This New Year’s Eve, unlike most others in my memory, did not blow, nor did it suck, mostly because I made a couple very intelligent decisions about how to spend my night:
1) I went to a friend’s house, for a small party, instead of shelling out for a Big Stupid Party at an overpriced bar downtown.
2) I reduced my expectations from “Greatest Party Night of the Year” to “We’ll all get drunk and act like fools!”
3) I bought a beautiful pair of silver shoes that made me look adorable, just adorable I tell you. They had bows and everything. ADORABLE.
The party was at my friends Ashlee and Laura’s house, and it was mostly full of lesbians, except for me, my friend Meredith, and a few straight couples like my pals Cathy and Isaac. This was fine with me. If I wanted to get assaulted by ageing frat boys, I would have gone into Boston proper. New Year’s with the All Women Football League of Jamaica Plain was exactly what I was looking for.
Not everyone at the party felt the same way, however, as I discovered halfway through a conversation with Cathy’s friend David, a very nice, somewhat quiet, and definitely attached marine biologist.
“We live in Florida,” David said, referring to himself and his girlfriend. “But we’re on different coasts. Megan works at…”
“HE HAS A GIRLFRIEND.”
I turned to my right, where an obviously deranged and hopefully drunk straight girl was standing at my elbow. She was clutching a beer like it was the one dependable center of the universe and yelling right into my ear.
“Okay,” I said. “Hi. And you are?”
“I am [Annoying Straight Girl]. That’s David. HE HAS A GIRLFRIEND, YOU KNOW.”
“Yes, I know. We were just talking about her. It’s nice to meet you, [Annoying Straight Girl].”
“There are no single men here. NONE.”
“Well, you know, it’s kind of a lesbian party.”
The annoying straight girl stomped off pretty soon after, but my conversation with David, the charming marine biologist, was spoiled. We both now felt that we were doing something wrong, just by having a conversation. I crossed my arms over my chest and he backed up a pace or two. After an awkward moment or two, I excused myself, and went into the other room to dance to bad R&B with the JP Football Team.
Just as we were all demonstrating the calling power of our milkshakes, the annoying straight girl ran into the livingroom and made an announcement.
“There are no men here,” she said.
If we were in a movie, there would have been that sound effect where the needle scratches off the record.
“There are no men here, and the ones that are here are all MARRIED,” she amended. “And I’m leaving, because I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE.”
She slammed the door behind her, and we all went back to dancing.
“You know, if she’s looking for straight men, there are about a hundred thousand guys in Downtown Crossing right now who are dying to slip her some roofies,” my friend Meredith observed.
Later on, we made our New Year’s Resolutions. In keeping with the low-key evening, I decided to make mine as non-self-improving as possible. So here they are:
1) Learn to operate a cotton gin. (This was inspired by my observation to one of the footballers that while I might not seem drunk, I certainly wouldn’t operate a cotton gin just then. Apologies to Augusten Burroughs, whose line this is.)
2) See a zebra, in person.
3) Learn to change a tire.