By Emma Silvers
By Gary Moskowitz
By Alee Karim
By Ian S. Port
By Ian S. Port
By Derek Opperman
By Emma Silvers
By Alee Karim
New Year's Eve is a lot like spending a semester abroad. You're not sure what to expect, and yet you have expectations. You hope that maybe, at last, the night will spark that passionate romance you've been meaning to have with a strange and mysterious someone. But chances are you'll end up having drunk-sex with a college kid who uses too much tongue.
Or maybe that's just me.
It used to be that a noisy party favor, a glass of sparkling cider, and a fistful of confetti were all you needed to have fun while welcoming in the New Year. Now, arduous planning must be undertaken if you're to find the right party, the right people, and the right kind of drugs come midnight. What a mess.
Last year I went into the night with high hopes, trying to make the holiday a touch more sophisticated. First, I bought a tasteful, all-black outfit at my neighborhood thrift store, opting for the aesthetically superior designer threads that hang on the wall. Then I hooked up with three close pals and we began our crawl in the uncharted and opulent territory of Nob Hill, where people with my credit rating dare not tread. Quickly things deteriorated. My friends, see, commenced with their own special party, snorting rail after rail of fluffy white lines (thanks for the invite!), then chattering away like cokeheads the entire night. By the time things were winding down, I found myself in SOMA's Powerhouse waiting at a barstool as my friend finished blowing something other than blow in the seedy back room.
Point is, whether you're trucking it to the biggest club for the biggest (and most expensive) night of the year, or copping a box of Franzia and watching Dick Clark do his thing on your couch, you take your chances on Dec. 31st -- embarrassment, boredom, and actual physical pain lurk around every corner. If you're not careful, you could wind up in the drunk tank or the Burger King on Market St. or with your face buried in your best friend's lap. In light of these harsh realities, I've taken the liberty of preparing the following tips for surviving the last night of 2005. Do not go gently and all that ...
Don't Do Drugs in the Bathroom:Even men's rooms have long lines these days, which never happened in the past. This is because cocaine has cycled back to replace weed as the drug du jour, especially on New Year's Eve. But having to do your drugs over a shit-and-piss receptacle is kind of tacky, no? Not to mention the sinking feeling you get for making fellow partiers wait 20 minutes to relieve themselves because you and the guy you just met need to get your Kate Moss on. My suggestion is that if you insist on stimulants, convince your doctor to prescribe you some Ritalin or Adderall (it's painfully easy these days). You can do that shit anywhere.
Handle Your Liquor:Few things are as embarrassing as getting totally wasted and unleashing your inner party guy or pedophile or whatever it is that haunts that dark place you're normally smart enough to keep hidden. Getting too shitfaced can also lead to unwanted sexual passes on friends or to racist, sexist, homophobic, anti-Semitic remarks, or other tasteless attempts at humor. Try balancing out your booze-cruise with a glass of water in between each drink. If that's too difficult, see above regarding stimulants.
Your Lips Are Sealed: Shooting your mouth off goes hand-in-hand with getting fucked up, period. Ecstasy will have you spilling your heart out to strangers, telling them personal things like how many abortions you've had or how your pervy uncle touched your boob as a kid. Cocaine will have you talking very fast about absolutely nothing, and you will sound like a complete asshole while doing so. Drunk, you'll be confessing your love to anyone within a five-foot radius, and stoned you'll be oozing nonsensical gibberish about the cosmos. Do yourself a favor: Whatever drug you're on, shut the hell up.
The Postcoitus Shuffle: A wild night can inevitably lead to that guy who won't leave your bed post-orgasm. Melanie Swanson, member of the slutty cheerleader burlesque troupe the Cock-T's, suggests turning on the TV until said partner leaves. Home Improvement or Full House, she says, will do the trick.
Get Your Drink On: Bars in this town are crowded enough on weekends, but New Year's promises Pope-coronation-sized hordes. Take the ultra-classy route while simultaneously showing pride in being a lush by bringing your own flask.
House Party, Too: The main rule of hosting a house party on New Year's is: Watch the door. Be careful about whom you let in. Riffraff walks around en mass on this night. Some of them might crash your party, rummage through your medicine cabinet, and swipe your Xanax, prescribed sleeping aids, and tube of toothpaste, which -- wait, why did they steal my toothpaste? Those fuckers.
The Lights Go Down in the City: Also, and not to get all Queer Eye on your ass (heh), but if you're hosting a New Year's Eve house party, or any party for that matter, kill the overhead lighting. People don't need 100-watt lighting to see. Bright lights are thoughtless bordering on hostile and can kill any soiree. They also make elderly folks over 30 very anxious. At my party there will be nothing but two candles and a bowl of Tostitos.