Category Archives: Very Drunk

Bitter Town, Population: Me

My Spotify is overwhelmed with a recent binge of angry, “he’s a fucktard” music, with an occasional throw in of “I don’t need him” music, with sporadic clamors of “Im going to go out and get some because I’m way hot!” music. None of it changes much of anything but it’s good to have variety!

I thought at almost 29 years old, I’d be leaning towards a more mature set of men, of people in general!

But what if the immature one is me?

Eleven am on a Saturday morning I wake up and craft a plan to seduce a boy 7 hours after sleeping with another.

The “another” is The Dancer, and my date with him the night before was magical. If magic is intrigue with myself for why I stayed on the date and then had sex with him. Maybe I was put under a spell, or better yet a curse with fire and a stone and pieces of hair!

I named him The Dancer because we met while dancing at a club, our eyes lock across a crowded room (six feet away) and me leaving the guy I was dancing with to go to him (my friends had been trying to get him away from me anyway). Love and convenience was in the air!

A week from our first “eye lock” (and dance floor make out session) our now first date comes to a blurry end at 4 am as he made a last grab for my breasts before stumbling into a lyft outside my parents house. Modern romance.

Putting clothes back on and room to order, I pass out and wake up that Saturday morning thinking of Boy Next Door and the limited time I have to make something happen with him before he moves out.

I put on three different lotions but not perfume because I want to smell like a fucking garden exploded but not like I expect to see anyone.

My outfit that took me an hour to put together was the perfect blend  of “I don’t give a shit” and “Yes, I have always been this sexy.”

I take a seat in a comfy chair, kick my legs out relaxed onto the arm of the other sofa, and lie in wait, looking as casual as one can look when trying way too hard to sleep with someone.

Casual reminder, I have literally just slept with someone.

This all feels minor in comparison to what I did the previous morning.

Boy Next Door was mentioning wanting a party to happen, so I made one up.

Yes I am now the patheticness of Season One Ted Mosby (if you haven’t watched How I Met Your Mother by now, there’s no hope for you) throwing three parties in a row in hopes Robin would show.

I’ve always despised that episode interestingly enough. I always wondered how someone could put their friends through that just for the prospect of someone.

Everything has come full circle and I do understand it now and I did contemplate blackmailing my friends into ditching their other plans to come to this party that doesn’t exist, and yes my end goal for that party was me and Boy Next Doors drunk hook up.

So back to the “casual” allure of me and my three scented lotions, eleven am has turned into midnight ( I did not stay there on the couch waiting for him, I went out and did things OKAY) when finally he comes home.

As he comes towards me my whole body faces him, our eyes meet and we begin to speak as we slowly walk towards each other, and that’s when he says it:

“Where’s Keith?”

My brothers name.

As he walks on past me towards my brothers room and as I hear the two of them laugh about things unrelated to me, I stomp back into my own room to pout myself to sleep.

Since that anti-climactic Saturday, The Dancer has stopped all contact with and blown off our plans for our second date and Boy Next Door is going forward with all plans to move out and not hook up with me.

In an effort to find out why my life is this way, I decided to ask myself a series of questions as if I were on a game show, about to win a car or a really expensive set of plates, and here’s what I got

Game Show Host: Why did you go out with the Dancer?

Me: It seemed like we clicked, got along, thought the same things were funny

GSH: Did you want to date him?

M: Well uh maybe like if things were-

GSH: Why didn’t you want to date him? Is he not good enough for you?

M: No uh of course not I was just not sure-

GSH: So there is someone else!!!!??

M: Well no err like I mean I’m not dating anyone at all so

GSH: So you’re saying you’re dumping The Dancer for no one, no one at all

M: Uh well technically yes but

GSH: Well maybe if you had acted a little more interested I would have texted

M: Uh wait

GSH: No I mean HE, HE would have texted

M: Omg

GSH: no no

M: fucking seriously

GSH: listen-

This is about as far as I got. Maybe game shows aren’t the way to self actualize, so I looked at the “G” word,

Guilt.

I felt guilty in my lyft on my way to meet the Dancer for our date. My lyft driver had put on this instrumental music which started to fuck with me, and got me thinking, which is never a good idea before a first date.

