Posts Tagged ‘New Year’s Eve’

Dear 2010,

And so it comes time for us to part ways. I do hope we can be remain the best of friends, even though I’m planning on leaping into the arms of another, hopefully even better year.

Still, I won’t pretend it hurts to leave you. After all, we’ve had some pretty good times together.

I won an international blogging award and made my own JPEG as my prize. I was briefly wooed and then unceremoniously dumped by an internationally-renowned literary agent. And I then went on to write a series of open letters to my cat, Gisele Bundchen, my hangover and my  husband’s hangover.

Back at home, Mr Justice turned eight and I was finally able to write about his birth, subsequently popularising the ‘pubic mullet’. Mr Justice, in turn, led a one-boy campaign in preventing a plastic doll from being legally declared his ‘sister’.

The Pixie started school,  joined the ranks of the Girls Who Wear Glasses and gave me the best night of my life at the school disco.

Tiddles McGee finally got to have his mummy all to himself and  bid farewell to nappies, bringing a long era of nappy bags and arse-wiping to an end.

And my husband grew a beard and (allegedly) went on a twelve-day Asian sex tour with the local rugby club.

I also got to interview an inflatable Brad Pitt, befriend a whole gaggle of Hugh Jackmans on facebook and inadvertently give my friend a vibrator for her birthday. I went on to threaten a major Australian advertising agency with my splatter-crapping cat and have a midlife crisis whilst sitting with a king-sized doona cover on my head.

I then turned 40 in the best way possible and managed to persuade everyone that I really was sohotrightnow just through sheer force of personality.

Yep, a lot of good times, 2010. Good times. Classic hits.

Man, you’re going to be a hard act to follow…



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Start as you mean to continue, I always say. Well, I don’t always say it – that would be, like, repetitive and just a bit odd. But I certainly have been known to say it from time to time. And as a result, the first day of the New Year has always been very important for me. It’s a matter of setting the right tone for the 365 days ahead of you.

Other people put much more emphasis on how they spend New Year’s Eve. But I don’t. Or at least I haven’t since I spent the first few minutes of 1986 on the toilet. And the final hours of 1993 watching a coin-operated television in a Japanese business hotel while my father snored thunderously in the next bed. And of course, there were those many New Year’s Eves where I couldn’t find a decent party or a taxi or even a snog. All in all, I’ve learnt that the best way to respond to all that pressure to have a Good Time was just to not do anything at all.

And so our NYE plans this year were reasonably low-key. We had been invited to family-friendly party in the afternoon at MW’s house (she of “Boob-a-licious” fame). We went over at about 5pm with the plan of staying for a couple of hours and then going home to put the kids to bed at their normal time. Someone handed me a glass of ice cold champagne and literally, the next thing I knew, it was 9:30pm and the kids had been fed and were now happily ensconced in front of a screen or sorts (computer or TV – what’s your poison?). As for my husband, he was absolutely in his element drinking piss and talking shit and, when alerted to the lateness of the hour, gave me the “As long as the kids are happy…” line. Under non-NYE conditions, I might have put my foot down but hell, it *was* NYE and we could push it another half hour, surely.

But half an hour later when I was just starting the herding cats process, local Party Girl “The Fabulous Miss Jones” arrived with her entourage. Let’s just say she’s known for her persuasiveness and next thing I know, I’ve merrily signed my family all up for another half hour *at least* – although the *at least* made me feel just a little uneasy because that Fabulous Miss Jones sure knows how to work an *at least* clause. However, fortunately for me, there’s safety in numbers and at 10:30, my friend Miss A and I started a mass exodus by collecting the various shoes and jumpers strewn around the house. We were so close (so close!) to leaving when Miss A surprised us all by suddenly throwing down her load and declaring that since she and her family had made it this far into the evening, they may as well see it through to midnight.

It was an incredibly moving speech – reminiscent of that scene in “Brave Heart” where Mel Gibson addresses the Scots from horseback, except without the ridiculous hair, accent or facepaint and that rather large question mark about whether anyone in the large crowd could actually hear what was being said. In any case, it was all anyone could do to stop themselves from lifing Miss A onto their shoulders and running around the house cheering.

And so from a few afternoon drinks, our evening turned into an old fashioned New Years Eve party where people actually stayed up til midnight of their own free will (and not because of a colicky baby who Would Not Settle or because Series 2 of “Love My Way” was keeping them captive in front of the TV). It certainly was a novel concept. My New Years MO of recent years has been to be in bed at 9:00 and to be woken up every 20 minutes by fireworks, loud doof doof music and drunken hoons on the street shouting “Happy Fuckin’ New Fuckin’ Year Fuckin’ Fuck!!”. Luckily I was still able to maintain that tradition, except that my bedtime ended up being quite a bit later and so the interruptions to my sleep were made all the sweeter. 

But nothing was as sweet as the all-too-familiar sound of my husband emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet at 4:45am. Amidst all the excitement, we had both conveniently forgotten that the drinking of piss and talking of shit often led him to achieve the Trifecta: piss, shit and vomit. And of course, having never dreamed that my NYE would be anything other than a sedate affair, I had arranged a “simulpost” with my blogging-sister The Bearded Iris first thing on New Year’s Day. And so I found myself, after less than 4 hours sleep, typing my little heart out before the kids woke up  and while my husband ran back and forth between the bed and the toilet. And then the rest of that All Important First Day of the Year was spent wrangling three excessively Tired and Emotional™ children while their father languished in bed looking a distinct shade of yellow.

But I’ll have you know that I would not let myself be defeated by all this. No, no. Not me. Instead of getting all down in the mouth, I thought about how great it felt to be jumping around in MW’s garage with my husband and friends with the radio on full blast, all of us counting down the New Year at the top of our lungs with at least one child in our arms. And I thought of how, even though I was as hungover as that proverbial bastard, it felt so exciting to be simultaneously posting with another blogger on the other side of the world in those first hours of 2009 and how this time last year I would never dreamed that I would be writing as much and as often as I am now, sleep or no sleep.

And then I thought about my long-held superstitions about starting as you mean to continue and I concluded this: if the year ahead is going to be about doing the hard yards to have those good times, then I’m certainly up for the task. 2009? Bring. It. On.

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