Happy Fucking New Year

And yes, I hate to start cursing, right there in my titles, this soon into the year. And it's not even a depressing "Happy Fucking New Year," it just became the watchphrase between Mr M and I over the holiday. OK, wait. Depressing for him, yes. Let's have a few moments of silent thought for Mr M.

See, Mr M went to Cleveland on Thursday. And while that in and of itself should give you all reason enough to have a few moments of silent thought for the man (*ba-DUM-bum!*), that wasn't really the problem. He went to visit his aged aunt, and saw his old clarinet teacher Gus in the bargain, and had a fine time. (Really, I'm very positive on the whole Cleveland thing.)

Friday, on the way back, he called me from the road, as he often does, with a traffic report ("widely scattered cars, with a high pressure truck passing"). He was expecting a 7:30pm arrival in B'burg, where I'd go meet him Saturday and we'd ring in the New Year.

Then he called again, with a report of a different sort - his car was overheating. And he called again. And again. The third time, he was ambling along I-77 at 30 miles an hour. The fourth time, he was pulling off the road to stay, in hopes of having the car fixed Saturday morning.

Then on Saturday, after a Hale and Hearty Farewell, Your Car's Fine, from the shop, things were still not well. Apparently it all started happening again. He called and said he'd be delayed. Then he called and said if it was OK, he'd just come to my house, since it was closer than B'burg. Then he called and said, "Just leave the light on. I don't know when I'll be there, hopefully it'll be in time for the ball to drop, but hang on." Then he finally called and said he was being towed to B'burg, and, well, Happy Fucking New Year.

And so I spent New Year's Eve with a flask of Goldschlager, my new colored pencils, and that douchebag Carson Daly.

And it really wasn't so bad, I said "Rabbit rabbit" at the stroke of midnight, toasted to myself, and was perfectly content, save for the fact that you'd think when one bought a very expensive 120-piece colored pencil set, the pencils would at least be pre-sharpened. I sharpened till about 3am, while watching Looney Tunes, Eddie Izzard, and Sherman and Peabody DVDs. After 3, only about half my pencils were sharpened, so I toasted myself one last time and packed it in.

I finally fell off to sleep around 3:30, then at 7:30, the phone woke me up. I was half expecting the call to be from Mr M, telling me that he and the tow truck driver were stuck somewhere on the wilds of Rt 460, but instead I heard the wonderful accent of my friend Tina, who lives in Ireland. She greeted me with this: "Happy New Year, oh, shit." Yes, in the 17 or so years she's been phoning me, this was the first-ever time she's forgotten about the time difference. That sadly - and happily - made the call very short this year. (Only happily because it let me go back to sleep.)

Needless to say I woke up quite late, and set about the task of getting everything ready (and there was lots to get ready) for my trip to B'burg to see a carless Mr M, and then attend - yes! - the annual New Year's Sauerkraut Band Party.

Now, may I just say that I don't think I've ever had a lovelier time at a party where I spent so much time in the bathroom trying to throw up. It was at Tom's (who had just finished his "busy season," as we all know he is the real Santa), was full of wonderful people, wonderful food, and, and I'm sure it will come as no surprise to you, wonderful liquor. Which was consumed wonderfully (or not) quickly.

I know I've said it here before, but the speed with which the SK Band drinks is quite amazing. I started innocently enough with a beer (oh, once again, just like the "it was hot and I got drunk" party, I made the mistake of going on an empty stomach). And then, two things happened. First of all, I broke the "beer, then whiskey - mighty risky" rule.

And second of all, I'd made some slight remark to Eddie upon arrival that maybe he should try to get me drunk. I've said this to Eddie on a few occasions, and he's a man who takes a task to heart. So no sooner than I'd had a beer and a few snacks, and the Goldschlager started being thrust upon me. And damn that Eddie for forcing me to down the first shot in one take. This was not my idea, and I only did it because he had my arm in a massive twist and I was in pain. Yeah, that sounds good.

And so we started the "Ein Prosits" and the shots, and, well, to make a very long story very short, I was boo-drunk by 7pm.

