New Year, Schmew Year

For 24 years in a row, my New Year's Eves sucked more than one of those yellow Dyson vaccuum cleaners everyone gets so excited about.

Last year, though, the streak was broken. I decided that even though my love life was a wreck and my head felt like a cement mixer filled with rage and Worcestershire sauce, I was going to surround myself with as many loved ones as I could find and make some magic happen.

I began the night with a call from my ex. We chatted, trying valiantly to pretend we were okay. I hung up the phone and tore into my large bottle of Chimay red label faster than Pamela Lee unzipped Tommy's pants when the camcorder's red record light lit up. My guests arrived. I was soused. But I could still feel a tingling of pain in my sternum, so I kept going.

"Have an adorably small bottle of champagne, gorgeous," was the siren song coming from RobMag. No, wait, that was Halloween, but I was drunk and WISHING I had those presh little bottles that he introduced me to, but no liquor stores seemed to have. Yeah, that was it. That's why the memories melted together.

My friends and I ate some finger foods. We looked mesmerizing in the candlelight. We laughed. I was feeling numb. And the party hadn't even started yet!

The Mighty G, bless her sober heart, drove me to the gathering. It took all of ten minutes to drive to Atence's place, and I still managed to sneak a few tears in just to make the G feel a little worse for me (if that was even possible for my pathetic ass). I don't remember this, by the way, but she seems to believe it happened. So. Apparently I got a hold of myself enough to enter the party and turn on the fabulous. My camera flash was going off once every 15 seconds. There was a big bottle of Jack Daniels...or was that the party this summer where I dressed up like a saloon whore?...hmm...

The All Stars were there. Old friends all, smiling and laughing and drinking and hitting on one another. There was an abundance of kissing, sometimes even with the person you were there with. Music, debates, jumping on the bed, making fun of the hostess...not a down moment. I was out-of-control-drunk, which means that I was talking sex and matters of the heart, laughing too loudly, and making out with people I had known platonically for 3 years. Not once did I feel bad about any of it. I had escaped my worries.

I was driven home, and managed to make it up the windy steps to the Treehouse unscathed. And that's all I remember.

I woke up the next morning with the TV blaring "Any Which Way But Loose." I felt that I had my shirt on from the night before, but nothing else, indicating that I was undressing but got distracted and passed out. I was glad I was alone, so no one else could see me like this. Then I realized that it was incredibly dark in the room, and I wondered why, seeing as how it was daytime and all. I felt my eyes. And slowly, as if underwater, I removed my sock monkey from his perch across the bridge of my nose and opened my eyes for the first time.

This is when shit got weird.

I glanced toward the foot of my bed and saw that a perfectly sliced piece of banana bread was lying on my chest with one bite taken out of the corner. As my chest rose and fell with each confused breath, I formed a theory that the banana bread was an offering to the sock monkey who just wasn't hungry. So I ate it myself and crawled daintily to the bathroom to be sick.

As this year comes to a close, I am feeling hopeful. For the first time, I had a Rock and Roll New Year and took no prisoners. I resolved to make the entire year about resolutions; to contantly improve myself and gain some new understanding of the world within and around me. I chose to dedicate the year to the people who have stuck with me, through anything, no matter how poorly I treated them or how much I hurt them. The last 11 months have been for them. So it's been a pretty good year.

I wonder if having a shitty lead-in to the holiday is a requisite for having a super happy New Year's Eve. If it is, I might as well just stay home this year. No furry coats, dancing, alcohol, or loud music for me. This girl is too content.

But don't let this entry stop you from inviting me out. I'll bring the banana bread if you bring the champagne-lettes.

cheers. g