Daily Blog # 7 – New Year, Same Shit

It’s the new year, and my resolution for this year is to

stop

having

such cold hands.

It’s gonna be tough—real tough—hands de hielo is kinda my thang. It wasn’t always my thang; my hands used to be puddle factories, slippery, slimy, and icky, but some chest surgery I had back in high school fixed that. And now, because the pipes to my hands have been severed, the sweat and shit gets directed elsewhere to my body (my feet), and my hands are always cold.

But in 2024, godDAMN it, I vow to resolve that.

No more cold hands!

Vote for me!

Ummmmm

Did everyone have a good Hogmanay?

Sorry, I’m speaking Scotish—did everyone have a nice NEW years? Anyone get drunk? Get laid? If anyone got laid, please provide the first and last names of your lay in the comment box below, along with their address and zip code, so I can mail them a 15 dollar gift card to Radio Shack. Because if they’re willing to sleep with you, they deserve some sort of consolidation, amirite?

I opted to stay in Glasgow, and avoid the massive castle party they have in Edinburgh. Why? Because I like to be different. And different was the theme of the night. Me and an Indian dude from my hostel hit the streets, walked around, sightsee’d drunk Scottish girls in sparkling sequined dresses, and ended at some underground rave at a place called Exit. Which was a banger. Basically, the anti-NYE pretentious party. Lots of trans people, lots of drugs, lazers, and weirdos.

But for whatever reason the music got progressively worse. Went from some kind of all-encompassing house music to drum-n-bass on steroids. And then the party ended and everyone went to get their coats at coat check, and… the line did not move a single solitary inch for about 30 minutes. I was so angry, I farted really loudly (but punched the wall at the same time to try and cover up the horrific sound.) When I got to the front of the line, I gave the girl my ticket for the coat, ticket number 557, and she asked me, “What does your coat look like?”

Seeing as I was just being a coat check person at a party myself this year, I know that by her asking me this question, she is a big stupid idiot. The whole point of the numbering system is that you put the coats on the rack IN ORDER. So my Indian accomplice’s coat, number 558, shoulda been right after mine! But they couldn’t immediately locate his either. It really soured my whole opinion about the place. Otherwise, good party.