...except you Muslim scumbags; you should all die.
So, another year is upon us, and we're all one step closer to the grave. I should hope you've enjoyed your New Year's Celebration, and better still, enjoyed the people you were celebrating with.
I had kept this date open for a certain, special someone, with no actual expectation of having my New Year's Wish come true, but as they say, hope springs eternal, no? I can't say that I don't understand why she didn't accept that open invitation, because I truly do, but sometimes even hard-bitten cynics with a nasty streak a mile wide do, perchance, to dream, as the saying goes.
But, if you were thinking the evening was a complete waste for having been, as it were, stood up, you'd be wrong.
Because my Best Bud was on hand to help me celebrate; my nephew, and it was better than standing around in 2-feet of snow and the cold of Times Square with a million doofuses, or getting all dressed up to get drunk and puked on, or hit upon by some desperate tart with a history of divorces and social diseases at some other asshole's party. Alas, the Little Guy didn't make it all the way to Midnight, but the evening was still enjoyable.
Mostly because he likes to cheat at cards, and it's funny as hell to listen to his excuses and rules-lawyering when he's caught. Kids come up with the silliest excuses and alibis.
And when he had finally had enough Uno, enough Go Fish, enough Legos, and enough cheese and crackers (my life, but this kid can eat and not gain an ounce!), he fell asleep in the most ridiculous position you ever saw upon the couch. Only very small children can do that, for some reason.
Yes, there were adults there. Family, naturally. And after the customary torture of watching post-stroke Dick Clark count down yet another last hour of the year, the champagne was uncorked, libations were drunk, and wishes for The Very Best of Everything in the Coming New Year were exchanged.
There being no other reason to stay, I said my goodbyes and went home. Or, rather, I intended to go home but took a rather roundabout route, for a crowd of drunken 20-somethings hanging about someones front lawn offered me a bottle, and a New Year's Greeting. And you know how it is: you can't really say no to that kind of hospitality, can you? Especially when your benefactor looks so damn scrumptious in that tight sweater that leaves little to the imagination.
My days as a cad and taking advantage of stupid, drunken females are long gone, however, especially when I'm probably old enough to be their father, and it was clear that these kids just wanted to party and were in such a state that if Pol Pot had arrived on the scene, they probably would have offered him a snort, too (they probably wouldn't even know who Pol Pot was, but that's another blog entry for another day). A few drinks, and a lot of "You're how fuckin' old? Really? No fuckin' way..." later, the fireworks started.
I left just as soon as the fireworks ended, because this rowdy crowd of drunken lunatics actually was lighting off a huge mass of fireworks in the street; that can get you arrested around here, and being, most likely, the oldest person on the spot, I could see myself having to answer to the Staten Island Gestapo about what a rotten babysitter I was. Still, it was all a nice gesture.
Now it's my turn to fall asleep upon the couch, and hopefully not in any sort of ridiculous position, because my ancient back shall never recover from it. I'll think about resolutions tomorrow,a s I always do, because I prefer not to tie myself to any particular course of action one minute sooner than necessary. I find that I don't feel the disappointment of having broken them on Jan. 1st to be as acute, always justifying it by thinking I at least got two days out of that one...