New Year's Eve probably has the highest blood alcohol level of any other night of the year, save St. Patrick's Day. That may explain why many important details remain floating in the blackhole of soggy memories. And the stack of stupid human tricks piles up like steaming dog poo.
Last night I remained a designated
diner -- enjoying the delicious repast which was spread over several
rooms on heavy laden tables at the party I attended -- instead of
I sloshed innumerable strawberries and pretzels around in the chocolate
fondue fountain, gnoshed on croissants with slices of cheese, ham, roast beef, and their couture condiments, along with
an assortment of Greek olives, and a variety of perfectly prepared
vegetables and dips, all punctuated with the novelty of a martini glass of mashed
potatoes topped with bacon and cheese .
While not drinking in a global sense, I tasted the addicting flavor of
a cosmopolitan -- which should come with a surgeon general's WARNING: This
delishous drinky poo will knock you on your ass before you know what
My nose lit up like Rudolph before the seductive concoction hit my
stomach. I also had two sips of celebratory champagne at some point,
when it was midnight in a distant time zone. "Drink up!! It's midnight
somewhere!" seemed to be the evening's mantra.
Otherwise I chose tumblers of Pellegrino over the many bottles of red
and white wine, flutes of Veuve Cliquot or the after dinner scotch
shots, I mean tastings, which, as I could hear from my seat in front of
the fire in
the living room, were accompanied by Glenn Gould on a CD, while a bunch
of guys sat around telling each other interminable, inebriated jokes.
I did join the marching portion of an impromptu, and badly performed
rendition of Beethoven's Ode To Joy in German, waving my glow in the
dark stick like Solti conducting the Chicago Symphony. In some ways
moments like these are more understandable when one is shitfaced, less
so when one is sober. A willingness to participate in such performances
while sober is what sets me apart from the rest. Not necessarily in a
good or bad way. But definitely in a "did she do that?" way.
Usually there's a delayed reaction. About ten minutes afterward, people
start shaking their heads in disbelief, "Wait a minute, she was
So much is expected, even forgiven, when one is drunk. The loud laughter. The louder singing. The terrible jokes.
Ironically, the same behavior becomes cause for concern when one is sober.
They're probably still talking about me, bleary-eyed, while the bloody
marys are being prepared to ease the transition from a long night to
"Was she sober?" Yeah, she was sober."She was, wasn't she?" Wow. Maybe we should have an intervention.