Hangover Holiday

The weird thing (okay, a weird thing, one of many) about suddenly having teenaged kids is they can run off on New Year’s Eve and we don’t know where and we don’t have to worry.

“Where are your boys tonight?”

“Oh, we don’t know.”

This would not have been possible in the pre-cell phone era. Anyway, we knew where one of them was. The one who drives, though, I have no clue where he went. But I called him this morning and he was alive and well and that’s all that matters.

The neighbors had a party and we walked down there. It’s actually kind of a long walk because they're over there, down by the creek, and by the time we went – eight or nine o’clock – the outside temp was already below freezing. So it wasn’t exactly a slow stroll. Besides, I was carrying beer and fireworks. The beer was heavy.

Almost no one else was there. Four adults and five small children. My neighbor told me this couple had bailed and that couple had the flu and this other couple, their new friends were Irish and “didn’t want to impose” so they stayed away. What is it with people? Someone should have delivered them an order: Impose! Drink my beer! Eat my food! Now! But no, didn’t happen, and that’s odd, because I thought the Irish were among the least unwilling people to impose on someone else’s alcohol. Not to put forth an old stereotype. But I’ve always suspected it is my minority Irish ancestry that helps make up for the heavier German side when it comes to having fun.

Well, whatever. Speaking of putting forth old stereotypes, it is probably typical of me to admire nothing about his house so much as the garage. It is a wonderful garage. Room for three vehicles, sure. And also a pool table, a fusbol table, a stereo and refrigerator and cabinets and tools and a wood-burning stove that had the garage in the mid-seventies while the rest of the house was in the sixties and the outside dipping below thirty. Yet it’s not a no-brainer where we spent the bulk of the evening because there was food in the kitchen and karaoke in the living room and adorable little brats both places and the best thing about the adorable little brats? They were somebody else’s adorable little brats! Score!

My neighbor was bemoaning the fact he never caught a buzz. I guess we change as we get old. I haven’t caught a buzz let alone felt particularly drunk in ages. Which means nothing because we had a great time anyway. But it’s weird. Three or four beers, a shot of Don Julio and a glass of champagne and then up until four, and when I awoke this morning I hadn’t any hint of a hangover. Felt fine.

All that racket from twelve to twelve-thirty was us banging on tom-toms and blowing off fireworks left over from last July and running chainsaws and leafblowers and weedwhackers to the tune of the drums, while kids ran around screeching and the neighbor’s dog kept shoving her wet stinky chase toy into my hand. Next year we’re thinking of doing it in our driveway because my immediate neighbor is easily annoyed.

Well, all that said, I hope that by now everybody has had a chance to bring in the new year with a bang. ;-)