Saturday, January 01, 2005

 

A Very Good Evening.

Readers, you may recall that I approached this New Year's Eve with some trepidation.

Given how easy it is to overhype the damn night, I have a well-founded fear that most any countdown to midnight will suck eggs.

Turns out that I dreaded last night so much it ended up surpassing my expectations by a healthy margin.

Six-course meal at a posh restaurant, a generous sampling of a variety of wines and champagnes, and the company of good friends all worked to give the night a much more relaxed and convivial feeling than one gets by, say, going out clubbing.

The plans came about from my friend Mike-- his wife Jessica knew the restaurant manager's wife, and set it all up. Jessica's friend even joined us for dinner while her husband managed the evening, which meant that, along with our friend Matt and Jada, we had six people at the table, and thus I avoided the dreaded fifth-wheel syndrome.

Alas, it was still somewhat painful given how terribly freakin' *hot* Jessica's friend was (and I say this with a clear mind, pre-seven glasses of wine). Then again, most of Jessica's friends are hot. . . and married, or engaged, or always dating.

In fact, it's even worse than that. Not only are all my first generation of local friends married or dating, but *their* friends are all married or dating.

I'm a long way out of college. I hate the bar scene. My office, and all the offices I work with, are predominantly male (and I have yet to meet the female military officer who looks like Catherine Bell). About the only avenues open to be me right now are friends of my friends, or risking becoming an E-Harmony.com horror story.


More Hollywood fantasy.

When the rare opportunity to be set up by them comes around, however, given the relative paucity of choices out there I'm invariably suggested the undateable. It'd be one thing if it were karmic justice for *me* being undateable, but I so rarely go in that pool I don't think the category fits. Yet, when I do get into the pool, I'm always paired up with the swimmers wearing nose plugs and water wings. Gee, thanks.

I swear, what little I have of my dating life is just like that scene in Animal House, where Pinto and Flounder tour the Omega house wanting to talk to all the popular guys and pretty girls, only to be repeatedly steered towards Mohammed, Jugdish, Sidney and Clayton.

Hey, I acknowledge, I'm a difficult catch. What woman do you find for a man with the genius of Stephen Hawking, the wit of John Belushi, the roguish charm of a young Burt Reynolds, and the dashing good looks of Dom Deluise? That's a tough sell for women, unless they're bull dykes, or seeking to become bull dykes.

Anyways, back to the evening. A very good night. Only I'm now suffering from a nice spot of a hangover. And, I have this odd physical trait that manifest itself only after I combine a rip-roaring drunk with a slumber filled with chainsaw snoring: a swollen uvula. Seriously, mine can balloon up to, like, three times its normal size. It's both painful *AND* annoying, and it usually takes a day or two to settle down.

Oh well. I guess no sword-swallowing practice today.


Comments:
"the company of good friends all worked to give the night a much more relaxed and convivial feeling than one gets by, say, going out clubbing."

You say that now, but wait til you pick up a stripper.
 
Damn. Now, *that* would have made for a fantastic nightcap.
 
Man, call me if you ever move to Houston. I could give you a month of dates with my very cool friends. :)
 
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