"Hi, this message is for Clark."

Boring doesn’t last long for Miss Curious… as you can see from the note my friend wrote Friday night,

“She Got Cut Off.”

It hasn’t happened since I was 18, getting cut-off, that is. I normally cut myself off by hopping into a cab and barfing my brains out in the comfort of my own home. And c’mon. I know San Francisco bars. And this bar. This was an alcoholic’s bar. People don’t get cut-off at this bar.

Friday night started with the obligatory post-work weed at a friend’s house. Then some red wine with all my gay boyfriends in the Castro. Then more weed. And then, The Transfer (the actual name of the bar.)

I sort of know the bartender… he’s friends with my friends… and this bar has sort of become my new Cheers. Anyway, this bartender sort of bought me a drink or two. And I sort of complained about it being too sweet. And the bartender sort of got mad that I was complaining about a free drink. And my bitching and moaning sort of didn’t stop there.

And then I shouted the bartender’s name for another drink. He sort of didn’t look at me and just sort of motioned “CUT” with his hand.

Then I definitely realized, “oops. I just got cut-off.” Naturally, my friends were entertained and proceeded to write notes as shown above.

But But But… I don’t think I was as obnoxious as I’ve been at bars in the past or even close to as obnoxious as people I’ve seen at this bar… who could barely stand up. I could fucking run. I wasn’t even hung-over the next day, which made me realize I was way more high than I was drunk.

So So So… none of my friends really know why exactly I was cut-off. It’s a bit of mystery. I think the bartender hates me. They think he was trying to help me.

This morning we discussed the idea of leaving at message at The Transfer, “Yeah, hi, this message is for [Clark] (pseudonym for the bartender)… this is Miss Curious from Friday night… yeah, Friday the 7th… I understand that I was cut-off, and I’m just trying to get to the bottom of this. If you can please call me back with some details, that’d be great.”

(Jackie-O, you remember Clark, no? It's your name for him by the way!)