2004-03-25 - 11:20 a.m.

i got to the gallery last night to meet h and three of the artists were standing around forlornly on the street. 'do you know where h is?' they asked me. i called h, who was still in harlem and not even in the same borough. i told her i'd take the artists out for beers.

we settled into union pool and began drinking beer in earnest. b joined us. k told us a funny story about being stopped for drunk driving in germany at the age of 12. h eventually found us, and then led the artists back to the gallery. b and i had our pictures made, chatted about boys, talked about money and love.

a young hipster slid into our booth next to b. he introduced himself as a film writer and then started nervously chatting us up. he asked our ages and told us he is 26. he was good-looking, but his jittery energy reminded me of the diet-coke-sipping actor. i was inclined to humor him, since it obviously took cojones for him to approach us the way that he did. for reasons i still can't discern, he really wanted me to lick his hand. i told him i didn't know where it had been. he bought me a whiskey. he asked for my phone number. eventually, i think he could tell we were just humoring him, and he shoved off.

he reappeared later in the evening, slid into the booth once again. we basically ignored him and continued talking to one another until he complained of neglect. so we engaged him in conversation and he wanted to talk about sex. he asked if we enjoy oral sex, and i replied 'who doesn't?' which made b giggle like a schoolgirl. he invited us to follow him back to his rooftop, where he would perform oral sex on us with a lovely view of the city. we turned him down. he was a little surprised, obviously he thought he made a pretty attractive proposal. he exited stage left.

at which point i was drunk, and it was getting late, and b and i parted company. on the walk home, i stopped to buy cigarettes (i know, but i blame the brazilian for getting me started again). this guy outside the deli started speaking to me in spanish, asking if i knew someone. i told him i didn't know the person, but he kept pressing the issue. he wasn't drunk and didn't seem to be on drugs but there was definitely something weird about him. then he implied that i knew people on the street, he said he'd seen me working the street. he also insisted i switch to english. i told him: i'm not a hooker. i'm a painter. i don't work the street. (i should point out that i was not wearing anything provocative last night, a sweater and grungey jeans under a big ugly parka.) he said: i know you're lying. i've seen you. i'm an undercover cop. i said: you must have me mistaken for someone else. he said: it's such a bad idea to lie to me. i could have you killed. at that point i turned on my heel and walked away.

about a block away a cab driver stopped for me (i didn't even hail him) and drove me the remaining few blocks to my house. i was so shaken by that guy assuming i was a prostitute that i sat out and smoked on my own front steps in the rain until 2a.

this morning i got an email from z asking that i remove him from my mailing list. and on the way into work, i ran into h, who was crying because her car has been towed for the second time this week.

i have a meeting at 2, but after that i think i'm going to crawl back in bed. alone.