1978: The Worst New Years Eve Ever!

Like many of you, I've had my fair share of memorable New Years Eve parties. Festive parties filled with gaiety and romance: the kind of parties that will burn forever brightly in my memory. Then there are those parties I wish I had never gone to; dull, unhappy affairs that sit in my stomach like a badly digested meal. That is what happened to to me in 1978. If I could have foreseen the events of that dreary, miserable evening, I would've opted to stay home instead.

That year, I had no particular plans for that night so my friend Tom and I decided we'd scare up a party somewhere. I arrived at Tom's house(actually it was Mom's house. The putz lived at home.) and Tom wasn't there. His Mom told me that he and his brother went out to a party, thus leaving me with no options but to scare up a party on my own. Not exactly an exciting prospect.

When I eventually asked Tom why he didn't call to tell me about his change of plans, he shrugged and replied," Oh well." What a swill, I mean swell, no I was right the first time; what a swill guy he is. You know, there's nothing like a good friend. And Tom was nothing like a good friend. He was inconsiderate, cheap and petulant. One time, a friend of his and the friends father invited Tom on a golf outing. The friends father paid for everything. Well, at one point during the golf game Tom disappeared, only to reappear a few moments later sucking on a can of soda without bothering to ask his friend or the father if they wanted one. When his friend asked," Why didn't you ask us if we wanted a soda?" Tom's snarky reply was," You didn't tell me you wanted a soda." What a dick! What a piece of shit!

So anyway, there I was driving down Kirkwood Highway in search of a party and I happened upon a bar called Tony G's. Since I didn't want to devote any more of my evening to driving around, I went in and paid the twenty five dollar cover charge. Unfortunately, Tony G's was a disco bar( the disco scene was still going full throttle at that period of time) and I wasn't a particular fan of this musical genre, but it was either that or meander aimlessly around the city in search of a good time. Beggars can't be choosers.

Luckily, I ran into some people I knew and they asked me to sit down at their table. So there I was, sitting at a table with two married couples while I was flying solo, but at least I'd wouldn't be by myself on New Years. I noticed a fetching red headed female wearing a low cut black dress sitting at the bar. I also couldn't help but notice the group of men vying for her attention. She obviously thought very well of herself as she shot down man after man. After deigning  to converse with these would be Casanova's for a moment or two, she'd shake her head and turn away from them; her way of saying," You're dismissed." The rejected suitor would slink away and another hopeful approached her seeking to meet with her approval.

Accompanying this woman was a rather dumpy brunette, who I later found out was her friend. In an interesting turn of events, the men the red headed vixen cast aside then in turn made a bee line for Miss Frumpty Dumpty, hoping desperately to make some sort of male/female connection that night. As I surmised in a previous post: Disco Donna and her Friend Fat Cathy, this attractive babe chose to hang out with a rather unattractive female because there would be no competition with the guys. Although, her rejects became her friends prospects, so I guess that's how it goes in the dating food chain.

The people I was hanging out with urged me to try my luck with the red head and I being a cocky, twenty four year old Lothario wanna be, went over to the bar to try to win her heart. The problem is, you have to have a heart to begin with and I'm positive she just didn't have one. I spoke with her for a few minutes before being summarily dismissed like the others. I wasn't at all interested in her dumpy friend, so I slinked back to my table in defeat. Had I been a few years older, I would have realized my chances with the red headed babe were zilch, zero, nada and therefore would not have bothered in the first place. Hey, I like a challenge, but I also know what a brick wall is and I don't enjoy beating my head against one.

My companions(who were regulars at Tony G's) told me that the red head's name was Cathy and that she did this all the time; rejecting every male who approached her until finding a man whom she considered to be good enough for her. Which meant that Cathy's dumpy friend Dawn was the happy recipient of the scraps and crumbs thrown her way by her picky, persnickety friend. They told me she was know as The Saucy Little Red Head At Tony G's(Cathy, if you happen to read this, the appellation was no compliment).

Then to add insult to injury, I finally met an enchanting women and thought she might be a romantic prospect .Perhaps this wouldn't be a waste of an evening after all. As we continued  getting to know each other, I found that the two of us had many things in common. Things seemed to be shaping up. Then the other shoe dropped; she was having one last night out on the town before taking her final vows to become a nun. I'm not kidding at all nor am I exaggerating in any way. It was one last gratuitous kick in the ass to round out a totally f***ed up New Years.

