Nando & His New Year

It seems that we have been conditioned to think that a new year means a new clean slate to start things over. But does it always work out that way? What if by some strange universal command--we get served cold and tasteless left-overs from last year and the stuff is spilling over in our bowls?

On the glorious night we call New Years Eve, seconds before the big hand and the little hand were on the 12, I was in the middle of my fifth or sixth argument with Nate. It seems that a newly turned 21-year-old and alcohol doesn't mix well with an old nagging Mexican who doens't want to be at Cafeteria (a high-glamoured diner @ 119 7th Ave) while the drunk 21-year-old ordered chicken and waffles.

So in a dramatic display by the 33-year-old (that would be me), I stood up, reached for my coat--in a very Joan Crawford way; I looked straight into his eyes and pursed my lips together and managed to spew out the words, "Thanks for ruining my life and my New Years, don't bother getting up!" And I walked out. His attempt to reach for my arm only resulted in a loud crash as he dropped all the silverware from the table--and they say alcohol doesn't affect hand-eye coordination.

I walked to the train station at Union Square/14th Street and saw happy people all around me smiling, laughing, and celebrating with their friends. I asked myself, "Is there anyone more miserable than me at this very moment?" And just like that, I got a text. It was from Nate. It said, "Go die!" And then I got another txt, this time it was from a good friend that I will call Sally. Her txt read: "Well, Happy New Years to me, my husband just asked for a separation."

By the time I got home, I had a few other messages. One was from my friend in Iran involved in an open relationship with two men. It seems that the other two guys decided that "three's a crowd" and kicked Ali out of the love triangle. How can life play such a cruel hand? Ali knew what he had to do. He decided he'd gather his belongings, move to Egypt and attend computer school--where he'd master the fine art of computer hacking and ruin the lives of both his ex-beaus. And that's when it hit me. I'll rip a page out of Ali's book and learn from him. I'll put all my energy into something that will eventually blossom into a beautiful flower of revenge.

Then I came to my senses and figured it out. Sure, we can sit there in a pity party catered just for one, or we can realize the role we all played in the situation; it takes two to tango, or in Ali's case, three to throw down. And if life does serve us a big bowl of last year's crap--why not ask for some ranch dressing to sprinkle on, or a side of french fries to add to the dish? My point is, yes, the New Year might not have given some of us the new fresh clean slate we were hoping for, but we sure as hell have a few decisions to make in order to help swallow what's on our plate in order to make room for dessert. So if you're like me, ask that big waiter in the sky for some extra ketchup and in the meantime, swallow hard.

Info on Cafeteria (their chicken & waffles looked good), click here.
Some fun Joan Crawford stuff: click here.