New Year's Eve is for amateurs
Hugh Hefner says that New Year's Eve is for amateurs - the seasoned experts party all year round. I take some comfort in this, though I'm not sure why. Maybe because if Hugh Hefner stays home on New Year's, it mustn't be a totally loser-ish thing to do.
Highly irrational logic, I know, but hey, the ‘loser' tag is one I'm keen to avoid. Amazingly, at the age of thirty, my insecurities over being the geek, the nerd, the gawky kid with a lots of books and not many friends... all those issues.... are still hanging around. Can we tell?
As a child, and especially as a teen, friends are the currency of life. The push to find something really cool to do on New Year's Eve began when I was about sixteen and hasn't really let up since. My New Year's Eve anxiety begins to creep its icy fingers up the inside of my ribs in mid-November, which is when I am generally persuaded by that slow moving panic to book in something to do, book in some friends, right now, before it is too late and you're left all alone at home in your pyjamas sharing hokey pokey ice cream from the container with your cat while watching Bridget Jones' Diary for the fourth time (which may or may not have been the case on New Year's Eve of 2002.)
Moving on. New Year's is usually, for me, a bit of a fizzer. Working as a children's entertainer for a few years before I had kids of my own meant that I was being paid to miss out on the adult festivities, which is almost socially acceptable. And having babies kinda kicked the wind out of a few potential end-of-year parties. My all ‘round geekdom took care of the rest.
There's only been two years that I can recall celebrating New Year's in a way that elevated me to the land of the socially normal and respectable - the pertinent factor there being that I actually can't recall the evening in detail at all. On the earlier of those two years, I partied like it was 1999. Because it was 1999. I rang in the new Millennium immersed in the thick of the crowd gathered at Darling Harbour, just under the spectacularly lit Harbour Bridge, drinking Black Russians mixed in a Coke bottle and pashing a random Irishman.
The second memorable-in-that-I -can't-really-remember-it New Year's Eve was last year. My husband and I got very, very drunk. We had a good time. But it was the start of something that turned very, very bad and he died just ten days later.
So, on that note... damn it all to hell. Screw being cool or hip or popular. And feeling like a social pariah can suck it. This year, I'm staying in. At least I know I know I'm in good company - surely, Hugh and the Bunnies will be staying in too.