my new year's eve

I, like many others, have always found New  Year's Eve to be challenging. This one was no exception, but there were some good parts:

I don't particularly like being in crowded places but, like every other basic bitch, I'll make an exception for Wetherspoons. I had some nice wine there and, presently, had an all-consuming desire to bust some moves. We were turned away from the only bar in town with a dance floor for not being on their list, so my partner made margaritas in our kitchen while I pushed the furniture back in an effort to make our own space for rug cutting on my horrible pink and blue Mondrian-esque rug.

After the dancing, we watched Muppet Treasure Island. I necked a small bottle of Fireball during the opening credits and slipped into a comfortable fugue state for the first half of the movie. I was conscious only of the crispness of the muppet characters darting about on the screen — I'd only ever seen the dreamy-edged VHS version — and my hope that my partner was enjoying it. This was his first viewing. Tim Curry's beautiful propaganda song about how becoming a sexy gentleman pirate would be basically the ONLY viable option for anyone in Jim's position (and, I mean, yeah!!) was interrupted rudely by midnight's encroachment. There were fireworks on the television and outside the window, and sadly I don't remember much about any of them. But fireworks are inherently rad, so they get added to the list of NYE goodthings.

Honorable mentions go to:

- the very good sushi we had for dinner

- the perfectly-ratioed egg burrito my partner made for me the following morning (just the right quantities of cheese, bacon, and mushrooms)

- finally finishing "the roottrees are dead", a dastardly video game about filling in a family tree for some irritating nepo babies