Candy and Flowers
Beginning this week, Austinist will be introducing several new columns written by various contributors. These columns will run the gamut from thoughts on television (which you have already come to love) to dipsomaniac observations and the like. These posts will be spoken in the first person singular by the individual contributors and do not represent the thoughts/opinions of Austinist as a whole. Today, we introduce "Candy and Flowers," from contributor Carly Kocurek. In "Candy and Flowers," Carly will share her observations and experiences with the dating scene in Austin - the good, the bad, and everything in between. Enjoy! -- The Editors
I’m normally socially functional, but honestly, I just can’t work under New-Year-type conditions. New Year’s Eve totes all the pressure of Valentine’s Day, but you can't beg off due to single-hood. Semi-obligated to dress up, to go out, and to have a good time — goddamnit! — you're supposed to, at the very least, find someone to make out with when the clock strikes midnight, if not someone to knock boots with a little later on.
New Year’s Eve clamors for number one status as the holiday for people on the prowl. People are drunk. People are desperate. People are wearing stupid hats. The whole set up translates the first few moments of any new year into the minutes in which people are most likely to make really, really dumb decisions. I’m all for starting things with a bang, but under no circumstances should this bang involve anyone who introduces himself as “The Kwonk.”
Few other holidays have the hook-up potential of New Year’s Eve. Unless you’re quite solidly coupled off, Christmas, Hanukah, Thanksgiving and other family affairs probably mean you’re sleeping solo in a creaky twin bed somewhere far too familiar. While Labor Day, the 4th of July and other national barbeque days could prove fruitful, due to what we call the “cooler full of beer” factor, patriotic displays are profoundly unsexy. I do not want to just close my eyes and think of Dick Cheney, ever.
Valentine’s Day’s debauched twin, St. Patrick’s could have some potential, but I can’t stomach the idea of flirting over glasses of green beer. Mardi Gras has a high rate of hook-up, but the whole thing seems so tacky. In New Orleans, you risk showing your tits to a sea of internet-ready digital camcorders. Besides, any NOLA hook-up post Katrina seems like a pity fuck. Who doesn’t feel bad for New Orleans and all its residents? In Galveston, you’d be looking to score at a “family friendly” event, and we feel fairly certain such behavior is looked down upon by those with small children. And, then, there’s Carnaval right here at home, but twenty bucks at the door seems a bit steep to us for a cheap night rendezvous. Perhaps the most important holiday is one we tend to neglect, like the Winter Solstice or May Day.
New Year’s Eve, clearly, is the last hook-up-holiday standing, but like its brethren, it suffers from a high level of artificiality. In fact, I’m pretty sure we gave some guy my mom’s cell phone number instead of my own (Thanks for taking one for the team, Mom). I place the blame for that lapse in judgment squarely on the stout White Russians at Barfly’s — champagne is for the weak.
The midnight deadline means that by 11:30, while you’re likely still dangerously close to sober, you’re scanning the room for your number one target as well as a host of back-up options. This leaves a 30 minute window to sow the seeds for your hot turn-of-the-calendar make-out session.
Then, of course, when you’re talking to prospects, you’re not really talking about the night, or the year, or what you’re drinking. You’re talking about how much you’re going to make out. Tongue or no tongue? How about an over-the-shirt feel? Any chance you’re going to see each other naked? Are you going to even feign that maybe you’ll call? There are too many things to figure out and not enough time. I can’t take the pressure. I say to hell with New Year’s Eve. Forget Valentine’s Day. I’m going rogue. I’m declaring our own hook-up holidays.
How about Tuesdays? No pressure. I’ll bring the mixers.
