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How I Spent My New Years' Eve

Do you remember back in primary school, when we had to write stories about what we did on our holidays? I miss that. It's like, once you get to a certain age, people stop caring. Well, last night I was one of the New Years' Eve revellers, as they call us on the news, and boy did I revel. I revelled but good. I'm still pretty revelled right now. (I think if you use a word more than once in a paragraph, it's okay to change its meaning.) So without further ado, I give you a bafflingly detailed account of the revelling. (I rarely forget things, even when I'm drunk.)

The day started off rather poorly. I had my driver's permit test scheduled, but it didn't exactly go to plan. When I got there, the bastard at the front desk told me that my Keypass is not a valid form of identification, and I can't take my test unless they have proof of my address. My goddamn motherfucking Keypass, a card that is a nationally accepted proof of my identity, is like Monopoly money to the pricks at VicRoads. Then the guy told me that he'd have to reschedule my appointment, and charged me $15 for the privelege. I told him that I wanted to punch him in the face. He assumed I was kidding, though, so I think from a legal standpoint, I'm okay.

I was forced to catch a tram home, so of course, it was late. I waited in the hot sun on a 35 degree day (that's 95 degrees fahrenheit!) to catch a stinky tram home. They also charged me money for this service, but I was pretty much expecting that. I stopped off at my local Safeway on the way home, and bought beer, dip and Red Bull. (The beer and dip for a friend's party, the Red Bull for my current troubles.) Not even the beer purchasing could cheer me up much, though, because I was asked to bring Corona, aka chick beer. Now I love my beer, and I wouldn't kick a Corona out of bed, but it does have a reputation for being a ladies' beverage. Which reminds me -- I also bought a lemon.

I arrived home, and promptly moped for a number of hours.

Moping took up a considerable amount of time, and before I knew it, it was time to go to my friend Bec's house for her New Years' Eve party. I was already making plans to get piss-ass drunk and pass out on her couch. By eight o'clock, I had had two glasses of champagne and was feeling much better about myself. Most of the partygoers-slash-revellers were Bec's friends from uni, so I knew approximately two people there. They were two of my best friends, though, so it was okay. (And yes, one of them was Bec.)

Not long after champagne number three, the heavens opened and it started pouring. My mate Kate and I decided to drink our champers on the porch, looking out at the rain, but that dream was quashed when we went to get chips and somebody stole our seats. It was extremely uncool of them. But we did have chips.

I had a discussion with a number of gentlemen about just why it is zombies are so into eating brains. Then we were done with the champagne, and it was beer o'clock. Kate's boyfriend came back with a double-strength beer for me, which proved to be a very good idea indeed. He and I then got into a discussion about how registered sex workers must declare any gifts given on their tax forms. It is, after all, the natural progression -- after you talk about zombies, you must then discuss the ways in which prostitutes pay taxes. I was becoming extremely happy at this point.

Kate and I then decided to Punk Bec by taking down her comically large History Boys poster and hiding it. Ashton Kutcher we ain't, but it seemed pretty damn funny at the time. After that, tequila shots happened. Two in quick succession, in fact. (A third would follow later on in the night.) At this point, I noticed that one of Bec's friends had brought his own red wine, and seemed very content with drinking it straight out of the bottle all night, much like a hobo. His lips inexplicably turned blue (much like a hobo...on a cold day), so I'm not entirely convinced it was actually wine in the bottle.

Bec and I went up to her brother's room for a reason I can't immediately remember. We got to talking about pornography, again for a reason I can't immediately remember. Bec's brother has a lot of it, only he had to take a number of his precious Zoo Weekly posters down when his new girlfriend came over the other day. I looked through the collection, picked out my favourite, then stuck it on Bec's wall to replace the History Boys poster. A group discussion about boobies followed promptly after.

