2005-11-16 - 11:33 p.m.
New Year’s 2005
In all fairness to this entry I should have written another one recounting the events of New Year’s 2003. Sadly at present I do not have my notes (having carelessly left them at home). Jack’s Party, Part 1 then will just have to be included as a future entry. I hope though that you can forgive me and that this doesn’t diminish the pleasure of this entry. Let us then proceed with Jack’s Party, Part 2. Note that it has been sectioned off in order to make reading somewhat easier.
New Year’s Eve is generally one of those nights that has a reputation for failing to live up to even the lowest of standards. I can pinpoint the exact reason for this though: high expectations. We expect to have that one last great big fiesta of the year only to be sorely disappointed when the final result potentially includes waking up with your head in a toilet or nestled between some surly couch cushions of dubious origin. Or worse still, the night ends up just being boring. Ball drops, people drink copious amounts of alcohol before and after, and mild debauchery is inevitable.
This year I told myself it would be different. I have, of late, adopted a mantra that has proven to be nothing short of life altering. What could it be, you ask? Look on the bright side? Or the good ole standby, Love thy neighbor? Please. No, my new mantra is simply to keep my expectations low. Keep them low and you are sure not to be disappointed. After all, things can’t be much worse than one’s own bleakest version of events. So like with all things in life, don’t expect too much out of this diary entry either and then you won’t be disappointed. Here goes…
The Dinner: The following takes place between 5 p.m. and 8:30 p.m.
With this in mind, around mid-November one faces the usual barrage of questions with regards to the New Year’s festivities: So what are you doing for New Year’s? Anything special planned? Where are you going to be when the ball drops? Well after considering the various options open to us, Suzanne and I opted to take Akos up on his offer of a dinner gathering beforehand followed by a house party at his friend Jack’s place. It seemed like a good idea. Akos would be making dinner and alcohol would be abundant afterwards.
Suzanne and I arrived around 5:20 in the afternoon for dinner. We were supposed to be there promptly at five so you can imagine us having to speed down Kitty Hawk Drive past the “deaf kids playing” sign with, thankfully, no deaf kids around it (how do you say “get out of the way” in sign language?). We arrived anticipating everyone glaring at us from the dinner table in disgust only to discover that we were the first ones there. That’s right, the Tokars were the first ones to arrive at a social function. To celebrate, we delved into the wine, cognac, shrimp, and Brie topped with cranberries.
Still astonished at our own punctuality, the others guests began to saunter in at random intervals. Amongst the crazy cast of invitees: Steve Jones (Akos’s friend from high school and currently Our Lady of Mercy High School’s computer go-to guy), his sister Elizabeth Jones (who was a few years above me at Mercy), Brendan H. (teddy bear-esque McQuaid alum), his girlfriend Cassie (Mercy alum from my own class of ‘01), Jack (a description of him is pending), and Heather (Jack’s girlfriend). Add to this entourage Suzanne, myself, and Akos’s brothers, Erwin and Peter and you’ve got yourself quite a dinner party…a dinner party that doubles as a Mercy Reunion. There’s just no escaping that damn bubble.
Aperitifs, hors d’oeuvres (you won’t believe how long it took me to find the right spelling of that), and pleasant conversation filled the time until dinner was served. The menu consisted of all sorts of deliciousness punctuated by tipsy conversation amongst the guests. The main event though was Jack. Now you have to understand something about Jack. Well actually, you have to understand a lot of things but let me give you the highlights. I met him at the 2003 party he hosted. I was quite drunk that night so I vaguely remember talking to a tall, strikingly hairless guy in a dimly lit hallway back then. Trust me, there’s something oddly disconcerting about talking to a guy with no eyebrows. Don’t believe me? Try it. Anyway, turns out that Baldy from that night was none other than Jack himself. In the two years since I last chatted with him he’s gained a fair bit of weight and even had a stint as a comedian at Comix Café. This latter development was not wholly unexpected seeing as the boy is in fact quite funny.
