Another night like all the rest.
It's just another New Year's Eve,
Let's make it the best.
It's just another New Year's Eve,
It's just another Auld Lang Syne
But when we're through this New Year
You'll see, will be
Didn't really expect to be quoting a Barry Manilow song, but it seems fitting for this particular New Year's Eve.
My view of New Year's Eve has changed over the past 20 years or so. When I was younger, I had to be at the right party, with the right people, and the right amount of beer and champagne. If the party or the plan on New Year's Eve was a bust, it brought with it much disappointment because of the days or weeks of anticipation of ringing in the new year in style.
I've spent time at friends' houses before I could get into bars, and then at crowded bars where the New Year's Eve scene quickly became stale. In past years I've reverted back to hanging with a group of friends at someone's house, or spending time with family.
This year, I can either go to a friend's house and enjoy some beer/wine/champagne, talk a little foolish, laugh a lot, and play some Wii, or I can get together with family and enjoy some beer/wine/champagne, talk a little foolish, laugh a lot, and play some board games or cards.
I'm seriously considering option No. 3: renting a movie or two, wrapping up in a blanket and trying to kick my cold.
Hey, don't ever say that I'm not the life of the party on New Year's Eve, OK?
I guess New Year's Eve hasn't provided me with too many front-page, big-headline memories, so I don't get all bent out of shape about it anymore trying to figure out what. to. doooo. for the (quote)big night(unquote).
I should probably retract that statement from above. New Year's Eve has provided at least one unforgettable memory, and taught me a great lesson...and that lesson is: Beer and champagne, both in large quantities, do not mix.
I was at a friend's for New Year's Eve many many years ago...I can't remember if it was before I was 21 or not. And maybe a dozen of us were celebrating the last night of the year. The beer was flowing (cheap beer, if I remember that crowd correctly), and at midnight, the champagne started flowing as well. And then, more beer, and more with the champagne, and then...oh, more beer.
I walked the six blocks home during the wee hours of the morning on January 1, and fell into my bed and "went to sleep." The next thing I remember I was waking myself up by puking the contents of my stomach into my bed, and against the wall where my bed was pushed. Not a pretty sight.
An even un-prettier sight? I rolled over in my drunken grogginess and saw my parents standing a couple feet away from my bed, watching the unfortunate...incident. From what I can recollect, they didn't say a word, just...watched...for a bit, and then left a pail on the floor alongside my bed. (which, I really didn't need anymore, because I'd so conveniently used the wall instead. but it was a kind and loving gesture on their part.)
I spent almost all of the next day on a couch in the basement, flipping through the channels and generally ignoring the TV, suffering through what remains to this day one of my worst hangovers ever.
And that's the night I learned that champagne consumption should be measured in glasses, not in bottles.
Thanks for reading. I'll understand if you never want to come back and visit again.
— • — • —
And with a click of the mouse on the "Publish Post" button of this thirty-first entry of the month of December, having thirty-one days, I can tell November to kiss...my...ass. I may have stumbled during the "official" month of NaBlahBlah, but I finished the year strong.
Expect my next entry sometime in mid-March.
Happy New Year, everyone! May you keep all the resolutions you make...and may you not make any, because then I won't feel guilty for not making any, either.
"An optimist stays up until midnight
to see the new year in.
A pessimist stays up to make sure
the old year leaves."