the most memorable new years ever…in the entirely wrong way

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Okay team, more drunked blogging from your beloved 2N. I know that I owe you an LFB blog, and beleive me, it’s 3/4 of the way written, it’s just that cohabitation slapped me a good one upside the head this week and I have had nothing more to give than figuring out which piece of furniture goes where.

I also owe the blog about the firing of the dude.

But for now, I’m drunked. And I’m going to tell you about my favorite, most memorable New Years story.

So New Years, maybe, oh, two years ago? Three? Not that important. I’m at odds with my best friend and thus find myself spending New Years with some other good friends rather than the esteemed company of the Family von N.

Let’s call my friends Bill and Ted.

So Bill and Ted and I head to a nearby drinking establishment well known for it’s long-ass lines and killer dance floor. The consequence of the long lines is, you tend to order your next hour’s worth of booze all at once simply so you don’t have to go back through the god-awful line again for at least an hour. The downside of this plan is that you end up drinking said hour’s worth of booze in approximately fifteen minutes flat, and you find yourself back in line (again) in the next twenty minutes. Needless to say, this means you spend most of your time congregated around the bar, waiting for your drink.

On this particular occasion, it was New Year’s Eve, and we anticipated an even larger turnout than usual at this particular drinking establishment. So we got there, oh, around 9 or so.

First thing we do is head to the line. Not to the bar, mind you, because that area is cordoned off by a mass of people about four or five deep. No, we head to the line.

Fortunately, we had a trunkload of premixed cocktails in the car, of which we had partaken liberally before venturing into aforementioned drinking establishment, and of which we continued to partake throughout our stint in the waiting line…two at a time would go hit the cocktail in the trunk while the third member of our erstwhile trio would hold the place in line.

That’s how long it took to get a drink there.

At any rate, Bill and Ted were really good friends, and Bill and I were really good friends, and I didn’t know Ted all that well, but we were going to party together anyway. So as I mentioned, we got there early, because we want to party good before midnight.

We get to the bar to get our drinks. Jager bombs all the way around, plus a couple vodka and crans for each of us. I think we were done with those by the time we reached the back of the line again. A few more trips to the car, a few more Jager bombs, and it’s like 11:00. Suddenly, I note that Ted and I are standing by the dance floor and Bill is nowhere in sight. Ted and I look around a little, until I send him into the bathroom because I’m pretty sure that is the only place we haven’t looked.

Sure enough, Bill’s fallen asleep whilst praying to the porcelain god.

Ted wakes him up and gets him out into the bar proper, and I can see immediately that Bill is in no shape to stick around. 11:15 on New Year’s Eve and we’re headed home. Shit.

Somehow we maneuver Bill into the car and I drive us to his place. He’s half-passed out almost immediately, that state where he’s mumbling unintelligibly about something, we’re not sure what, and laughing periodically at nothing we can discern.

So I’m a little lightheaded, and Ted’s not much better off than Bill. Somehow we get Bill into his house, onto his bed, and I’m pulling off his shoes and socks when I hear a shout of pure horror from the living room. Figuring that Ted has seen a spider or some other equally frightening many-legged insect, I persevere with my task.

Upon completion, I tuck Bill in, flick off the light, and exit the room, only to run smack into a frantic Ted.

“He puked on my shoes! He puked on my shoes! This is the worst New Years ever! DAMMIT! I can’t beleive this!” He’s almost hysterical.

He starts in about the shoes again after drawing a deep breath. I consider my options. Ted’s staying here for the night, and he needs to get calmed down if I’m going to be able to go home and put myself to bed.

It’s clear I have only one option.

“My shoes! My -”

SMACK.

“Pull yourself together, man! For fuck’s sake!”

He stares at me in shock. I stare at him in shock, because, you know, I just full-arm slapped him in the face, and, you know, I’m a little wierded out by that. At least he shut up.

Suddenly we hear cheering from the TV. We turn and look, “…3, 2, 1….HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

Yeah. Happy New Year, Bill. Happy New Year, Ted. Get yourself a new pair of shoes. I’m out.

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