NEW YEARS EVE - THE WORST

If I were forced to rank all the important holidays, I would put my birthday as my very favorite (obviously), which would be closely followed by Christmas, and then Thanksgiving – which I enjoy due to its close proximity to my birthday. The list would work its way through Halloween and Easter, until at the very bottom, past Lee Jackson King Day and even Valentines Day, you would find New Years Eve. I hate New Years Eve. It is the worst. The very very worst.

I, in no way think this is a novel sentiment. Nor do I believe that I am the only one to feel this way. On the contrary, I think most rational people above the age of 12 and outside of New Jersey hate New Years Eve. It’s a terrible holiday, with entirely way too much pressure put on staying up until midnight. I stay up past midnight almost every night, and very rarely does this call for celebrating by downing a bottle of shitty champagne and vomiting into a bathtub.

This year’s seemed doomed from the very start. To simplify an overly complicated and entirely uninteresting story – I will give just the facts: my friends in New York are jerks who hate me and intentionally and maliciously excluded me from their New Years Eve plans. Why? Because they are evil and enjoy making me cry.* Well, I am very proud to say that as hard as they tried, I shed not a single tear. Instead I decided to spend my New Years with my friends back home in Virginia.

And things got a little out of hand.

The evening began at my parents’ home, where a group of us drank a few cocktails over a fine spread of hors d'oeuvres. Later in the night, we ventured down to a swanky restaurant conveniently located a few minutes down the block. 12 hours later, I awoke to a nasty hangover, and my friend Chase sleeping next to me. “What the fuck are you doing in my bed?” I asked. He replied by pushing me off the mattress and falling back asleep.

The events from the previous night were nothing but a haze to me. The few of us that remained gathered over a warm breakfast, and my friends began to fill in the blanks.

The first fight I almost got into involved two young looking women who approached me when I went to the bar to buy myself a drink. One grabbed me by my shirt as I walked by and screamed “Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!” I wiggled my way out of her drunken grip without speaking a word. One of her companions – a young lady sporting a whole lot of cleavage – came up to me to apologize on behalf of her friend. “She’s an annoying bitch isn’t she?”

“Um….yes?” I responded.

“Yeah, I don’t like her very much. I think she’s annoying.” She continued. A young man came up behind her and added “Yeah! I don’t like her either!” They both smiled brightly as they bashed their friend. I remember the two of them both staring at me with gleaming eyes, waiting for me to confirm my dislike for their drunken friend who I had just met literally seconds before. I smiled politely and nodded, bought my beer and went on my way. I saw them later in the evening. The cleavage-sporting girl smiled and waved at me. I waved but said nothing.

According to my friend Chase, the young fresh-faced man who had shared with me his dislike for the drunken girl, grabbed him – his eyes no longer gleaming. “Are you with that guy?” He asked, pointing an angry finger in my direction. He was joined by another man, who seemed equally as perturbed. “You better tell him to stay away from our women. I hope he knows he’s hitting on two married ladies!”

“Yeah!” added the friend. “Tell your little faggot friend his gay little bowtie that he needs to back the fuck off of our wives!”

“I’m confused,” Chase responded. “Are you accusing him of being gay, or of hitting on your wives?”

Later in the evening, I received a text message from someone I had been on three dates with. It said “really???” I checked back to see what it was in response to. I had sent a text message 20 minutes before saying “I love you.”

The next morning, when looking for my phone, I noticed that the first person I had wished a happy New Year too was not my mother or father, my brothers, or any of my close friends. It went to a coworker who had quit and moved to CA a few months before. I wrote to her simply “I miss you and your boyfriend more than you could ever know.” I have no idea why.

The next fight I almost got into came a little later in the evening. At this point, alcohol had eroded away any rationale or logic left. I was simply a puppet, and drunkenness my puppeteer. As I walked through a crowd, I reached over and grabbed a stranger’s hat off his head. I didn’t take the hat with me. I just took it off his head and put it right back on, and continued walking. I have no idea why. I just did. And as soon as I returned his cap, I saw his large frame jump angrily off his stool. I decided that my best approach would be to continue walking – only faster.

I can’t really tell you what happened next - as I do not have eyes on the back of my head. I can tell you what I heard though. There was a lot of commotion – I believe a woman screamed. A stool was knocked over. A chorus of people yelled “WOAH WOAH WOAH!” I heard my friend Ian jump in between the charging drunk man and myself and yell “Back off dude!” Next, I heard the bartender jump over the bar and tackle the guy to the floor. By this point I was out the door, and still moving.

The man was kicked out. I was allowed to stay, but only after the bartended lectured me – telling me “never to pull that shit again.” I wasn’t sure what I had done, or why, but I nodded my head quietly.

Last call was shortly thereafter. I closed my tab, and then went outside to join my friends. We were all going to head down the street and continue the party at my parents’ house, but they were nowhere to be seen. I was less than a minute behind them, but they all had vanished. Just like magic. Poof - gone. I couldn’t help by feel like Kevin McAllister as I walked home all by myself. Left behind – forgotten – unloved and alone. My brother called me in a panic “Where the fuck are you?” he screamed. “We’re coming to get you!” But I just hung up on him. It was too late. The dye had been cast. The damage had been done. They had forgotten me. Sure, it had only taken me 4.5 minutes to walk home. But at the moment, it was about the principle. I walked in the door, and went straight to bed. I was going to punish them with sleep.

The party continued without me until God-only-knows-when. Our friends – too drunk to drive home – fell asleep across the floors of my parents living room and basement – never mind the fact that there were four empty bedrooms upstairs. Around 7AM, Chase, his mouth full of carpet, decided to get up off the floor and crawl into my bed. He woke me up as he settled himself atop the sheets, and I thought to myself “I wonder if he knows I’m not wearing any underwear.”

So over breakfast we all relived the previous evening’s shenanigans. We laughed until tears welled up in our eyes – embarrassed about what we had done – shocked at what we had forgotten. I definitely wasn’t the only one to make a giant ass of myself – but I’ll let my friends fill you in on their misadventures themselves. I’m still a firm believer that New Years is the worst holiday ever – but this one was a special exception. This New Years – despite everything listed above – was awesome.

*Their version of the story may differ slightly.