A few years ago, a thirty-something couple moved into the house behind us. They had two girls under age five and another baby on the way. When the mom told me that her husband once danced and sang on a table, I assumed she was indulging in nostalgia rather than foreshadowing.
Until festive lights went up in the backyard. This was followed by a disco ball, loud music, and the chanting of “Drink, drink, drink!”
Another neighbor called and asked where the frat party was.
“At the newborn’s house,” I replied.
Continue reading New Year’s & All That Noise (#243)
366 days ago, I thought, “Next year, for sure, we’re going to do something fun on New Year’s Eve. We’ll go dancing, at least!”
2017 had other plans. Andy ruptured his quadriceps tendon in September. Yesterday he was finally cleared to jettison his brace, but it’ll be months before he can walk normally. Dancing? Out of the question.
Going to a party? Forget it unless they have a recliner and some ice. Continue reading New New Year’s Eve, Same Old Shit (#207)
Tonight, as I walked in the rain (with the dog, not Andy, don’t go thinking it was all romantic and shit), I thought about New Year’s Eve. It’s supposed to be a big party, right? Champagne, dancing, party dresses, sparklers, kisses?
That’s what movies say. That’s what TV says. Hell, that’s what my Instagram feed looks like, anyway.
But is it? Continue reading What Are You Doing, New Year’s Eve? (#165)