Happy New Nuttin’! (What New Years Means To Me)

New Years can be a great time of the year. Whether you look back at the year that past with fond recollections, or whether the last year was not all you hoped it would be, there is always the prospect of a fresh start with high hopes for the year to come.

However,  like Pandora’s Box, and other things that carry the prospect of hope, there is also a certain amount of evil abound. For me, that evil can be summed up with three simple words: New Years Eve.

Back when I was young and single, in the days following Christmas, my mind would be largely occupied by a single thought: “What would be THEEE THING to do on New Years Eve?” The answer was always the same, and that would be to find some small intimate party with my closest friends and spend the entire night there. The problem was that, most years, such parties did not exist. The second most reasonable option then, was to go to sleep at 9 o’ clock and pray that I did not wake up until well past noon the next day. However, for a hardcore scenester like myself, this option presented the possibility that I would miss out on something LEGEND (wait for it) ARY.So once again, another option put to the wayside.

Image

All this added up to me being out on the streets, following leads on parties that I was not quite invited to, or trying to charm my way into overcrowded venues for free, as I set off on a long, and often unsuccessful quest for the ultimate New Years Eve. It also inspired me to write this somewhat dismal account of what New Years means to me.

1. Everyone is entirely too drunk entirely too early
2. All my favorite clubs are charging an exorbitant fee at the door and are overrun by a bridge and tunnel crowd
3. Everyone expects something magical to happen and often it doesn’t
4. The TV selection is obnoxious and everyone at Times Square looks freezing cold and like they have to pee really badly
5. Resolutions are for suckers
6.If you are a parent, you could enjoy an expensive night out with your significant other,(not to mention what you had to pay the babysitter to work on…gasp…New Years Eve!!!) only to wake up at 7 AM with a throbbing head and a toddler who thinks it would be fun to start off the new year by pouncing on your bed.
7. If you are single you are weighing your options on the whole midnight kiss thing…and it does not look promising
8.The news has slowed to a halt and now all journalists remind us that we have spent the year looking at Miley Cyrus, Justin Beiber, and the Kardashians and using acronyms much too often.
9. The prospect of going back to work seems more hideous than ever.
10. 358 days till Christmas

All of this leads me to my current state of contentment which is staying at home with  my husband and two children who are easily pleased by party poppers, funny hats, cookies, and a movie on New Years Day. So I guess I did get that intimate party with my closest friends after all…and I’m gonna stay there…all night.

With sincere hopes that you fare better than I ever have on New Years Eve… May the odds be ever in your favor.

Image

Advertisements

The Respectable Woman’s Guide to New Year’s Resolutions

To stop writing Satanic messages on the blackboard in the frozen yogurt place
To learn how to use the soda machine at Wendy’s
To stop picking my nose in the car and leaving it under the driver’s seat
To stop tailgating little old ladies with my cart in the supermarket
To memorize all the words to Motorhead’s new album and sing them loudly in the school yard when I am picking up my kids
To stop reading blogs when I’m supposed to working
To stop cyber stalking my old boyfriends
To stop wearing torn underwear
To stop asking for samples at See’s Candies when I really don’t intend to buy anything
To sleep with Jared Leto
and of course…
To recycle

Dedicated To The Chocolate Cake Served At My Husband’s Holiday Party

Oh, chocolate cake served at my husband’s holiday party
Served 10:30 at night
You’re tall dark gooey layers
They done me wrong they done me right

I sunk my fork into you
Both twice my size and girth, It
kept me up the entirety of the night…
Totally worth it!

I just want to add a personal message to my readers. If you read my last post you know that I thought that might be my last post of 2013. However I just couldn’t resist adding this timely and festive little ditty. You will just have to think of me like Ozzy Osbourne who had his ‘No More Tours’ tour in 1993 and then his Ozzmosis (Retirement sucks) tour in 1995, or Kiss who planned to do their final tour in (can you believe it?) the year 2000.

Have a happy!

Auld Lang Syne

A week or so ago, I wrote a blog complaining about how few people were reading my blog. Since this drop off began around Thanksgiving, I, of course wondered if this was due to the holiday season, but, since people are now so well connected, media-wise, I really wasn’t sure.

Yesterday, I was reading a blog by Rarasaur which confirmed this suspicion. Not only did she comment on how blogging and readership slowed down during the holiday season, but she went on to say that some bloggers do not blog at all, and I am seriously considering following that path because, well, you don’t just get all this for nothing.

Although I started blogging in June, 2013 will mark the end of my first year as a blogger and as I look back on the year, I feel a bit sentimental (cue piano). When I began blogging, I did so because I felt it would be a therapeutic outlet for myself and if I reached out to one or two people, so much the better. What I didn’t expect was to meet a whole community of bloggers that I would begin to feel a part of. These are people who I wake up to every day and their blogs crowd my inbox with little wisdoms that feel like emails from a friend (but not quite because, you know, I’m just not that crazy yet), and they have become supportive and colorful characters that are a part of my virtual life. Their blogs have touched me, made me laugh and cry, they have taught me and inspired me, and more than anything else, they have given me something to do when I’m bored at work.

