New Years sinfest

I’m always the first one to say that a party isn’t a party unless there are hard core drugs and public sex going on, but sometimes its best to keep in mind that it CAN be overdone. at times.

Such events have some common occurrences you shouldn’t be shocked about if you witness, like a line of coke here and there, a gentlemanlyg a friendly tug in a corner somewhere by some lass he just met, a girl letting her sweater puppies out of the kennel cuz she didn’t get enough attention from her father – whatever. But when this behavior x20 is busted out at a gathering of attendees aged 16 to 30 and before 10pm… you might want to reconsider the theme of your gettogethers.

no one does it with CLASS anymore...

I am still reeling from the heroin and ecstasy driven, mostly nude, coke orgy that was the New Years mansion “party” I attended for about an hour before running the hell out of there to catch up with my soul, which had escaped for its own safety about 5 minutes into the devilish festivities. My virgin eyes and saintly ears can tolerate a great deal of mans debauchery but as I said: there are limits.

So a timid Richard in “play it cool, they can smell your fear” mode, wove through the crowds and under the smoke and escaped out the back, which turned out not to be the most “duck out unnoticed” place as a very high and very naked gentleman tried to strike up a friendly conversation with me. So I slipped through the garden, trying carefully not to step on the people having sex in it, giving polite “no thank you”s and “ya, maybe, but brb”s to the solicitors and breaking free from the Ariel-at-Ursula’s-joint style tugs at my leg from the people who’d grab me in passing and exhale some form of “don’t go”.

like this. only slimier

When I finally reached the outdoors, I had to figure out which car was mine since my 1999 green Grand Am blends like camouflage with the Jenga assortment of BMW’s and Fararri’s. I finally identified it and zoomed out of there like when you’re under water and realize the surface is a little farther than you thought or need it to be and you need air NOW.

Didn’t get directions on how to find the 101, so I got a little lost in the Hollywood hills and almost ran over  a jaywalking Tara Reid but found my way with absolutely no help from a gas station attendant who in no way gave me directions when i did not stop to ask and also mention as if he cared that I was going TO a party and not escaping FROM one – and returned back to the Batcave by 11:49pm.

I turned on a little Fox News and imagined I was Bill Keller…there… in a 20 below zero New York city with Megan Kelly instead of home in 84 degree southern california with Charles, the drunk person I picked up on the way home.

I made some tea, let midnight click by, saw Charles out and pulled the covers over my head in bed so I could pretend the evening never really happened.

Then I woke up with gonnorea and was reminded that yes. last night DID happen.

Happy 2009 everybody.