We decided to give the fancy-schmancy Times Square countdown a miss mainly because we all are rather claustrophobic and having little or no access to heat, food and sanitation is an extremely big turnoff for me. I can do jungle trekking, mountain climbing and all the treacherous activities out there in the great outdoors but ask me to stand in a 50,000 strong crowd in the middle of winter for nothing rewarding or fulfilling except to see the drop of a bloody ball and the subsequent bragging rights of said ball is pretty vacuous.
And being intelligent beings, we decided to usher in the New Year in a place less crowded but potentially claustrophobia-inducing. We headed to Hiro Club in the West Village and while the entry fee was ridiculously steep, we were all ready to enter. Only to be rejected by the bitchy door bitch 5 minutes later because the girls were not dressed up to the club's standards (read: slutty stilettos, slutty bodycon dress, slutty make-up, slutty clutches, slutty everything.)
I hope the bitch burns in ugly hell.
So, bitterness and a little angst ensued. I mean c'mon, it's an Asian Club. It's New Year's eve. Why the discrimination, right?
Either way, we ended up at my favorite place in the city, a tiny gay bar called Pieces. To cut a 3-hour celebratory story short, the only straight guy in our group got hit on, a girl tried chatting up a "very-cute" gay man, another girl got dead wasted (tsk, tsk) and the last girl did not approve of my "slutty" dance moves. For me, an investment banker tried picking me up and when he failed, his Caucasian acquaintance moved in.
This morning, I woke up with someone else in my bed. But it was only just my friend, with a full, complete set of breasts and vagina to boot.
