A Thin Line

New Year's Eve always brings a little drama. The cab doesn't come on time. That one guy at the party can't keep his hands to himself. The girl on the corner doesn't have NEARLY enough clothes on. And then there's that moment when you wonder - should I have done THAT?

Last night, I had the best New Year's Eve in a really, really long time. I attended a dinner party full of funny people -and I was the only "stranger" in the group. The host cooked a great dinner - and by the end of the night, we were all a little tipsy - and very full. More fun, our host became a younger, much better looking James Lipton (from Inside the Actor's Studio). If you're not familiar with the show, this guy gets any actor worth his salt (and some not) to come on his show and he asks a variety of "probing" questions. He also recently appeared in a GEICO commercial, but that's another story.

In any case, the host asked us each to answer five simple questions - after the New Year had been welcomed. Many were tipsy; some were not; but the sharing was pretty funny. Curious? Thought so:

1) Favorite curseword: Maybe I shouldn't have started with this one. It's neither ladylike nor original, and I'm eradicating it in the new year. Maybe we'll just leave it at that?

2) Biggest turn-on: Outdoor adventures. (Surprised? Probably not.) Why that one? Well, it's true, and "a strong jawline and good hair" didn't seem to make the grade. You think you could do better on the spot? Please!!! You answer in a room full of people with something enigmatic and yet alluring -it's like trying to make a low-fat chocolate chip cookie - it's too much effort and doesn't taste nearly as good...

3) Biggest turn-off: Neediness - which I thought beat out another girl's "farting".

4) Favorite sound: I'll admit it was lame - the sound of a golf club hitting a golf ball perfectly square. I did not imply or otherwise warrant that I was capable of producing the sound, but it doesn't mean I don't like it.

5) Least favorite sound: At 1:30, when I was answering this question, it was the sound of my neighbors shoveling. That changed four hours later to "neighbors buzzing strangers into building." Keep reading.

Now, maybe the karmic gods were laughing at me (oxymoron with the karmic gods?). Or maybe, per usual, I said a bit too much. It is, after all, a thin line between being entertaining at a party, and being the annoying and mildly stupid guy who says his favorite word is "LEINIES!!!" (the Wisconsin beer). Anyway, not long after my lackluster sharing, I headed home. I was completely sober (alarmingly so), but very lazy when I rolled into bed.

"Self", I said, "You should double check to make sure that the door is locked."

I responded: "Self, it's cold, and you're all snug as a bug in a rug. I'm sure you locked it." Uh huh. I decided it was most likely I HAD locked the door. Despite the fact said door is a mere SEVEN feet from my bed, I rolled back over and fell asleep.

And then, Mr. Karma paid a visit. At 5:30, I woke to someone buzzing all the doors in our building. A tried and true tactic of homeless folks trying to find a warm cubby on a cold night, I wasn't surprised. It was probably close to zero with the wind chill. The guy was probably cold. But since only IDIOTS buzz someone into a building at 5:30 they aren't expecting, I figured I was safe. Right?

Well, partly right. I found out when one of my neighbors decided to BUZZ HIM IN.

ACK. LEAPING OUT OF BED (ME (let's just say, not fully dressed.) WHIPPING THE itsy bitsy keychain lock (the kind I once ripped off my college dorm door when late to class, flinging the lock across my apartment). PANTING, STANDING AGAINST THE DOOR.

He shuffles up to the landing....and then, of course, because Karma has a sense of humor, he TRIES MY DOOR HANDLE.

"Go away!!!" I yell. "Wrong door!" He tries again, and because I have no peep hole, I can't figure out if he's 5'4" or 6'2" and I'm not sure if the flippy lock is locked because I can't tell in the dark, and if I unflip it, what if I DID lock it and so I just leave it alone and try not to throw up because that would REALLY suck.

After moments of pure panic, adrenaline pumping hard enough that I'm pretty sure I'm going to throw up, I hear him descend the three stairs to the front door. And, finally, he leaves. I hear the front door open and close, and I open the door and make sure it IS locked and PHEW.

I run to the bathroom (hey, I had a lot of water at that party) and AS SOON AS I FLUSH he's buzzing again, like he gave me time for my personal potty break, and now I'm going to welcome him with tea and crumpets.

I don pants, (no comments from the peanut gallery), and start talking to him through the intercom, telling him to go away or we'll call the police, when my itsy bitsy neighbor from upstairs comes running down (in her SO cute striped socks and christmas jammies) and takes one look at the guy (who I've still not opened the door to see.)

"He looks harmless" she says, checking out the 5'1" Hispanic dude in the puffy black coat, bombed out of his mind. We wave him off. He goes nowhere.

"Go away!!" we yell. He just stares at us.

She agrees, I should just call 911. So I do, and ten minutes later, they arrive. Now, the best part is that between his departure and their arrival, I've watched him in the street.

He's not only hammered, he's bouncing like a human pinball from car to car - almost as if they're electrified. And he's also not saying ANYTHING. Which is wierd. He's clearly taken care of, and put together. But then - he turns around, and the dude (who looks to be in his late 20s, early 30s) has a Bob the Builder backpack on his back. Yes, I'm being serious.

So now, I feel terrible. Is he a drunk irresponsible adult, or is he a drunk irresponsible adult who acts like a child? Is he maybe developmentally delayed or is he just stealing kids backpacks? I don't know, but when he heads down the next alley, I keep an eye on him. And tell the two chic cops who show up that he could probably use some help....

I'm not sure whether they found him that night. I hope they did - it was cold, and he was in no shape. And like a lot of moments in big city life, you find yourself wondering if you did the right thing. Should I have given the guy $10 and put him in a cab? Should I have followed him down the alley to keep watch over him? Should I keep a nine iron by the front door?

No matter what decision you make, there's a thin line between doing what's best for someone else - and getting yourself into trouble. As a single woman in the city, that line moves depending on the time of day, state of mind, and charitable view through which I'm seeing things. And while I hope that story turns out alright in the end, I probably did the best I could under the circumstances.

And if I learned nothing else, it's that you should always have pants on standby. Oh, and check the locks before you go to bed.

Happy New Year!!!