Make a Facebook invite. Name the event, “At Least It’s Not Going To Be 2012,” and make sure it has a very clever and funny description. Choose a photo from the film, 200 Cigarettes, and just pray that people show up. Seriously. Just pray.
Feel an enormous amount of pressure about this party and this holiday. Be superstitious and believe that how you spend New Year’s Eve sets the tone for the rest of the year. Last New Year’s Eve, you had mono and fell asleep before midnight. You weren’t surprised when 2010 ended up being the worst year ever.
Refresh your invite. Only 4 attending, 5 not attending, 6 maybe attending. Sadness.
On the morning of New Year’s Eve, have your best friend-the one who is obligated to attend your party- come over to your apartment and help set up. Buy Marinelli’s apple cider (for novelty, duh!) as well as confetti and that toy that’s sort of like a kazoo. What’s it called again?
Wonder if your crush is going to show up and debate texting him/her a friendly reminder about your party. Discuss it at length with your best friend, who kind of hates you at this point, and ultimately decide to wait.
Check your Facebook invitation. 11 attending, 13 not attending, 7 maybe attending. Feel very screwed.
Remind all of your friends about your party. Be forceful but not desperate. Have a glass of wine at 3 P.M.
After you finish setting up, your friend leaves to get ready at their place. Be left all alone in your decorated apartment and feel very small. Watch an episode of 30 Rock. Have another glass of wine. Call your mom. I don’t know. Hang out.
Play some upbeat music (Rolling Stones, Cut Copy, 50 Cent) and start to get dressed for the party. You love this part. You love wearing a party outfit and looking good. Fast forward to 4 A.M. when you’ll look like crap, sort of like a smashed birthday cake, but that’s then and this is now.
Your friend comes back at a quarter to nine and looks a little better than you. Start to fear that you’re going to be shown up at your own party and have another glass of wine.
Have a discussion about all the things that could happen tonight. Who will kiss whom? Who will vomit? What will be missing from your apartment in the morning? Be excited and happy about the memory you’re about to create.
Check your Facebook invite again. 12 attending, 16 not attending, 9 maybe attending. Get a little less excited.
Have your first guest arrive at 9:30. It’s a girl who you only sort of know and be visibly insecure about no one else being there. Assure her that people will be coming soon and she’ll say, “It’s fine. I know how these things are.” Serve her a drink and ask her about her job and her love life. Remember that you don’t really like this girl and wonder why the hell she even came.
Many minutes pass and the air begins to feel thick in your apartment. For a second, it feels like this party might not ever happen. You’ll watch the countdown with your best friend and this girl you don’t like and you’ll be very drunk and maybe even cry. The next morning, you’ll wake up still dressed in your party outfit and the mood will be very young and sad. You’ll be convinced that 2011 is going to be horrible and maybe it will be.
Thankfully, that doesn’t happen. A huge drove of people finally show up to your apartment at 11:00 P.M. as if they all had agreed beforehand about an arrival time, and the party is saved. Everyone is wearing blazers and sequins and nice shoes. They drink lots of whiskey and hold their bodies close to one another. Take a moment to look at everyone and think to yourself, “I’m responsible for this fun!”
When the clock strikes midnight, kiss a close friend or a nobody. Your crush never shows up so send him/her a drunk text that says, “Where R U? HaPpy new YeArrrr!” She/he may or may not respond but it’ll be okay. It’ll all be okay.
Everyone leaves around four in the morning. Start to clean your apartment but end up falling asleep near the trashcan. Feel like shit in the morning but also have a sense of accomplishment. You did it! Feel hopeful about 2011. 2011 will feel hopeful about you.