It was now after midnight and I'd had more than enough, so I tucked my tail between my legs and crawled away like the licked dog that I was and went home. All I needed to cap off this wretched evening was to have a bird fly over me and shit on my head. What a perfect way to ring in 1979!

As for Tom The Turd, I never saw him again until a few years ago. His first wife had divorced him and although he mentioned something about a court ordered anger management class, Tom didn't go into any detail. I wonder what was being that particular door? Anyway, he talked about getting married again because he wanted to have more children (he had a girl from his first marriage).The woman he was going to marry was someone we both knew when we worked for Delmar Photo back in the seventies, Dotty, who was like himself was in her mid fifties. Tom said they were both taking fertility drugs to increase their chances of having a child.

If I had liked the asshole, I would have wished him luck and left him in peace. But since I loathed the bastard, I was blunt and said that because of their age, having a child was a bad idea. First, since they both were in their mid fifties the chances of  having a child with Downs Syndrome extremely high. Second, Tom had a hatchet face, while Dotty was bucktoothed, knobby kneed with frizzy hair and dumb as shit. Even if the kid was spared Downs Syndrome, he or she would end up being hatchet faced, frizzy haired, knock kneed, bucked toothed and dumb as shit. Either way the kid was cursed. Tom snarled," Who cares what you think", gave me the finger and walked away. Oh well, some people can't handle the truth.

Disco Donna and Her Friend Fat Cathy

The year was 1979 and I worked at Delmar Photo(a photo developing lab) as a delivery driver. As far as jobs go, it wasn't a bad gig; my route covered the Delaware/Pennsylvania area and all in all I had my share of interesting experiences during the six years I was employed there.

One day, two girls fresh out of high school (Donna and Cathy) were hired to work in the lab.Although at first they didn't know each other, both girls quickly struck up a friendship though I couldn't figure out why because they were completely opposite: Cathy was obese and unattractive while Donna was a total stunner. When together they appeared to be a female version of the Odd Couple.

Cathy claimed she ran track in high school,but I seriously doubted it. With her ample girth,I imagined Cathy majoring in home economics instead where she more than likely scarfed down every one of her culinary creations.But in her mind,she was a real looker any man would desire. Oh well, let her have her illusions, because between her extreme corpulence and a disposition that was miserably caustic,I didn't consider her much of a catch. Except of course if you find fat,nasty women irresistible,then Cathy would definitely be the girl for you.

Donna, a cute confection, was acutely aware of her external beauty and carried her herself as if she were the most beautiful woman in the room. Upon our first meeting, she let me know in short order that she would never go out with me because I wasn't her type. And I had yet to ask her out. Talk about an inflated ego! To be honest, I found her to be unbearably vain without a brain in her head. Sure, Donna knew about monumentally important topics like fashion and make up.However,subjects such as politics or current events went right over her well coiffed but empty head;so I had no real attraction to this preening Barbie Doll who had looks but no substance.The nickname Disco Donna was bestowed upon her because of her passionate love of disco music,which enjoyed a burst of popularity during the late seventies/early eighties. She was the type of person who would mindlessly bebop her way throught life.

As to the reason for this mismatched pairs close friendship, it was a matter of simple deduction:Donna didn't consider Cathy to be any sort of competition when it came to the opposite sex. Whenever they hung out together,the guys who were attracted to Donna wouldn't have given Cathy's fat ass a second glance. While the guys who gravitated toward Cathy were realistic enough to know that a babe like Donna was totally out of their league and wouldn't have given them the time of day.

Now,except to exchange pleasantries with the both of them when at work, I never had much to do with Donna and Cathy; which brings me to a rather unpleasant incident that occurred. One day, I began getting irate phone calls at home and work from Donna's boyfriend accusing me of having an affair with her behind his back. Threats were uttered and I began to worry. One of my co-workers,an illiterate hillbilly named Rocky, taunted me about what Donna's boyfriend would do to me when he got a hold of me.

