To make a long story short: yes, I was wasted beyond belief.
This all happened six days ago, on OOOH FRIDAY THE THIRTEENTH.
My friend and I were getting ready to hang with this guy, who can be really frustrating sometimes. He's the type of guy who sings Nickelback, Creed, Puddle of Mudd (I prefer the Who, Radiohead, and Pink Floyd), and whoever does that song Kryptonite, at karaoke, all in this fake, "tough", generic rock voice. You know the one. Now picture it twenty times less appealing and natural.
In fact, he works at a restaurant that does karaoke; he invited us both there the last time we all hung out. The catch? (Yes, there was a catch to hanging with a supposed friend.) It amounted to hanging around for his whole work shift, while he manned the karaoke equipment and nagged us every ten minutes to do a song, because no one else would sing except for some 50-year-old Frank Sinatra wannabe.
I had a tiny buzz going, but once it set in that we were locked into this place miles and miles from home for the next six hours, I was seriously considering walking home in the freezing cold until my friend pointed out that the walk would take more than the time it'd to sit it out. I don't have a car, so I made the best of it. We killed Lose Yourself by Eminem on the karaoke, but since I cursed (TEAR THIS MOTHAFUCKING ROOF OFF LIKE TWO DOGS CAGED), he didn't want me doing anymore Eminem. Or Dr. Dre. Or Snoop Dee-Oh-Double-Gee. I even offered to replace all the n-words with sucka.
But I'm getting off-topic. Even though I think I'm crazy and weird and different, I also feel more normal than most of the people I meet. I feel like these people are ripped right out of cartoons -- with outlandish voices, habits, and appearances... This guy's like an Elmer Fudd, like Barney Rubble, and sometimes I feel like Fred, wanting to slam my fist down on his head and create a little lump that cracks through his skin, parts through his hair, and raises up two feet off top level. You ever wonder when someone has a strange voice, if that's the voice they hear in their head? The same backwards-ass voice they speak to you in?
He's always eating. He wants gas money paid to him in dollar-menu sandwiches. If I offer him money for a beer, he bounces the offer right back and wants to spend it on food. He posts statuses on Facebook, one after another, little quips like, "I drank so much vodka last night I woke up speaking Russian." Makes you doubt they're really coming from him, and trusty Google is there every time to verify that nope, he's really pulling them off some "funny Facebook statuses" site. What a guy. But people believe it's him, as if he's sitting on his ass all day (hey, he probably does) coming up with these wildly differing displays of wit, and shooting them off one after another, day after day.
OMG YOU'RE SO FUCKING FUNNY DUDE; YOU SHOULD DO STAND-UP!
YOU KNOW ME, BRO, I'M A FUNNY GUY! I COME UP WITH THE CRAZIEST SHIT WHILE I'M HIGH!
Does he feel unloved? Unliked? I'd actually really like to know the exact thought process behind that sort of deception.
But while he constantly proves himself to be very nearly a joke of a person, while I'm here practically drooling vitriol and wiping it off my chin and computer screen, I can say that none of this affects me much; at best it's minor annoyance at his character.
I don't want to hate anyone. There's certainly a satisfaction you get, when you're cursing and outing every damn thing you hate about a specific person, something that feeds this twisted side we all seem to have, but I don't want to hate anyone. I'm not an antagonistic person. I get along with people no matter how I perceive them to be in comparison to myself. I like people, even fake people. Because someone's not just fake, they're the same as you and me. They have feelings and desires and they somehow ended up with qualities that are unappealing, but there's still a real and good and true person buried in there, and you can still get to that (YOU HEAR ME, OPRAH WINFREY?).
That night at the karaoke restaurant, I was digging my teeth into the guy (that's what I'll call him -- THE GUY, and then there's the friend), being a mild asshole to him -- nothing too rude, it was in a very reserved and sarcastic manner, enough to let him know that the whole thing wasn't a pleasant set-up. Especially once he let loose the fact that he gets something out of bringing people over to the place. I felt utterly used. And my friend is there having the time of his life, as if he's watching a TV show. Well he gave it a five out of five, and apparently wanted a repeat performance.
So on the day of the incident (losing my phone, I know I've rambled for a teensy bit), my friend and I are drinking. We drink. We go through long stretches where we don't drink, but when we start drinking, we drink a lot. And I always drink more the next night; I always have to step it up just one more notch. This time, I bought two 22 oz. (because they're cheaper than forties by twenty cents and you get four more ounces -- oh my god I sound like an alcoholic), and eight shot bottles of 35% vodka (though I gave two to THE GUY). And as I give the stats out, a part of me's like WELL LOOK AT YOU, AREN'T YOU GREAT.
