I’ve never liked the hoopla that surrounds New Year’s Eve. Frankly, I’m quite content with a good meal, a movie on the telly and an early night. This attitude didn’t come with age, as I’ve always felt this way, even in my younger days when I actually had the energy to go out.
Tonight, I’m making the exception to the rule by attending a party at a friend’s home, though she knows in advance I’ll likely not stick around to see midnight. She’s good that way, she knows I’m not a late night bloomer, but rather the one who’s up bright and early on New Year’s Day, minus any hangover and looking forward to the new year as I look forward to mornings every other day of the year. I’m simply not the late night sort, even on December 31st, this most tiring – and tedious – of holidays.
My husband and I both listen to talk radio during the week, either in the car, or if the radio’s on in the house. We’re not fanatics about it, by any means, but there are some hosts and shows we enjoy, and then there are a couple of hosts that we listen to because they’re, well, idiots – at least in our eyes, and a few sarcastic armchair jabs at them gives us some small measure of (twisted) pleasure and a few laughs at their expense.
This week, though, the talk shows and their respective hosts have gone on and on about either New Year’s resolutions, the year in review, the upcoming year, hangover cures, ideas for new cocktails, ideas for new party foods… yadda, yadda, yadda.
Enough already. We don’t need “expert” guests to tell us that if we drink too much we’re going to feel like crap the next day. We’ve all been there, and if we haven’t learned by now, then we’re the idiots. I don’t want to listen to uncle Joe’s cure-all for too many martinis, or uncle Horace’s cure-all that includes two raw eggs and a vodka chaser. (My husband will get that last comment…) By the end of high school I’d already learned that downing too many brewskies and spending the end of the night sick in the bathroom was a good indicator of the evils of drink. (It’s just a shame that the memory of my girlfriends and me sick in bathrooms escaped me this past Christmas Eve…)
And listen, if one more person asks me what I’m doing for New Year’s Eve, they’re gonna get slapped. The only exception here is the Ella Fitzgerald and Frank Devol Orchestra’s “What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve?” remix from the Verve Remixed Christmas CD. (No substitutions, please.)
To make matters worse, the usual hosts on radio and TV aren’t on, instead taking their Christmas (yes, that’s right… I said Christmas) holidays. I’m a creature of routine and when the routine’s upset, my days are askew. It’s like that with long weekends. Hate long weekends. Long weekends are a curse, I tell you. Course, I loved them when I worked full-time, but now they’re just a pain in the ass – the shops are crowded, if they’re even open, mail isn’t delivered, and many of my routine-loving ways are just plain wonky and out of sorts.
So, tonight, I attend a party. I know I won’t make it ’til midnight, but I’ll make the effort, nonetheless.
Cont’d January 1st…
