According to the Mayan calendar, tonight is your last night on Earth! That’s it! I’m pretty sure that I am just going to wake up tomorrow to another failed apocalypse that I’ve gotten my hopes up for. Just like the pile of failed relationships, so many disappointments. I mean, I stock piled water, canned food for Y2K and for what! Nothing! That’s right! Nothing. But I’ll take any excuse to make poor decisions and blame them on something else. “Make out? Sure! The world’s ending tomorrow!” Pry yourself from Facebook and Twitter and take a look at the 5 ways you could spend your last night on earth.
1. Watching all of Arrested Development. You only have one more night to try to get all those inside jokes! Do you really want to die not understanding “Luchos de Muchachos?”
2. Out a bar. If you’ve only got one more night on earth, tonights the night to have filthy bar sex. Tragedy makes women wet, I thought men figured that out already.
3. Looting! If this is it, then you deserve that Louis Vuitton flat screen TV validation you’ve always craved.
4. Call your mom. No seriously. Call your mom. She brought you into this world and her disappointment should usher you out of it.
5. Praying that the Mayans got it wrong and you get to live another day regretting the poor choices you made the night before after having one too many shots of Jameson.
BONUS number 6. Listening to Fleetwood Mac. Hands down some of the best music to go out to.
Don’t fuck around. If this is it, the last night on earth, call some one you love and make sure you fully put your foot in your mouth. It’s exactly what I am going to be doing.
I love New York with it’s weird puddles when there hasn’t been any rain, it’s judgment of you based on your footwear choice and it’s fine sense of the ridiculous. I feel like New York is often lovingly vitriolic, just like Martha in “Who’s afraid of Virginia Woolf?” But at times, I hate it’s every changing nature. Things move so fast and so slow here. You blink and your favorite bar/restaurant/discount clothing store is gone. That is how you know that you are a real New Yorker.
When what used to be there matters to you more than what is there now.
When this dive bar that I loved so much, passed so many early evenings, post electropop band practice knocking back Stoli Vanilla and Sodas with lime transformed into….
This charming date place…
It’s a completely different atmosphere. I was thrown at first when I walked in. I knew that this used to be something else, a place that mattered to me a lot, but I couldn’t quite place it. It came on slow. Remembering sweaty nights, poor choices and friendly bonding all white washed over into a supremely art directed experience. The older me, loves this place. The cheeses, the oysters and the choice wines. But there’s a little noise in the back of my head that misses the summer nights at the dive bar when I’d get up to get a drink and the back of my legs stuck to the vinyl seats, tear up with a satisfying sting. A sharp pull at my skin in contrast to the soft drunk I was.
It’s that time of year for holiday cheer and traditions that you can pass down for generations to come, Your uncle ranting against the “Mexicans” – to him everyone that isn’t white bread American, is a “Mexican” including white Europeans with accents. So charming, Your middle aged aunt trying desperately to keep up her youth and competing with your cousin, her daughter. “Yes, these are new this year! 36Ds! Aren’t they great! You can touch them later.” And your grandfather trying to drunken teach you how to Lindy hop despite the fact that he did that last year, and the year before and the year before that. And, really, Lindy hop? Why not something a little cooler, like West Coast swing? All of this while you are trying to keep down some overcooked ham and mac and cheese made with orange cheddar. Traditions are great! Didn’t this all happen last year?
This year, I am cultivating a few new holiday traditions of my own. I should start now to make sure that they are fully solidified before I use them to torture my future children. First, I am just going to other peoples families for the next few years. There is nothing like watching some one else’s parents faces sink in disappointment. Schadenfreudelicious! I can study them, so when the time comes, I can replicate that deep, deep wrinkle in the forehead that says, “I can’t believe we paid for college for this” without saying a single word.
Second, I am working on cultivating a sense of classism. Racism isn’t going to cool that much longer, but it’s always going to be ok to hate on the poor! My idea of charity is going to be making sure that no child goes with out a set of ALF pogs this holiday season.
Lastly, I’m truly cultivating my high functioning alcoholism. If there’s anything that I have learned all these years of knocked over trees and stupid wet Christmas tea towel fights, is that a controlled drunk is the best kind. You get to walk out of there with a serious buzz and your sense of superiority intact. Even if your ass is wet from getting slapped with a reindeer towel.
Posted in comic, written
Tagged comic, truth