The First Morning of the New Year

I stumbled into the kitchen at a little past 9:30 in the morning, but for how tired I was it might as well have been dawn. I nodded in the general direction of False Hungarian.

"Hey," I croaked.

I call her False Hungarian, by the way, not because she is a Hungarian but because, with her creamy complexion and long brown hair, she looks like one. In a house full of the people of the moo-cow, that can be confusing.

She looked down at the grime-covered tile floor, on which a beach ball improbably rested, then at the tubs of wine and broken shot glasses that filled the sink.

"My house..." she whimpered. "What happened to my house?"

Our eyes met and and laughter roiled unbidden from our chests.

I'm not really sure why half of what happened that night happened. I'm not sure why the television was covered with Silly String or the bathroom with crime scene tape or the floor with people, many of whom were inexplicably passed out next to empty couches. As they woke up and staggered to their feet, they marveled with us at the wanton destruction visited upon False Hungarian's place of residence by a group of people who claimed to be her friends.

"There's glitter stuck to this table," White Mexican muttered. "I need something to pry it off."

"Here." I handed her a stainless steep spatula.

"Where'd you get this?"

"I don't know."

She began to scrape at the surface of the table, whereupon one of the legs promptly fell off.

"Um, False Hungarian..."

Our hostess turned a corner and started cackling with something that, I suspected, bordered on desperation.

"It's okay," she insisted. "If I just look at the ceiling then everything is clean! Everything is...wait a minute. Is that a fucking footprint?"

If one thing's clear it's that fun was had. Maybe a bit too much fun, if we're being honest about it.

"Listen, False Hungarian," I said. "I'm sorry, but I think I broke into your roommate's room."

"Oh, I bet he loved that."

"Not really. He told me to get the fuck out and I said, 'Why? Are you hiding sex slaves in here?'"

"BB, we really need to hang out more."

Elegant Girl, looking immaculate even though she'd just woken up still drunk, joined us around noon and with characteristic grace pronounced, "Please tell me I didn't have sex with anyone last night."

"No," False Hungarian reassured her. "You actually slept with me and BB."

"Yeah, and you're the worst bed-hog ever," I said. "You like, beat the shit out of me."

Elegant Girl is about five feet tall, with a slender carriage and a diminutive smile.

"Oh, I'm sure I didn't do that."

"You did, though. You kicked me in the back. And when I complained about it you said, and I quote, 'It's okay. Just move the fuck over.'"

She was a picture of innocence as she covered her giggling mouth, but something about the glint in her eyes told me I wasn't her first victim.

As we continued cleaning the devastated home we found the kinds of gems that can only be discovered after a rocking New Year's Eve party. Among the more noteworthy finds were several unopened bottles of champagne--"There's literally enough here for another party," False Hungarian noted--and a few lost memories that would have done better to remain forgotten.

"Hey, man, I'm sorry that I burst into your room last night," I said when False Hungarian's roommate came up.

"Yeah," he said. "You came back."

"What?"

"You came back. You tried to steal my pillows and said you needed them to 'stop the Muslim invasion.'"

"Well, now you're just being silly."

Every now and again it's nice to just have a blow-out wherein you release everything that's been pent up. My worries, my frustrations, my loneliness, all went away for a bit. And in the company of friends I was reminded that, whenever I pull myself out of whatever it is I'm in, I'll have something waiting for me on the other side.

That's good to know.