In theory, New Year’s Eve was made just for me. It has all
the elements of a perfect holiday. After all, I love to be with people. I love
to overindulge and I love to fill my life with new rules.
But, in reality, it ranks pretty low on the good times scale
for me. It's just too much work and too much pressure.
Ever since I was old enough to go out, I’ve been on a quest
for the perfect New Year’s Eve celebration.
High school years were spent driving in circles through Flourtown and
Wyndmoor and Oreland, five or six of us crammed into Patty (aka Penny’s) tan
Corvair, looking for parties that never materialized. During college,
I rang in the New Year in Lititz with my roommate Betsy (same name, different hair color) at parties in her parent's basement. In later years, we'd hang out at her twin sister Pam's house where I'd wake up on the living room floor, face-to-face with new-found friends.
One year I recall driving my Ford Pinto out to Brownstown or Blue Ball, or some other
Amish suburb, with Ann Rodgers, partner-in-crime, to celebrate with
the funnest guy ever, the inimitable Paul Franze.
I toasted 1985 in Moscow (as in the USSR) with my sister
Susan in sub-zero temperatures, warmed only by bounteous bottles of vodka. I threw
my own party in 2006 when we moved to our new and improved party house, but
everyone brought their nasty children, so that was the end of that.
I spent way too many New Year’s Eves running to the Ladies’
Room at 11:55 pm so I wouldn’t be the one left standing solo without someone to
kiss. I spent too many New Year’s Days wishing I hadn’t done or said or ate what
I did or said or ate. I spent too much of my life looking for the perfect party
when watching Taylor Swift on TV in Times Square would suit me just fine. But,
it’s New Year’s and I have to go out.
I’m getting better though. For the past several years, I’ve succumbed
to my age and simply spend the night with our fun-loving friends Jean and Tom
and Gary and Michelle. Sometimes we have guest appearances, but it’s basically
become the six of us, usually at Jean’s house. After all, she’s proven to be the
perfect party host.
After spending a particularly raucous Christmas
Day with the aforementioned, I actually suggested skipping New Year’s all together
this year. I couldn’t imagine putting another morsel of food or shot of alcohol
into my bursting-at-the-seams body and soul. Jean entertained the idea, and we
hemmed and hawed, admitting that her husband would be just as happy to sit in
the recliner alone with a bottle of Bud. But, in the end we felt bad for poor
Gary and Michelle. How could we possibly leave them all
alone? And so, we will do tonight what the rest of the world is prone to do, and
toast in the New Year with too much food and too many drinks.
Meanwhile, my daughter, Molly, will “ascend to the peak of
sophisticated revelry” at the Gansevoort Hotel in Manhattan where she will
drink and dance the night away with other carefree college graduates with
credit cards. I’m sure she’ll position herself to get the first kiss of the
year from an incredibly handsome eligible bachelor. And for the first five minutes of 2015, she
will truly believe that he is “the one.”
When I ask the stupid questions, I'll get the equally stupid
answers. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll find somewhere to sleep. Or I’ll just take the
bus home. Alone. At 4 am."
Max, who has been 21 for 96 hours, has yet to disclose what
he will be doing tonight. "Don’t worry, Mom. I’m not stupid enough to drive on
New Year’s Eve."
And, Leo never discloses what he is doing. "Don’t worry,
Mom. I would never have people over on New Year’s Eve."
Good. Then neither of them should mind that the liquor is locked up and the car
keys hidden.
Tonight, as 2014 comes to a close and my kids go off in search of the perfect place to be, I can only hope they find it. I hope two out of three of them will text me at midnight (one will undoubtedly forget and blame it on poor reception). I hope that when they roll out of bed sometime tomorrow afternoon that they will be happy with where they've been and what they've done. But most of all, I hope that they, and all their friends out there, call an Uber if they have to.
After all, you never know. The driver may be single.
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