Lolita Wolf's Predictions & Predilections

Almost everybody suffers through the holidays. Family strife, money woes, shopping, cooking and baking, sending out cards. It’s just too much all at the same time. And everybody commiserates about it. But for some of my friends, the misery of the Christmas season can’t hold a candle to the absolute angst of New Year’s Eve. Like you, I am reading all the happy stories online about people ringing in the New Year. And the stories ranged from the dance and kiss at midnight to the load of spunk shot down a lover’s throat just as the ball dropped.

But for many of my unpartnered friends, the angst begins weeks ahead of NYE. They’re panicked because they have no date. They can’t or don’t want to go to any of the parties alone. They’re not sure where they can go or what they can do. Sitting home alone is even worse. One single friend got an invitation to a party followed by an email 15 minutes later saying the invitation was a mistake and that it was a couples only party and that they would just invite them to their next party.

So while we read and hear all about the NYE adventures of our partnered friends, our unpartnered friends are pretty quiet. A lot of them are embarrassed. As if being single is a shameful thing or a sign of failure. I hate that it is that way. And, ya know, I’ve been there.

I remember breaking up with that lying stinking bastard in 1992 just before NYE. I had an invite to the hottest party in the Northeast, Mir and Tony’s party, a fancy all-couples affair. I was determined not to sit home and not desperately scramble to find a date. I brought Bebe (my stuffed bondage bear) as my date and wore a little red plaid dress with a white collar, black patent mary janes and pigtails. I brought crayons and a coloring book. I stayed out of the dungeon, sat on the floor and made art for the hostess. Some people did not get it and left me alone and that was okay. Others completely loved it and thought it was great. I was comfortable. I was the only kid at the grown-ups party (I was the good kid allowed to stay up for a special occasion) and it totally worked.

Another year, Boymeat was single. My ex and I took him along with us and we had a great time. Boymeat and I mummified my ex and gave him a tandem brother-sister blow job. That was an awesome NYE.

These days, I’m fortunate that I have a tight circle of friends who party together regardless of relationship status. It’s comfortable and intimate. Every year the core group discusses and decides who else to invite. This year’s preliminary list contained the entry, “Lolita’s friend.” I ignored that on the first go round. It was still there on the second round and it irritated me. So, I wrote this entry.

After my little rant, Boymeat spoke to me and reasoned with me and persuaded me to invite “my friend.” I was hesitant to invite one of my fuckbuddies. It was a different type of NYE angst. Like if you ask a fuckbuddy to join you on NYE, does that somehow elevate the status of the relationship? I was not looking to do that. But with the urging of Boymeat and some of my other friends, I decided to take the leap.

A week later, I was in bed with Don Quixote. He was spooned up behind me after some great sex and I started talking about the party. Blah, blah, blah, “…and Boymeat thought it would be a good idea for me to invite you.”

Ugh!

Did I just say that? How fucking lame am I? To DQ’s credit, he did not laugh at me. He seemed to not even notice what a dork I was. He just said yes.