I had texted Boy Next Door an hour before getting into this lyft, to let him know:

“everyone is busy so no party tomorrow night :/

Leaving out of course that there had been no party to begin with.

Sitting in this lyft that was now starting in on the rythyms of the flute, I got real sad that he wasn’t even going to text back to say “bummer” or “ok” and that’s when I started thinking about turning back.

I mean maybe this date isn’t such a good idea because I’m clearly too upset over the lack of reply about a party I lied about in the first place?

But I didn’t turn back, I knew Boy Next Door would be out of the house soon and I would be able to focus on the Dancer then. Why should I lose out on such a great guy?

During an Oreo binge last night, I realized something – as we all do because oreos are great carriers of wisdom – maybe the Dancer didn’t end up being a great guy, but maybe also I’m not such a great girl?

I’ve done a fair share of lying and manipulating this week and maybe that’s what I’m attracting….

I am 100% still bitter and jaded and listening to songs about the heart pangs of sleeping with fuck boys, but I do shed some light on my own behavior, my own responsibility, maybe I don’t always get to play the wronged and wounded victim?

Maybe I need to own that I’ve also got a manipulative bitch in me who wants what she wants and is pissed when she doesn’t get it.

Maybe I should also let her have more Oreos? I mean if I’m not going to let her jump people’s bones, I better give her something.

Till next time my friends, don’t fuck with fuck boys but when you do make sure you got your Spotify playlist ready!

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I’m Awake

While you stay sleeping.

Is the start of my most recent sad/pathetic poem I wrote, because I am nothing if not a stereotype.
Some other recent pieces of work have titles such as:

“The Walls that Say Nothing”
“That Night”
To call it cringe worthy would be an understatement.
Funny that my poems mention nothing about almost peeing in my neighbors bushes, which is the true highlight of the whole thing.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I have fallen for The Boy Next Door.

No, but like literally his door is right next to mine and he sleeps feet away in the room next to mine.

I didn’t see it coming and had you told me that one day I’d wake up, devestated that he doesn’t want to discuss the foundation of our blossoming relationship, I would have LAUGHED and told you that you were the dumbest shit person alive.

Two weeks ago at a packed bar one night me and Boy Next Door have the most PG drunk hookup you’ve ever been bored enough to consider.

Like we’re talking long hugs and hand holding, which was  hotter than a drunk and  sweaty make out sesh, yes it’s baffling.
Then there’s me the next day, waking up with all the feels for a boy that I think I ignored the day before. Because i was eating?

We cross paths for the first time since “the night” and I watch myself  in slow motion putting my hand on his shoulder and saying “hey” as sultry as I know how.

Because it’s totally mutual right? I mean he hugged me,  held hands with me and was all about me, so…….

It’s like I’ve learned nothing from my own god damn blog.

In short, there was nothing returned and it was never spoke of again.  A Very Short Tale of Two People Who Never Had Sex. The End!

That night I couldn’t sleep a wink. Every peaceful YouTube video of harps and piano chords could not drown out the overwhelming anger I had at the person lying feet away.

I was also pretty angry with myself truthfully. To become such an idiot in such a short amount of time, I basically realized he was alive two days ago, how about we calm down.

The next night I decided to come at my inability to sleep with a new strategy. Sleeping pills and and cough syrup usually lend me down the road to obscure and terrifying nightmares, so I went with beer.

Arrived at a bar and requested  ever so daintily “whatever has the most alcohol”
and drank whatever she gave me pretty damn fast.

I am at a liquor store not even an hour and a half later picking up the biggest bottle of the highest percentage IPA there is in the store, it’s time to stop fucking around.

My new plan is to chug it in my car outside my house, because I can’t let Boy Next Door see me openly binge drinking, he’ll want to drink with me because we’re just two bros, having a cold one.
Hmm large beer, no bottle opener. I try and fail and now have two forever scars on my right index finger.

Buy a bottle opener because none of my friends are awake or helpful or as panicked about sleep as me, and get into my car and then drive it just down the block a little bit to comfortably sit in the dark next to a not too lit up neighbors house, thinking here we go I’ll just get to enjoy my beer and listen to some tunes.

What I didn’t know was how soon into this I’d have to pee.
Imagine being so determined that you have to pound a beer in order to sleep, but also  that your bladder is equally as determined not to drown. This is a battle of wills!

