Okay, blogosphere, I suppose a New Year’s greeting is in order. But what to say that hasn’t already been said? The holidays are such a stressful time, then we look at the numbers on a calendar with all kinds of unrealistic expectations: lose weight, start an exercise regime, make more money, treat our friends better, find a boyfriend, find a job.
My big goal for New Year’s Eve — if not for the entire new year — was to get through the night. I’d planned to stay home and really do it differently but my cousin invited me to a dinner party, throwing a monkey wrench into my prospective Zen-ness and new-leaf-overturning. Once I was showered and dressed, I felt almost obligated to venture out to an event.
A friend visiting from out of town lured me to bumblefuck Brooklyn and I got stuck on a subway platform a dozen stations out of my way. By the time I found her, in a random little restaurant, it was almost midnight. We celebrated with a glass of champagne and then grabbed a car to “the big party.” (As an aside, I believe my ID and bank card are in that car. Sigh.) The “big party” was as much of a nightmare as I’d anticipated. Why did I go? Because I still suffer from FOMOS (fear of missing out syndrome) and couldn’t bear the thought of seeing all the Facebooking about how awesome it was the following day. Better to go and know it wasn’t awesome, right? Mission accomplished!
Although I was met at the door by familiar faces who waved me through without charging me and slipped me a drink ticket, I didn’t last long inside. The place was cavernous and cold, then stiflingly sweaty, and packed to the rafters with drunk, stupid 20-somethings. Yippee! And the lines for the port-a-potties were a mile long. After I got my free beer I was about to flee when I decided to hang out and help my friends at the door. Taking money and wristbanding people was the high point of my evening. Maybe I should have signed up to work.
I grabbed a cab, far more easily than I would ever have anticipated, and it cost me less than a small fortune to get home. I settled into bed with hot chocolate and my good friends Pepperidge Farm Nantuckets (Yeah, I know, I said it was over between us, but I’m fickle!) saying, “I love my bed!” Happy whatever!