Monday, February 21, 2011

Happy New....wait,'s February????

Hell's bells!!!  I swear that is the LAST time I go out on NYEVE with complete strangers and consume drinks that are just handed to me.  I got all gussied up and went out to a nightclub for the big night, for the first time since....oh let's see..... forever.  I remember a terrific jazz combo,  and the singer was doing a sort of Bobby Darin thing.  The countdown to midnight had gotten to 1, and I started to pucker up to kiss whoever might be lucky enough to be within my reach, and the next thing I knew, I'm waking up in a bathtub filled with ice.

I was in terrific pain since I had a huge, fresh surgical incision along my left side around to my back.  I thought, "oh my god, I've been the victim of one of those kidney organ transplant thefts!!!"   There was a note pinned to my chest (ouch!!) which I figured would be a clue to what the hell had happened, but it was only a pawn shop ticket for a 12 gauge shotgun.  My doctor tells me that I'm just fine.  Not only am I not missing a kidney, I now have three - evidently someone gave me one.  I'm befuddled, but I guess it all turned out okay.  How do you load a shotgun, anyway?

In other words, I have no idea at all what has happened for the past month and a half or so.  I sure as heck haven't been blogging.  But that will be corrected right now.  I must have seen a few movies, and I must have done a few things that were silly or screwy enough for me to comment on.   Like for instance, attending the most depressing Valentine's Day party ever. 

Valentine's party?  ok.  At the Hyatt hotel?  ok.  In Schaumburg?  umm, wait a sec.  A GIANT-WORLD'S LARGEST SINGLES VALENTINE'S PARTY EVER?   What the hell was I thinking?????  I even rented a car to go to this thing!  This is an official announcement:  Next year, anyone who hears me say anything about going to a V-Day singles party, just shoot me on the spot.  

Let me set the scene:  I arrived wearing a lovely red sequined-beaded dress.  (I know it sounds tacky, but it is quite beautiful.  And no, it doesn't make me look like a refugee from a lounge act.)  Even I have to admit, I looked pretty good.  I started out wearing one of those smooth-out-your-shape things underneath - you know what I mean.  But it was so damn uncomfortable I took it off in the parking lot of the hotel and left it in the car.  (Don't worry, I don't think anyone saw me.)  So from that point on my undergarments consisted of only a bra and thigh high stockings.  I mention this simply because it was the first time I had gone panty-less in public.  I of course was the only person aware of that (until now).  But even so,  I have to admit it was very exhilarating!!!   Everyone should try this at least once!  (see, this is the kind of personal touch you expect in a blog, right?)

Anyhoo, back to the scene.  I entered the hotel and was met with a long, long, LONG line of singles.  The line seemed to be snaking around the hallway with no purpose or end.  Since nobody seemed to know anything about why they were in line, I figured this must be the right place, and so cut in.  When I reached the front table I was directed to another long line - more like a mob scene - to get into the actual party room.  I just knew that this would all be worth it!  This was going to be a great time!  

No, I didn't know that.  Already there was a heady scent of desperation in the hallway and once I was in the ballroom it became an overpowering stench.  There were HUNDREDS of people packed in there.  I had figured that the event might be crowded, but this could be described only as barely controlled chaos.  I decided that the very least I could do was to get a drink, or two.  I finally made it to the bar and to my dismay found out that it was like Taste of Chicago.  In other words, they don't take money, only tickets.  Guess what I had to do....that's right.  Get in another line which ended halfway across the room, in order to buy drink tickets.  

While in this line, a nice gentleman struck up a conversation with me.  A nice, ordinary, awkward, halting, "isn't this crazy" kind of conversation that strangers will have.  It ended when we got to the ticket table and we were both swept away by separate currents.  I finally got my glass of wine and started a reconnaissance sweep of the room.  At least that is what I was trying to do.  It was so crowded it felt like we were all packed in oil.   I made it about halfway around the room, spilling my drink only twice along the way.  In the distance I could sense a dance floor and people moving on it.  The music was nice and loud and for the most part from the 1980's.  I think. 

Everyone was well dressed and behaving themselves, and a few ladies were demonstrating that they were ready to Get Down and really Party by swinging their arms above their heads and yelling 'WOOO-OOO."  The demographic mix was anywhere from 20's up to god-knows, mostly in the range of god-knows.  Most faces had the same sad expression I would have seen had I looked into a mirror -  searching the crowd for someone.  Anyone.  Someone to talk to, someone to dance with, someone to love, someone to cherish me forever.  Someone to get back in that damn line and get me another drink.  We were all standing around sipping our watery drinks and trying to look as if any second we were going to..."CUT FOOTLOOSE!!"

I felt exhilarated for a second time that evening when I handed my last drink ticket to a woman in line and left.  On the drive home I cranked up Joan Jett on the cd player.  Well,...I had given this thing a try,... it was pretty icky,... but I survived.  Big loud, noisy parties really aren't my thing.  What the hell, it was an experience.  Joan sounded great and I still wasn't wearing panties.  Not a bad Saturday night after all.  

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