A Funny 2019 Anecdote
I do a lot of esoteric writing on this blog about the dread that permeates my brain and then sometimes intersperse it with something from my novel. But you know what? Sometimes… things that are funny… occur…
New Years Eve, moving from 2019 into the blighted hellscape of 2020 (which is the last time I’ll reference it on this entry) my parents and I went to see their friends and two kids of my age in Miami to live it up for a few days. Notably? We’re pretty decidedly not kids insofar as we were all over the age of 21 and were children in that we were with our parents. You are always a child when you are with your parents, regardless of what either of you think to the contrary.
So within one day, to be REAL concise, this trio of fairly acquainted boys started spending more time with one another in and out of clothing. I can heartily say I have had the pleasure of watching a British weirdo discuss climate change while surrounded by naked beautiful people. This all to say, we were having a great time.
Party night itself started auspiciously, including watching a bellydancer perform while our parents footed the bill and we let our malformed brains drift into a haze of alcohol, and for some of us a pinch of a marijuana fog to boot. We hightailed it back to the hotel room to change into more provocative outfits (for example: my metallic chainmail crop top that is not something I would normally recommend for someone with boobs over the size of DD unless you truly want to live on the edge).
We drank and smoked more while winding our way to the beach to watch 3 different fireworks shows commence at once and makeout in the sand and yeah maybe my shirt broke but we fixed it and maybe everyone’s makeup smeared but that’s the point of wearing glitter in the first place.
The show ended, we stumbled through the dunes and the people, both throngs equally negligible in the high of youthful intoxication, and found a speakeasy to hole up in and people watch.
First of all, were you aware that apparently champagne was expensive on New Year’s Eve? Call it naive but I certainly wasn’t made aware. We settled on some stools on the front porch of this house-turned haven of debauchery and I grabbed one of our little company’s credit cards to run in and grab a bottle of bubbly. I pushed through the throngs, feeling as if I were imbued with the sense of being more and greater than every grinding idiot around me (unfair, but bear with me). Reaching a bartender I asked not for the cheapest bottle of champagne, don’t be absurd, but instead the second cheapest bottle of champagne and got ready to hand over the plastic that wasn’t mine.
“You know that the second cheapest bottle is $330, right?”
No I did not and soberness began to infect my bones. How about the cheapest then?
“$300, and I’ll tell you that’s probably the cheapest you’ll find on this block.”
I ordered nothing and returned the credit card to whence it came.
After somewhat nervously chuckling, my companions melted into flirting with one another (I couldn’t blame them for that) and a gentleman in a phenomenal outfit approached me instead. He had perfectly groomed hair, clear skin and near glowing teeth. His suit was perfectly tailored to show off his well built frame and just enough color to be appropriate for the holiday. He and I talked around one another for a few minutes before he moved in for the kill.
“You seem like a woman who’s needs a real domineering dicking down.”
It was hard not to do what I did, which was smile condescendingly at such a brilliant display of male posturing. I have been told that apparently it is not a recommended reaction to simply laugh in a man’s face when he behaves in an equally condescending manner. What I said instead (straightening his lapel) was that he was wasting his time and with the nigh already halfway gone he would find himself better spent talking to a girl who would take him up on his offer.
“You sure sweet stuff? I get the feeling I could be reeeeeallllll good for you.”
I reminded him there were no hard feelings and that I wished him the best of luck, but that it would take too long to explain to someone without a degree in gender studies or sociology (an unfortunately blatant elitist use of a college degree I do no t possess but can apparently wear the skin of if I act pretentious enough) why everything he was saying was repulsive. But hey, I still thought his outfit was spiffy.
The night ended with the lot of us in a heap on a bed, exhausted by the night and each other to greet the dawn of a new year with mimosas and a weary smile to carry forward.