 

Now in reality I have peed in public probably five times. I’ve peed outside a bar at 3am, the front lawn of my college, a back alley and what my hazy memory tells me was the side of a hookah shop.

Needless to say I’m no stranger to it, but on a quiet residential? I’m technically not even drunk yet and never peed outside while stil in full reign of my mental faculties. I like to think that if I was trying to recall peeing somewhere in the open, that at least I could claim having very little memory of it. Oh the parking lot of jack in the box! That was the other one.

So anyways I circle some neighbors bushes for two minutes before realizing that I’ am way too sober for this, drive my car back down the street up to the house, chugged  the remaining 3/4 of the beer and ran.

When I was unlocking the front door, in the most pain of life, I remember being grateful that all the appeal that he had had for me was dead probably  the second he had walked back to his room that night, because me peeing my pants on our porch was only going to help solidify the fact that we’d never have sex in this lifetime.

Made it into the house, peed for an abnormally long period of time, tiptoed to my room and passed out probably from the exhilaration of being the biggest “badass” ever, if the term badass has changed over the years,  and now means “drinks alone in cars” then yes I am a poster child of that.

One positive that has come out of this, I was catalyzed to officially end things with One Night Stand Guy, who I’ve slept with a handful of times over the past few months while wishing on stars that I could develop feelings for him, but then failing  to remember to text him back for the sixth time that week.

Part of ending things with him last week was that  I didn’t want to be a shitty person and string him along anymore, since now I was feeling strung along and equally shitty.

The other reason is simply this: I could not  make feelings happen by sheer will of wanting them to.

In the span of one night I had now uncontrollable infatuation for Boy Next Door, yet I’ve been hoping crazy attraction for One Night Stand guy would one day just appear because he is cute and smart and super into me.

This for me was more of a you-can’t-control-who-you-are-attracted-to-even-though-it-would-be-way-fucking-easier-kind of lesson. And it’s annoying.

I will now return to the poem I was writing about soap and crying trees, wish me luck!

5 Reasons Why I’m Annoyed with Moms

1. Even though you say “I don’t care anymore” when the topic of breastfeeding in public comes up, guess what? I still do.

2. My sister texted me to complain about how our parents are too busy to come down and watch her child for a weekend so she can “get a break.” Let me rephrase that so you better understand, how dare our parents lead their lives so selfishly and not want to spend hundreds of dollars to fly to her house and spend their weekend babysitting her kid. What’s wrong with them? Lets rephrase again, how about what’s wrong with YOU.

3. Moms go everywhere and expect things. I need more napkins, more water, do you have a bag for my stuff? Can’t you see I’m holding a child?

Actually I can see that you are indeed holding a child, my question for you: how long have you known that you had that child? A while now? Couple years maybe? So you usually can’t carry things if you’re holding him/her, is that correct? Maybe you should consider a bag of some kind? Call me I don’t know, crazy or something, what do I know being just a single gal.

4. Your sleep deprivation is an excuse for everything. I don’t feel sorry for you.

I am consistently getting weird hours of sleep, having fucked up dreams, working two jobs and very much looking forward to the end of the night where there is a glass of wine and a bed, but that excuse isn’t good enough unless I’m juggling an infant.

5. This child birthday party thing is madness and it is bullshit. Some older folks I’ve been talking to are like WHAT? YOU were invited to a child’s birthday? How come? I never thought I would get affirmed from someone in their 60’s about non-mother etiquette, but they appear to be the ones with their heads on straight.

Back in their day, the people that attended a kids birthday party were other children and then parents who have the said children whom are attending, and then grandparents, and other family members. Unfortunately recent trends are that friends in general are being invited to children’s parties, regardless of the zero children they have, regardless of their zero interest in attending, and regardless of the fact it’s being held at ten am on a Saturday morning when clearly single folks will be hungover and only interested in nursing coffee and Tylenol on the couch.

The kids birthday party thing is probably what’s pissing me off the most right now. I have been invited to two kids birthdays inside this past month and a half. One I did attend just because the mom though it was SO FUCKING CRUCIAL that I went. Eh, there was a cute boy there, I survived. The second one was a stretch. I think I’ve met that kid a handful of times and talked once, and WHHHHHHHHHHY.

