Also, your life is in Delhomme’s hands. Good luck.
We kicked 2011 to the fucking curb and brought in 2012 in the greatest way possible, surrounded by friends who largely would not have been modified as “best” on last New Year’s Eve. People I can’t imagine not having in my life. For as awful as this year was - and I swear to you, parts of it were really, truly awful - 2011 is going to be remembered as that year where I made the friends I’m going to hang on to for the rest of my life.
You think you know what that means when you’re younger; the phrase “best friends” really means something. The younger you are, the more compelled you are to tack “forever” on to it. But as you age - or at least as I am aging; a resolution of mine is to not assume we’re all like me - “forever” becomes less and less tangible. The life we thought we’d live is not the one we end up living.
My friend Eric played the mandolin and sang “Hey Ya” at almost four in the morning, after we all made valiant attempts to murder kegs and long after I made the brilliant decision to pour pear liqueur into glasses of champagne. Now ladies, don’t have me break this thing down for nothin’. And lend sugar we did - he is our neighbor, after all. Is there a better way to spend the first seconds of the new year? Historically I don’t much care for New Year’s Eve; I try so hard and it always falls a little short. So this year we did what we do every other night of the year; we combined as many of us as possible into a place where we are comfortable and happy and we made sure that the people we loved were as close as possible.
I spent the first day of the year curled up under Justin’s covers, screaming at football and holding my heart. I texted my also-football-obsessed friends all day, exchanging such gems as “If you don’t hear from me after 4:15, assume I had a heart attack” and “Plays like that are what keep giving me hope. Fucking hope” and “There’s no scenario where the Raiders and Denver both catch on fire or something, right?” and “Fucking incidental contact, this season can eat my dick”. When I confessed to last night ending a little hazy, I was reassured with “We drank, we laughed, we trafficked in extreme honesty.”
And the Bengals won. We played some cards after our heartbeats slowed down. We made coffee and cleaned bookshelves and planned in that very New Year way, all while pretending we totally weren’t doing this as some stupid resolution thing.
We drank, we laughed, we trafficked in extreme honesty. It’s impossible to feel happier.