Jack shared much of the spotlight at dinner with his girlfriend Heather, sporting a blue v-neck shirt. Heather is an interesting girl. Still something didn’t quite sit right upon our introduction to each other. I’m not sure if it was the abrasive quality to her voice or the bottle blonde hair but either way, turns out my suspicions were not unfounded…but this will be made evident shortly. Dessert (my own cheesecake included), coffee, and tea were served. Everyone’s cup was runneth-ing over, but most notably Heather’s. Suzanne and I watched in awe across the table as she generously filled up her empty wine glass with Hennessy. Ok, no big deal we thought. She just likes to dabble in the fine alcoholic beverages. Hey, wait a minute…why is she grabbing the Bailey’s? Oh my god, Heather no! Don’t do it!
But she did do it. She went ahead and poured sweet, sweet Bailey’s into the glass of cognac. The effect was monstrous. What occurred I could only describe to you as “chunkification.” Needless to say, there was some curdling action. Wasted alcohol is not something most people can easily forgive. I may be one of those people. I saw the warning signs early on even if others were in denial. Realizing her own stupidity, Heather quickly remedied the situation by pouring the concoction into Akos’ coffee rendering that also undrinkable. Dinner ended on a good note though (arguably on account of my cheesecake) and the next step was proceeding to Jack’s house for a continuation of the party…but not before being reminded to bring our bathing suits in order to relish the joys of the hot tub that awaited.
The House Party: The following takes place between 8.30 p.m. and Midnight
We returned to our house to change (not into a bathing suit, mind you…the Special K diet has only been recently implemented after all) and to pick up my friend Brigid. Suzanne and I each drove a car seeing as we weren’t sure where we were going to end up that night. After 2003’s festivities, I thought it only fair that I be the designated driver this year. We arrived downtown and found the house (which vaguely resembled one of the many minimum security concrete prisons Kingston has to boast) but no parking spaces. We ended up parking behind Paradise Alley, which is affectionately dubbed Parasite Alley by its patrons. I parked the car, looked up, and was faced with a sign saying, “Bruegger's Bagels Parking. Park here if you love bagels.” Truth be told I wasn’t sure I loved bagels enough to park there and not be towed. A few moments of hesitation later we thought, Screw it, and headed out on foot.
We made it to the house and were taken to the kitchen to fill our plastic cups with all that the glorious keg had to offer. After each claiming a colored swivel stick as a marker for our cups, we decided to mingle. Once again, that uncanny feeling of a Mercy-McQuaid Reunion just wouldn’t stop. We saw Elizabeth again but when we said hey she just ran into the door and then kept walking. Meandering between rooms, we found Erwin and were chatting with him for a bit. He was prohibited from going onto the balcony considering the last time he did, he fell off in a drunken stupor. A one-story drop and a broken arm later I think he may have learned his lesson, but that remains unconfirmed.
Later on Jack joined the conversation: “So, I hear Dick Clark’s celebrating New Year’s at the stroke of midnight.” Touché! We were discussing maybe heading out to a bar later on in the evening when Suzanne mentioned that she’s not 21 yet. Jack insisted that she just use his ID. “You look a bit like me…just tell them it was during your chemo phase.” Hilarity, thy name is Jack. But the good thing about Jack is that nobody is above mocking, including himself (a belief I am in complete concurrence with…i.e., he should absolutely mock himself).
“You know who I’ve been told I look like?” he asked us.
“Mr. Clean?” Suzanne answered quickly.
“Him too, but you’re not stealing my thunder with that. Guess again.” Jack retorted.
“Uncle Fester?” I thought.
After a bit of suspense he finally told us: “Sloth from the Goonies.”
We were dying. Literally doubled up on the floor, tears streaming from laughing so hard. I mean it’s awful, I know, but he said it, not me. Although Brigid later admitted that that’s what she was thinking. Oh man, I wish I had a picture for you people.
