My New Year’s Eve this year is being spent on my couch… voluntarily. I’ve only done that one other time in the past twenty years, and that was only because I was a giant, fat pregnasaurus at the time. I put some thoughtful consideration into my evening and had some pretty tempting offers, but I’ll be honest… I’m just not feeling it. My ex-husband tried to call bullshit on me, and he even had the sitter booked. I love going out and being social, but there’s something about New Year’s Eve that drives me bat shit crazy. Maybe it’s all of the once a year drinkers that storm the town or the fact that you have to basically commit to one establishment since there’s always a cover charge. If you’re responsible, you have to rely on a taxi. Good luck with that shit show on the busiest cab night of the year. When it’s all said and done, it’s more trouble than it’s worth.
Maybe I’m still having flashbacks from my experience two years ago. I was newly single and was dragged kicking and screaming to a place named ‘Corky’s’ for the most ridiculous experience of my life. My friend was dating the douchebag who manned the door, so I was essentially a third wheel at a place named after a retarded person. How could that go wrong? I’m a huge fan of the hole in the wall bar, but there’s a definitive line that must never be crossed. This place made the cantina scene from Star Wars look like a Hollywood hotspot. I was trying to be a good sport and take an enormous bullet for the team. For the record, this was one of those bullets that explodes on impact and rips your innards to shreds. I was barely a beer into my evening, when something terribly alarming occurred.
It was karaoke night, and a small Hispanic man was next on the mike. I hate people that give commentary before launching into whatever ear rape they’re about to subject me to, but this was well worth the price of admission. Check that… I think we avoided the cover charge because my friend was banging the ultra cool door douche. I hope that was worth the $10 we saved. But I digress. This dude starts rambling in extremely broken English. All I took out of it was something about a green card and ‘the most beautiful girl in the world’. Naturally, I turn to look for this Pamela Anderson look-alike (pre-hepatitis). What I witnessed that night will forever haunt me, and it left me visibly shaken. It was fortunate that gazing upon this monstrosity didn’t turn this poor little immigrant to stone. I was expecting Perseus to show up and lob her head off for use as a weapon. You could definitely use this broad’s head for one hell of a crime spree. Seriously, what a great modern day Medusa story! You could rob a bank, jaywalk, get out of any number of traffic violations or simply scare your friends. She was at least 6 ft 5, with about four inches of feathered platinum blonde hair. She was wearing those gross acid washed jeans with the lace cut-outs down the side. Her milky white thigh fat was oozing out… like someone stepped on a container of Yoplait. She had the jet black eyeliner with the wings out the side. I’ve never understood the objective of that makeup trick. What illusion is that supposed to create other than ‘I’m an asshole’? As I looked around for Ashton Kutcher and his gaggle of comedic sidekicks toting cameras, the little man dropped to one knee and proposed to the wildebeest. She giddily accepted as I looked for a penile bulge in her Merry Go Round jeans. Could this really be a woman? As she hugged her future groom, her boobs rested heavily on his little bald head. He then wiped a tear and launched into a very moving rendition of ‘To All The Girls I’ve Loved Before’, singing both the parts of Julio Iglesias and Willie Nelson.
At this point my friend was making out with door guy, who was clearly doing the best job ever. Who the hell was he denying entrance? There was a bearded lady, two midgets, a KKK member and a mule. Ok… so I’m making up the mule part, but the rest is all true. Usually I try to be relatively nice to people who make awful attempts at hitting on me, but I just wasn’t capable in this joint. I pretended I had a nervous tick at one point and I’m pretty sure the one –armed man trying to nail me liked it. A sweaty fat man grabbed me in such an odd place, that I was all but certain he was scoping out the viability of my kidneys. “Jesus, I’m gonna end up in a bathtub full of ice”, I muttered. Who taught you that for Christ’s sake? Grab some tit or a handful of ass like every other pervert. I broke my all-time Jaeger record that night. I was secretly hoping that these people would start to get a little more attractive. I’m not talking ‘doable’, just worthy of any type of human interaction and basic conversation. I rang in the New Year sitting next to a guy wearing a bicycle helmet that kept blurting out, “I Love Pop-tarts” every few minutes. Thank god he and the bearded lady shared that common interest, because I was about to commit suicide by looking directly at the blushing bride after several hours of this crap. When you love your friends, you’ll do some pretty amazing things for them. My girl knows who she is and that I’m going to expect a bone marrow donation or bail money somewhere down the line. As for me, there’s very little chance that I’ll get puked on, stranded in a gross bar or pillaged for my internal organs tonight on my couch. Genius move on my part. Good luck to the rest of you suckers.
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