When the moms are upset that I wouldn’t want to come is when I just want to lose all my shit. This is the moment that I screw up and call all kids stupid and tell them that their kids head is shaped funny and where the mom and I ultimately become enemies, because I literally can’t comprehend why I should be forced to go to something that doesn’t apply to me and I REALLY can’t comprehend her attempts to guilt me into it.

I tried to talk to a kid at Pete’s coffee today, I tried to compliment her dress, I really tried. She ended up showing me that it wasn’t a dress but instead a shirt and skirt, as she flashed me there at the condiment car. It was important that I see the separation between the two garments, both a hot pink I might add. I tried to comment further and just got lost calling the outfit a dress again.

There are some days kids are just the worse, then when moms get involved who think that the world spins around them and their motherhood, and this is when I want to start ignoring kids and their mothers all together.

Oh I’m sorry were you talking about your 4 year old’s bounce house? Count me out, bye bye now.

Drunk, Dirty, and Driving.

Lots of shame can happen in a span of one week. LOTS AND LOTS AND MORE AND LOTS.

You would have thought I had just been broken up with, or that my pet lobster (you don’t know) had just died, with my actions that took place in a span of only eight days.

Went to a club and got drrrunk. Danced with any weird creepy guy with unusual facial hair and or looking like they had just left their tennis match and or looked like they could be my father.

Come one and come all, my friends have abandoned me on the dance floor to go talk about their feelings and I will now grind with abandon on anyone who comes near enough for me to do so. This is real life folks.

Got even more drruunnkkkk and then got carried out by a young gentlemen who indeed was not single, had a girlfriend waiting for him at home, which didn’t stop me from cuddling his ass that whole car ride home. I could be drunkenly romanticizing but I do believe there was a forehead kiss given on his part and then I might or might not have sighed dreamily and snuggled my face into his neck. This is purely speculation.

Then ladies and gentlemen, I DROVE home.

Yes drove, Yes me, Yes drunk, Yes in a car, Yes I’m terrible.

I don’t do this though. I don’t almost make out with boys who have girlfriends in the backs of cars and then drive my own car home while I still don’t even know where my shoes are (why is it always shoes with me?)…..

Until the next weekend when I do all those things AGAIN.

Saturday was our big work party, started at 3pm and we drank from beginning to end. I started out sweet and got nasty real quick. I had picked out for my prey, another boy who has a girlfriend, whom I have met numerous times and she seems lovely.

This taken guy who I sexually stalked for the last two hours of the party is actually an ex-coworker who still comes to our parties (maybe not anymore) and who I used to have a thing for.

Now I had blacked out by the time that I was actually hardcore hitting on him, but I do have one memory of a coworker yelling at me for stroking his arm. They should have kicked me out right then.

The next morning I learned that I had been by far the drunkest out of anyone at the whole party but more importantly I grabbed this not-single guys dick in front of the whole party.

I had apparently been hugging him, kissing his neck, grabbing his ass, and worked up to the official grabbing of his penis, and was promptly escorted out to get a lecture, of which I do not remember, nor did it work because apparently minutes after the lecture ended I went and sat in his lap. Dedicated to being a hoe-bag is what that is.

Working on Sunday was the worst. And also realizing that I had drove home AGAIIINN!

Yes me, Yes filthy wasted drunk, Yes behind the wheel, Yes I’m surprised to be alive.

I mean, I am just the worst.

Who would want to be friends with this? And since when do I stroke the genitalia of men in front of large groups? And how come no one stops me from driving home? And since when does my blacked out brain decide it is okay to drive home? Is someone spiking my drinks with idiocy or do I just get dumber with the passing days?

Yikes. Just everything, yikes.

I hate this girl, so why am I being this girl? When did the drunk me get so gross? I don’t know if I want to analyze my behavior and then serve it up with a psychological thought process I possess, but a part of me is wondering if all this came about after my recent decision to not expect to date?

Did I subconsciously throw my morals to the wind in pursuit of some ass?

Or am I just getting really, really drunk.

That last one, I like that one. The drunk thing…

Two Nights

For some of us single folks, we can have drastically different groups of friends and within each set we can take on very different roles. This can make separate nights bizarrely different from one another.

Last week I had two nights so drastically different from one another it’s comical.On Wednesday night my roommate and I hit the local bars for a bonding night and on Saturday night I attended my married friends barbeque.

