Happy New Years Eve!

It’s official. I’ve turned into Old Man Marley from the Home Alone movie. That’s the creepy scary guy who wasn’t any fun and terrorized all the neighborhood kids.

Yep, that’s me.

This New Year’s Eve, I’ll go out to dinner at a local family-owned restaurant and probably be home by 7:00 p.m. undressed by 7:30 in front of the TV by 8:00 and when the lights go out it won’t even be midnight yet. Happy fucking new year. Now, where’s my body pillow? Where’s my neck pillow? Oh damn, that’s the cat

The thing that really drives me bonkers crazy though is fireworks. I know they’re going to be popping then on the Strip which I’m not real excited about but hey, that goes with the tourist territory. What I don’t understand is why everybody else thinks they have to pop their own fucking fireworks on every side street? It’s become a giant fireworks shitshow. Can’t we all just leave this to the experts? Yes, I *will* call the cops since they’re technically illegal and law enforcement will respond as they do every year–by doing not a damn thing about it and then getting a good laugh in the break room about the complaint again this year from the irate madman bitching about the fireworks.

But really — who wants to go out tonight? Who is crazy enough to do that? Nobody goes out on New Year’s anymore, it’s too crowded. You couldn’t pay me to go to the Strip, fight to pay $40 to park to get shit service on a $300 meal for 2 where I can’t get a refill on the iced tea, and that’s if they haven’t lost my reservation. Fuck that!

Oh, I almost forgot. Happy New Year!