Anyway, Brig went back to fill up her cup. I was still semi-reluctantly nursing my first beer. It was then unexpectedly that who should come into the room but Heather herself in a string bikini. I feel bad but all I could think was, “Avert your eyes” and “Oh god, I can’t turn my head far enough away.” To make matters worse, for some reason she singled me out as her new best friend. Super. How come my anti-social body language doesn’t work when I need it to? We watched her struggle to put on her shirt for a few minutes. The final result was something like what would happen if a chimpanzee were to dress himself. In other words, amusing yet pitiful.
“Maybe that’s how the shirt’s supposed to be,” I offered.
“No it’s not,” Suzanne corrected me. “She was wearing it at dinner.” It was then that I recognized the inside out, upside down catastrophe as the v-neck shirt of a few hours prior. Shirt or no shirt, Heather wasn’t to be deterred. She was on a mission and I was to be her partner in crime.
“You have to help me find [unintelligible slurring],” she said as she continued to struggle with her shirt.
“What?” I asked.
“We gotta find [increasingly unintelligible]. He was talking shit about me,” she continued, pulling me away from friendly faces.
I foolishly attempted to decipher the babble. “Who was? Trent was? Who’s Trent?”
“Trent was talking shit about me? Help me find Trent. Is he in there? Check,” she commanded, pushing me into the kitchen with the force of a baby hippopotamus.
Thrown amongst the throng of unfamiliar faces, I felt awkward, but at least I was free of that drunken menace for the time being. I filled my cup, twirled my swivel stick, and headed back towards the living room. Jack had just finished telling another joke and the mingling continued. Heather returned intermittently but this time she had her eyes on a different prize: Akos. We all watched in confusion. After all, wasn’t Jack her boyfriend? Oh well. It’s not my love triangle. Midnight was nearing though and the champagne was being handed out. Ah the joys of double fisting. How I missed those days.
After some mild debate over whether to watch the ball drop on ABC or NBC, Regis ultimately won out. And then of course, “10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1…Happy New Year!”
2005: The following takes place between Midnight and 4 a.m.
Happy New Year indeed. After calling the parents and little sister to wish them the same thing, it was suggested to us that we move our cars from Paradise Alley to the driveway. This was under the supposition that if the cars were moved to the house, then Suzanne and I wouldn’t feel bad about drinking to excess, leaving the cars there, and just cabbing it home. Of course this wasn’t told to me before I moved the cars. At that point I had no intention of drinking more than my second cup of beer, much to my betrothed’s disappointment.
Oh, I haven’t told you about my betrothed? Funny story. So we all know Akos, right? Yes well, I think his mother assumes that I’m betrothed to him or something. And you know what, for all I know my parents may have already paid the bride price and are just waiting for the right moment to break the news to me. I think that this is all in some misguided effort to bring together two Hungarian Family Dynasties. Yes, well, little do they know that this isn’t India circa 500 B.C. and that this princess is not in the market for any maharajah. I have no problem thwarting this grand plan of theirs. Sofia 1-Arranged Marriages 0.
I decided to avoid awkwardness by checking up on Brigid. She was in the kitchen refilling at the keg. I love Brigid, but at this point there was no denying that she had had a few, which is certainly not a problem. After all, it’s New Year’s. From across the room, we see Jack standing with a guy named Joe who calls out to us, “Hey do you want to do a shot?” Brigid agrees. He pours her a shot of rum into a plastic cup and Brig gets ready to drink up.
“No wait…don’t forget the coke!” he says as he pours the coke into the cup. I can see Brigid thinking that something isn’t quite right here. Isn’t the addition of coke making this a mixed drink instead of a shot?
Jack turns to her, “I must be getting old. I can’t even do a straight shot anymore.” Again, Brigid’s raised eyebrows say more than even she realizes. Straight shot? Isn’t that a bit redundant? Not one to be deterred though, she goes ahead with the pseudo-shot.
At this point Suzanne runs into the kitchen and heads straight for Brigid. “Give me back my swivel stick, you stupid whore!” she says. Akos turns to me, perplexed. I try to explain. “We’ve known each other for a while. It’s actually an affectionate term used amongst our circle of friends.” He seemed only further confused and muttered something about being inebriated and wishing to be candid with me. I cut him off and explained that I needed to intervene with Sue and Brig to ensure a fair fight.
