Dropping balls, Cran-tinis, and Atomic Cowboys

Believe it or not, I was actually looking forward to New Year's Eve this year. Sure I didn't have a proper date, but my friend Melissa was in from out of town (sans boyfriend- who spent the New Year in Seattle) so we decided to ring in the New Year all tarted up and stylish. After a few pre-party cocktails, with hair curled, lips glossed and jewelry sparkling, we made our way to the bar for the New Year's Gala, slightly buzzed and ready for adventure.

I must say that the gale force polar winds were not the most welcome element to my pale, bare legs, but I soldiered on anyway. Nothing was going to keep me from bringing my dose of glamour to the good people of the Atomic Cowboy. After locating the lovely Tracy, and stashing our bulky coats, we downed a shot or two at the bar and scanned the room. The outlook for my discreet New Year's affair was looking terribly bleak. It seemed that everywhere my tipsy eyes gazed, people were coupled up and making lovey eyes at each other.

So as the midnight hour approached, with no romantic prospects, I did what any self-respecting girl in my position would do. I sucked down any and all alcohol within in my grasp. And so it was that I found myself slowly descending down the path to inebriation, at the exact moment the countdown began. In my slightly altered state I had failed to notice that both Tracy and Melissa had wandered off to boyfriends and bathrooms leaving me to teeter awkwardly into a booth, alone. And as the voices rang out, "Eight, Seven, Six...." I realized the true pitifulness of my situation, grasped my champagne and willed the booth to swallow me whole.

But alas, as the countdown rounded "Four" Melissa made her way back from the bathroom in time to clink her complimentary champagne to mine and toast ourselves and Tracy, and Ed, and everyone who had complimented our sparkly accessories. Sure it wasn't the sweeping romantic spectacle I was hoping for, but it suited me just fine. Who needs to confess their feelings to a boy when they can dance the robot, with their two best friends in the world, to the song "Sexyback". That's what I call a successful New Years. I defy you to disagree.

If you look closely at the pictures you can see the actual progression of my drunkeness.