Chapter 2: NYE

For many years, I have felt that New Years Eve garners far more attention than it deserves. Though overrated, New Years does offer a fantastic opportunity to have a drink and interact with friends that I love very much but visit very rarely and never combine for what is sometimes later revealed to be very good reason. As is to be expected when consorting with little seen friends, acquaintances, and associates, the usual catching up questions were asked:
“How have you been?”
“How’s the family?”
“Where is whatsername?”
“Whatever happened with that other girl?”
“Are all those drinks for you?”
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”
“What do you mean you don’t remember?”
“Are you ok?”
“What happened to your face?”
“Thaddeus, can you hear me?”
“Thaddeus!?”
Etcetera
There is no reason not to enjoy a holiday that encourages drinking too much, but the expected New Years Kiss with which many hope to close out the holiday makes the event a better fit for couples. Not because single people do not enjoy kissing – we do – but rather that our odds are calculably lower than the even one to one for those who arrive with a mildly special or imminently committed romantic interest. Having to consider the odds simply goes against my risk averse nature, as does this entire year. Some attempted to flatter me by saying that I was almost guaranteed to find a suitable suitor for the evening, but despite my dashing good looks, intoxicating charm, and generally agreeable if rugged aroma, I celebrated the conclusion of an odd year with a vigorous fist pump while I waited for my companions to cease attempting to orally evaluate whether or not their dates still had their wisdom teeth. I was grateful for a platonic hug from female followers, Velvet and Teach, and thoroughly enjoyed a more overtly manly and less sympathy inspired high five from Young Lad before the bar hosting our festivities decided to pull the fire alarm and send everyone back from whence they came
But the evening was not marred by my inability to begin a public display of foreplay’s foreplay while watching others mug up, nor was it cut short by the subtle hint from our venue’s proprietor. I took advantage of the confusion to relieve myself between two cars parked outside after finding the wait for traditional bathrooms too long, accidentally startling a young lady walking by who masked her delight by feigning astonishment despite my specific instructions not to be impressed. Feeling that I needed to apologize for accidentally blinding the poor girl with my endangered trouser snake, and also hoping to capitalize on the fact that she had already seen the best of me, I struck up a conversation in the parking lot that seemed fruitful in my inebriated state. Her surprisingly large boyfriend disagreed. To his credit, the Andre-the-Giant-esque boyfriend felt my antics were humorous and harmless enough not to inflict any damage to my face, and even remained patient when I asked him to, please, “don’t screw this up for me. I think she likes me!” The remainder of the evening quickly fades to black soon after I left my new friends to head home.
The next morning is sometimes the best part of nights you cannot remember the conclusion of, if of course you can ignore the throbbing head ache, distinctive taste of rotting flesh, unshakeable and debilitating nausea, and general sense that you are covered in a layer of filth and shame that will not wash off even with dish soap. This particular next morning started off with the pleasant surprise of finding The Drunk and another man I had not seen since high school sprawled out on my couches, which is normally not a problem, except that in this case I did not have enough food in the house to make breakfast for everyone. But I did have enough beer for twenty thirsty men, and so Young Lad, The Drunk, my newly reacquainted acquaintance Rip van Winkle put off our hangovers to another day. The combination of a slight buzz, the enjoyment of reconnecting with Winkle, and observing Winkle leave the absolute worst voicemail I have ever heard another man leave for a woman he is hoping to sleep with inspired me to call up a girl from my own past and wish her a Happy New Year. Since the message I left was not rambling, incoherent, nor embarrassing, Penny Lane called me back, and I spent the remainder of my weekend with her, watching monster trucks, drinking decidedly out of season beers, and generally enjoying each other’s company.
By the time I dropped her off at her parents’ house on Sunday evening, I was reminded of at least one of the reasons we separated in the first place as well as many of the reasons I have at times missed her since then, but more than anything, Penny gave me the belated New Year's kiss I thought I wouldn’t have this year, and demonstrated to me exactly how challenging my year as a bachelor is going to be.