My original intention was to mention some of the bloggers who I feel deserve honorable mentions because of their blogs and their support, along with adorable personalized messages, but then I began over thinking the politics of who to mention and who would feel left out, so I decided not to go that route. I am hoping that those people know who they are.

There is however, one blogger I would like to mention; one blogger who has always been there for me, alway inspires me, always likes my blogs no matter how stupid they are and, without whom, I probably wouldn’t blog at all. After all, what is a rock n’ roll super mom without a Hvymtldad?

Rock n’ Roll Supermom – out. Have a great holiday season and I’ll see you in 2014!

Holiday Party Blues

As a teenager and young adult, I always loved going to parties. But ever since children came in to the picture, the amount of party invitations I received have been rapidly declining. That’s why I was thrilled when my husband told me that my presence was required at his company office party. And this one could actually be fun being that my husband does not work for a stuffy law firm, but rather one of the biggest music rehearsal studios in the world, catering to a clientele of unbelievably famous rock and pop stars. While I’m sure none of the clients will be at the party, at least it will be somewhat of a rock n’ roll crowd.

However, since I have not been to a party in a while, my husband and I had to have a long talk about what is considered proper party etiquette for a person my age and I’m not so sure I am looking forward to the party any more.

My husband has specifically told me I am forbidden from:
1)Telling all his colleagues that I am not his wife but in fact a prostitute he paid to escort him to the party and then passing around my ‘business cards’ to some of his coworkers
2) Asking the boss’ wife if she can refer me to a good plastic surgeon
3) Asking May from accounting how far along she is (May is not pregnant)
4) Taking my husband’s boss aside and asking him to give my husband a raise while showing him pictures of our poor children
5)Taking my husband’s boss aside and asking him if it would be possible to introduce me to Mick Jagger, what Mick Jagger is really like and whether he thinks we would hit it off
6) If I must sing karaoke, I am strictly forbidden from doing my best bump and grind while performing an embarrassingly erotic version of “Santa Baby” ( and by the way, all dancing on the bar is, well, off the table)
7)The wearing of lampshades and togas is strictly prohibited
8) And absolutely, positively, under no circumstances, am I to fax a picture of my breasts to corporate.

Party, schmarty, I think I’ll just stay home!!

75 E 3rd St., NYC

The other day I wrote a blog about my neighbors. Well it got me thinking about all the unusual neighbors I’ve had in the past, but none were quite so noteworthy as when I lived next door to the Hell’s Angels club house in New York City’s East Village.

Usually when I tell people this, their eyebrows raise in amazement thinking I would now regal them with tales of drunken debauchery and violence, but actually, the Hell’s Angels kept very much to themselves, and the block I lived on was probably the safest one in Manhattan, although we rarely saw a cop car drive down.

I never went in the clubhouse itself. It probably would not have been too hard for me to procure an invitation, but even for a rocker chick like myself, I think that was way beyond the kind of trouble I was looking for although I may have ended up sipping tea and commenting on their decor. I did know of one girl who dated a Hells’ Angel (friend of a friend) who got through the relationship uneventfully enough although, as you may well imagine, the break up was not so copacetic.

Anyway, you can imagine my surprise when, one winter night, as I was leaving my apartment I ran into my old friend Brendan who I used to hang with when I was a teenager in Brooklyn. I hadn’t seen him for years. Turns out he was prospecting for the Hells Angels and one of the tasks they designated to him was to keep a fire going outside of the clubhouse throughout the blisteringly cold New York night, even though I hardly think they were about to roast marshmallows.

I don’t really remember how I ended up on the back of Brendan’s motorcycle, but I do remember screaming and holding on for dear life as we headed down the streets of New York doing 35. Brendan finally ended up depositing me at my then favorite local dive and haunt “The Continental”. I gracefully (I hope) dismounted from the bike securing myself a reputation as a badass biker babe which lasted approximately one week and a burn on my calf that lasted approximately three.

Another time, I was hanging out in my apartment listening to music and minding my own business when I heard Aerosmith piping in quite loudly through my open windows. Normally I am tolerant of noise, as long as I am not trying to sleep and I love Aerosmith. However, this particular music was so loud, it completely drowned out the music I was trying to listen to, not to mention, it was post-Permanent Vacation Aerosmith.

I decided there would be no real harm in, very politely asking whoever was playing the music to please turn it down.

When I got out the door, who should I see but  THE BIGGEST Hells Angel I have ever seen, on the THE BIGGEST bike I had ever seen with THE BIGGEST ghetto blaster I had ever seem. He was fixing me with his best “Go ahead, make my day” glare as Steven Tyler wailed on about how pink was his favorite color.

Well, as you can imagine, I returned his glare with my sweetest smile, looked both ways as if checking for a friend who, most assuredly was not coming, and returned to the sanctuary of my apartment where I decided that,  yes, Aerosmith would be a good musical selection for the afternoon.

Women Our Age

Oh leather pants, oh leather pants
Oh how you mock me so
Hot pants and halter tops
I guess you all must go

And all the boys I turned away
I guess they’re older too
And maybe they’ll remember me
As the girl that they once knew.
Soccer moms and working moms
Same age as me, I’m told
Do I fit in so seamlessly?
Surely I am not that old.
Days turn into weeks and months
Yet I spend my time denying.
I am still that 16 year old girl
It’s the mirror that is lying.