How I imagined my New Year's Eve would go:  A nice, quiet evening with the Marine.  Romantic, sweet.  One last perfect evening together before he had to go back to NC. 

But, of course, many let-downs from the Marine left me seeking other plans for New Year's.  Even the Marine's final call back on Saturday did not convince me to give him another chance.

The whole tone of the voicemail was weird, like he had seen this coming, that he knew I had purposely ignored his call because of Friday night, and that he wasn't surprised.  He didn't even start speaking at first.  The first thing I heard was this weird laugh-sigh combination noise and then, "Hey, I was just seeing what you was doing ... give me a call back when you can ... we had some company come in ... our family ... (then another one of those noises.  I swear, that noise will haunt me forever.  Then, his tone changed--much sweeter, quieter, sadder) ... just give me a call back, ok?  Bye."

So, instead, I spent New Year's with some guys from the hockey team.  One guy in particular who Val and I like to call "Bastard".  Val and Bastard had a short fling way back when.  He completely lost his appeal, however, when he blew the team's eligibility for Nationals by failing a Regent's test prep class.  We still ran into him at parties and at our restaurant though. 

When he invited me to the party, I had some reservations about his intentions (just because he invited me, did that mean I had to kiss him at midnight?) but decided to go anyway.  Besides Val and William were making me slightly sick with their husband-wife routine on the couch. 

I arrived at the party half an hour to midnight--thankfully, since I was already bored by the time midnight rolled around. 

As we counted down from 30 seconds, I made sure to stare straight ahead since I could feel Bastard staring straight at me.  I felt him punch me lightly in the arm at about 15 seconds.  I smiled but made sure not to avert my eyes from the TV.  I knew I would get it right on the lips if I did.  Ohh, where was Nasty, the goalie?  He was literally sitting on top of me five minutes ago and now, he was nowhere in sight.  Eh, not like I would have the guts to grab him and kiss him anyway.

At midnight, Bastard sat there awkwardly for a moment.  Then said, "Come here," (keep face forward, keep face forward) grabbed my arm and pulled me over to him to kiss me on the cheek.  I looked over at him finally.  He looked at me as if he was going to zero in now that I finally turned my head.  I smiled, said thanks, and quickly jumped up to wish everyone else Happy New Year's. 

When I sat back down next to him, I asked, "You getting wasted tonight?"
"I figured I would see what you were doing."
"Oh, I'm not getting wasted.  I'm going home here shortly."
"Well, I am watching my friend's mansion for him and wanted to see if you wanted to go out there and drink with me."
"Oh, no.  I'm going home here shortly," I repeated for emphasis.
"Well, would you mind giving me a ride back at least?"
"Don't you want to try to get a ride home from one of these girls?  You might be able to pick one up ..."

So, I gave him a ride home.  To Buckhead.  
"How was your 2006?" he asked.
"It was fine.  The whole male part of it could have been better though."
"Why's that?"
"Well, you know, I would have liked to have been in a relationship, but it doesn't work out.  Either I like him and he doesn't like me or he likes me and I don't like him."
"What are some of the reasons you don't usually like guys?"
"Well, the biggest thing is ..." I stopped myself from finishing that sentence.
"What?  You can tell me."
"Well, nothing against you, but I hate dating a guy who isn't independent.  You know, like he still lives with his parents."

Then, he went into this big spiel about how he DID live with a roommate for a while, how he DID live with his last girlfriend for a while, how his mom loves him and wouldn't mind if he lived there until he was 35!  I tried to keep my eyes from rolling into the back of my head. 

Once we finally got there, he invited me inside to take a tour.  Yes, yes, very nice house, but I had to get going.  I was in the driveway, outside my car, the car was unlocked.  All I had to do was get in and go.  But ...

"C'mon, what are you going to do when you get home?  Go to bed?"
"That's the idea."
"I've been alone in this big house for two weeks.  All I'm going to do is watch a movie and go to bed.  You can sleep in one of the guest bedrooms.  If you're worried that I'm gonna push something, I'm not."

That's what I was worried about.  And I thought I was being arrogant for thinking it.  C'mon, not EVERYone wants to hook up with you ... but then again, what guy invites a chick over with innocent intentions?

So, I walked back in and sat on the couch.  He sat in the chair across the room.  Good.  Stay over there. 

But he didn't. 

He would bring me a shot of vodka and plop down next to me.  He would touch me in some way or another--squeeze my side or my knee.  I would keep smacking his hand away and somehow it would find its way back. 

After I had too much, I rolled over to pass out and he would stand over me and kiss me on the cheek.  Ugh.  Over and over.  Yeah, sure, he wasn't pushing ANYthing. 

When I woke up in the morning, I gave him an awkward hug goodbye and thanked him for inviting me to last night's party.
"What?  Leaving without a makeout session?" he asked

And I got the hell out of there ...