From New Years Day To Groundhogs Day: 30 First Dates and the Problems with Resolutions

New Years Eve is a holiday that for most is not to be remembered. An excuse to drink to much, sleep too little, and swap saliva with a stranger only to pay for it at 10am the next morning; and while that may be holiday for some, it is habit for others, namely me, and as such I take a different approach to the end of the year: scrabble, self-reflection, sleep and of course, resolutions. Either because New Years has always been a family holiday, or because I have become one of those spiritual crazies who believes that the way you start the year is indicative of the year you will have - there is only one way to wake up January First: Sober. This is ironic, because it is one of the only days of the year that I do that - which just proves that the spiritual crazies are just that - Nucking Futs. 

After a competitive game of Scrabble where spelling errors and three-letter words were more common than not, along with pages of self-reflection, it was time for the nitty-gritty: resolutions. As I have been resoluting away the same ten pounds since 1997, I figured it might be time for a different, more achievable goal, to ensure that 2009 would be my best year yet. So rather than a size six, okay eight, I set my sights on something that even fat, ugly people have: a boyfriend.
After making sure that January had 31 days, I gave myself one month, exactly four weeks and three days, to rope up what seems to be, for some, as common as a sinus cold, or an iTunes account. Hell, I have friends who have had more boyfriends than metro cards - that being said, how hard could this be?
Well,... here we are four weeks and five days later, (and if your asking where the extra two days came from I gave myself off for Martin Luther King Day, and National Hat Day (Jan. 15)) and very much like the 'me' I was on Jan. 1, I can describe myself using one word, that starts with the letter S, and contains two syllables. No, not sober.... single. Hindsight being 20/20, next year I will be celebrating January 17th - "Ditch New Years Resolutions Day" - but then again, next year I will also go back to managing my midriff.
11pm, December 31st, 2008: I am exactly where I want to be - in bed, alone... but not for long. Tomorrow the sun will rise along with 52 weeks of opportunity, growth, and now with my new boyfriend/resolution making its way in the universe - consistent, condom-less, intercourse. Not that I am promoting unprotected sex, but I always felt like the lack of 'protection' so to speak is one of those fringe benefits of relationships that spruces up serious coupledom and is simply just scary when wheeling and dealing in one-night stands. As fate would have it however, I apparently need to re-read the "Frequency of Thought", because not thirty minutes into the New Year, my thought frequencies found somewhere better to go than the higher power, like a bar with every other schmuck on New Years.
At 12:30 I am awoken by my cell phone only to find a guy I would rather have left in 2008 on the other line. Maybe I wasn't clear when I said I am cooking, and staying in tonight - or maybe he simply just did not believe me, but one of the two prior reasons somehow led him, and what sounded like 15 of his friends, to my lobby.

"Okay, well if your not going out, were here! Hope you have food and drinks!"
I blame the fact that he is European and doesn't completely comprehend the concept that no means no, which is frankly how we got ourselves into this 'acquaintances who slept together' predicament in the first place, but I have now been taken out of a drunken sleep, I'm wearing more flour than I cooked with, scrabble tiles are covering my floor and for reasons I haven't even thought of yet; no... You, and your friends, are not coming into my apartment.
It seems that when he asked "What are we doing for New Years" and I said "Nothing" that I was not explicit enough. Reiterating that exact conversation, and knowing he has a plethora of friends in my building, I suggest going to one of their apartments and I'll get myself together and say Hi. Not accepting this as a response, he did what would be expected of a frustrated Frenchmen and surrendered,… by hanging up. So literally less than two thousand seconds into the New Year, I have already been accosted, and hung up on - and just like that, I was headed back in the direction of the condom isle.
Where does a girl go when she's already up and not ready to admit defeat? Not to sound cliché, but that tacky show Cheers was on to something when they said you want to go to a place where everyone knows your name. Where is that place for me? The South End. So with ten minutes, a pair of spanx, and a Michael Kors clutch - out with my spiritual soberness, and in with my two fail-safe vices: vodka and gay men. Alone both vodka and gay men have the innate power of making everything infinitely better around you. The combination? Saddam Hussein himself could have given you herpes, and all of a sudden you'll feel as if Herpecin-L hanging out of your pockets is the must have accessory of the season. Come 4am, J and I were sufficiently drunk, both been kissed, and were back at Casa Wassa with George Michael in the background.
Looking as if 2009 had a striking resemblance to 2008, after only one day it was far too early to throw in the towel to my grail-quest. I mean even average American's last until Jan. 17th until they "ditch their resolutions" on "Ditch New Years Resolutions Day". Thinking myself better than the average American, I was going to keep walking down Ridiculous Road. Luckily for me, January First showed promise that maybe my road was not so ridiculous.
After ditching my original hope of waking up sans hangover to reflect on the year that's gone by, I had to come up with a new plan, and so rather than yoga and nothing fried, J and I towed it to the Bristol Lounge. All seemed right in the world: it was noon, and we were tipsy. Turning our usual state into a utopian one, we were also surrounded by truffle fries. To look back on 2008 and forward into 2009, we played our favorite game, 'Inside the Actors Studio', where we ask each other seeming deep questions in comedically serious tone. By champagne bottle #2, the serious tone, became not so serious, and the deep questions came to "do you consider me an A-List celebrity?",... "Would you rather be sitting with Britney Spears?” Before I could tell Jamie, that while I do love his company - Britney would be nice, in walks a regular of the restaurant Jamie manages. Older, but cute. Well dressed, well built, and hey - I'm a bottle and a half in,... everyone was looking pretty good to me.
We all start talking, and the infamous question arises, "Are You Single?” Why yes sir, I am! Too bad for him however, he was picking up food for his pregnant wife but that doesn't mean he wasn't going to then try to awkwardly set me up with his friend. After the usual nonsense of "he's really good looking and the nicest guy, and he's a Jew!", he looks me dead in the eye like he's about to ask me for my liver (which quite frankly anyone who gets stuck with my liver? Jokes on them) and says, "So, can I set you up?” What would usually be an automatic 'no' was stilted by the fact that I have my resolution in mind. "I know he'll like you - because I like you". Seems like good enough logic to me, and then his goodwill took a turn for the worst. 

