What I’d Be Doing on NYE if I Weren’t Sequestered in OC on Babywatch 2007

absolut disco
Parading around a private mansion with an Absolut on the rocks like a pretty young thing, pretending to care about your $200 jeans and $200,000 car?

Floating atop a shiny disco ferris wheel in 5″ knee high pink platform boots and hot pants with 15,000 of my closest BFFs at Giant Maximus?

Spending a sweet evening out by dining at any of the many restaurants offering a special New Year’s Eve menu where “prix fixe” is French for “ridiculously overpriced?”

The options are so many! The possibilities are endless!

What I would be doing to ring in the New Year if I weren’t sequestered here in The OC on Babywatch 2007 with Barney, Dora, and some hyper-caffeinated Chinese cotton candy fairy martians singing children’s songs in Mandarin, is…

absolutely nothing else.

I have been cursed – traumatized, if you will – by the last few New Year’s Eves. One terrible, horrible, no good, very bad New Year’s Eve would have been better had I actually been so blasted that I had blacked out and erased all memory of it, but rather, am destined to vividly re-live the hot, fetid horror in my mind’s eye every year around this time when the inevitable “What are you doing for NYE?” epidemic sieges the city. For as many nights there are that I have thrashed myself into utterly shameful oblivion, NYE 200X (I just can’t bring myself to admitting which year it was) was the one night – the one! – that I actually have to remember, no matter how hard I try to forget.

The problem is, I can’t help but give in to that unavoidable, un-ignorable hype that inevitably causes me to foolishly forget what happened the year before and “do” NYE in a fashion for which I’ll never forgive.

Like last year.

Oh, if 200X wasn’t enough to kill New Year’s Eve for me forever, then there’s always last year, which was better, but worse. I will never, no not ever, forgive myself for overdosing on pure toxins to the point that I had to shamefully strip down to my skin, hurl my shivering, shaking rag doll of a dehydrated body into a bathtub, and spend the better part of December 31 praying that I wouldn’t die.

barbie ODs on apple juice
barbie doesn’t know her apple juice limit

My immune system was on terror alert red, attacking a severe case of the flu with a full outbreak of hives and fever of 104. I am quite certain more than a few of my brain cells vaporized that night.

It makes me want to forget New Year’s Eve altogether for the rest of my life, which apparently, I have, because I wouldn’t be anywhere else on December 31 but here with my family long before midnight strikes, dressed in pajamas I’ve been in lounging in all week, and cheers!-ing pink and purple sippy cups filled with calcium-fortified apple juice.

Happy New Year!

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