Bec's boyfriend took the time to talk to me about whether or not going back in time to date Bec in 2004 would count as cheating on present Bec. I maintained that it wasn't, but the fact that 2004 Bec would be fifteen and he would still be twenty makes it a tad pedophilic and weird. He didn't seem happy with that response. I may have crushed his hopes and dreams.

By this time, I was relatively sauced. I received another beer, and after the boys discovered I was a beer-drinker (took them long enough), immediately asked me to sample some of Bec's boyfriend's home-brewed beer. Being me, I said yes. This is how I ended up with two beers at once. That was a serious highlight for me.

Just before midnight, one of Bec's gay friends came up to me and asked me if I would kiss him at midnight. His boyfriend was working at some dance party, and I think he was a little pissed off about it. I didn't have the good sense to find this at all weird, so I agreed. I may or may not have agreed to kiss someone else as well, but that never came to pass. God, I love being single and borderline alcoholic.

At some point, it was midnight. I remember counting down to six, and then it gets a little hazy. I made out with the gay guy, somewhat surprised that he stuck the tongue in. I began to question his sexuality at this point.

Kate and I went back out on the patio and started dirty dancing. I don't recall there being any music playing, but that did not stop us. Then they started to play the 'Milkshake' song, and I proceeded to dirty dance with another girl. (One I had never actually met before that night.) I swear I was not the initiator either time. I guess I'm just dirty-danceable. Suck it, Jennifer Grey.

I just had a memory come back to me right now, as I'm writing this. Freaky. There was a weird threesome kissing moment that happened at some point during the night. I actually would prefer not to discuss it. It'll be funny later, but it's way too fresh in my mind right now. Let's move on.

I tried absinthe for the first time, after Bec told me that it'd "fuck me up." Since I was well and truly fucked up already, I thought it couldn't hurt.

Soon after, I threw up in the laundry sink.

I sat on top of the washing machine for a while, thinking about stuff. I can be very deep when I want to be. I was given a glass of water, which I did not find as pleasing as the times I was given beer. I recall rabbiting on for a while about how glad I was that I had finally tried absinthe, because it meant that Ewan McGregor and I were now soulmates. Now personally, I think that was a pretty damn awesome pop culture reference to casually drop into a conversation, especially when I couldn't even remember my last name at that point.

I went outside for a while to talk with the boys. (The boys outnumbered us laydeez by a long shot. And strangely enough, most of them were called James.) Now I should preface what I'm about to say next by telling you all that I don't smoke. At all. I never have, and I was pretty content with never smoking for the rest of my life so I can play the high-and-mighty judgemental bitch card to every smoker I meet. I should also tell you that one of the guys (not a James) had just come back from a trip to Poland and its surrounding countries, and had brought back some Swedish cigars with him. Oh yeah. You know where this is going. I smoked a cigar. That's just baffling. A cigar, for God's sakes! And I didn't even cough lamely, like all the first-time smokers in movies do. Cool-Hand Lorelai, that's my name.

At this point, Kate had cut off my alcohol intake. It was a blatant case of the pot calling the kettle black. Since men do anything I say (I'd proven myself to be one of them, with all my beer-drinking and cigar-smoking), one of them went off and found me a Corona. It was chick beer, but it mattered little to me. The boy who was drinking the "red wine" had passed out on the bench, and Kate's boyfriend busied himself Sharpie-ing a penis on the side of his face. He also tried to add a twirly cartoon villain moustache, but due to the way the guy had passed out, he could only manage to draw it on one side.

The gay guy may or may not have groped me. I began to think that maybe he was not gay after all. He told me his gayness made breast-touching meaningless, but I have incredible breasts, so this simply cannot be true.

After my chick beer, I thought I would have a little lie-down on the couch. I ended up falling asleep, my shoes still firmly on my feet. The next thing I knew, it was morn. Morn, I tell you! Everyone else was asleep around me. The half-mustachioed one was right where we'd left him.

I got home at twelve in the afternoon. It was an extremely good, if not bizarre and crazy, night. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to call Ewan McGregor so we can get our freak on. Happy 2010!

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