New Year...or is it?

To be completely honest, I'm not too sure what the big deal is with this thing everybody loves to celebrate called "New Year's Eve/Day". I'm convinced that I will never understand all the fuckery that goes along with celebrating the night we all have to change one number, the last number for the dates on our checks. Honestly, what's the big deal? I mean why not celebrate it every day? If you are lucky sometimes you can change more than 1 number when writing the date (on checks, it's the only time I can actually think of that I write the date)! EXCITING! Anyways, I'm glad I went out and celebrated because I learned a valuable life lesson.

We are all searching for our 'savior' to sweep us off our feet and some are looking harder than others. Since I consider myself a respectable young man, I know that the chances of finding my 'better half' at an event where my sole intention is to drink myself into happiness and to not pee my pants before I get home, are very slim. As many people set aside January 1st 12:00AM (0000 military time) to make a move on the person they've been creepshowing all night, I stand back and watch. Before it was simply because I was either at a celebration where no one's New Year's Resolution was to forget all of the criticisms and shithead comments I made to them in the previous year (you know the one that ended the instant before) or I was someplace that was filled with dogs that called themselves girls. But these days I am wiser. It must be all that Hermann Hesse (who I'd like to give a shoutout to, What up funky fresh? Holla atcha boi!) I've been reading. I know not to have any expectations of any holidays because they all end with heartburn (from the little savory sausages smothered in BBQ sauce and also the blonde bombshells that just wouldn't look my way) and a whole lot of "What was I thinking coming to this fucking shit?"'s. So last night as the clock was ticking down (or is it up? I guess it just depends on how depressed you are) I stationed myself a Stretch Armstrong's arm length from all of the girls with mustaches and other easily avoidable disfunctions. I ended up where I had been most of the night, at the snack table (laugh it up Todd). As the clock struck midnight and everybody pretended to be excited for the 'New Year' I had an epiphany. As I helped myself to the dozenth mini-dog and umpteenth cookie, I surveyed the field to see who else had figured out New Year's is a bunch of bullshit. Of course there were the usuals, Ivica and Josh, but then I looked to my immediate right and I finally felt what Michael Jackson felt when he looked in the mirror after he went skinny dipping in a olympic-sized pool of bleach. I'm assuming his initial reaction was 'Oh, fuck...what have I done?" but who knows, maybe he loves being neon white. I was no longer alone at the snack table. As I slowly put down my toothpick and backpedaled, I knew it was too late. I was now the snack.

Most people, especially girls who desperately want some action know that they can dupe some sorry sonofabitch into making out with them. I mean c'mon it's New Year's, everyone is doing it! What happens when these girls realize on December 31st at 11:58PM (trust me, these bitches are good at tricking themselves) that they aren't going to make out with anyone? Answer: They retreat to their base...the snack table. You may be tricked because these wildebeests are not likely to spend too much time prior to midnight on New Year's Eve munching down snacks. Nope, they are putting in that time because they know the reputation of New Year's Eve. They are pulling down their blouses just a few more inches and sucking in their stomachs just a few more inches, in hopes of getting, well, "a few more inches". But don't you dare think that their mind isn't on that snack table. The only thing you can see in the reflection of their eyes is the cheese dip and tortilla chips. Luckily, I made it out alive but I did wake up with rug-burn behind my ears. Yea, I don't get it either.

Look at these blood suckers, waiting to make their move.

Since I learned such a valuable life lesson this past New Year's Eve my original resolution to avoid all future New Year's Eves is out the window. Instead, my resolution is to avoid the snack table at the next New Year's Eve party. So, brothers and sisters, when that ball is about to drop at the beginning of 2009, run as far away from the snack table as possible. You don't want your 2009 New Year's Resolution to be celibacy (because of the nightmares). Until then...