A New Year and I’m Still Pretty

Remember that thing about holiday expectations?  Yeah, New Year’s Eve came with a few.

Nice dinner with great friends, fun times, kids kept safely at home, everyone ends a fun-filled night safely in bed ready to start the new year off right.

It’s been a REALLY long time since either the hubs or I had had a New Year’s Eve night out. So when our lovely neighbors asked if we wanted to spend it out with them we said, “HILL YEZ!”

Baby sitter, check, dinner reservations, check, spectacles, testicles, wallet, and watch, check, check, check, and yes, well, I have a cell phone so that counts.

First, dinner. Our options were Ruth’s Chris, Oak, or the Club (which is right down the road. Seriously, we could walk if we absolutely had to which is a plus because no one can throw down like a mom on a rare night off).

We decided on Oak so K made reservations. 9pm was our best option. A little late but gave us plenty of time to eat and still party like the rock stars we know we are.

Oak is a super nice restaurant at a new development called Avalon. Avalon itself is very awesome. Outdoor shops, restaurants, movie theater, surely there would be some festivities for ringing in the New Year!

Nope. So we would have to eat at Oak and find our way to a party. No biggie!  Uber is there when you need it!

Only rate hikes would mos def be in effect at 11pm on New Year’s Eve. Anyone want to pay $200 for a 5-mile ride??

I don’t do hookers, so no. I don’t.

We decided the smart and simple thing to do would be dinner at the Club and stay for the party!  Perfect. We got ready. I even poured myself into some leather. Pre-gamed it with some Dom at our house then off we went.

Dinner was nice. Mixed-age crowd, no red flags… until the band started setting up…

The party was a different animal entirely from dinner. Everyone was my Granny’s age. No lie. Some may have even fought a turf war with my Native American ancestors.

Luckily, I was a few bourbons in.

We were the youngest whippersnappers there by a good 30 years.  But, hey, we’re here to party.

The highlight of the night in a Twilight Zone kind of way was C Dog gettin the “L” by some old chick for not dancing. This old lady formed an “L” with her hand and shoved it on her forehead at him.

Um, we aren’t losers. We are here partying it up with you old farts. I started getting ready at 4:30 and I’m wearing leather pants. Show some respect.

We finally had enough anesthesia alcohol to numb ourselves to the unexpected sounds of a band whose 50-year-old lead singer kept saying, “Ok, folks, this next song is one of my dad’s favorites!”  That’s not a joke. Really happened.

The four of us gave it our all and danced the night away trying not to offend the fox-trotters with the grinding that we all grew up believing was the only appropriate thing to do on a dance floor.

After toasting to 2015 with our champagne we safely drove the mile back home. The hubs and I gathered up our sleeping babies and we safely walked across the street to our house assuming that the night was a success and everyone would end the night safely in bed.

To that point, I thought C getting the “L” from the old chick was the highlight of the night… until I fell into the bushes of our front yard while holding my sleeping 3-year-old nugget.

Did I fall because I was drunk?  No. Honestly, hand to God, I was walking in stilettos up our driveway and I happened to take a look up at the sky.  What can I say, I get distracted easily.

I was thinking how beautiful and clear the sky was and my balance was thrown off. My son is a tank of solid muscle so with his dead weight I was front heavy. {THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID.}

Seriously, how does that happen??? I walk successfully all night in these shoes, stay focused, at one point have a few drinks AND STILL DANCE WITHOUT FALLING!!!!   I get home, have one of the most precious humans ever in my arms, asleep, fully trusting his Momma to safely walk the required three feet home, and I FALL????

So, now our poor bush looks like this:


{Is that a face??? I think I have a face in my bush and it’s laughing at me. That’s what she said.}

And my hand looks like this:


No, not pretty.

{And, yes, I do have a hitchhiker’s thumb. Don’t stare. Or mention it. I don’t like to talk about my flare.}

My sweet baby has not a scratch on him. Of course, he’s pretty pissed that I disrupted his sound sleep. But, otherwise he’s perfect. Aside from the emotional trauma my hubs has caused me since that moment by continuously saying, “Roman, you remember that time when your momma threw you in the bushes for New Year’s?” To which Roman replies, “Yes! I we-memba! I kwied. Wight, Daddy?”

Awesome. Epic Fail. And not my finest moment. But, I did look awesomely pretty in those pants. Even face-down on my sidewalk.

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