Wednesday, December 30, 2009

New Year’s Eve

My “top” New Year’s Eves:
  • 1970-something: Mom and dad went to some party at the Holiday Inn—the motel where mom waited tables—and left me at home with my two older brothers. My Mrs. Beasley doll was decapitated that night, a harbinger of the tragic NYEs that were to come.
  • 1987: Me, Lois, and Chris in Chris’s basement drinking Jager and playing euchre while wearing U-M boxer shorts. This would have been fine except for my inability to hold my hooch. I think I hurled around the time Weird Al was explaining his secret hangover recipe to Joe Piscopo on MTV. Poor timing, indeed.
  • 1989: I was freshly heartbroken and covering the Rose Bowl for the yearbook, so I was in L.A. with the staff photographer. We wound up at a giant alumni party in the Valley on New Year's Eve, where I ran into my ex-boyfriend with his new girlfriend. I spent the night walking around the party with a 12-pack, dispensing beers to people who had a reason to live. I then sped back to the hotel on one of the freeways in a fugue state, stayed up all night, and then downed gallons of black coffee in the Rose Bowl press box…where I was seated next to my ex-boyfriend, a sports editor for the Michigan Daily. Oh, and Michigan lost that year.
  • 1994: Me, my boyfriend, and a giant party at the Washington Hilton—the hotel where Reagan was plugged—with a few thousand of our closest strangers. We left in short order. The highlight of the night was getting a lift from one of the idling limos, which were acting as gypsy cabs while waiting for clients.
  • 2004: Got stoned with my best friend while teaching her to knit and watching Gigli. This officially marked my march into spinsterdom.
  • 2008: Me, a sorta boyfriend (who drank too much and eventually passed out), and two gay bears sat on the couch and watched Mythbusters. Holla. Oh yeah, he broke things off the next week via IM. This really set the tone for the massive suck that has been 2009.
  • Tie for first/worst: 1990 & 2003: 1990 found me in Detroit, partying it up with my college friends at a party at the top of the RenCen. I wish I could say I was drunk, but I was just dumb-ass stupid. I went up a down elevator…or tried to. After a scary ambulance ride to Detroit Receiving with a driver who resembled Large Marge, I spent five hours getting my Frankenknee stitched up while hiking up my Ann Taylor skirt to avoid bloodshed and eyeballing the motley crew around me. One poor woman sat in a chair, holding her face because her boyfriend hit her with a bat. A dude in red briefs was shot in the thigh at a nightclub and bloody rags surrounded his gurney. And a guy was chained to his bed because he was caught stealing a Rolex; his head was swathed in bandages like he was a Dickens’ character with a really bad toothache. He didn’t have a toothache; the po po beat him. I couldn’t bend my knee for two weeks, which made driving a bit of a challenge. Fast forward a decade and change, and you’d find me at Bob & Barbara’s, a dope dive bar in Philly, watching my boyfriend kiss a guy in front of me. I walked out and left him behind. I wish I had the sense to ditch New Year’s Eve as well.
I've wised up and punched this holiday in its festive fucking façade. Should New Year’s Eve be forgot and never brought to mind? Hells, yeah. If I want to stay alive, I’m now finally ignoring this most ignoble of days.

What was your worst NYE experience?



Belladatura said...

NYE is doomed before it begins. False expectations of the most amazing night ever mixed with too many assholes and too much/not enough booze. Stay home, stay safe, be with people you truly care about (even if it is just you and Dom (Perignon)).

Wilma Lee said...

Went to a hotel for NY in about 1993 in Chapel Hill. All strangers. Was supposed to be a rock band and a big meal. Food was bad, and when the band started playing "Mr. Sandman", we went to our room and drank Wild Turkey and watched Dick Clark. Although we did decide that if ever asked on a TV show what "our song" is, we would say Mr. Sandman, lol.

Kevin said...

Washington, DC in 2000. About 12 of us went to dinner, which was fine. Then came the decision as to where we should all be at midnight, which lead to a meltdown. A few in the group wanted to go to The Front Page, a cheesy bar in DuPont (think 24 year old Republicans "letting loose" by playing beer pong, dancing between booths to "Safety Dance," and locking lips with anyone who passed by). Huge argument ensues between all of our friends, which resulted in everyone leaving the bar mad at each other and wandering off into the night in different directions alone. We were all alone at midnight, but eventually met back up at a friend's apartment at 1am. This NYE was the lesson for me - no bars, no multiple destinations...

Durhamfoodie said...

Home Sweet Sweet Home! Too many ding dongs out there to make it worth my while to do anything except sit on my couch and laugh in the new year with some Monty Pythons "Flying Circus", the "Court Jester" with Angela Lansbury and "A Mad Mad World" with a whole cast of old faves. oohhhh and of course a large pot or two of fresh popped pop corn with chili and lime.

Yah, that's the way we're doing it this year.

Cheers girl!

Anonymous said...

Yeah, try to be home by midnight; you don't want to be outdoors when all the dingdongs are out firing their guns into the air to 'celebrate.' Popcorn and DVDs fer sure.

Unknown said...

I think NYE is possibly the stupidest holiday known to man. Even more stupid than ground hogs day. People wait around all evening to count backwards from 10. Seriously. This year, I'll be ringing it in from behind my eyelids!

Anonymous said...

Well, now... it's so much better if you mix backwoods folks, beer, fifty gallon drums of fuel and light it all off with incendiary rounds from an AR-15.

Dat's what I done did.


Nishant said...

Stay home, stay safe, be with people you truly care about (even if it is just you

Work from home India

CarlaCarlaCarlaCarla said...

1970's Karma awaits anyone foolish enough to mistreat Mrs. Beasley.

1987 I'm slightly curious to know if your euchre opponent was Christopher or Christine.

1989 After realizing that the ex was like any other douchebag sports editor, wasn't it was gratifying to blame your final moments spent with him on a mandatory media commitment?

1994 Lesson learned: Partying with strangers is unfulfilling.

2004 This HNY actually sounds fun.

2008 Mythbusters marathons are actually useful, in that they teach viewers to plan their Netflix queues with the upcoming holiday in mind.

1990 · 2003 Any experience that leaves you with a priceless story for the rest of your life is worth living at least once.

Jennifer Worick said...

CarlaCarlaCarlaCarla: Your comment re: 2008 cracked my shit up.

Sara Morrison said...

worst NYE = 2008.

I got talked into going out with friends last minute. I didn't want to go because NYE tends to be "amateur night" and I am over dealing with over-dressed people who can’t hold their liquor or behave like a civilized adult.

I paid way too much of a cover charge just to get into this swanky hotel and bar. Damn that pissed me off. I order one over-priced drink. ONE! I was slipped a roofie by the bartender and was blacked out by 10:30. I came to on my bathroom floor with my face pummeled to all hell. Since my vajay was not violated (after a thourough check-up. THAT was fun!) I can only assume that my face and some lonely piece of asphalt had a midnight make-out session. To this day I have no fucking clue how I got home from the bar (I got separated from my friends) or what exactly happened to face. All I know was that my larger-than-average German heritage schnozz was swollen to twice its size. Lovely. I spent the following 2 weeks looking like I belonged in an Afrin commercial. An Afrin commercial featuring a battered woman. FUCK YOU 2008!