The countdown

I hate New Years.

Every year I get the overwhelming feeling that I would be better off just sleeping through it. I usually manage to convince myself that this really is the best plan, until the afternoon of the 31st. Then I start picturing all my colleagues asking me what I did, and how much fun I had – and me having to fess up that I saw the year in at Club Duvet. So this is followed by the panicky phone calls to friends, desperately trying to make plans. Eventually, I’ll find something that sounds vaguely interesting, and I end up having a completely crap time, while wistfully imagining my pillow and duvet. This is been my pattern for at least the last three or four years.

This year was no different.

I arrived back from Zanzibar in the afternoon of the 31st. I had decided that I would go out for dinner with my folks, and spend the night at their flat, blissfully unconscious for the countdown. This daydream lasted for about 30 seconds, until the driver of my shuttle back from the airport asked me what exciting plans I had for New Years. As I started to explain to her that I was planning to sleep through it… I already began changing my story. By the time we pulled up to my apartment, I knew I was going to have to go out.

So I called The Ron. The plan was drinks at his place and then…. Manhattan. New Year’s at Manhattan. This place makes me want to whip out a grenade and take out the entire establishment at the best of times. But I needed a party story for 2007 – so with my bottle of Zanzibari Conyagi in tow, off I went to The Ron’s house.

My party companions comprised of The Ron, The Ron’s Chick, and Broken Arm. Broken Arm had just ended things with his very long term, on again, off again girlfriend. Broken Arm is extremely good looking, very successful and a psychological train smash. When discussing Broken Arm with The Ron, I have referred to him as a sociopath. But of course, the New Year’s curse reared its ugly head once again.

The countdown has begun… 10…9…. (Oh my god, everyone on the dancefloor has paired off!!!)…8 ….7 …. (What will it mean if I see 2007 without a kiss!?!)….6….. 5….. (Will it be an indication of what the entire year has in store for me??!?!)….. 4….3…. (damn Broken Arm is attractive)….2…..1…..

So I gave Broken Arm a hug and what was supposed to be a Happy New Year’s peck – but it didn’t quite turn out that way. Apparently Broken Arm had been having the same internal dialogue during the countdown.

So now this puts me in a very weird position… All my conversations with Broken Arm, in the 5 or 6 years I’ve known him, have centered on me ripping him off and visa versa. How the hell do I talk to him now? Is it acceptable to punch him in the arm and tell him he’s a loser and then move in for another snog? While these thoughts are swimming around my head I realise I’ve been silent for at least 5 solid minutes. AWKWARD! I need to say something!! We need to speak!! Suddenly he starts talking about fishing, and I’m so damn relieved that there is some conversation going that I find myself confessing to being an amazing fly-fisher. This is, of course, a complete and utter lie. I’ve fly fished once and got the line stuck in a tree.

After much uncomfortable conversation, it was finally time to go home.

Another disaster of a New Years.