Wednesday, January 02, 2013

Every New Years Eve, I set out to have as good a one as I had that time I went to the German bar in Appleton, had a currywurst and they played that Gladys Knight and the pips song about how she'd rather live in his world with him than in her own world alone and I figured the dj must be a Dismemberment Plan enthusiast and then I went to smoke a cigar in the cigar shop where I passed the new year in anti-climactic fashion, not even realizing it until I stepped outside and some chick was feeling sorry for herself, saying to herself "I'm alone...On New Years..." and it warmed my heart.
My attempt this year was to get home from work, nap, smoke a cigar in the cold, nap some more, and then go to the Public House co-op where I again passed things in almost anti-climactic fashion until the girl came in and informed the bartender that all her friends were assholes. I figured she must have been drinking whiskey because everyone turns into an asshole when I drink whiskey. Her friends did the countdown thing for the ten people in the bar who didn't really give a shit.
My primary concern for the evening was participating in the "Hammered spelling bee" at 1 in the morning. A man dressed as Santa explained the rules as "When you get on stage, face the audience because your word is going to be projected from this laptop that's running Word and I'll be typing your spelling into it here. If you spell it wrong, there's the squiggly line. If you get it wrong, you're not out unless you lose to me in rock, paper, scissors."
The first round took about an hour because "We throw on shoot" is a difficult rock, paper scissors rule for drunks to figure out and there were 29 people to start. Actually 28 to start, until the fat chick who looked like Lumpy Space Princess and was just as obnoxious, going up to each individual in the bar to talk shit and tell Santa the moderator that Leisure is an easy word to spell because she's studying for her GRE. No, leisure is an easy word to spell because it's an easy fucking word to spell. When she talked shit to Wendy the bartender who is always a sweetheart, I wanted to take the bitch aside and let her know that we''re not on Water Street anymore and this desperately seeking attention bullshit isn't how we operate in this part of town. It's not cute, it's not cool, and it's not how we treat each other, this isn't fucking Marquette. Her dress was too small for her body type, unless she was deliberately trying to show off her back lumps.
Ultimately, I won the competition by spelling supercalifragilisticexpialidocious correctly at 4:30 in the morning, netting myself awesome prizes including $50 in gift certificates to Comet, 4 "tasting flights" at the distillery, a bottle of vodka that I likely won't drink and shot glasses. Not bad for a night where I only drank four Grain Belts. So, you see, I can spell somewhat well and most misspellings that appear here are because I type with one hand and don't watch the screen that well to see what I type. I rely on how it feels when I type or perhaps I only spell well when dunk, I don't know. I let myself down when I couldn't spell bourgeoisie, despite knowing the word all too well.
There was a girl who was cheering for me who made it up until the end and made sure to let me know that she was rooting for me, which I still don't understand completely. There was a dude in her party that later informed me as I was leaving that he's trying to date her. I don't know if she was giving me a "save me" sign or what. Her hair was perfectly trimmed short, to where I swear she looks like someone I've seen before probably on television, but I don't know who. All in all, it wasn't a perfect New Years, but it's one I'll take.

said Tommy T. at 11:51 AM - #

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