This went on for a couple of weeks and at one point I said to Donna," Why is your boyfriend threatening me? You won't even go out with me!" Eventually Cathy and Rocky admitted they had played a prank on me,laughing all the while. Cathy was laughing so hard tears of mean spirited merriment poured down her jowly, pig like face. I didn't find their cruel joke the least bit funny and from that day on I despised the both of them. I mean, what the hell did I ever do to them to deserve the despicable prank that was played on me? Years later when I read Rocky's obituary in the newspaper I thought to myself " So f***ing what." I hated that little hillbilly prick anyway. To me, his death meant there was one less piece of white trash walking the earth.

As far as Cathy concerned,I eventually had my own private laugh at her expense. After not having much success with men,she finally found someone who would put up with her,I mean, love her. His name was Mike and was introduced to her by a mutual friend and co-worker Cliff. He was a cartoonish looking fellow;picture Ichabod Crane with a huge adams apple and a galumphing walk. One day, Cliff informed me that Mike hadn't seen Cathy for two days because he was avoiding her. It seems he wanted to break up with her but didn't have the intestinal fortitude to say anything because Mike was afraid she'd beat the shit out of him. Cliff swore me to secrecy, so being a man of my word I refrained from throwing this juicy little morsel in her fat face. Something I would have enjoyed immensely.

In the end, he continued dating her(I wonder what feeble excuse he gave her explaining his two day absence) and they eventually married. It's more than likely Mike came to the conclusion that Cathy was the best he would ever do, so better to have her than nobody at all. Or perhaps he still harbored fears Cathy might go ballistic and beat him up, so he did whatever was necessary to avoid incurring her wrath. Ah! What some people do for love. Or to keep from visiting the Emergency Room for that matter.

And although I never saw them after leaving Delmar Photo,(if I never set eyes on that miserable cow ever again there will be no void in my life,that's for sure) I did run into Donna The Magnificent. I was married at the time and my wife managed the GNC vitamin store in the Christiana Mall. By co-incidence,Donna happened to be working as a clerk at a music store called Wall To Wall Sound. You always knew when Donna was on duty from the thump da da thump of the disco beat(now called Dance Music) which emanated from the stores sound system. Donna presumably was getting herself pumped up before hitting some dance club after work to boogie oogie oogie into the wee hours of the morning.

One night as I waited in front of the GNC store for my wife to get off of work, Donna happened to standing a few feet away from me and was talking to a friend about her recent wedding. She prattled on about the gown she wore,what kind of shoes she had on, how hot she looked ect,ect,ect. Not once, however, did Donna ever mention anything about the groom.It was all about her(naturally). You would have thought she had married herself;a Dennis Rodman of the eighties if you will. And although I know differently,well, anything's possible.

Coming To Me With Their Hand Out.

I received a letter from my Alma mater St.Marks in which I was informed that it was time to give back for the four wonderful years I had there. Being a St.Marks alumni,means getting such letters on a regular(as well as irritating) basis. And sometimes you'll receive a letter saying that out of so many of my graduating class only a small per centage donated money. It's a tactic meant to shame those of us who in the thirty odd years since we graduated haven't felt the need to fork over any more cash to them than they 've already been paid. It's almost as if every one of us owes the school our eternal gratitude(as well as our money).

Maybe they've forgotten this little fact of life, but going to St.Marks was not free. There was tuition, books,supplies;nothing was given to us gratis. It was a case of :

My parents: here's your money.
St. Marks: Here's your sons education.
Me: Thank you.

You could say that I have no school spirit and you know something? You'd be absolutely, one hundred per cent,fourteen carat correct. The point is, I owe St. Marks nothing. And being blunt about it,my four years of high school were hardly four magical years. Now, I know certain classmates who whenever they mention their years at St Marks begin getting misty eyed,a catch develops in their throats as they wax eloquently about the joyful memories of high school. But not me. In reality,I had some good times. But I also had quite a few bad times as well. I met some really nice people. I also met my fair share of dicks, too. In essence, it was four years of school and nothing else.

So, they can send me letters chastising me for not being a more generous alumni member all they want, it won't make me loosen my purse strings on their behalf. As far as I'm concerned they've already been paid, my debt to them is no more.