New Year's Eve Eve is here. Woo hoo! New Year's Eve has never really been my big thing. Amateur night, you know? Where all those who really can't/shouldn't/usually don't party hard always over emphasize/over prepare/over imbibe....and inevitably are overly disappointed and deservedly hung over. Hang overs at this stage of life are too time consuming to waste a day to the couch. Not to say it doesn't happen occasionally, it's just not something I PLAN for.
Now, my hubby had quite different plans for New Year's. For the past ten years(?) or so, he and A LOT of his cronies would gather at his home on New Year's DAY starting at six a.m. and cook breakfast (french toast, bacon, sausage, pancakes, bagels, etc) while heavily imbibing in spirits of choice. Breakfast toasts takes on new meaning here. By noon, the chili (lots of chili) was being served alongside marinated deer ribs, boar, pulled pork, and any number of assorted pot luck dishes. The evening would set in with even more food and even more drinks and a steady influx of new guests arriving as the earliest revelers departed. As the evening would wind down around eight or nine, the twenty somethings (who had slept all day due to being out all night New Year's Eve) would start to take up residence, continuing the party till the wee hours of January 2ND.
Having joined/signed up/ been abducted into this household, I've had the pleasure and fun to witness some great moments at the behest of ringing in the New Year Ala Wesley. First rule of thumb- You don't want to go out the night before and actually celebrate the incoming New Year at midnight LIKE THE REST OF THE WORLD. This would result in a major headache and the urge to kill the people who will continue to knock on the door at six am whether you answer it or not. Nope, not this crowd. In fact, most Wesley-ans (large masses of like minded people as per mysuestories) stay home the night before, and rumor has it (to this I can attest) most of them are fast asleep before ten p.m., with visions of spirits and chili dancing through their heads. It appears this rare breed of people take their revelry very seriously.
Part of the challenge is to see who will appear first (although three years in to this, I can tell you, people, don't even try to beat Jimmy, who will arrive super early and immediately take over the kitchen cooking duties as well as a fine bottle of scotch!) From then on, the crowd swells and ebbs, the libations flowing, and the laughter insurmountably growing.
This is not to say these events are not without their moments. LOTS of moments. There was the year one female party goer wanted to kick the very inebriated butt of another female reveler (can you say cat fight anyone?) because the second feline had accidentally spilled a beer on an innocent bystander tom cat, neither of which either knew or cared to know him. That's got to be a great feeling, when you, the innocent tom, have two unknown kittens ready to gouge each other's eyes out over you!
There was the drunken party-er who was clearly not fit to drive, and accepted an extremely gracious offer by another non drinking guest to drive him quite out of her way to his home. Once in the car, said over indulger proceeded to thank her by telling her what an ugly bi och she was(!?!). And SHE was kind enough to continue to take him home. I would have left his ass in front of the nearest police department in the driver's seat of my car with the keys super glued to his hands which would then be glued to the steering wheel. (I would NEVER actually give him a chance to drive drunk and possibly harm my car in any way!)
There is our other dear friend, whom we made arrangements to have driven home in her car, while another followed to drive her driver back. This particular friend was of the variety that insisted she was pertectly/perfly/profectly fine to drive home. She then proceeded to get into the passenger seat of her car to do so.
And, my personal favorite. We have a dear friend who doesn't always drink well, and said friend should probably not overdue it in the alcohol department. Sloppy Sam, as his alcohol imbibing persona is known, would occasionally overindulge, with the nickname being descriptive of the eventual outcome.
That being said, this was a party, and we don't always do what's best. At some point in the evening, my dear hubby called me to look out our back door into the rain that had begun to fall. There, in the mud beyond our back steps, was a quite inebriated Sam, who true to his name, was quite sloppily rolling around on the ground. Luckily, an equally inebriated female attendee, was attempting to assist him in getting to his feet, and ended up straddling him in the mud. The resulting view was of two people simulating sex in the mud with their clothes on. I turned to my hubby and said, "What should we do?", to which he wholeheartedly replied, "nothing", as he led me away and back into the house.
Yes, these parties are fun and entertaining. And no, thank God, no one has ever been hurt or injured in the making of such fun (unless you count the brain cells that never made it back out of the door on those days). And we share here only with the greatest intention of sharing laughter and nothing more. And I am sure, truth be told, I have done more than my share of providing the laughter as opposed to just reporting it. You just won't be reading those episodes here. Hey, you've heard of poetic license, right?
Anyway, go about your New Year's celebration in whatever way makes you happiest. Me? I'm just gonna pull a chair up on the back porch and let the holiday unfold around me.
Have a happy and a healthy! And please, don't drive drunk. I can't afford to lose what little readership I have. Happy New Year! And thanks for reading, oh constant reader.
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