Wednesday, when my roomie (yes, the stripper) and I sat down at the bar we had shots within the minute and before I could even pay for my beer there was a second provided to me. My roomie and I learned within the first few minutes there that she loves fireball and I love tequila and how throwing limes can become a fun game.

Saturday at the barbeque I made my best efforts not to open up the wine immediately. The game of pretending that you’re not impatiently waiting for that bottle to get uncorked is long and tiresome. Going through the motions of small talk and making kindly remarks about new pieces of furniture in the house, it’s almost like you have to earn that first glass of wine.

Back at the bar, older men sitting down a ways are buying my roommate more shots, while the bartender is pouring her more drinks, while I start to wonder where the hip hop music is because they advertise Wednesday nights as Hip Hop Night. Are they playing Jewel? This will not do, bring Drake out.

Back at the barbeque we are all talking about different car accidents we’ve recently been in. Different insurance policies cover different things, and your deductible sounds high! Who is your provider?

At the bar I have now become the DJ. I’m now playing all the hip hop music you could ever dream of because the bartender who was supposed to DJ is too busy hitting on and pouring drinks for my roommate, and has decided to let me do whatever I want because I’m her roommate. It’s all about who you know right?

Still on the subject of cars back at the home of the married folks, the wife is explaining to us how the husband got a red car, but red was not on her list of approved colors. The colors she would accept were black, white, grey, or blue. However the wife explained to us that the color is growing on her and we all did our best to compliment what a nice red it is.

The people at the bar are really responding to my song choices. Or maybe I’m just assuming they do since I’m having such a good time dropping it low while holding onto my bar stool for support. I’m trying to ask my roommate what my DJ name should be but she is too busy confessing to the girls sitting near us, that yes she works at a strip club.

We’ve begun eating back at the house and we all rant and rave about how the beef is cooked to perfection. Not too much pink, but just enough.Very juicy! Added just the right amount of sauce. The grilled veggies are also just delightful and it’s apparently a favorite side of theirs to make and there are not too many ingredients involved.

Cut to me now twerking on the bar.

The wife is now getting rather tipsy off her two glasses of wine and we’ve spent far too much time discussing how screwed up the school district is.

It is now nearing midnight back at the bar and I definitely have work in the morning. My roomie is just obliterated with free drinks while I have finally sobered up.

Several glasses deep back at the barbeque and it’s just getting good because my friend and I are doing some mild story telling for the entertainment of the married folks. Unfortunately the tipsy wife is beginning to look really sleepy.

At the bar I try to get my roommate to leave with me. We had said we’d just go out for an hour and now it’s two and a half hours later, but she doesn’t see my logic. She grabs the bartender and gives him a big hug while informing me that this is who she is getting a ride home with. I look at the bartender knowing that he is pretty proud/surprised that he managed to pull this off.

At the house I’m coming up with excuses to leave so wifey doesn’t pass out while were still there. As I’m departing, the married couple chats with us for a bit about getting a dog. What are the advantages of a big dog compared to a small one? Aren’t labs the best?

I had left the bar and was cozily sleeping at 2am when my roommate came home. When I heard her come in I thought about what a fun night we had bonding over drinks and dancing to 2Chainz, and that was when I heard the sure and not so subtle sounds of my roomie bonding with the bartender on our couch.

I mean how different are these nights? One ending in debate over Labradors and Retrievers and the other in debate over whether to do it on the counter next.

When you’re telling one party about the night you end up tweaking it just a tad. Telling my married friends on Saturday about going out with my roomie that wednesday, I mentioned nothing about shots, or DJing, or bartenders coming back to our place, but I did mention how I thought it was cool that the bar had Newcastle on tap.

Same deal when I came home from the barbeque. I can’t tell my wild stripper roommate that we sat around and talked about insurance policies, so I lead her to believe that we went through certainly more than two bottles of wine at this barbeque and that the conversations about car accidents were way more interesting.

I prefer to think of this not as lying but protecting others from truths they cant handle. You’re welcome?

incorrect expectations

Real talk: I don’t know how to keep this blog up with my lack of life. Luckily I had a bridal shower and two parties to attend all in one day, so there actually is something to share! Miracle.

