As I’d previously explained, I was keeping the bar extremely low for this New Years. The goal was simple: do not black out and/or get kicked out of the party before 10:30pm (ie what happened to me last year). I figured by keeping my standards remarkably low, that I would have a good chance at meeting, or hell, even exceeding my expectations!
The evening started with me and my two girlfriends gossiping, eating sushi, and oh, each taking a bottle of champagne to the face. No glasses, just straight out of the bottle. That’s how we roll. We were then joined by some dudes, one whom I have affectionately dubbed “Manfriend”. I’m hesitant to write about him for a number of reasons.. one being that I don’t want to jinx anything, and the other being that I respect his privacy even if I have no regard for my own. So, sorry readers, the deets about manfriend may not be nearly as juicy as you’d like. Anyway, so we’re all drinking and having a good time and finally head off to the actual partay.
Here’s where it gets fuzzy..
I remember the night, for the most part. I remember refusing to hold a beer cup and insisting that everyone around me give me sips of theirs. I remember talking to the dude who works at the Apple store and I kept calling him Mr. Genius Man. I remember having to pee about every 15 minutes. Things I do not remember include spilling a gallon of beer on myself (only figured this one out when I saw that my light pink bra reeked of beer in the morning) OR the midnight kiss. Seriously? I mean, I haven’t kissed a non-gay dude at midnight on New Years Eve in I don’t know how long. The next morning manfriend asked me if we kissed at midnight. This made me feel better because at least I’m not the only extreme drunkface in this coupling. We agreed that we did probably find one another and likely shared a really sloppy kiss at midnight.
The night got interesting after we left the party. And by interesting I mean slightly insane. Our cab driver took us to the wrong town, and we got out and started to walk to manfriend’s apartment. This would have been fine had he not inputted the incorrect address into his phone’s GPS. I don’t know how far we walked, but it felt like forever. My feet were SCREAMING at me and in turn I kept telling everyone that I hated them. I walked barefoot for a while, angrily kicking mountains of snow. Manfriend told me that I should be fiiiiine since I had ran 8.5 miles that morning. Hey buddy, do you run in 5 inch heels? Because I sure as hell don’t.
Somehow manfriend’s roommate got separated from us (not sure how that happened since we were walking the streets of a residential area and it was no earlier than 3:30 in the morning..). Not only that, he had somehow managed to get a cab and was already home. And we were walking around, lost, with me sobbing about my poor feet. This enraged manfriend and led to much screaming. When we finally did get back to the apartment there may have been a beer and testosterone-induced situation, one filled with chest bumping and SERIOUSLY DUDE-s. Don’t worry, no blows were exchanged, and the two police officers that one of the neighbors had called managed to diffuse the situation nicely.
When all was said and done I went to sleep at around 4:30am. I consider this a supreme success. Why? It’s not because my feet were bloody from my beautiful but fatal heels. It’s not because I probably embarrassed myself at the party but have no recollection of doing so. It’s because I DID NOT BLACK OUT AND/OR PASS OUT BEFORE 11PM!
Is this... Am I... growing up?