My friend's a bad influence. And he'll hype me up, like an attack dog.
"Let's just gun on them the whole time, the fucking bitches." (There was one other guy, but he doesn't matter; he's a good guy, and he stayed neutral throughout it all.) And he keeps talking about how he's going to expose the guy as the bitch he is and all this bullshit, while I'd rather get deeper into the whys of it.
The guy ends up late by almost two hours, and he gives some long-winded excuse about him ordering pizza, it hadn't come after 40 minutes so he's going to fucking Chicken Shack or some shit. LIKE COME OFF YOUR FUCKING FOOD OBSESSION; I THINK YOU'VE GOT A PROBLEM.
But when he arrives, the fireworks begin, and honestly, through the ride to the train station, the trains and the subways, it's the most vile display of the worst qualities anyone could ever summon forth in two people. Insults back and forth, and I got this guy to despise me in minutes. My friend backed out, despite all the talk he'd spouted earlier. Now he was trying to tell me I had no self-control, and I'm like WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, YOU SAID WE WERE GONNA DO THIS AND YOU'RE NOT DOING IT AND YOU'RE TRYING TO DISASSOCIATE YOURSELF WITH ME AND MAKE ME LOOK CRAZY
So it was all voluntary, but by the subway ride I've become living dead, blackout drunk but still up and mobile. I recall nothing past that point. I had to be told the rest. On the streets now, the guy hates my guts. He hates the blood running through my guts, and now I'm trying to get him to fight me. No idea if I even could have fought in this state (I say no), but I'm so sure about it that I'm literally in his face telling him to hit me. Meanwhile he's shouting I'M FROM BRICK CITY YO, I'LL FUCK YOU UP; YOU DON'T WANT TO START A FIGHT WITH ME!
Walked in traffic, got hit in the hand by a taxi, and was given a possibly permanent memento of the occasion: my left middle finger's been robbed of centimeters of its full range of motion -- I can't close it fully against my hand anymore.
He distracts me by telling me to get food at a McDonald's we passed by, and god, I almost can't keep typing up the story. It's like I'd reverted completely to pure instinct. It's too savage for me not to be ashamed about. I get in there, and he keeps walking. My friend tries to get me to come, tries to drill it into my head that WE NEED TO FOLLOW THIS GUY, OR WE'RE GETTING DITCHED. It doesn't get through to me so I stay. He texts me the address and calls me continually, worried as all hell, wanting to convince the guy to go back for me. I don't think I could even eat. I remember having the full bag, maybe I was trying to make the trip to the address, but somewhere along the way, both the bag and the phone went missing.
When I came to, I was sitting on some steps, like, fucking hell, I'm stuck in New York with nothing, and too messed up to do much about it.
Some dude tried to help me, and for some reason I gave him ten bucks. I was feeling a bit out of my mind, maybe he was taking advantage of that or not, but he was leading me somewhere, and then told me to wait outside, but I decided he had a weird thing about him so I kept walking. Fuck if I'm getting raped out here.
Found some place, a store, and just sat down with my head in my hands. Eventually they asked what was up and I asked if they had a phone.
Lost all my fucking ideas -- fifty notes miles long full of writing, hundreds of recordings of musical ideas stretching back to over a year ago, conversations that were really special and important to me... And I don't have a phone.
The morning after, I barely felt pissed.
Maybe it was the hangover high that I always get?
I never feel bad the morning after drinking (I could blackout, I could throw my guts up, and I'll wake up feeling amazing). I always feel really at peace.
Maybe losing things I cherish and value is liberating in a way?
It's weird, my mind just wants to move on. "It happened. Next."
But there's a tiny portion of myself that's endlessly cursing and trying to rope the rest of my head back there, too.
Today, my phone started ringing when I called it. Someone charged it, but they wouldn't answer it. The day after I lost it, I had sent a message from another phone offering a reward if somehow someone found it, but they seemingly didn't give two shits.
I had the service suspended just now. I'm guessing the phone isn't locked or anything, just 3G and cell signal no longer work. iMessage probably works fine if connected to wifi. I just hope this person doesn't pull any weird shit. Honestly, he'll probably wipe it, and sell it for crack money; who knows. Even without service, it still functions as a perfectly capable piece of tech -- it's like an iPod touch now. I'm annoyed that someone found it and decided to be so obtuse about it. Crackhead scum.
What can I do? No insurance, so maybe my only option is to scrounge up the hundreds of dollars it's going to take to replace it?
I just needed to vent this story out. Almost don't want to hit send because of the shame and total trashiness of it all, but fuck it.
I deserved it all anyway.
