• @DearOprahW Best or worst New Years eve.

With the exception of the years I was married I never had a date on New Years. I had a few long distance relationships, but we were never together on New Years. So every year is about the same. If I was at a bar I turned in a circle to find somebody to kiss. It never led to anything more. One year my wife and I had a party at our condo and I watched a guest telling a story and eating the peel and eat shrimp (I have this amazing recipe) without taking the shell off first. I kept wanting to raise my hand and interrupt him with a, “Holy Christ, man! What kind of insanity is this?” but I couldn’t because he hadn’t arrived at the story’s punchline. That was probably the wildest thing I ever witnessed on NYE.

• @breannaldh How about the nicest thing someone did for you when you were a teenager.

I was sixteen and working in a bar/restaurant called Shooters. The owner, Sue B, was awesome. She’d run you hard but then give you a plastic cup and go, “You have ten minutes at the keg. Have fun.” My partner Reed and I would drink fifteen cups of beer in ten minutes. I’m not joking. We’d get hammered in ten minutes and finish our shift as busboys. Sue would have a holiday party at their house for all the staff and allow us to drink. That was good stuff.

• @mandileigh79 Write about the most awkward Christmas situation you’ve encountered. Truth is usually the funniest 🙂

I once stabbed a drifter on Christmas Day. Okay, that’s not true. I don’t really have one myself, but I’ll throw my sister under the bus. My aunt and uncle live in Seattle and always send us these insanely juicy pears. Well, about seven years ago my sister and I got up early and went downstairs before my parents. We found the pears and dove in. When everyone gathered in the living room to open presents she make wind and knocked everyone out of the room. By the way, she’s a VP for the largest cosmetics company in the world. She doesn’t do that. But she did.

Ooh, and last year I vomited and pooped the entire day. I was horrifically sick and still wrote about it. I couldn’t make it even a few minutes without puking. It was hilarious. And terrible.

•  @macronikki The impending doom connected to the rise of justin bieber.

Since none of the women I want to hit on are into Justin Beiber he sort of gets a pass from me. Sure, he’s lame and I hope he develops a freebasing addiction, but other than that, I don’t care about him. Canadians are just weird in general. Nicest people on the planet, but weird. The stripey shirts, for chrissakes.

• @drakedmiller A barking cat, because I have one.

Okay, I know all about omens. I studied omenology in college (nearly minored), witnessed seven omens myself over my lifetime, and I own the entire Omen Blueray box set. This is an omen. What kind of omen? How the fuck would I know? Put it on YouTube and enjoy the ten million hits you’re sure to get overnight.

Part II tomorrow!

And while I don’t believe we can heal others with our positive thoughts, or in crystals or guardian angels, I do believe in meeting someone at the right time that can border on magic.

If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you know that I  invited a reader to fly up and spend Thanksgiving with me and my family.

Then, over New Years, I visited her in Atlanta, and even had a small ThoughtsFromParis reader party!

Since then Jessica and I have made future plans to spend time in February in Chicago.  Then, in the spring we’re heading to a wedding out in San Francisco.  So, this is moving along nicely.  We speak every day, and we really focus on talking about honesty, insecurity, and needs.

And dating me is not a bed of roses.  I’m awesome at being self-absorbed, distant, critical, and non-compassionate.  I also seem to make women cry.  I’m in therapy though.  Working on it.

But despite whether I’m a dickhead in the relationship or not, she and I have to stay together.  Why?

We both have weird fixations on shed cat whiskers.

I wrote a tweet last July about how I ate a cat whisker.  I found it on the kitchen counter, and I had never seen one around before, so I thought it would be funny to eat it.  It was funny.  At least to me.

As I was telling Jessica this story recently, she went dead silent on the phone.  Here’s what happened next.

I, too, have a weird thing with cat whiskers.

Explain!

I used to collect them and put them in a bag.

(alarmed)  Uh, why?

I thought you were supposed to keep them.

