Lumberjacked: Ghosts of NYE Past

January 3, 2011 § 1 Comment

During the Christmas/New Year week of binge, like any single gal in her 20s who has fled the nest, I returned to my hometown solo in order to comfort my lonely heart with my mother’s cooking and the jingle of my father’s drink. This is accompanied by a reconnection with old friends, usually resulting in a hefty dose of town gossip leading drunken laughter at some one else’s adult misfortune. It helps to take the pain away of being single for the holidays, a spoonful of sugar. I still can’t get over the fact that some people my age are on their second and third kids while I’m still trying to say no to a cat as a companion. Perhaps my maturity was stunted by that coffee habit I developed when I was eleven.

Fortunately for some of my ol’ gal pals they are right on track with a great guy and 2.5 dogs. I’m standing up in two weddings this summer and currently loathe both ladies for snagging the last two upstanding young men on the planet. At least this is how I look at it because I am a resident of the Los Angeles area where all men are perpetually seven years old still laughing at their own farts. I live in a land where wives are like shoes and the styles change seasonally.

Anyway, Miss P, the Backwoods Wench and I have no choice but to pull ourselves together long enough to order our bridesmaids dresses for the coming blessed events. After a long night of drinking, putting on tight fitting, bright colored taffeta in the dead of winter, was the last thing any of us wanted to do. I happen to have no problem walking down the aisle naked, they say the best place to meet single men is at a wedding.

The night before got a bit out of control, so the naked thing seemed more appealing as the headache got worse. Miss P’s man seems to think that if some one offers the host a bottle of liquor it is customary to drink it all in one night. The next morning, after a few consecutive purges we finally made it out the door. I had to take advantage, Miss P is one of the only people who will tell me exactly how fat I look in any given dress, and after puking I was sure to put a hot number on layaway while I prayed for a groomsman. Much to our surprise, the only bridal shop in town was closed for the week. Well, they just lost three costumers. Okay, not really because it was the only bridal shop for several towns and we’d have to come back regardless. They really have a corner on the market.

After sitting with out cars chatting in the parking lot freezing our nips off, I requested comfort food in the form of the best breadsticks in the region. The Backwoods Wench had showed up in her Carhartt overalls, like she was straight off of an ice fishing show, so we couldn’t go anywhere too respectable. Her mantra for the winter is: if the shanty’s a rockin’ don’t come a knockin’. We settled into a corner booth of an “Italian” place to nurse our hangovers on Midwestern grease-sticks and more town gossip.

The Backwoods Wench informed me that she sees “The Lumberjack” on a regular bases due to his occupancy of the apartment above hers. Yes, he’s actually a lumberjack and at that point in my life as a city girl, a lumberjack was my ultimate sexual fantasy. I’m certain my current obsession with red beards is the result of this Paul Bunyan sex dream. That was the New Year’s Eve that I was lumberjacked. But, I promise you, it wasn’t as good as it sounds.

We had all bought tickets to a hotel party in Novi. If you know Michigan at all, you’ll know that’s a part of the state occupied by a large population of Lebanese and other Middle Eastern characters assembled in the ’70s. Of course we went without thinking, all dressed up to attend a party where we basically didn’t speak the language.  Not to mention, I got three feet into the venue and I fell right down on my ass. Great entrance into any party regardless of ethnicity. If you fall late in the night everyone’s had a few drinks and thinks you’re hilarious, but in the first five minutes you might as well be a leper. You’re pegged as that girl that will probably get kicked out and you get funny looks every time you visit the bathroom. In my defense, we polished off a bottle prepartying, and it was very slippery.

Even though we were surly ostracized, never fear, the Backwoods Wench and her rustic tomboy nature will either know or know where to find the nice Michigan boys you’d like to roll in the hay with after a night of cow tipping. Not even one vodka soda in, she’s introducing us to The Lumberjack. Apparently he went to kindergarten with her neighbor or something. He was tall and drinking a CAN of beer while wearing a suit, proving to be low maintenance and zero commitment. Done and done. Thank you, God of the Midnight Kiss, for this disposable boyfriend. It was perfect, he and his friends bought us drinks all night, I even tried to teach him to dance (which was entertaining for me at the time), and he wasn’t a complete random so I didn’t feel slutty crashing in his room to see if I could get some more action. However, that action was minimal because he just plain couldn’t get it up. Limpy limpy. Then I had to issue the tap, because he wasn’t very good at that either. I reconvened with the girls at breakfast the next day where we coined the term “lumberjacked.” The word’s sentiment is closely related to carjack although never a premeditated action.

That year I was in town for a few more days and at the time of our public make-out session on the dance floor, I gave him my number. He grew up with Backwood’s neighbor, it wasn’t like he was some stranger, he was practically family. A day later during a bowl game I called him to meet me at the bar, prefacing everyone in attendance that he wasn’t much to talk to but pretty to look at. I also made them aware that I thought the lumberjacking of New Year’s Eve was a fluke and was willing to give it another go ’round for the sake of fulfilling my lumberjack fantasy. Well, I couldn’t have be proven more wrong and I did try my best. There’s only so much pulling and sucking a girl can do. There I was trying to breathe some life into his unresponsive body part, with his gigantic dog in the room watching the whole time. Even with the encouragement of man’s best friend, I was still coming up empty handed. Then after sitting through a sob story about his PTSD from his heinous ex which he clearly couldn’t stop thinking about, he tried to make it up to me. Needless to say, I had to issue another tap. I had been lumberjacked twice in a less then 48 hour period.

It was at this point in the story that Miss P piped up, mid-breadstick, “wait, so how long did you go out with him?”

“I didn’t go out with him, it was just those two attempts. I’m kind-of a slut, you know.” Backwood’s offered to set me up with him again; the third time is usually the charm. The thought of getting lumberjacked again was making me lose my appetite and I had just gotten my nausea under control from my tequila hangover. As for this New Year’s Eve, Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind? In this case, yes, yes I think so. And may the year be without a lumberjacking, especially at the two weddings I will be attending. Don’t you have to be a MAN to be a groomsman? Cheers.


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§ One Response to Lumberjacked: Ghosts of NYE Past

  • Betty says:

    Your New Years Eve still sounds much more fun than mine; two loads of laundry while watching Elf (Buddy the Elf, what’s your favorite color?), a glass of champagne and my dog desperately trying to slip me the tongue all night… that and I nursed the Sicilian Silver Fox who was laid low with a fever and a cough so dog kisses were all there was to be had!

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