It is one thing to make sweeping statements like, "oh can I set you up?", it is quite another to get his friend on the phone, describe me to said friend like I am not sitting right across the table, and then chase me around the Bristol Lounge with a digital camera, on top of asking me to turn around so he can take a good look of my ass. He immediately turns from amicable to assailant, my liquid brunch is on the tilts of being ruined, and I have had enough. Making matters worse he finally gets a flash in my direction only to look at the camera, and go, "well, its as pretty as pretty needs to be". First off, what in fresh hell does that mean? Secondly, what happened to your pregnant wife? Go Home. Thirdly, only after he forcefully threw his phone at me with his "really good-looking, nicest guy ever, Jew" friend on the other end - I found out there were a few descriptive words that our friend here left out. Along with "nice" and "good looking" and "Jewish" should have been "Widowed" "Over 40" and "Three Kids". Needless to say, back to the boyfriend drawing board.
More than halfway through the month, it became clear to me that all men were one of three g's: Gay, Gross, or had a Girlfriend. Sparing everyone the details of 21 days worth of worthless dates and mates, it all came full circle at lunch with my girlfriend who had to sit by and watch as my cockamamie experiment went from novel idea, to bad, to worse. Lets just say, I have come up with my first book idea; From New Years Day to Groundhogs Day: 30 first dates, and the Problem with Resolutions. With every story I told her, along with laughter, was this face of, for lack of better word, pity. D is one my close friends who is smugly coupled with a man I would never date - he and I just don't see eye-to-eye. (Although he doesn't see eye to eye with most things, as he has barely 5' 7'') Regardless, she has the audacity suggest that maybe it is I, and not the first half of the phone book that I have surely dated, that has the problem. Can you believe that? Me? Moi? Honey - what you confuse for picky, I call basic standards.

"Well, what about Brad?"
Him! Are you kidding me? That could have never worked for two words and one reason: Faneuil Hall. He saw nightlife heaven, I see tourist trap, Celtic's Jersey wearing cesspool where drinks are served in dixie cups and top shelf alcohol is Absolute. So the hours of us going anywhere after ten were out. Aside from the fact that one mans trash is clearly another mans treasure, he invited me to keggers and flip cup tournaments. I didn't do that shit when it was age appropriate, aka 17; I am sure as hell not doing that shit now. Next?

"Okay,... and what was wrong with Robert?"

Short and geographically undesirable. Dating him would mean two things I just don't do: Flat Shoes, and Suburbs. Kapeech?
Down the list we went until she finally waved her white flag of disapproval and settled for another drink, and another topic of conversation. The only good point she did make was, "if this is how we talk about other people, what do you think people are saying about you?" Having an answer for almost everything, I had an answer for that too. We can thank the Bristol Lounge Photographer for this one; I'm "as pretty as pretty needs to be". But on a serious note, I ask you, given the aforementioned reasoning, is it me? I didn't think so either until the turns of fate had their way...

To Be Continued,...