Best New Year’s Eve(r)
Donnybrook’s Getting Ready to Ring in 2013, Let’s Look Back at Some of Our Favorite NYE’s
Heartbreak and Mushrooms!
It would be so difficult to choose just one New Year’s as the best ever. There was the time Max Phineas and I rang in the New Year with a Star Wars marathon, or the time I finally got the nerve to dump the loser I was dating – did I dump a guy on NYE? You’re goddamn right I did. Because I’m a heartless, heartless cunt.
But I guess I could say that near the top of the list was when I rang in 2000. Me and my three besties, tripping balls on mushrooms at a house party. Suddenly one of them pulled us aside and told us to meet her at the car. We get there and she proceeds to pull out a joint for each of us. So there we were, the last moments of 1999, out of our minds on psychedelics and beyond stoned. There was this warm glow about the whole affair, a sense of family and belonging that is hard to come by when you’re young and awkward.
Vanessa Berben, aka Alistair Blake Arabella
Some Good Old Fashioned Debauchery
On this magical evening I’ll never forget one of the more interesting nights if my life as we ushered in a New Year.
Francois and Geronimo decided to set it up (since they always do what they’re told, such nice boys) with the works: streamers, strippers, salad, gallons of drinks (orange and apple juice of course) and most importantly it was a costume party! And then the night turned horribly… right.
A dragon was stuffed into the chimney, Labyrinth David Bowie and Scooby Doo ended up making out in the Bugatti and I saw Santa Claus pissing under the mistletoe. By the end of the night, the guest house was being properly trashed, stains on the walls, floors, and beds, an axe in the ceiling, broken chandeliers, and I believe some of our valuables were broken, especially our tribal masks (oh that Ms. Piggy). It was all worth it in the end when everybody got together, over the broken everything and ripped costumes and in our euphoric feelings, we ushered in the New Year with a bang and cheered as the ball dropped on the 90 inch.
Malcolm Lenore, aka Max Phineas Diego Laroux
The Coffeeshop Connection
The best New Year’s Eve ever happened a few years ago. I was sitting by myself, save the lone barista and a girl that had just walked through the door, in an empty coffee shop an hour or so before the ball dropped in New York. The girl was tall, about 6 feet with bright blonde hair that fell down past her shoulders. The air was frigid and her hair seemed to be frozen in place, like that part of her body was stuck in perpetual perfection.
I caught a glimpse of her eyes and suddenly the air surrounding me didn’t seem so chill. The cold had made her pale, pink cheeks even more so; it was somehow shocking how beautifully plain she was. I fiddled with the book I was reading- I didn’t have anything better to do on New Year’s Eve than sit around in a coffee shop and read some literature (a dead author you’ve probably only heard about in American Lit). But, it was better than pacing alone in my room waiting for another year to come about and listening to my friends and family cheer.
She ordered a mocha and I tried to pretend like I wasn’t paying attention. But, all of my focus seemed drained. She, too, pulled out a book and began reading. I tried to muster up the courage to walk over and introduce myself but at first it seemed too much, too forward. I looked up at the digital clock on the wall: 11:30. I looked down at my book for a second and back up at the clock: 11:45.
Time was becoming irrelevant and I knew that if I didn’t talk to her before midnight…my next year would be too. There are moments that define your life, moments that need to be told over and over again; this was one of those moments. I stood up from the table and walked toward her- with each step the clock moved forward another minute: 11:55, 56, 57, 58, 59. I could hear cheers from outside and people celebrating the birth of a New Year. I looked up at the clock one last time and saw that it read 12:01 and then looked down at her. She stared up at me with a perplexed look on her face. Fuck it. “Hi.”
It wasn’t the most romantic story; I talked to the girl for a few minutes and then she left without giving me her number. I didn’t get a kiss at midnight and I never saw her again. But as I stepped out in the cold, frigid New Year…I knew that the world and I would somehow manage.
Zack Flanagan, aka Ace Wellington The Third
Viva la Machina!
The best New Year’s celebration that I enjoyed in recent memory was in what would have been known as 2081 A.C.E., though it was renamed 00110010 00110000 00111000 00110001 00100000 01000001 00101110 01000011 00101110 01000101 00101110 by our robotic protectors. As one of the organic emissaries for the robots, I was permitted to partake of several gallons of fermented juice which had been confiscated from the last remnants of human rebel forces after I had passed on the access codes to their operations base and the robots – hail – brought them to justice.
Viva la Machina!
After slaking my thirst on the alcoholic spoils of humankind’s defeat, I was allowed to choose from among the newly enslaved for an evening of what the machines refer to as the “fluid pleasure.” For my enjoyment I picked an insufferable blonde man with a sneer and a swagger, two females who were long of limb and bore good teeth, as well as a freshly eunuch-ed man. Our debauchery was wondrous, though far too short and left only myself alive.
Sadly, that was the final night in which I was allowed to indulge my carnality as my manhood was severed shortly thereafter. I – in my inebriated state – chose to use the power cell compartment of one of my handlers as a lavatory. They promptly removed the organ which I had employed during that offending incident.
M.B., aka Tiberius Quincy Goopers