Cinco de Mayo falling on a Monday is brutal. Here are the Top 5 Groups of People Most Seriously Affected:

5) Mariachi Bands. Tips for playing La Bamba don’t make themselves. You need muy patrons and muy margarita pitchers to make some real coin.

4) Single Guys. The number of chicks willing to make bad decisions after a lot tequila dwindles when Cinco de Mayo falls on a Monday.

3) Irish Pubs. May 5th means tons of spillover revenue for pubs when the Mexican joints get packed and/or run out of tortilla chips. This year, just the usual Monday night drunks.

2) Fat Chicks. The number of dudes willing to make bad decisions after a lot tequila dwindles when Cinco de Mayo falls on a Monday.

1) Mexican Restaurant Owners. This group is hit hardest. If you can’t serve a packed house of privileged white kids on the day that celebrates your heritage, how are you ever going to turn a profit?

I, the Single Guy, party the hardest on New Year’s. It’s what I do. Why wouldn’t I? If 2008 is going to be the year of the Single Guy, I’ve got to ring it in in proper fashion: By Rocking Out with My Cock Out.

When most people think “New Year’s Eve”, they think counting down to midnight. That mindset is fucking stupid. NYE should be viewed as an all day affair.

There are too many awesome things about today to limit the good times to just one party. There’s alcohol. There’s the day off work. There’s waking up to Egg McMuffins chased by bloody mary’s. There’s reminiscing about how awesome you were the previous year. There’s getting a pass for acting like a jackass. And–most importantly–there’s the even lessened inhibitions of chicks with low self esteem.

NYE is about forcing your way in assorted bars at 11 AM before they open and coercing the manager to serve you and your friends. It’s about cursing the flat screen and whatever flat-footed retard of a quarterback just threw an interception, costing you a couple hundred bucks. It’s about running game at your waitress, asking her what her plans are for the evening, and then calling her an ugly prude behind her back after she tells you she’s going to dinner with her boyfriend.

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I, the Single Guy, am going on a blind date. I know, I know, this totally does not sound like something I would do, but I figure any chick willing to go on a blind date has to be starving for some attention and will probably put out if I can fake her into thinking I’m husband potential.

Translated: the blind date could be a solid mechanism for me to get laid on a Wednesday night. And even if it totally backfires at least I can get my buddy’s wife to shut the fuck up about setting me up with her friends.

I’ve already had three beers and am polishing off my fourth when I get to the chick’s place. Her initial answer of the door is the make or break point of this whole thing. If she’s moderately attractive it’s a go. If she’s heinous I may have to fake a herpes outbreak. That should scare her off from trying to take a rain check. My buddy’s wife described her as “pretty with a great personality”. That has the potential to translate to chubby and laughs a lot. All that should be cleared up in the next few seconds.

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I, the Single Guy, remember why I love visiting my alma mater for huge home games.

I wake up Saturday morning to married guy pounding on my bedroom door at the shit hole apartment we rent for the entire fall. I’ve heard some douchebags at work snicker behind my back about me coming back for every football game even though I’m fast approaching 30. Fuck them. They can have fun cuddling with their wives while I’m busy giving the business to multiple coeds. 

This morning I roll over to find no fat chick in bed with me, so despite feeling like a cat shit in my mouth last night, things are already looking up. It’s always a pain in the ass to to wake up and look for some butter in the fridge to grease up the Wooly Mammoth I made a bad decision on the night before and try to squeeze her through the front door before my asshole friends see here.

I stagger toward the shower and see that it’s only 8:30 in the morning. This sucks. Married guy and his morning person bullshit can suck a dick. Two minutes into my shower, married guy is pounding on my door again. “We need to get to the tailgate spot before the lot fills up.” I tell him he’s going to have to wait ten minutes for me to finish punching the clown.

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I, the Single Guy, have to go to another fucking wedding. They’re out of control. They’re devastating my summer. It’s to the point where they take up roughly three out of four weekends. All because my friends are dipshits. I think they’re getting married because they hear other people are getting married. Really fucking smart, assholes.

At least I’m not always a groomsman. That shit blows. Soberly escorting a bunch of old ladies down a church and then smiling like a jackass in one million pictures is not my idea of a fun Saturday in the summer. Sleeping until noon, getting a solid base by the pool, taking car bombs until 4 A.M., and dragging some random chick back to my layer is.

I don’t bring dates to weddings. I always go solo. My invite always reads “And Guest”, but it might as well read “And Whiny Bitch You’ll End Up Babysitting”. Eff that. Too many bad experiences. I prefer to take my chances with the field at the reception.

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