But have no fear, I am back to the world of blogging, and to the world of paying for my own food. One of those things is a good thing.
I have so much to catch you up on, but I will start with the recent holiday…and no, I’m not talking about Christmas.
I’m talking about New Year’s Eve….the one night a year where it is completely acceptable to get wasted on cheap champagne and wait for the ball to drop.
Actually, this description sounds a lot like every night of my college existence, only the balls we usually saw were those of the homeless man who liked to go through the dumpster behind our sorority house. We named him Dan.
This year, my husband and I decided to lay low and do something low key for New Year’s Eve. I suggested getting into our pajamas at 7:00 and watching a marathon of The Big Bang theory.
Who doesn’t love a few nerds on a Saturday night?
Oh, and the characters on the show are funny too. (Yes, I realize that joke was pathetic, but give me a break…I haven’t written in a week. I’m rusty and my pants are a bit tighter which adds to my irritability).
My husband reminded me that watching reruns wouldn’t really differ from any other night, so we decided to do something else. I’m pretty sure that’s a sad reflection of our social calendar, but I’m cool with it because this activity allows me to wear sweatpants.
I would be agreeable to doing nearly anything if allowed to wear sweatpants and a hoodie…I would even watch a bad Adam Sandler movie, which is saying something, as he hasn’t made a funny movie since Happy Gilmore.
Seriously, that guy needs to say goodbye to his acting career…and his hairline.
Fortunately, a few of our favorite couples saved us from a pathetic night on the couch, and they invited us to dinner and then to dessert at one of their houses. Since I can’t say no when food is involved, we agreed to go.
I realized this would require putting on a bra for the evening (and pants), but my friends were worth it, and so was the chicken Parmesan.
Naturally, I donned my Pajama Jeans for this event. Nothing rings in the new year quite like drawstring pants with a fake zipper.
After running a brush through my hair and throwing a Tide stain removal pen in my purse, Matt and I headed out the door to meet our friends.
We arrived at the restaurant and waited for our reservation all the while rolling our eyes at the uptight hostess who looked like she’d spent too much time with the eyeliner and not enough time with the dental floss.
As we waited we looked around at the other people waiting for their tables and were a bit shocked with what we saw.
Instead of Pajama Jeans and cardigans we saw short skirts and tube tops, and a lot more boobs than I would have liked, although I didn’t hear Matt complain.
Why were these people so dressed up for a night out at Bravo? I mean, I love lasagna as much as the next girl, okay…a lot more than the next girl, but I don’t find it necessary to dress up for the delicious pasta dish.
Quite the contrary. I find it best to stuff myself with pasta wearing expandable pants and a long sweater to cover the pasta baby that emerges after my meal.
Seriously, what kind of girl wears a short skirt and a tube top out in public? Everyone knows you can wear one or the other, but not both together. Geez. Someone needs to brush up on their Us Weekly magazines.
I realize I could stop that question right there and not go any further, but considering we live in the Midwest where it is literally freezing on New Year’s Eve, this question is even more perplexing.
Did ringing in the new year require slutty clothes and frost bite?
The snotty hostess led us to our table where our friends were already seated. We sat down and immediately noticed a group of college girls at the table next to us.
They clearly got the memo about the slutty clothes, as they were collectively wearing the equivalent of one yard of fabric…between five of them.
Not only were their outfits tiny, although one of them was anything but tiny, they were also sparkly. Seriously.
These girls were covered in sequins. I hadn’t seen that many sequins since my dance recital when I was 7 years old.
Come to think of it, I was pretty sure the clothes these girls were wearing were about the same size as my costume that year, and that was when I was skinny.
They had sequins everywhere…or at least on the few parts of their body where clothing was located. Their outfits were actually a bit blinding, as were their white thighs.
Matt and I asked our friends whether the New Year’s Eve holiday dictated such fancy attire.
They agreed with us that New Year’s Eve isn’t all that fancy, especially when you’re at a restaurant that’s located in the parking lot of a shopping mall.
We spent the remainder of the evening looking at the various “fancy”outfits, and rating them by degree of slutiness.
It wasn’t how we anticipated spending our holiday, but it made for great entertainment, and it kept my mind off the fact that I actually had to pay for my liquor.
We left the restaurant, all of us in our normal clothes, and headed to my friend Sally Albright’s house for dessert. Not her real name.
We agreed that as long as we celebrated New Year’s Eve together, there would be no pressure to dress up in sparkles and sequins.
In fact, we agreed that next year we will arrive at the restaurant in pajamas and slippers. Maybe that will even things out.
If not, at least it will make for a comfortable evening.