New Year's Eve Bash

I don’t like New Year’s Eve. In fact, you could call me a New Year's Eve Basher. I typically avoid crowds, and I think New Year’s Eve brings out the worst in the majority of people. Attending NYE parties is a tricky balance between drinking enough so you can tolerate the normally nice folks who overindulge, yet not drinking so much that you become one of them. Not drinking isn't an option. Being sober at a NYE party is about as much fun as watching the Sound of Music with the volume muted. (And what was up with Julie Andrew’s haircut in that movie?)
Maybe I dislike New Year’s Eve because of all the babysitting I did in high school. Watching these normally respectable upper-middle-class parents reel home at three am, reeking of booze and cigarettes was a turn-off of the highest order. I remember one recently divorced mom in particular who finally came home at dawn, and not alone. She had three small children, one still in diapers. Even though I wasn’t exactly an angel in high school, I knew that was seriously off-base. 

Perhaps it was years of working retail that made me a New Year's Eve Basher. When I managed a clothing store, a young woman came in on January second. She was wearing a waist-length rabbit fur jacket (all the rage in the 80’s). Under the jacket was an evening dress. She’d purchased it on December 31 and wanted to return it. Did I mention that she was wearing the dress? Now, it was not uncommon for women to try to return evening wear after they’d had their night on the town, but this one was unusually brazen, or stupid, or both.
After some arguing and veiled threats on her part, she removed the dress, threw it at me, and put the jacket back on. That left her clad in stockings and a waist-length rabbit fur jacket. Would you be surprised to know she wasn’t wearing underwear? I thought not. I should also mention that our cash registers were in the center of the store, elevated on a stage and lit dramatically…so the entire universe had quite an eyeful. I thought this was hysterically funny, but pointed out that it was an ineffective way to get my cooperation.

Perhaps my aversion to New Year's Eve was sparked the year I was pathetic enough to go on a blind date. If any of you are considering doing this, I highly recommend you choose an activity that is more fun and rewarding, like bathing your cat, or cleaning the floor mats in your car. About 1/2 hour into the evening I discovered that blind-date-boy had just been dumped by his fiancée. Three days before. In between the appetizers and Champaign he broke into tears thirteen times. Yeah, now that I think about it, that was probably the final straw in my New Year’s Eve bail of hay.

Disclaimer: in the unlikely even that my neighbors are reading this, I had a lovely time at your house last night, and it was heaps of fun. No one was obnoxious, no one smoked, and there weren’t any rabbit fur jackets in sight. Seriously.

I suppose that, knowing my aversion to New Year’s Eve, you won’t be surprised to learn I don’t do New Year’s resolutions. Resolutions are far to easy to make in the misty haze of five glasses of cabernet, and by February they usually have all the appeal of a desiccated Christmas tree dumped unceremoniously at curbside. I hate to see my aspirations in the gutter, so I avoid the temptation to make grand proclamations just before the ball drops.

I like to set goals instead, because I rarely abandon my goals. My writing goals for the upcoming months include putting the polish on my manuscript rewrite, digging deep into two new writing projects, and finding the right agent. My writing critique partner, Ron, has similar goals.

Are you a resolution-maker? Do you keep them? Do you love New Year's Eve or...not so much?