up the phone. I have no recollection of this conversation, but my cell phone as well as Jez and Freud confirm that this is the case.
- sometime after 5:10 AM - I am drunk drunk drunk and sitting outside talking to one of Freud's friends. Apparently, Freud had gone inside to get us more drinks. Apparently, when Freud was returning with the drinks, I was making out with his friend. I have little recollection of this, but I know that I was pissed off that Freud invited these people over and was not acting like we were together at all and so when the friend kissed me I let him. So, basically, I made out with Freud's friend out of spite and drunken stupidity. And because Freud's a pussy, he just let us make out and got angrier and angrier. I went and passed out in Freud's bed, and he slept on the couch.
- sometime around 8 AM - Freud wakes me up, really hurt and angry, and tells me he wants me to leave because I made out with his friend. I am a) drunk b) very confused because I don't at first know what the hell Freud is talking about and c) tired. Things escalate until I am sobbing (not just crying, where tears prettily stream down one's cheeks, but complete, unadulterated snot-everywhere-red-blotchy-face-can't-catch-my-breath sobbing) and saying over and over again variations on the following: "I'm sorry! Don't you realize that the whole reason I came here last night was for you?!?! You were who I wanted to be with last night, not your stupid friend. And you can't blame me for making out with somebody when you're not my boyfriend! You can't have it both ways! You can't be a jealous freak and insist that we are nothing more than friends! And if there's anybody you should be mad at it's either your friend, or yourself for not making it clear to your friend that I'm off limits! I can't believe you made me cry!" Somewhere about half-way through the argument, Freud started apologizing to me and saying that he was in the wrong and was hugging me and attempting to make me stop crying. Unbelievable, since really, what kind of person goes out with a guy, lets him buy all of her drinks when he's poor, lets him serve her drinks at his home, and then makes out with his friend while he's getting her yet another drink?
- After the argument is over, Freud and I proceed to have make-up sex. This is creepy, as generally this is not how "friends" resolve disputes. We joke periodically that probably we need not to fuck if we're going to be friends. This is hilarious, because this joking tends to lead to us having more sex. I also joke that he will ask me to go get coffee with him this week as a way of making sure I know we're not together, and he acknowledges that this is his pattern.
I return home yesterday, around 5 PM, to an irritated sweet kitten (whose response to my absence was a series of annoyed meows) and deep embarassment - not that I got drunk out of my mind and behaved very, very badly but that I cried in front of Freud and revealed to him quite clearly that I actually like him. It is impossible for me to believe that both of us are still standing after all of this melodrama. Apparently, it takes a great deal more than I ever imagined to make people explode into flames.
