Saturday

The Idea of New Years Eve Often Differs From the Reality


New Years is such a lovely idea. 

One often assumes that it will look something like this: 

We are sophisticated and shiny and we are having a sophisticated shiny conversation about shiny worldly things!!! Yay New Years Eve!!

But I bartended for too many years and I know better.

See, New Years is amateur night. Like St. Patrick's Day (where, if you're lucky, you too can see green puke on the sidewalk!!), or July 4th, or any other holiday where folks get out to get nasty with this idea that because this night is a holiday, it's special, and thus it's fine to act akin to a yeti just flown in from the deep Canadian outback. It's the FuckItAll feeling coupled with a profound need to do something really, really epic on the last night of the year. And it gets to everyone.

It is almost always impossible to reach this goal, however, and in the festering wake of anticlimax, usually everyone just gets Ham.Mered. 

This does not, generally speaking, end well.

And New Years does not, generally speaking, end the way it started: as a shiny dream that borders on delusion, which is really how I start every weekend, but with New Years the fall from grace is just that much higher.

This is usually closer to reality:


Even if you are a seasoned bar veteran, going out on New Years is asking for trouble. 

It's quite likely you'll end up on the wrong side of midnight with barf in your hair and only one shoe.  It's also quite likely that you will hear a stranger's really creepy personal secrets that will make you wonder about the purpose of life on this planet and the future of our species. It's even quite likely that at some point in the evening you'll look up from the frosty side of a Jaeger shot that some dude named Mikey just bought you, and– while admiring his epic non-ironic 'stache and the fact that he's still on the barstool despite the drunkslouch, you'll wonder how the hell you ended up here. You don't do Jaeger shots since that time when you were 20 and you had to get hosed down before your roommates let you in the house.* 


Anyway, I'm staying in with a nice ginormo glass of wine and, if I can convince Cpt Awesomepants, cartoons. I am a party ANIMAL. 


Tip your bartender, people. Drive safe. Happy New Years. 

*fictional. Sort of. It was very nice of them. 

1 comment:

  1. I'm normally the one who barfed in someone's shoes. This is why I no longer leave the house on New Year's Eve, and only consume limited amounts of alcohol in the safety of my own home.

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