For years I hated New Year's Eve. I mean how could any experience compete with the hype. That perfect kiss at midnight? For years I went out searching. Invariably depressed and disappointed when the stars refused to align. High School was torture. College not better. My post-grad years miserable save for the one when I was waitressing and pouring drinks at a comedy club. That suited me, joking with my peers, popping open bottle after bottle of champagne bantering with the poor stiffs who'd paid for their evening's entertainment. I moved to NYC and joined the swarms huddled from the cold, trudging around looking for that perfect party. The depression heavier in those great looking crowds. One year wasn't too bad, spent snorting coke and staying up all night talking with my good friends, the then couple, Tom and Renee. The next year was abysmal. So in 1981 I stayed in. Friends kept calling, trying to drag me out. I couldn't possbily be serious...How could I really stay home on New Year's Eve? Wasn't I going to be way too depressed? I stuck to my guns. Drinking, eating cookies, watching TV, and listening to James Brown still a better alternative than the annual loneliness and embarrassment. I woke up Jan. 1, 1982 feeling refreshed and with no regrets. Six weeks later I went out on a first date with the man I'm still married to. Dec. 31, 1982, in my tiny tenement apartment, with a bottle or two of champagne, I toasted my great good fortune! I was home, on New Year's Eve with all I needed. Finally, that magic midnight.
Since then, once and awhile we've gone out for a low key something or other. Mostly we've stayed in. And that's been fine. Wonderful in fact.
Happy New Years!