The Prowl: When New Year's Goes Wrong
This year for New Year's Eve, I'm merely hoping that I can ring in 2011 without suffering any physical injury or memory lapse.
Last year on New Year's Day, I woke up with a profound hangover and a patchy memory of the night before. The events of the night before were recapped for me over brunch -- which my then-boyfriend very lovingly put together mostly on his own for 6 people, as I occupied our "couch of pain." I firmly believe that New Year's Eve should be somewhat of a bender, but it sounded as if rather than a bender, we had more of a comedy of errors. Also, by we, I really mean me.
It all began when I thought it would be nice if some friends and we went out to dinner. Making this decision at 5:30PM on December 31st, however, was perhaps poor planning. After calling around, I found a Vietnamese BYOW that could take the six of us. In retrospect, eating a light Asian meal before drinking enough champagne to make profoundly bad decisions, was in itself, a bad decision. This is a lesson that every college freshman learns the hard way, and yet it is one that I continue to chronically forget.
As an aside, much of the topic of conversation that evening centered around listing positive things that happened in 2009. The best any of us could really come up with was the re-opening of CERN -- and given that one friend remains convinced that this will undo the universe, our one-item long list of good things for the year seemed pretty lame. Also, we were in the same restaurant where I'd lit my hair on fire several months previously, so there was also much discussion (including from the wait staff) about whether or not I was too close to the candles....
After dinner, we went to one of our group's house where we prepared to host a massive party, the likes of which Capitol Hill had never seen -- mostly because Capitol Hill is very dull, so it was a low bar. We'd laid in a 3-to-1 wine to person ratio; we had snacks; we had a DJ (or rather a musician friend brought his iPod, but same thing really); we had a strict formal attire dress code because people behave better when they are dressed up; we even had party hats! Who doesn't like hats? I thought the festivities also might have been improved with kazoos and tambourines, but my friends rarely take my advice in these matters and that is probably for the best.
As far as details go, this is mostly where my memory stops and collective memory begins. As I attempted to eat an omelet at brunch and rejoin what seemed like an overly bright world in 2010, I learned the following which helped explain why my entire body hurt:
1. At some point in the evening a friend's boyfriend spilled champagne down the front of my silk backless dress. Given that I already had wine coming out of all of my pores, actually wearing my drink did not seem like the end of the world. However, he was not quite as blasé about all of this as I was and proceeded to try to wring out my dress. In the process, he exposed my boobs to much of the party, including his horrified girlfriend. It got worse, though, when he thought that trying to motorboat me would be a solid way to smooth things over. It was not. His girlfriend and I really aren't friends anymore except in a very trivial way and she broke up with him shortly after the brunch.
2. An ex-girlfriend of the boy I was at the party with also was there. She seemed un-phased by my presence -- indeed she took it as a beginning point for negotiations. At midnight, she positioned herself next to my guy, thinking that he would forget about me and kiss her and everything would be magical. I of course was assuming the reverse would happen. To get out of this, he instead jumped into the air at midnight and shouted something dumb.
3. If being kissed at midnight (yes, I know this is cliché), and having half a bottle of champagne spilled on me was not enough, I also managed to break a glass on my leg. I have no idea how. Seriously, no idea. My date and my friend's clumsy boyfriend took me into the bathroom and began taking pictures of my leg to text to friends to try to determine if I needed stitches. It occurred to neither of them to get another friend who was in med school, as both somehow felt that they were "basically doctors." With their advanced medical knowledge, they somehow concluded that I would be fine and the bleeding would eventually stop. To expedite this they tied dainty toilet paper bows around my leg.
4. My night of mishap and misadventure did not end there. I became absolutely convinced that we should walk home instead of taking a cab. I hope that this decision was made after several failed attempts at finding a cab and ideally strenuous objection from my date, but honestly I can't say. We made it back to his apartment wherein we learned that he had lost his keys and I possibly had frostbite. I don't think Washington actually ever gets cold enough to get frostbite, but again, because my boyfriend was "basically a doctor," he was pretty sure about this. Instead of simply taking a cab to my apartment though, we instead interrupted the third couple we had been with earlier while they were closing a deal (they both worked in M&A and it was highly enjoyable to discuss how they closed business deals together) to retrieve a spare key.
5. I did not want to take my shoes off...
While perhaps much of the debauchery and tomfoolery of the evening is lost in retelling or without direct knowledge of those involved, I am merely hoping that at the very least, I manage to bring in 2011 without physical injury or memory lapse. Please wish me luck.
And Happy New Year!