New Year's Cleavage

"Well, Megan Jane, I guess if we're going out tonight, I'd better go buy something slutty to wear," I said and hung up the phone.

Last New Year's was spent alone with my Mom, both of us finally deciding that neither cared to see the ball drop, and we were asleep by 11:30. I wish I would've gotten confetti or something, but I confess I was a little aggrieved about signing up for Mom-sitting duty on that particular night. One more thing to feel guilty about, I suppose.

Previous years were spent in some variation of bartendressing or flying the friendly skies, essentially allowing others to enjoy their evenings, save for the one year I actually got the night off and caught my boyfriend making out with another girl in a bar bathroom.

I don't like New Year's. Everyone puts so much importance on one stupid night, and because I am a superstitious mutha, despite my vehement protestations that it doesn't matter, I too think it sets the tone for the whole year. So, I keep my expectations low.

I fully planned to stay in, watch the tube and have a bubbly bath with some bubbly, but, even as anti-New Year's Eve as I am, I couldn't ignore the many signs suggesting that I actually get my ass out and celebrate, gosh darnit. I finally gave in to the universe's gentle prod.

#1Laura and her gang planned to meet at a local dive-ish bar (my fave!) called Dr. Dremo's, which just happens to be within stumbling distance of Megan Jane's house, and--would you believe--Matty's from Animal Mind. I also had to pick up JennyJenny8675309 up from the National Airport today, just a stone's throw away from the area.

So, because I am brilliant, I thought the equation was something like this: wonderful friends + low-key bar that I like + not driving anywhere + meeting Matty in person + showcasing my rack in a slutty dress + drunk enough to sleep on Megan Jane's Ikea Couch of Death + zipping over to pick up JennyJenny8675309 in the a.m. = the possibility of an enjoyable New Year's.

And I was right, my pretties; we had an enjoyable New Year's, though we had to modify the equation a bit.

While, rest assured, my breasts looked exquisite in a black and pink polka dotty dress, Matty "pussed" out. It was somewhat expected, I must admit; real life is no match for Internet porn.

And Dr. Dremo's had a $25 cover. Aw, hell no. On principle, I won't pay to get into a bar with sticky floors and overflowing toilets.

So, while we waited for #1Laura and Co. to arrive, Megan Jane and I ambled up the street where we encountered ridiculous things such as $40 covers and lines. I don't do lines. On any level, actually.

But, we spotted an empty little restaurant bar across the way with 1) no cover 2) no lines 3) a very friendly bartender who didn't seem to mind he was working on New Year's Eve. Perfect.

"Let's just have one drink, watch the damn ball and call it a night," Megan Jane and I said at the same time.

Soon, though, a crowd of party-goers also refusing to pay covers and stand in lines bumbled in, so we had ourselves a festive atmosphere.

A new bartendress came on shift, also very friendly, largely because of the copious amount of coke she was sniffing in the back. She spilled no fewer than six drinks before uttering, "Oh no, what have I done to myself."

Then a gentleman wandered in, and sat down next to Megan Jane. Now, we are sensitive people, Megan Jane and I. We truly are, but let's just say he had some challenges in his life, the major one being that he smelled like burnt cheese and mothballs. He also had some irregular facial features.

"Oh, God. His eye! Is it protruding? Is it a protuberance from his face?" Megan Jane asked, a bit frightened.

"No, MJ," I assured, "It's recessed. It's more sunken in."

He may have actually heard us because he got up to leave, and Megan used that opportunity to coax a young gentleman and his buddies to all move over a seat in case the guy came back. Guys will do anything for a beautiful woman.

We acknowledged the karmic points we were losing, but it seemed a small price to pay.

The ball dropped, Megan Jane and I stammered through a few bars of Auld Lang Syne and we finished up our drinks. As we walked past Dr. Dremo's, we both turned, wondering if the cover was still in effect.

"Go check," Megan Jane said. "Put your boobs to work."

Okay! No more cover, so we met up with #1Laura and Co. afterall. We enjoyed a beer, some champagne left over from the toast and I believe I planted a goodbye kiss on #1Laura's friend, Adam. Just a little one. It's tradition.

Then that was it. Megan Jane gave me the new Roald Dahl collection, Omnibus, for Christmas, and I was very, very eager to get home and start reading, so I forewent her Evil Ikea couch and drove home.

I actually have to put some pants on soon to go pick up JennyJenny8675309 from the airport. He finished his last marathon yesterday in Missouri and JennyJenny8675309 was right there with him--52 marathons in one year! Holy crap.

So, James Burnett put out the challenge to post revealing, honest New Year's resolutions. My first one is to not run ANY marathons this year. I feel pretty good about sticking to that.

The rest are really quite simple, my pretties.

Spend more time on the people, things and ideas that are important to me and less on fruitless labor. AKA stop procrastinating.

Open myself up to falling in love. This is a scary thing, kids. Very scary, indeed. Much safer to be flippant, but safe isn't always better.

Drink more water.

In the Comments section, tell me if you got to kiss anyone on New Year's Eve.