We will start with the parties. Both of them were goodbye parties for either friends or coworkers and at both of them I came to realize that hey I don’t know these people.

And when you don’t know people in a group very well, not only will your beer not save you from forced small talk but it also won’t save you from the hardcore clinging to the two people that you do know.

At party Numero Uno, I assumed it would be wildly fun, but my two people became occupied and things got awkward quick.

Tried asking a coworkers boyfriend about the bar that he runs and when that went south I appealed to the vanity of a woman and complimented the girls hair next to me, which did go somewhere, but it left me without words to use because she had taken all of them and left me with nodding. Hey bro, lets go back to those one word answers about your bar that I’ll never take a step inside of.

Party Numero Duce..(?)… (spanish class was a long time ago), this party had the potential to have a lot of drunken people and a lot of laughs and it did amuse me on both of those counts for quite awhile.

One of my two people at this one was hammered. I mean like singing out loud in the middle of a bar, occasionally lying down on the table, and every so often telling someone FUCK YOU, with no rationale. Brilliant drunk.

Unfortunately, early in the night I had gotten very hung up on my crush being there and his not making eye contact with me. He was glued to his phone or the tv most of the night, and somewhere in that behavior I decided he loathed me.

At one point I was smushed between two different couples and almost got up to stand next to him, despite the general dislike I assumed he had for me, just to have someone to stand there with, and we could both be glued to our phones, at least together? Instead I decided to stay planted in between the couples, trying to be as small as a Chinese gymnast, and text whoever was willing.

It was when it got so bad that people in the group sitting around me had pointedly started a conversation that clearly did not need my input, is when I begged a friend to call me so I could have a reason to go outside and take this ever so important call, and this is when I realized I had lost our drunk friend.

I found him outside minutes later, standing on a curb, and looking out into the parking lot. I wanted nothing more then to plop down on that same curb and stare at whatever he was staring at, and not have to make one any more unsuccessful efforts to converse with others.

The funniest thing about yesterday was that I had thought that those two parties would be the best part of the day and that the bridal shower that afternoon would be that part of the day I’d be praying for to be over as quickly as possible.

The bridal shower, being at a church, and also being a bridal shower, I didn’t have my hopes set high, but was in fact a wonderful three hours.

Sitting at a table with my mother, aunt, mother of that aunt, and a cousins girlfriend, our dry wit and overall immaturity gave each of us away to inappropriate fits of laughter from beginning to end. Also the maid of honor who is my cousin, was running the show and quite hilariously I may add. She obviously had the upcoming Bachlorette party on her brain because she never ceased to make jokes about how she’d be hammered later and to quiet us down would say “ladies, ladies, off the tables. were in a church.”

The games she planned were even fun and our table even got bizarrely competitive and began cheating early on. When we weren’t cracking jokes, the maid of honor was acting as our own stand up comedian and had the whole room going.

I shake my head even now at how odd or maybe even stupid it was for me to be so sure that I would have gobs of fun at these random parties with random people, but yet not be as entertained with the amazing women of my own family!!

The women of my family are intelligent and fun loving and deeply sarcastic, from aunts to cousins to grandmothers, and I don’t know how I ever came to doubt having a good time at this shower.

I guess at some point in your life you need to take a step back from the bars (hooold on what is she talking about) and the strangers (omg is she saying this) and look at who has been around your whole life, and who is ready to jump up and be your friend when you’re own are scarce.

Shit just got deep. Hope everyone enjoyed the Grammys!

Yup.

When receiving text messages at midnight with “Happy new Years!” I felt tempted to respond in the way I felt at the moment, in which case my text message response would look like this: “Yup.”

Now of course you can’t do that. You cant actually write yup.

It breaks all new years etiquette. It’s worse then ignoring the text message. In ignoring a text, you can blame your drunkenness and how you were so plastered you didn’t even have the ability to read a text, let alone write one out in return.

I would have just written a sweet and simple “Yup.” but that would incur the curiosity of every friend, and would have gotten me back text messages asking about the worst of possible scenarios. “Are you not drunk?” “Did you see someone from high school?” “What’s wrong?” or the more amusing “wzHatt Wringgiircll,566?” which could have made it all worth it, but I digress.

I’m sorry but this is just not my holiday and I’m tired of trying to make it be.

