Wednesday, December 29, 2004
Happy New Year, or...
I hate New Years Eve. I don't understand why people love to party that evening and worse, get dressed up in uncomfortable, fancy clothes for it. I mean, it's a total nightmare in the streets -- what possible reason could anyone have for wanting to be a part of that?
A few years before the kids were born one of my friends talked me into a "couples" evening where we had a double date to a show and dinner.
First let me say this. When I die and go to hell...well, I don't believe in hell but if there is one, yeah, yeah, I'm going and they'll be playing Aerosmith or Sting or U2 or the Indigo Girls' music non stop, but for sure in between they'll have me tied to a chair, watching "shows". By shows I mean those wretched Broadway productions such as CATS, or, in the case of my lovely date that night, GREASE.
I remember in spite of smoking a ton of dope and drinking two bottles of wine before we even left the house, I wanted to slash my wrists all during GREASE. I'm trying to remember the so-called "big names" starring in the Philadelphia production but I can't...I'm most likely blocking it out on purpose. Actually, now that I think about it...maybe Sandy Dennis was the star. Bleh. That sounds right. I could check Google I suppose but is it worth my time? I think not.
After the final curtain went down on what was probably the longest evening of my life...I know at intermission I considered bolting but I chickened out...we went to a popular steakhouse. Only on New Years Eve, most restaurants have "special menus" featuring things no human could ever, ever want to eat any other night...made worse by the fact that by the time GREASE ended and we got there, in spite of having reservations we were made to stand like a herd of cattle at a crowded bar for two more hours with drunk morons wearing crooked party hats and blowing horns even though it wasn't midnight yet. When we were finally seated, our waitress, who had obviously been pushed to the max all night, nastily told us they were out of everything but the prime rib.
I don't like prime rib except at the very best restaurants where of course they usually have something way better to order anyway so I avoid it. It's fatty and when mass produced banquet style for New Years...oh god, I'm remembering that "dog" I just ate in New York's Chinatown. But by then we were starved and we had no choice, so another thirty minutes later, the waitress plopped it in front of me with a hard, cold, and here's something even more horrible than gristly prime rib -- foil wrapped baked potato (I always eat the damn foil by mistake and is there anything worse than biting down on that?)
By then it was midnight and now the other worst thing possible occurred - I got kissed by a million sloppy drunk strangers.
Ew, ew, ew.
I never went out New Years Eve again.
This year will be no exception, but I am ecstatic to say that in prior years I allowed the kids...well, I insisted the kids...have a party here so I wouldn't worry about them being out in that madness all night; plus it was fun to cook for them and then hide upstairs with my bottle of wine and CDs, but this year, no one will be home but me. Julie and Matt will be watching the ball drop in New York Times Square (and yeah, I will worry BIGTIME but she's a grown up now and I have to "let go"), and Eric has a party. So I'll still have the wine and CDs, but this time I'm gonna order take-out Thai food or cook up a filet mignon on the barbecue and feel very superior because I have brains and am staying home. I may watch ABC Rocking New Years Eve, but only because Billy Idol is on and my kids, who are recording with him this week, have told me he's been botoxed and has blonde hair plugs in front and, well, that's worth seeing, eh?
Not really. Though I may get wasted and blast Rebel Yell...