2005: The Early Hours
New Year's Eve/early NYDay has turned out to be yet another period of great confusion and temporary panic in my life. Seeming as this occurs about once a week, perhaps I'm just sticking to routine...
Things started innocently enough. I called my boyfriend to wish him a happy new year and all of those things. He told me that he wished he could kiss me at midnight, which cued the inevitable gush of warm-fuzzies and giddiness that you don't want to read about. The moment, however, was quickly squashed, as my brain got involved and injected thoughts of indifference:
Me: Why do people have to kiss at midnight on New Years?
Boy: It's tradition
Me: Well it's a dumb tradition
Boy: Why do people kiss goodbye?
Me: Why do people kiss before sex?
Boy: ... We don't....
Yikes. The words, almost palpable, hung like winter in the air. What the hell just went wrong?? Should I apologize? Suddenly, my man was the posterboy for the romantically scorned... melancholy and resigned. But his punk ass fooled me for only a second. This is Boy we're talking about. He'll not trick me into regret. After sharing a couple laughs, my night marched on.
[fast-forward 7 hours]
Around 3:00 am my cousins, friends, and I left my house and headed to Oliver's for go-cart racing... [alcohol + go-carts = responsibility]. After an hour and a half or so, frostbite began to set in, and we went inside only to discover our parents still whooping it up in front of the tv.
I rarely have a chance to see my parents, or those of my friends, gettin down with the powwow but I suppose New Year's is as good a time as any. I don't know if you've ever encountered 20 sets of English parents lit up on Guinness, Bucks Fizz (mimosa to you patriots), and various Beefeater mixes but I'll be honest, I was quite frightened.. at least initially. Not because they were mashed, mind you. We're English. Most of us would rather get wankered than eat... though I may be one of the few exceptions. My fear was locked in the possibility that I'd witness kissing or some other untoward activity that parents should reserve for closed doors. Interestingly enough, our presence seemed to frighten them far more than they did us, as I heard someone's father shout, "Oh bugger! It's the bloody children! Run Awaaayy!!" [--> parents] A mild panic ensued. Leaders of business and industry (and their wives) scuttled about, colliding with one another as they darted to the four corners of the room. For what reason, I don't know, but I had a sneaking suspicion that this worked on their own parents at some point in the 1970s. Only my parents, unfazed by our presence, remained in the center of the room. My dad invited us to join them in watching Jay Leno and we all took a seat. Soon enough the other mature adults returned to the festivities (a courageous move).
At 5 am our time, New York rocked in the New Year and after a minute of watching celebration both in the City and on the Leno set, we heard something almost magical... or sad... "Ladies and gentlemen....... MOTLEY CRUE!!" Bloated and disgraceful, Vince Neil roused even the most tired of the adults and with him they shouted, "GIRRRRRRRRLS GIRRRRRLS GIRLS!!!!" Luckily they only lasted one chorus before flipping to the Dickless Rockin Eve on ABC.
We watched for a few minutes before Billy Idol entered stage left. Though Idol has lost his baby face, he has managed to maintain his 3 moves: the smirk, the split legs, and the classic, rockin fist pump. I considered making a comment but before I could, my uncle came stumbling back in the room, yelling expletives at the tv. As he got closer, his comments became more clear. "YOUUUUUU bloody yob! You slept with myyyyy sista!! I'll have your bloody skull I will!!" And on and on. "I won't forget March 1981 blast you! ... Bloody bastard." At first, I found this quite amusing. My aunt slept with Billy Idol... it really doesn't get more hilarious. But then the eyes of these adults turned to me. "March of 1981.... didn't you just have a birthday 3 days ago?" I said nothing. "Yes, yes, she did. That's 9 months." These dimbulbs couldn't possibly believe- "And she's the only blonde in their entire family. The ONLY one." "I've always found that quite odd." "Odd indeed. And she has quite a sneer." "Yes, quite." I looked at my parents for help but their mouths were hanging open - they had nothing. Could it be?
