Bits of Wit : You Say ‘Goodbye,’ They Say ‘Hell No’
Oh, lazy days! Oh, warm, firelit nights and quiet, rum-tempered reading!
The year is nearing its end, and I’m happily surrounded by yule and mistletoe, which are welcome alternatives to my usual winter diet of disrupted sleep and unfettered depression. This time, I’m lucky enough to have a crackling-hot partner and an adopted family to mitigate the sting of December’s cold, dark hours. Maybe my opinion of this twelfth and final month is starting to change, after all.
Like many of you, I harbor my fair share of grudges against “the holiday season.” That generalized moniker is one of them. Like, who the fuck up and decided that one single Christian holiday, together with the first day of the Christian calendar, were important enough to be collectively deemed THE season of festivities, abundant offerings, and joy? And how come Christian kids can stay home from school making Christmas cookies with their families, while young Muslims and Jews have to trudge back and forth to school before filling up on chorba and sufganiot?
Yeah, I hear your objections already. “Christmas time” has become as secular and inclusive and universally appalling as any other commercialized holiday, so there’s no reason for me to get my agnostic, communist panties in a particular twist. Giving everyone the same two weeks of vacation is convenient and logical. And if some well-meaning soul chooses to wish me a “blessed Christmas,” even though this person is definitely aware of my distaste for the tidings of organized faith, then I shall just nod my head with a polite and vacuous smile, rather than making a snide comment about how not everyone wants to throw a party for Jesus’ birthday. It’s for his sake, by the way. You try being a billion places at once.
But that’s just the roasted shell to the chestnut meat of my merry displeasures. What I really want to address is the seemingly ineluctable series of parties that will pepper our agendas year after year.
Contrary to what my counter-culture, feminist leanings may encourage you to presuppose, I love going to these shindigs, and I really love getting all dressed up. Color me mainstream, but there’s nothing that will cheer up my chilly blues quite like a shimmering dress that shows a little more leg with each bout of glacial air, a pair of glittery heels to prance through the glaze of fresh snow, and a scintillating collection of hard liquors fit for a Russian battalion. Pass the spirits, Yuri!
What could possibly ruin all of this material gaiety?
From personal experience, just about anyone with a disarming sense of entitlement and a severe case of the holiday hornies.
Now, I realize that Mister or Ms. You-know-you-want-me is not a strictly Christmas-y phenomenon… your unfortunate path is as likely to be blatantly intercepted by his or her ego at your friend’s New Years Gala as during your occasional trip to the local dive bar.
That is why I have decided to whip up a list of one-liners, some common and others creative, that can be used to say “no” at any time of the year. For your confidence-shattering pleasure, I’ve also concocted a rating scale of 1 to 5 to signify how efficient they are in persuading the typical courtier to “cease and desist.” 1 equals “you’re pretty much fucked” and 5 should have the other party eternally avoiding your general location.
Top five list of shut-downs that either work, or fail miserably.
- Stating that you are not interested. Let’s start with the obvious. This method is effective in about 90 percent of all circumstances. If it works for you, then consider yourself lucky: he or she is one of the normal ones. However, since this post is geared more towards the other 10 percent of cases, from here on referred to as weirdos, we’re going to rate it at the bottom of the list. It is completely useless when faced with the over-confident douchebag, the drunken rambler, the coked-up gladiator, the just-broken-up wastecase, or the creepy creeper. Might as well save your breath for your next hit on the joint. Trust me, you’ll need it. [[ Get the fuck away from me factor: 1. ]]
- Stating that you have a significant other. Again, the results with this pretty straightforward announcement are discouragingly dubious. True story: 8 out of 10 weirdos that I’ve used this on have replied with a question. Usually, “So, what?”; “Do you think that’s gonna stop me?”; or “Where is (s)he?” If the answer’s anything but “right behind you – the wall you’re leaning on is his abdomen/ the pillows you’re resting on are her fabulous tits,” then trust me, the sucker will be out for more. Next true story: 7 out of 10 weirdos that I’ve used this on also have a way to reassure me: “Dude, I’m not single either.” Well, why didn’t you speak up earlier??? Let’s go teach each other some new tricks!
[[ Get the fuck away from me factor: 2.6 ]]
- Stating that you are attracted to whatever sex your attacker does not belong to. In rare cases, this method (whether true or not) works like a silver fucking bullet. Example: when being chased by an evangelical and you say that you’re balls-to-the-wall queer. In some cases, it works alright in the moment, but the disappointed party will continue observing your behavior throughout the night, looking for any evidence to the contrary that would serve as an excuse for starting a schwasty riot. In most cases, however, this is actually a counter-productive approach. Because most cases of annoying people trying to get laid – and not taking the obvious hints – concern obliviously self-loving straight guys hitting on women. And when women tell self-loving straight guys that they’re into other girls… well, like I said, they’re oblivious. Clearly what she’s trying to get at is that she’s hankering for a threesome, right? HOTT. In light of the highly irritating and homo-ignorant risks associated with this option, we will have to subtract a few points.
[[ Get the fuck away from me factor: -2. ]]
- Stating that you have a contagious, disgusting, and/or incurable disease, fetish, or feeding practice. Now, here’s an idea! Cringe-worthy confessions are useful against all but the horniest of toads in the pond. Anyone who keeps the compliments coming after you’ve dropped the bomb is probably worthy of a restraining order…
[[ Get the fuck away from me factor: 4.8. ]]
- Stating that you’re a member of the Tea Party. Nothing could make a sentient being run faster in the other direction. If your attacker is “one of them,” then claim that you’re a socialist, or at least an illegal immigrant. You should be in the clear.
[[ Get the fuck away from me factor: 666. ]]
Here’s a toast to your social adventures! I wish you the best in avoidant success…