Tag Archives: New Year’s Eve

Look After Yourselves Tonight as No One But the Police Will Be Watching Out for You

31 Dec

As Christopher and I are getting ready to ring in 2015 like everyone else on Earth (except for the Australians, who have, per usual, selfishly preempted the rest of us), I thought I’d pass on a few quick tips to keep you safe on New Year’s Eve.

1.Keep costumes simple. It might look lovely at the beginning of the evening, but how difficult will it be to keep it looking lovely if you end up shagging someone out by the bins?

2.Think before you dance. It’s as simple as that.

3.Follow appropriate party etiquette.

4. Be sensible about alcohol. Many a foolish activity has been inspired by drink.

5. If you’re feeling a bit worse for wear tomorrow morning, treat yourself to a hot bath and a big ol’ bucket of shame. That should help.

Have a darling New Year’s Eve, my dears! I’ll be toasting you all shortly!

Hair of the Dog That Bit You

1 Jan

If you’re feeling inspired and came here for some advice on resolutions, don’t be a fool. I don’t believe in New Year’s resolutions and neither do you; you’re just pretending. What you’re describing as inspiration is guilt.

That’s the problem with most of us: we get confused about our feelings. We say we love our partners, but if we’d just look a little more closely, what we really feel is hate. We say our friendships are motivated by loyalty, but they’re not: it’s usually envy (how you may feel towards me) or pity (how I may feel towards you).

I’m guessing that a fair few of you are waking rather “hungover.” You probably would describe it as a headache or tummy upset, and I’ve no doubt you are ascribing it to the copious amounts of liquor you lapped up during last night’s celebrations and/or commiserations. Of course, alcohol can eff your body up good and proper, but what are you really feeling? Regret? Shame? Impregnated?

These are the symptoms no hangover cure can help you with.  Fortunately, my insight into the true workings of the human body (including the mind) can. Follow these directions—to the letter—and you’ll feel better.

1. Look yourself in the face (you will probably need a mirror to do so).

2. Notice the regret in your eyes (indicated by a red tinge, drooping eyelids or dark circles).

3. Consider what caused that regret (this may be a specific event or just an acknowledgement of your general failure as a productive human being).

4. Notice the shame on your face (indicated by blotches on the skin, hickeys on the neck or the red itchiness around your mouth as an HSV-1 blister prepares to burst forth).

5. Consider what caused this shame (make a note to call for an STD/pregnancy test on Tuesday).

6. Comment aloud about how unattractive regret and shame look on you. If you live with someone, get them to tell you you’re hideous.

7. Drink one litre of freshly juiced kale, lemon and garlic (if items are not available—and they probably won’t be because you’re not one to plan ahead, are you—drink eight ounces of milk that has gone off—which I bet you’ve got at least a pint of in your fridge).

8. Vomit.

9. Splash cold water on your regret- and shame-stamped face.

10. Get into bed and think about things until you weep yourself to sleep.

I guarantee tomorrow you’ll wake up renewed and ready to change your life. Or at least your sheets.

Sweet Memories of Balls Dropping

1 Jan

ball-dropI must be quiet as it’s rather late and poor Christopher has, I’m afraid, dropped off to sleep (whereas I was taught to sip rather than “down” champagne and have therefore not felt a single affect). Thanks to the generous young Portuguese man who stopped by last week and offered to work some magic on my box (for a small one-time fee), I was able to watch the festivities in Times Square on the television. Although I normally find it vulgar to be awake at this hour, I suppose I just wanted to relive some fond memories of old times. I imagine it must be similar to the feelings the older generation of Britons must have when they recall watching doodlebugs drop: a nostalgia for a time when we were younger and hope and pulse jet engines filled the air. Excuse my wistfulness: there’s a fine line between melancholy and maudlin, and I am aware of on which side of the line I must stay.

I’ve spent many a New Year’s Eve in Times Square, with some of the most charming friends I’ve ever known. Such shenanigans we got up to! We’d often start celebrating early in the evening at someone’s home (I will never forget the time Digby Whistler and I got locked in the attic of Mickey Rooney’s brownstone for nearly an hour!) and then head out to hop between the watering holes of the City. It seemed that wherever we went, we were greeted by the bars’ patrons as if we were all the oldest of friends. There’s something about New Yorkers that leads to such camaraderie (I think it might have been the bourbon).  We’d then rush out at almost the last minute to grab a taxi to take us to the flagpole and watch the ball drop. One year, we went in our own car (this was at a time when drinking and driving was still safe) and, although we didn’t make it in time, I can remember Stefan tooting the horn at the strike of midnight to all the revelers and smut peddlers in the street. Even though that particular night ended in tears when I misplaced my great aunt’s beaded hair clip, I’ll never forget those frolics.

Oh, why do things have to change? Where has our youth gone? Why do we keep sending soldiers off to war? Whatever happened to Big Paul the Sailor? I can remember everything just like it was yesterday, including the things that happened yesterday, so I just ask why? Can’t we all just love each other? Sometimes it brings tears to my eyes. I think of little puppies, they’re so soft and innocent. I never want to see one looking sad.

I’ve suddenly gone dreadfully sleepy. I think I might just rest my head for a moment before I write anymore.