I know I know, you’d think New Years Eve would be my time to shine. “Doesn’t that blogger chick go out all the time? Isn’t she like always drunk?”

Yeah yeah I know, Bachlorette parties and New Years Eve, those SHOULD be my nights of reign and glory. Unfortunately it is because expectations are set so high for these nights, is perhaps why they fail.

I went out of my way this year to make this year not like last year. Last year where I woke up in a strange apartment with a Scottish guy, having ditched my coupled off friends and gotten plastered by 9:15pm. I don’t remember anywhere near midnight.

The year before had been no less delightful because my friends again were coupled off and not doing anything exciting so I went out with coworkers I don’t normally go out with, and stayed decidedly sober in attempts to escape the awkwardness after the ball dropped.

In my hopes to remember new years this year and be with people I knew, I was perfectly okay with dinner plans and a house party, which of course were canceled.

Myself, my friend and her boyfriend, and our friend and his spur of the moment date, all wound up on a party bus with fifteen strangers.

Yup.

So much for an evening of familiarity.

I can see everyone’s shaking of thier heads at me. Is she complaining about a party bus? Lets be clear,I’m stag on a bus of strangers, we are hitting clubs downtown that have lines that wrap around buildings that wrap around building that wrap around buildings.

Within twenty minutes being on the bus my friends spur of the moment date was already spilling her orange drink on me, and I couldn’t even rock a buzz yet.

Our first stop was at a club we would never get into even if we had all day and night to wait, so we went into a pizza place, and then somehow I’m following strangers to liquor stores to buy cheaper booze, to pour under tables.

Yup.

When it is finally midnight we drive to a field that is the perfect place to watch the downtown fireworks. Midnight is announced and my friend and his spur of the moment date – lets call her Kathy how about – , who were in conversation with me seconds before, go in for their kiss and as I, being a bit surprised by the abruptness, stood there for several seconds too long.

After stepping back a few feet I looked at the progression and literally I kid you not a line had formed. On the sidewalk near our bus, practically single file, three and more couples were making out in such uniformity it was almost awesome.

Then some guy opened a champagne bottle and sprayed it at me.

Getting back on the bus it was then the shit show. Dear old Kathy had made out with my friend as well as another guy at midnight, such a lucky gal.

Her most recent kissing partner basically dry humped her until death in the back of that party bus. In many attempts to save her, she went back to him, until I’m almost sure he got her pregnant back there.

Awww they could name their baby New Years. Or 2014!

When getting off the bus our dear friend Kathy revealed that her little black dress had basically split all the way up to her bra. Her whole backside revealed changed all of our plans. I hailed a cab.

Her date, our friend, conveniently decided to stay out dancing with everyone, while my friend and her boyfriend, and myself got her into a cab and let her wish us Happy New Year every 2 minutes or just when there was a pause in conversation.

One thing I will say about the cab ride and ride back in my car, was that she was so plastered and it annoyed me, and also that it was sad.

She said once to me “I just didn’t want to remember tonight” and I so felt for her in that moment. Boobs falling out, platinum blonde bleached hair a mess, and a ripped dress, drunk and repeating the same sentence over and over.

It’s like looking at yourself.
Minus the boobs and blonde hair.

We pulled over for her to use a gas station restroom, which I had to guide her to, and I distinctly remember saying out loud to myself “I’m not drunk enough for this.”

Which is hilarious because my whole goal for this New Years was that I wanted to drink less so I could actually remember getting to midnight!

I suppose I learned that there is nothing I can do to make this holiday better. If i get too drunk I miss out on the whole night. If I don’t drink enough then I have to actually put up with the whole night and remember how much I wanted the night to end as well as secretly fear that the girl we brought with us is going to get gang raped in the back of the bus and I didn’t do enough to stop it so I’ll go to jail and probably spend my remaining new Years hoping for new bed springs.

Even when I make deliberate efforts to spend the new years with people that I know, I still wind up helping strange drunk girls find the bathroom to puke.

Acceptance is everything. I accept that this holiday sucks, so next year I deem that Dec 31st shall be terrible once more, and in my low expectations I pray that the evening may rise to slightly tolerable.

Ahem excuse me

Oh, right. YYAAAYYYYYY!!! Whooopppppeee!!! 2014!!!