No way... right? Soon enough, adults began hurling empties at my mother (not real empties, you loons), laughing at her for consorting with this faux punk rocker. I felt ill. I tried to escape to a nearby loo, only to spot my aunt slinking away in the background. AH-HA!!! It was SHE that so freely shagged poseurs and punks alike in the early 80s! I pointed at her and opened my mouth, fully intending to out her to anyone that would listen. But she beat me to it and told on herself:-( They were together at Sussex, she said... Before he dropped out and she transferred to Cambridge. A one-weekend affair. But no one seemed to care. Throwing empties at my defenseless mother was far more amusing for as much as my features and personality favor my father, no one has ever been able to explain my hair. Even with monthly visits to the hair salon to un-albino myself, I remain the lightest of hair color in my line. In the midst of my aunt's confession, someone flipped to MTV. Holiday fun with Snoop Dogg. Delightful. To further add to my shame, I heard my father jump in to the flow with Snoop *With so much drama in the LBC it's kinda hard bein' Snoop D-O double G, But I.. somehow, some way, keep comin' up with funky-ass shit like every single day... May I kick a little somethin' for the G's and make a few billions as I breeze through, Two in the mornin' and the party's still jumpin' 'cause my mama ain't home.* He was met with mass praise. "Bloody 'ell mate. You know this song?" "I have daughters and young seamen! I'm hip!" ... I don't think that came out the way Daddy intended. As wowed as I was that he actually knew these lyrics, I was equally saddened by the fact that at least a few of these daffy bastards would go home thinking that I was sired in a passionate moment with Billy Idol. *Rollin' down the street smokin' endo sippin' on gin n juice* Cue my uncle, who's already done enough damage: *LAID BACK, MATE!! with your mind on your money and your money on your bloody mind!!!* The adults cheered again. I left the room for home and my cousins followed. I have to say, this end result proved itself to be the most anticlimactic happening since Randy Johnson's upcoming deal with the Yankees.
Since waking up the next morning, I've been to London, caught some flu-like disease, missed the Arsenal-Charlton match (a 3-1 victory for the Gooners, by the way) as a result of said disease, and have been pathetically laying about ever since... ugh.
And so it goes... New Years 2004. Ah well. I hope yours was just as enjoyable. Cheers!
Things started innocently enough. I called my boyfriend to wish him a happy new year and all of those things. He told me that he wished he could kiss me at midnight, which cued the inevitable gush of warm-fuzzies and giddiness that you don't want to read about. The moment, however, was quickly squashed, as my brain got involved and injected thoughts of indifference:
Me: Why do people have to kiss at midnight on New Years?
Boy: It's tradition
Me: Well it's a dumb tradition
Boy: Why do people kiss goodbye?
Me: Why do people kiss before sex?
Boy: ... We don't....
Yikes. The words, almost palpable, hung like winter in the air. What the hell just went wrong?? Should I apologize? Suddenly, my man was the posterboy for the romantically scorned... melancholy and resigned. But his punk ass fooled me for only a second. This is Boy we're talking about. He'll not trick me into regret. After sharing a couple laughs, my night marched on.
[fast-forward 7 hours]
Around 3:00 am my cousins, friends, and I left my house and headed to Oliver's for go-cart racing... [alcohol + go-carts = responsibility]. After an hour and a half or so, frostbite began to set in, and we went inside only to discover our parents still whooping it up in front of the tv.
I rarely have a chance to see my parents, or those of my friends, gettin down with the powwow but I suppose New Year's is as good a time as any. I don't know if you've ever encountered 20 sets of English parents lit up on Guinness, Bucks Fizz (mimosa to you patriots), and various Beefeater mixes but I'll be honest, I was quite frightened.. at least initially. Not because they were mashed, mind you. We're English. Most of us would rather get wankered than eat... though I may be one of the few exceptions. My fear was locked in the possibility that I'd witness kissing or some other untoward activity that parents should reserve for closed doors. Interestingly enough, our presence seemed to frighten them far more than they did us, as I heard someone's father shout, "Oh bugger! It's the bloody children! Run Awaaayy!!" [--> parents] A mild panic ensued. Leaders of business and industry (and their wives) scuttled about, colliding with one another as they darted to the four corners of the room. For what reason, I don't know, but I had a sneaking suspicion that this worked on their own parents at some point in the 1970s. Only my parents, unfazed by our presence, remained in the center of the room. My dad invited us to join them in watching Jay Leno and we all took a seat. Soon enough the other mature adults returned to the festivities (a courageous move).
