New Years’ Nasties.

If you haven’t gathered, I’m not much of a Happy Holidays type.

My favorite bad New Year’s story, 2004: 

I’d just moved to New York.  I was invited to a party after performing at an open mike.

I had one friend there to hang out with, Fred, a 47 year old gay man. 

He’s dead now.

Anyhow, somebody at an open mike invited me to a party after I performed.  He said it was a costume party and to dress as my alter ego.

My alter ego on that New Years’ Eve was a decrepit old lady dominatrix… 

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Like so, but with hooker boots and minus the babushka.

Turns out to be a Huge party in which I am one of the only people in costume.  I proceeded to get drunk as quickly as possible.  I lost Fred in the crowd and got a call on my cell phone a half hour later.

He was in a cab, horribly sick. 

It’s hard to tell a story about New Years Eve when it involves somebody I care about that’s dead now without entirely swerving off the path.

Anyhow, I wound up drunkenly staggering home, getting lost in Bed Stuy, eating a falafel alone at 2am and waiting in a line for a taxicab for about an hour in the cold. 

I think that’s the last time I really attempted to Do Something on a New Years’ Eve.

 

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