Random and without rhyme or reason.
They end with burns on my fingertips and a hangover unlike any I’ve experienced in a while.
They end with this trophy here atop my mantle.
Actually, they end with me flat on my back this afternoon. The wind knocked out of me, staring up at the ceiling and wondering if I was dying.
But I’ll get to that.
I went to great lengths to pretty myself up last night. To shave, perfect my makeup application, and straighten my hair just so.
Of course, 10 minutes after we had entered a bar that was beyond hot – my hair was kinking up into random curls and frizz that could only be contained by throwing it up into a pony.
Me standing in the bathroom already bitter at 2010 and thinking to myself that this is what I get for putting in any effort at all.
But, I was with good friends and we were having a good time – this is really all anyone can ask, right?
To weave together the events from the evening with any kind of fluidity is going to be next to impossible. Because there really is none. So I have a feeling that this is going to be the most disjointed post I’ve ever written.
There really is no other way.
Two drinks and one tequila shot into the evening, my stomach was already telling me that I shouldn’t be drinking. And it was as I sat there sipping on that second cocktail and talking to my friends that it happened.
I threw up in my cup.
Right there, in the middle of the bar, mid conversation – I puked.
Thankfully, my drink was practically finished, so there was room in that cup for it to all come back up in.
What did I do then?
Well, I set the cup down on a table and grabbed a glass of champagne to take a swig of. You know, to wash my mouth out with. Then I returned to the conversation with my friends as though nothing had happened at all. Loo staring at me in amazement. “That was the most undercover vomit I have ever seen!” She applauded.
What can I say? I’m classy like that!
Actually, in my head all I was thinking was that it was clearly going to become one of “those” nights. The kind that I probably should have left buried in my early twenties. But you know what? It was deserved, and I decided then and there to fully let loose.
Which is when I sauntered up to the bar and requested an entire bottle of champagne for me and my friends. Thinking I was pretty hot stuff at that point. Clearly.
Of course, I about threw up all over again when I got the bill for $77. A girl who has been stressed about money for the last several weeks should not be spending $77 on alcohol.
However, I saw in this moment an opportunity. An opportunity to actually be able to take something away from money thrown down the drain this year.
A trophy.
I got nothing at all from my two IVF cycles. Nothing to show for it in the end.
So you had better believe I was keeping this bottle. It would be my symbol for 2010. The one thing I threw money away on, where I managed to still walk away with something.
Hence, the empty bottle of champagne that I carried around in my purse for the rest of the night. The one now resting above my fireplace.
It was as we were drinking from that bottle that the countdown began. And at midnight, I exchanged innocent kisses with each of my friends, since there was not a single man in the bar who had caught my eye.
Then I shouted out a big EFF YOU to 2010. Loud and clear.
Ready to embrace a new year and be done with the last.
From there, things really started to get blurry. I don’t even like Champagne, but we killed that bottle and kept on drinking. Out on the patio, while getting hit on by a man I could not have been less interested in, I announced my IVF cycles and the fact that I couldn’t have children. I then walked away. In the bar, when I spied a woman who was in fact quite pregnant sitting down at a table, I walked up and seated myself next to her. Gave her the brief version of my story, told her how beautiful and lucky she was, and then told her I was sending lots of love and light to her and her baby (because we all know I secretly wish I was a hippy). I may have let a few tears slip as I spoke those words.
Thankfully, she didn’t think I was crazy. She gave me a hug and let a few tears slip herself. She thanked me, and I got up – determined that would be the end of my crazy train for the night.
We went to another bar with a bit more mellow of a scene. I cooled down, and started talking to a couple who had wandered past our table. The truth is, I was talking to them because I had been instantly attracted to the husband and had struck up a conversation – in my defense, I didn’t realize they were married at the time. But that turned into the wife and I actually hitting it off, and her promising to hook me up with one of their best friends who was out of town for work. I gave her my number. Told her I’m definitely looking for Mr. Right and she should have him call me.
Classy class.
After mellowing out, we wandered off to our last bar of the night. Where we met Tom with an H (Thom). He was nice enough. Tall. Interesting. And he and I chatted for the rest of the evening. I think a kiss or two may have been exchanged there, but I can’t really remember. Nothing too risqué though, I know that. He kept telling me how beautiful I was, which was sweet. He asked for my number, and I gave it to him. He’s texted twice already today, but I haven’t responded.
Because I’m 12.
No, the truth is that I can already tell you that this guy is not the one. He was nice enough, and like I said – interesting. But… I’m not really interested. And per my new rules, I am not wasting any more time on guys who clearly aren’t the one. So while Tom with an H was nice, I won’t be seeing him again.
Besides, we hadn’t even burned our lists yet. So I knew he couldn't possibly be the one.
And that was our last order of business for the night. A ritual burning of all our lists standing beneath an ice sculpture in downtown anchorage.
I love my friends. I love their humoring of my grand ideas.
My fingertips are slightly charred from that experience, but the lists went entirely up in flames. Sent out into the universe. Telling the world exactly what I want for 2011.
By the time Loo (who was on call last night, and therefore only allowed herself one glass of champagne the entire evening) dropped me off at home, I was exhausted. My clothes are still strewn throughout the house. I clearly just stripped down, and crawled into bed. Not waking up until I heard my phone beeping around 9:30 this morning. Having no idea where it was, I had no choice but to get up and search for it.
It was this afternoon that I went to take a picture of my champagne bottle prize. Last night, I had placed it on a top shelf in my living room.
I decided that in order to best photograph it there, I should get up on my couch so that I could stand level to it.
The problem? Since putting in laminate flooring, my couch has become pretty easy to slip and slide around. And while balanced on top, I felt the entire thing start to move underneath me.
I knew I was in trouble.
It went forward, I flew backwards. Cracking my skull against the wall, and landing hard on my mid back - feet still in the air. The wind entirely knocked out of me, thinking that I could possibly be dying.
Flat on my back.
And cursing 2011 already.
As I regained my ability to breathe though, I just started laughing. Because really, as much as it hurt, the entire thing was hysterical. I wish someone had been here to see it, because I’m pretty sure it had to be one of the most classic falls of all time.
And now, here I am. Lying in bed and nursing both my wounds and my hangover. Smiling over some of the more ridiculous moments from last night and thankful to see that hellish year put behind me.
Oh yeah. I’m also starting my period.
On New Year’s Day.
I’m battered, bruised, and bleeding.
And you know what? I still think 2011 is going to kick 2010’s butt.
This is going to be my year.
Even if it kills me.
