It's A Planet Full of Traffic Lights and Traffic Light Abuse

Histories of insanity intruding on the sane.

It started with a girl. A girl with a really cool old Fiat convertible.

And it ended with my worst New Year's Eve ever.

I dated Fiat Girl briefly in High School after her ex-boyfriend wrecked her car and then dumped her. We'd go out for spicy Thai chicken and talk every night. I always made sure I had really cool music playing in the background before I'd get on the phone.

When New Year's Eve rolled around, she announced that we were going to a party. And I was driving (because her cool Fiat was still in the shop).

So I picked her up and we drove out to a far-off suburb, up a mountain lane, and deep into the woods.

The only person I knew was Fiat Girl. She knew everyone.

She knew the people snorting coke in the living room. She knew the guys playing pool in the basement. She knew the couple having sex in the hot tub. She knew the sexual history of the party's host and the fetishes of everyone on the dance floor. And she knew what each guest was drinking.

By 10:00, Fiat Girl was having a loud drunken argument about Star Trek with a guy sporting a green Mohawk. I walked to the kitchen and realized I was the only person at the party who was anywhere close to sober.

I wandered around the house, looking at framed newspaper clippings of crimes from the 1950s and trying to figure out why I wasn't having any fun and why the enormously high level of ambient stupidity didn't amuse me at all.

I hunted around but Fiat Girl was nowhere to be found. I ate spicy Thai chicken without her. The ball dropped, but I still couldn't find her. I wanted to go, but I couldn't just leave her there.

Then two of the guests lit off firecrackers in the kitchen and the smoke alarm went off. They didn't realize it was wired to a remote alarm system.

Ten minutes later, two firetrucks and a police car showed up. It was 3am and the cop told us all to go home.

But I still couldn't locate Fiat Girl. So I asked everyone as they were leaving. And finally one of the guests admitted that Fiat Girl had left hours earlier with Mohawk Guy.

She called me two days later and said she got her Fiat out of the shop. I didn't bother to put on any cool music. When I asked her about the party, she said it was all my fault and hung up on me.

Mohawk Guy dumped her a few days later and she called me a few times and told me I shouldn't take her actions so seriously. She wanted to get back together. But I saw no reason to celebrate; that party was over... I'd already gone home.