(more alarmed)  For what?

I don’t know.  I never really thought about it.

What did you do with them?

I brought them into the vet during a regular checkup, and pulled out the bag.  The vet said, “Why did you bring those in here?”  I said, “I thought I was supposed to keep them.”  He looked at me funny and told me to throw them away.

You’re obviously making this up to goof on me for eating one.

I wish I was.

Scene

How could we not end up together.  Kismet!

And, without any false ego here, I think we’re pretty damned good.

Everyone who is in a band has some sort of “famous” fantasy – mine goes like this:

We finish our set and get offstage.  A woman comes walking over telling me she really likes the music and that we made her night.  Then she motions over to her table where she and a few friends are having drinks.  She invites me over and I hang out for an hour.  Then I go home alone.  No phone number or anything.

I know this is not the most exciting rock and roll fantasy.

I try to keep my fantasies in the general realm of possibility, and I was never the “I’m gonna be so awesome girls throw themselves at me!” kind of dude.  I mean, I don’t even one pair of stained leather pants.

Plus, I’m kind of freaked out by one-night stands.  I mean, I’m 35, for chrissakes.  Gross.

Interestingly enough, this low-bar fantasy has yet to be realized.  Not because I’m not in a good band or that I’m unapproachable, but that it’s just not how regular people interact.

When’s the last time you saw a play and went over to the lead and said, “Hey, Hamlet, when you get your waistcoat and fake beard off, come next door to the Stilted Whiskey and let us buy you a gimlet!”  You’ve never done that.

I guess I’m just lonely sometimes.  It’s probably the reason I publish this blog online and not simply keep it in a journal, like a normal, non-needy person.

So, I can’t tell you how excited I was to receive an email from a Chicago fan that wanted to take ME out for a drink!

I happen to live by the most famous jazz bar in the city, The Green Mill.

She wanted to meet me, and suggested we hang out for a drink.

Now, a lot of you might be thinking this sounds like a date.  But that never  occurred to me.  She didn’t seem to be flirting or suggesting anything romantic.  We had never even spoken.  Also she didn’t seem to be unstable or stalker-ish, but what the hell do I know?  My subscription to Roofies and Chloroform Monthly ran out last June.

So, I walked the 77 steps from my condo to the bar (I actually counted).  Then I remembered that this bar allows NO talking whatsoever.  In fact, they don’t even like whispering.  Jazz is serious business.

But I didn’t care.  We could sit in silence, and I’d be fine with it.  Somebody wants to hang out with me because of my writing!

We met, and it was awkward, not because first meetings are like that – but because we couldn’t really talk much.  After two drinks, I suggested we go to a nearby bar for one more.

Now, you may be thinking that this is really sounding like a date.  It wasn’t.  Plus, I cleared it in advance with the woman I’m dating.  I mean, I’m not a total asshole.  I just wanted to meet a fan who wanted to meet me.

And Ashley (the fan), said something that really resonated with me.  She said, “In a weird way, I feel like I know you already.  I mean, I don’t know you, of course, but because you write about your life, I sort of do know about you.”

Quite honestly, that was the best compliment she could have paid me.  Not that I need everybody to be so enamored with my life that they want to get to know me, but that she felt connected in some way.

Now, it may not be a “real” connection, but it’s something that’s important to me.

This is what I love about you guys.  You, being the person reading this right now.  You.

The reason I write this is to connect and be heard.  Maybe it’s massive insecurity, or dysfunctional, but it helps me feel less alone.

Now, I don’t think I’ll be meeting any more readers on a one-on-one basis going forward.  It’s a little odd and uncomfortable, and when it’s a woman and a man, there can be some safety issues, and it’s not always appropriate or smart.

That being said, I’m coming to Atlanta for New Years, we are throwing a small ThoughtsFromParis reader party.  Contact me for details.

It was a perfectly fine evening, and I’m grateful that one of you reached out to me.  Now, leave me alone.  I have shit to do.