The kitchen antics continued for a while but soon people were beginning to head down towards the hot tub. Tempting as that sounded, I stayed upstairs for a while. Jack ambled through the kitchen in a bathing suit at one point, a girl on each arm. That’s the first time I felt like somebody might have actually slipped something into my drink and that I must be on a bad trip. At this point I was quite convinced that I was doing a good job mingling with the locals…not nearly as good as Brig though. I was standing with her when Joe sidled up next to her and asked, ever so smoothly, “Sooo, can I get your number?”
I was ready to vomit into my plastic cup of tepid beer but thought it might be worth holding out for a minute. This could get good.
“Ummmm…” Brigid answered, coyly, though I could detect a hint of revulsion.
“Or can I give you my number?” he suggested. Maybe if I give her options, he’s thinking.
“Um, ok. Do you have something to write with?” she asked. He searched in vain for a pen, but perhaps a couple too many “shots” were handicapping his pick up skills. Being the good Samaritan that I am, I thought I’d help the boy out.
“Wait, I think I may have a pen in my purse!” I said. Brigid shot me a look. “Damn, no pen…but wait, why don’t you just put his number in your cell phone?”
“Good idea!” Joe said and smiled smarmily. After some discussion over area codes and accidentally deleting the number, Brigid finally managed to get his number down.
“Ok. And save contact as…What’s your name again?”
Well that’s always a good sign. Clearly the boy made quite the impression. He looked a bit dejected. I think my lip curled in slight delight similar to the Grinch who stole Christmas. The joys of having a heart three sizes too small.
Drinking continued for some, mocking for others. Brigid fell over for no apparent reason at one point and later Steve walked by in his bathing suit. Yet another image burned painfully into my memory, perhaps as punishment for all my judging. The Lord works in mysteriously cruel ways. Clearly though the hours were beginning to wear on for all involved. Suzanne had already left taking Akos in tow and Brigid was talking to a friend of hers on her cell who she wanted to meet up with. Just when you thought all was safe, who should return, but Joe himself. The boy was foolishly persistent and arrived with reinforcements in the form of a rather large individual wearing a navy shirt with orange flames on it. Topping off his ensemble was a sombrero that made me feel like I was watching some kind of bootleg Taco Bell commercial.
The Flaming Wonder spoke first. “Hey, you girls want to come to Acme? It’s a bar not far from here. They’ve got chairs and couches.”
The fact that he had already left the party and come back wearing that damn hat sent red flags up and before I even realized the tone in which I had responded, “Oh, well, chairs and couches! Let me run and get my purse.” Brigid may or may not have thought I was serious. Either way my usual charm worked to deflect the unwanted advances. Plus I think Brig had her heart set on meeting up with her friend Dan somewhere down town. I told her I’d take her even though I wasn’t entirely sure about this Dan character. I told her we should probably say goodbye to Jack and the others in the hot tub seeing as they were nice enough to host the party.
We headed down the unfinished stairs to the backyard. Brigid took a bit of a nosedive down the stairs. Not pretty. Nonetheless she gracefully recovered and we said our long-winded goodbye amidst the hot tub’s curl-inducing fumes. I reluctantly agreed to drop Brigid off at the hotel where Dan and his group of friends were staying but only on the condition that I at least met the boy. When I finally did meet him, some of my hesitations lifted. He appeared moderately competent and almost certainly gay. Plus Brig is a big girl and can make her own decisions. So it was there that we parted ways and I headed home after a long night. The parents were thoroughly buzzing from their own adventures and had arrived home only minutes before myself.
Conclusions
As surprising as it seems, I actually had a not completely awful time this New Year’s…sober and all. And you know why that is? Because I kept my expectations close to the bottom of the barrel where they belong. Ultimately there were no random toilets and no strange couch cushions involved and I couldn’t have asked for anything more than that. That said, I’ve still decided that next year Brigid’s the designated driver…
