I think everybody probably has some bad New Year’s stories. Here are a few of mine. I’ll start with the mildly egregious and work up to the really sucky.

Three years ago, I went party-hopping with a friend who was not a big drinker. As we left the first party, I drunkenly decided he’d had too much to drink and shouldn’t drive his car to the next place. He argued briefly and correctly that he hadn’t, but I was totally obnoxious and unreasonable about it. Long story short, he ended up walking twelve blocks back across town to his car, sober and alone, after I had crashed out in my own cozy bed. Sorry, dude.

Last year, I joined some friends at somebody’s parents’ condo at the beach. They had been there for a few days and were a little partied out. I got very drunk very fast and decided to go down to the beach. The beach was nice, but when I was done with it, I couldn’t figure out how to get back around to the entrance of the condo building. I don’t remember what I finally did, but I think it involved climbing walls. I arrived back upstairs with my clothes ripped and covered with burrs. Nobody was at all interested in my story.

Five years ago, I hosted a party at my apartment. In addition to the local posse, two friends came from out of state, and my sister was there. I had been on a bender for the week or so before the party -- not doing drugs, but drinking like a fish and avoiding solid food and sleep. A few hours before the party started, I began to feel very unwell. My heart was pounding like crazy and I couldn’t breathe properly. Worst of all was this heavy sense of doom. I knew I was dying.

Guests began to arrive. I tried to deal with it but I totally couldn’t. I told everyone I was going out for cigarettes. I went outside, got in a cab, and went to the emergency room. I told them I felt like I was dying, and they asked me to wait. While I was waiting, impatiently, I called home and spoke to my sister and a friend. Naturally, they were confused, upset, and worried.

Finally the ER staff took me into the back, and a special calming doctor was brought in to tell me that 24-year-old women do not have heart attacks. Then a nurse decided my problems were related to pregnancy. I told her I wasn’t pregnant but she obviously didn’t think I was capable of knowing anything about my own body. I guess I can’t blame her. She kept prodding my stomach and insisting I tell her the dates of my most recent sexual encounters. To my shock, I heard myself telling her I couldn’t be pregnant because I slept with women. I’m sure that tidbit just added to my already spicy medical report, since I was totally honest with them about every drug I had done in my life. I had nothing to lose -- I was dying, right?

Well, not quite. As I lay on the gurney waiting for them to bring me some downers, the hospital PA system came on. “Happy New Year!” When I rolled back into my own played-out party and hour or so later, someone asked, “Does this mean you didn’t get cigarettes?”

So. I’ve had fun times at New Year’s too, but it always seems a night ripe for disaster. Months ago, in the fall, I started stressing about what I would do this year. I thought about going on some meaningful little trip by myself. Now that New Year’s is here, I’m not stressed. I’m going to rent some movies.

Someone, trying to be helpful, suggested I check out First Night. First Night is the anti-alcohol, pro-family New Year’s movement. Hello! Yes, I’m not drinking, but I’m not a huge big dork, either.

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