You know, I've never played Uno. Uno is a fun game. It's especially fun when, 1) no one's keeping score, 2) you have no idea what the hell you're playing, so you just show your neighbors your cards and let them pick them out for you, and 3) the entire ping-pong table full of people playing are in various arrays of snockeredness. Some great pictures from the Uno game I have, and one of them I still don't quite understand what's going on in it. I think someone's being raped. Well, maybe not raped. Everyone's smiling.

After the Uno game I went over to the sitting area and sat. In the floor, where I was having a very good time until I realized I was shit-faced beyond control and I really needed to, as they say, talk to God on the big white telephone. And so to the bathroom I went, did my damnedest, and was not successful. So I sat again, in the floor beside the bowl, and had at it some more. Unsuccessful.

This went on for probably the next three or so hours, a little partying, a little heaving, a little sitting by the bowl. Me and the bowl became really good buddies.

Finally, I had some success when I (and you're going to love this) retched one more time and a little something appeared in the bowl. It was pink. Now, this gave me no small amount of perplexment, and I sat and mused aloud as to why I would throw up something pink. And one of the people going in and out of the toilet while I was there musing (it's a multi-stalled toilet, just like you'd imagine Santa would have at his home), reminded me of the Tums I'd taken earlier. "Oh! Pink Tums," I said happily, and, that mystery solved, I went back to the party for awhile.

And I had some more of a lovely time, until the urge to travel bathward arrived again. And it was then that something happened that filled me with such awe, admiration, and jealousy that I don't know if I can adequately describe it here.

The Tums gone, I was back to heaving nothing but air. So I got up and stood at the sink for a little while, putting cold water on myself and wondering who that was looking at me in the mirror, and who should enter the bathroom but SB. The petite, lovely, vivacious SB. She waved and said hi, smiling, and then the petite, lovely, and vivacious SB proceeded to go into a stall and - lose everything she'd had in her system for approximately two weeks. Then she left the stall, smiling, waved, and said bye. But not before I expressed my utter appreciation for her act.

And I never did lose anything other than my Tums, but as I said before, it really was a lovely party and I had a great time, what I remember of it, anyway. There's something about the Sauerkraut Band that can turn an experience you'd probably end up hating into one you end up with only fond memories of. I love those guys, even if they all know how utterly corruptible I am, and wink and smile as they pour me another drink. We've often mused of renting a cabin one night at Oktoberfest and having an all-night stay, and as much as think this would be a great idea, I also wonder if I'd survive the night. I'm that weak around this bunch.

And now, the big news of the party. It was something to behold, and I'll never forget it if I live to be 100, which we all know I won't. There seemed to be some discussion around the old ping-pong table at some point of Mr M and his Peek-a-boo expertise. So our Fearless Leader Ed said, "Well, we can solve this right now," went out of the room, and produced - a baby! Well, a toddler, the son of Russ, who looks exactly like Russ, or would if you gave him a beard and shoved a beer in his hand. An adorable little boy he is.

And Ed sat the little fella in a chair across from Mr M, and Mr M reluctantly took off his glasses, covered his eyes, and did one of the nicest Peek-a-boos I've ever witnessed. And the little boy's face lit up, he giggled, and was all smiles. Damn - I guess we all owe Mr M his Peek-a-boo props. It was a golden moment.

On Monday I watched the Rose Parade, which they've gone and totally ruined by having people singing during it, and also watched the Hokies win the Gator Bowl. I was secretly hoping they'd lose, because with the exception of James Anderson, they were all so unsportsmanlike and badly behaved they didn't deserve their victory.

Oh, and I got to knock Mr M's block off. See, I got him a set of Rockem Sockem Robots for Christmas, so that from here on out we can settle our differences on the plastic canvas. We weren't having differences, I just wanted to try out the set, and I did indeed knock his block off in short order.

I guess that's par for the course, the way his New Year is shaping up.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* Acrowinners, we have acrowinners. And thanks to all who took my test. And if you didn't go to the link below and give it a try. So - what about "Me??"
- Honorable Mention goes to DeepFatFriar, with his "Radically kick-ass intellectual Titan." Yes, I'd say that's apt description.
- Runner-up goes to LilyG, with her "Reasonably kind in temperament." I liked her third one better, but unfortunately, she didn't see that time I kicked the infant across the room.
- And this week's winner goes to a new player! Buck, aka Russ, with his "Reprobate kid in transition." Yep, that's me, baby!
- Thanks to all who played, you've all done very well.