How to Have the Best Unplanned New Year’s Eve [Unbridled Spirit Consumption]


    Go back to enjoying your dinner. Pay the tab and accompany your friend to let her dogs out. Call every cab company you know even though you’re not sure where you’re going. Give up on being anywhere by midnight because every line is busy. Grab some pots and pans and pour two shots of bourbon. Proceed to perform a two-woman drum circle… twice. Feel as if you pulled a muscle in your back after breaking a metal noodle-strainer and resolve to work out more in 2012.
    Suddenly find yourself at Nach Bar drinking PBR like you’re hip. Surround yourself with glitter and flannel and boys with beards wearing tight jeans. Dance like you’re alone in your room listening to Rihanna. Discover text messages from the boy who is wondering where you are. Keep flirting with the guy your friends have warned you about, but leave him to be his own troublesome self when the recipient of your texts arrive.  
    Let him buy you drinks. Talk to him about New York City and how much he wants to move back to Louisville. Leave him to wonder where you are as you smoke cigarettes with strangers wearing pretty dresses who are telling you what you already know: that every girl sometimes just wants to be thrown against a wall and ravished. Go back inside and follow your fella to a party around the corner that’s in its wind-down phase.
    Convince him to leave his party and spend 40 minutes walking a half-mile to Groucho’s, because you’re stopping to make-out like high schoolers every 3 minutes.
    Get to Groucho’s to discover everyone you know is leaving because somehow the clock struck 4 a.m. and you’re still alive. Follow the boy back to his buddy’s house, which you soon learn has nowhere for you to lie down. Watch as he pulls cushions from another room to make a bed before a Christmas tree in the living room.
    Scream, “IS THAT A DUCK?” as he says, “Yes, my friends have ducks,” and picks up said duck which had sauntered into the living room onto your makeshift bed. Wonder where the hell you are and pass out immediately upon laying down. Feel like you’re in an unsexy movie moment.
    Wake up the next morning to the sounds of quacking and a snoring boy. Reach for your phone and be happy that your phone is smart and can tell you where you are. Realize you’re two blocks away from a friend with sweatpants and cable television. Decide not to spend your first waking hours of 2012 uncomfortably. Text your friend to unlock her door, and thank the boy for his kisses. Wish him the best of luck up North.
    Later, take a look at the sparse and barely legible notes you took about the night and read, “I’m giving it all up to feel like this.”
    Wonder what the hell that means as you lie down to nap for the third time that day, and wake up to eat cabbage, for good luck.