At 5 am our time, New York rocked in the New Year and after a minute of watching celebration both in the City and on the Leno set, we heard something almost magical... or sad... "Ladies and gentlemen....... MOTLEY CRUE!!" Bloated and disgraceful, Vince Neil roused even the most tired of the adults and with him they shouted, "GIRRRRRRRRLS GIRRRRRLS GIRLS!!!!" Luckily they only lasted one chorus before flipping to the Dickless Rockin Eve on ABC.
We watched for a few minutes before Billy Idol entered stage left. Though Idol has lost his baby face, he has managed to maintain his 3 moves: the smirk, the split legs, and the classic, rockin fist pump. I considered making a comment but before I could, my uncle came stumbling back in the room, yelling expletives at the tv. As he got closer, his comments became more clear. "YOUUUUUU bloody yob! You slept with myyyyy sista!! I'll have your bloody skull I will!!" And on and on. "I won't forget March 1981 blast you! ... Bloody bastard." At first, I found this quite amusing. My aunt slept with Billy Idol... it really doesn't get more hilarious. But then the eyes of these adults turned to me. "March of 1981.... didn't you just have a birthday 3 days ago?" I said nothing. "Yes, yes, she did. That's 9 months." These dimbulbs couldn't possibly believe- "And she's the only blonde in their entire family. The ONLY one." "I've always found that quite odd." "Odd indeed. And she has quite a sneer." "Yes, quite." I looked at my parents for help but their mouths were hanging open - they had nothing. Could it be?
No way... right? Soon enough, adults began hurling empties at my mother (not real empties, you loons), laughing at her for consorting with this faux punk rocker. I felt ill. I tried to escape to a nearby loo, only to spot my aunt slinking away in the background. AH-HA!!! It was SHE that so freely shagged poseurs and punks alike in the early 80s! I pointed at her and opened my mouth, fully intending to out her to anyone that would listen. But she beat me to it and told on herself:-( They were together at Sussex, she said... Before he dropped out and she transferred to Cambridge. A one-weekend affair. But no one seemed to care. Throwing empties at my defenseless mother was far more amusing for as much as my features and personality favor my father, no one has ever been able to explain my hair. Even with monthly visits to the hair salon to un-albino myself, I remain the lightest of hair color in my line. In the midst of my aunt's confession, someone flipped to MTV. Holiday fun with Snoop Dogg. Delightful. To further add to my shame, I heard my father jump in to the flow with Snoop *With so much drama in the LBC it's kinda hard bein' Snoop D-O double G, But I.. somehow, some way, keep comin' up with funky-ass shit like every single day... May I kick a little somethin' for the G's and make a few billions as I breeze through, Two in the mornin' and the party's still jumpin' 'cause my mama ain't home.* He was met with mass praise. "Bloody 'ell mate. You know this song?" "I have daughters and young seamen! I'm hip!" ... I don't think that came out the way Daddy intended. As wowed as I was that he actually knew these lyrics, I was equally saddened by the fact that at least a few of these daffy bastards would go home thinking that I was sired in a passionate moment with Billy Idol. *Rollin' down the street smokin' endo sippin' on gin n juice* Cue my uncle, who's already done enough damage: *LAID BACK, MATE!! with your mind on your money and your money on your bloody mind!!!* The adults cheered again. I left the room for home and my cousins followed. I have to say, this end result proved itself to be the most anticlimactic happening since Randy Johnson's upcoming deal with the Yankees.
Since waking up the next morning, I've been to London, caught some flu-like disease, missed the Arsenal-Charlton match (a 3-1 victory for the Gooners, by the way) as a result of said disease, and have been pathetically laying about ever since... ugh.
And so it goes... New Years 2004. Ah well. I hope yours was just as enjoyable. Cheers!
posted by Flash at 1/02/2005 09:12:00 PM
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