On New Year's Eve and Why It Feels Me With Fear

Ah. Here we are again. New Year's fucking Eve. Excuse my bad language, but tonight is the one night of the year that I hate more than any other. Much like a werewolf only changes on nights with a full moon, I turn into a monster on New Year's Eve.

On any other night of the year I can be counted on to be a quite a decent sort of drunk. A happy one, a funny one, a bitchy one - but never a MONSTROUS one. Let me take you through a brief history of my New Year's Eve woes:

2002: my first legal drunken NYE saw me crying in the toilets. I don't remember why.

2005: a massive row with my then girlfriend lead to me flirting outrageously with someone else, alienating both the girlfriend and most of my friendship group.

2006: first NYE with current boyfriend - this should have been a perfect opportunity to impress his mates I'd not met before. Which I did. I impressed them with my Incredible Hulk impression as I stomped off shouting into the dark. When N finally caught up with me I delivered what can only be described as a bitch slap, followed by two woefully off-target kicks at which point he called the police. They rang him back, at which point I'd sunken into a pathetic blob on the pavement and asked if he was ok. Ever the gentleman, he apologised for wasting their time and said he was fine - to which they responded "Is this true or are you being made to say that?" OH THE SHAME.

2007: The shame was obviously not enough, for I repeated my performance on NYE 2007 (there were, however, underlying reasons for this one, but that's a story for another time). I believe the catalyst for my metamorphosis from Dr Drunk into Mr Mental was N's decision not to buy a kebab, which sent me into a downward spiral of rage and depression. The embarrassment doesn't stop there: N's patience (which is near limitless) snapped, and he called my dad to pick me up. Oh. My. God.

2008: In the early hours of the morning, the party was rocking and I was hiding behind a camper van. I had stormed out, before realising that I had no fucking clue where I was, so decided to hide from the well-meaning people searching for me. However, hearing N say "Leave him alone, he'll come back" put things in perspective. I'd become a joke. A walking caricature of everything that's bad about being drunk on NYE - so I left my hiding place and walked, tail between legs, back into the party. At which point I went about apologising to everybody profusely, including a bloke who was going to the toilet at the time. Apparently my heartfelt apology through the door gave him stage fright. Good. 'Cos he started it.

And this brings us up to date. I hasten to add that I am not a bad person. I am never violent, although I am frequently angry. NYE just messes me up in a way that other nights don't. I think it's because I drink to be drunk for midnight. I drink as much as I can before Big Ben chimes so that I won't feel like a prick singing Auld Lang Syne. Then the clock chimes, and I continue in the pace I'd set beforehand.

Tonight things will be different. Of course I will be drunk, but I will also be drink a glass of water between each drink. Hopefully, the monster will stay in its cage and I'll be able to have a nice night out like a normal person, and put all this silliness behind me!

Happy New Year 2010!

tbr

On A Quarterlife (or Afterlife) Crisis

I've just read the phrase 'quarterlife crisis' for the first time, on 20 Something Bloggers (http://www.20sb.net/group/quarterlifecrisis) and it made me wonder: is this what's behind my recent technology binge? For someone who has been something of a luddite up to now, it is perhaps a little out of character to embrace this blogging malarkey. And Twitter. I'm on that too now. Not that I know anyone on there, but I still can't get enough of it. There was a time when I didn't think about where Stephen Fry was or what he was up to (he's back in London, by the way). And then the I-Phone - I'm downloading apps like there's no tomorrow. Where has all of this come from I ask you!? This time a month ago I was perfectly happy (or blissfully ignorant?) with a laptop for games and Facebook and a phone that could make calls and do absolutely nothing else.


Don't get me wrong - I like blogging and Twitter and am pleased to have discovered them, for they have a kind of real world value, a valid point - but the problem lies deeper. You see, doctor, the thing is, I'm worried that my wondrous new phone is unearthing an old me - one that I buried kicking and screaming after I left home for uni. GeekMe. The I-Phone has provided me with a funky little app for downloading comic books, and has also got me obsessed with a game in which you pretend to be vampire killing zombies. It's all a bit Top Trumps, with points for attack and defence etc, and a page with people you can attack for blood, with which you can buy new supernatural powers.


I know, I'm not doing myself any favours - on the off-chance there was a secret reader out there in the blogosphere, wondering whether this drivel is interesting enough to merit their time, the chances are they have by now packed their bags and moved on. But don't abandon me yet, imaginary reader, for I will beat this.


I shall concentrate my efforts on the cooler things in life; on reading, drinking, eating out and going to the gym. I shall leave myself as little time alone as possible without being accused of stalking my nearest and dearest, so as to avoid the temptation of this virtual world of the undead. I shall go to work every day, and embrace Real Life once more. Then I will have buckets of interesting things to blog about and Undead-GeekMe will be banished...until next time... (mwah ha ha ha).

On Christmas Night

...and all through the house, nothing was stirring, not even a mouse.

And me. Because I'd got up to stuff my face full of crap in the middle of the night and couldn't get back to sleep afterwards. Perhaps my Christmas was a bit too merry, I'd eaten enough to feed a small country and drunk just enough to ensure that my night would be extra uncomfortable as the room span around me.

So there I was, laying on the two seater sofa, with my feet hanging off the edge and my neck bent at an unnatural angle, listening to my dad and my uncle snore at eachother across the landing. I soon became engrossed in their efforts to drown eachother out which went something like this;

Uncle: snore
Dad: snoore
Uncle: snoore-snort-snore
Dad: snoooooore-snoooore-snortsnort
And so on...

Then it hit me. Christmas Day has come and gone - that means that all the things I've been putting off until 'after Christmas' now need to be done. I need to get back to the gym (if I can remember where it is). I need to talk to my dad about how what we need to do now he's lost his job. I need to start paying off my credit card. This is why the post-Christmas come down is always so harsh, because nothing can ever be allowed to ruin Christmas and so is put off until afterwards, and by making sure Christmas runs smoothly and happily, we ensure ourselves a shockingly grim start to the new year.

Still, I'm not a total scrooge - part of me thinks a shitty January is worth it for that one glorious day of fantastic indulgence.

Bring on the crappy New Year!

tbr