Friday, January 2, 2009
Saying Hello to 2009
There are few things more pathetic than showing up to a NYE party without the recipient/provider of your New Year's Kiss identified. People the world over can be found dressing themselves to the nines in hopes of impressing their significant others, or the other half of their insignificant, unsuspecting midnight trysts.
And that's where my evening began. On the heels of an unsettling Facebook message, I felt the absolute urge to go out and ring in the new year in the proper fashion. Because I wanted to make sure that the night was special, I ordered my posse to assemble at the local Whole Foods so that we could pick up a scrumptiously delicious meal to start our night on the right foot. A few of my bros ordered sandwiches. One opted to go with the pizza. Being the classy guy that I am, I decided to go with the chicken teriyaki bowl - white meat, not dark.
My posse and I then made our way back to the Pink Palace to toss back a few drinks. While drinking my gin and juice I kept thinking about Snoop Dogg and how proud my mother would be to know that I wasn't driving to the city. She worries a great deal - bless her heart.
After tons of fun on the highway involving poorly performing windshield wipers, stories about porn at Chico, and the proper terminology for a person from Connecticut - Connecticutians, just in case you were dying to know - we emerged from a parking structure beneath Ghiradelli Square ready to conquer the world. Unfortunately, this drunken optimism was tempered once we got a closer look at those with whom we would be starting off 2009. It was so bad, in fact, that my buddy turned to me at the beginning of the night and hubristically proclaimed that we were the coolest people in the venue. After surveying the playing field throughout the night, his words began to ring loudly with more and more truth to them each time. WE WERE THE COOLEST MOTHERFUCKERS IN THE CLUB. I had nothing greater to aspire to. And that partially explains why guys were staring at me all night. They weren't into me. They actually wanted to be me. Which sucked, because I couldn't aspire to anyone else's greatness. My swagger was Mick Jagger and there were many asthma attacks to be had (that reference is for the hip hop heads reading this post). But I digress -
While basking in my greatness, I decided that one of the free party favor hats being given out at the venue would elevate my swag to the peak of 2008. So I proceeded to walk around in my brown loafers, blue jeans, blue shirt, gray blazer and black hat. The name of the game WAS NOT color coordination.
But lo and behold, it would be this free hat that would lead me to my destination; or rather, lead her to me. Before she arrived I had opted not to initiate. Most girls worthy of my attention were adjoined at the hip with one of the 6,000 short guys in the club that night. I could literally see from one side of the club to the other at any given moment due to this infestation of shortness. I felt like a man amongst boys. That hat was helping my cause.
Over the span of the night, she would ask for my hat. I would decline her request. She would watch me take a shot of Patron. She would watch my colleague spill a quarter of his shot on my hand. She would escort me to the little boys room and wait outside while I washed my hands. There were many explanations about her unwillingness to date a young guy. At 10:45 I told her that we would be kissing in an hour and 15 minutes. She dismissed my comment and continued to ask me about my background. She said she was willing to make out with her female roommate in exchange for the hat. I told her I wasn't a fan of sexual exhibition. She made reference to my maturity for a 24 year old. I thought to myself: I'm not 24 yet - can I live?
Our conversation started off with a safe distance between the two of us. She slowly began to inch closer. My prediction looked to prove itself true. She told me about her past, present and future. Like most women do around me, she was upfront about her insecurities. As I do with most women, I ensured her that she was beautiful. I reminded her that she was successful. I meant these things that I was saying, but I was quickly growing tired of her self-doubt and thought about working to escape her pity party.
She wanted to sip on a few pineapple and Malibus. Of course, it was my treat - especially considering the fact that my male co-worker had been buying me drinks all night long. There was no chance I was going to get drunk after the 3 shots and assortment of mixed drinks that I had earlier in the evening. The intensity of the DJ's music began to pick up. He was a horrible DJ and I only vaguely remember him playing "Pop Champagne" during the hours of conversation that took place. We blinked once and an hour passed. We blinked twice and the countdown had begun.
7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1! Kiss! Kiss! We kissed each other. It was one of those cold kisses. The type that only a quasi-sober guy could give to a woman that he had just met. And almost instantly, the interest in her that had been building inside of me during the moments preceding the midnight lip lock began to wane. I grew tired. My focus wore off. I heard her speaking, but eye contact became harder and harder to maintain. My NYE tryst was becoming nothing more than a microcosm for actual relationships that I've had. I've talked my way into her arms. I've obtained the object of my desire. And then I've decided that I was ready to move on to the next chase. It is a bitter sweet experience to GET what you WANT, only to find that you didn't GET what you really WANTED.
Nevertheless, her and I continued to do the dance. We talked about plans for seeing each other again. We exchanged contact information. We PROMISED to keep in touch.
Fast forward to January 1, 2009 at 4:30 PM PST. While looking up a phone number for a friend, I see an unfamiliar name. I think back on the events that transpired the night before. I send the text message that I promised to send. She responds. My reaction was neutral. The receipt of her message confirmed that the woman I had kissed at midnight wasn't the one I am likely to spend 2009 with. Sucks for me. I guess my 2009 girl was at another party that night.
LL's words never rang so true until that moment in time:
But nothing official until March or April.
Happy New Year folks! May 2009 be kind.