PATRICK WALSH: CHRISTMAS 2003 - BIRTHDAY 2004

Here's where we left off, refresh your memory if you need to:

I still remember the looks on my parents' faces when I walked into the house for Christmas that year. It was clear that they were concerned for my well-being. In the four months I had been away from Missouri, I had lost about 25 pounds. Due to the arctic conditions of my apartment I hadn't slept more than an hour or two a night for weeks and the black circles around my eyes told the tale. And I had taken up drinking, which reached its lowest point at an office Christmas party for my temp gig. It was open bar (always deadly) and the girls there decided to have fun with me and take advantage of my low tolerance by asking me to get them drinks, then pretending they didn't ask for them. Then they would insist that I drink them. And drink them I did. 

The night ended with me taking the bus back to Jersey City, standing next to the driver the entire ride home despite the abundance of open seats, talking about how much my life sucked, and then asking him to let me off the bus about six miles from my apartment. I stumbled home and woke up the next day around noon lying on the floor in my clothes, three hours late for work.

You could say things weren't going as planned.

I had also, without realizing it, turned into an incredible asshole, and while I don't recall alienating my friends while home, I did get quite a few "Are you alright?s." Being around friends and family and food and warmth and human interaction that Christmas was great, but it made the return to bitter, cold, unforgiving, Jersey City all the more horrible. I had numbed myself into thinking I didn't miss home, but I realized now how much I truly hated the way my life was going. Not to mention when I moved back I would be living in a new apartment with a girl I was having sex with, but didn't much care for.

She picked me up at the airport and I was a royal dick to her on the way home for no reason. This was Sunday, January 4th. The next day would be Monday, January 5th. My birthday. I was not looking forward to it.

That night we got back to the new place, and I went immediately to my room. I got into bed and started watching TV. After a couple hours, she came in and asked if I'd like to do something fun for my birthday the following night. We had gone to a movie or Broadway show here and there, but I had been trying to avoid the full-on dating and relationship stuff. Still, it was my birthday and I agreed. And what happened next is pretty much where things started to sour between us, though they would drag on for several months before fully exploding.

She joined me on my bed. (Note: My TWIN bed that I had slept in since graduating from the crib). Some kissing started up. Hands. Touching hands. Reaching out. Touching me, touching you. But I didn't make a full on "Sex Move," we just kind of stuck with making out. I was totally not into it, as prior to her entering my room, I had been trying to decide the best way to kill myself.

But we kept at it, until finally she took out the dong. Though depressed, I stood at attention, and fellatio ensued. And ensued. And ensued. I couldn't keep my mind on things, and kept expecting the old "Anything happening?" line, but she kept chugging away.

Until finally, and if this had been a sporting event, this would be the moment endlessly replayed and studied...I gave her the head tap.

"Sorry. I'm just not in the mood."

"Not in the mood?! It sure looks like you're in the mood!"

"I know. It's just...I kind of just want to be left alone."

Well, that went over about as well as you could have expected. She flipped out. I don't know if you've ever been yelled at while you are pantsless with an erection, but it is an experience you remember.

"I moved all your shit and furniture into the apartment! I drove you to the airport! I picked you up! I'm taking you out for your birthday! What more can I do?" Et cetera.

My response: "I'd really...just like to be left alone."

She stormed out of my room. I stared into the abyss for eight hours, and when I walked into the bathroom to get ready for work, there, on the sink, was the first of what would become many notes:

"Why don't you go out with Joe and Paige for your birthday tonight. It's obvious you like them more than you like me."

Wow. Now, this was true, but it kind of came out of nowhere. In addition, Joe and Paige had plans, and since I knew three people and none of them were hanging out with me, I'd be spending this birthday alone.

I went in to work at my temp job...which, I should add became my FULL TIME job on that very January 5th. Yes, on my birthday I began a full time salaried position at a job I hated more than anything, pretty much abandoning my dreams. My stomach was tied in knots as I signed the paperwork, it felt like I was signing my life and future away.

No one at work knew it was my birthday, so of course no one wished me a happy one. I also did not have a cell phone at this time and my home phone did not have a machine, so even family and friends back home were unable to send salutations. No one acknowledged it.

I got off work at 7 and went to a movie theater in Times Square. I asked the girl at the ticket window, "What will kill the most time?"

"Cold Mountain," was her reply. "It's like three hours."

And so it was that I saw a three hour, insanely boring Civil War epic on my birthday. Alone.

Happy Birthday, right?!

But it gets worse, dear readers. Oh my Lord, does it get worse.

tags: story of my life  

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