2018, New York

I blacked out the first day of this year sooo I couldn’t write the post I wanted to. I partied all night.

Anyway, I’m starting 2018 with no resolutions whatsoever, well… I have one, but I’m keeping that to myself. My first post of 2018 should’ve been very different, but I have to rewind a bit – I have to get back to the last day of December. I woke up feeling shitty, post-Christmas blues, regrets, alone (’cause I sent the kid to the her grandparents so I can feel OK about getting drunk alone on NYE, so yeah). I realize at around 2 pm that I have no champagne so I haul my depressed ass to the liquor store near my apartment. People are already partying and this liquor store is full of them and I can barely find a decent champagne. Once I find the one I was looking for I just wait in line, at this point I notice a guy staring a hole in me, so I assume it’s probably because I didn’t bother to shower in 2 days and I turn my back to him. I swear I could still feel him stare. I am annoyed, but more than that I’m cranky – you know? Cranky because I had to dress up to get to the liquor store and cranky because I hate January (more on that some other time).

So I check if the guy is still staring (he’s good looking, so why not?) – he’s not, I’m just paranoid. Maybe 5 minutes pass and he joins the line and I notice he’s with a woman, a very pretty woman (she’s ready to party, both of them are looking quite sleek). They start dancing and I’m annoyed again – how fucking DARE you be happy when I’m drowning in self-pity, right? Anyway, I turn again and smile – oh, new year, new beginnings, sod off. The guy – I shit you not – pats me on the back. I turn again, very annoyed.

“Yes?” I ask with my fake smile plastered on with hot glue so you know it doesn’t look good.

“I just need to get it off my chest.” he responds and I’m confusing as fuck.


Yeah, more than you know. Yeah, more than you know.” – he sings. I swear he starts singing in the middle of the liquor store and that’s an annoying ass song too, but I smile because I don’t want to get stabbed before the end of the day. His companion joins him and they do a little dance – yes, I get it, you’re drunk before midnight, that’s just swell.

They finish their little routine and I have to ask them, “Are you guys going to a party?”.

“Yeah,” says the weird drunk dude in a suit, “why you wanna join us?”.

“Oh no, I’m having my own very exciting party. I’ve planned for it the whole year.”

“Nice, anyone famous coming?”

“Yes, Renée Zellweger, Hugh Grant, Colin Firth and a few other people… ah and there’s this bottle of very good – on the cheap side – champagne.”

He laughs sincerely and the sound makes my knees weak. Have you ever experienced such a thing? It’s fascinating.

“So you’re spending the New Year’s in Spinsterville.”

“Yes, more than you know.”

And he laughs again and I can’t stop looking at his beautiful features, lusting for things I cannot have at the end of another year in good old Spinsterville. I turn back to face the still distant cashier, but Mr. Pretty Guy in a Suit talks to me again.

“You could join us if you’d like. It’s a house party – my house, it’s an apartment actually – and you could come party with us.”

A stranger inviting me to a party is definitely new for me.

“Thank you for the invitation, but I already made plans and Renée gets mad if I stand her up.”

He looks almost disappointed. He’s either trying to get into my nonexistent panties OR he’s just drunk enough to invite anybody to his New Year’s Eve apartment party.

“Do you have a pen?” he asks the woman next to him, she responds with a no, but looks for something in her purse. After quite a while she hands him her lipstick.

“Classic” he says. “well, can I write my number on your hand, in case you change your mind until 9? Oh, and my name is Poppy and she’s my sister, Anna.”

“Sure, but I do have a phone, you can just tell me your number and I’ll text you, so you know my number.”

Why not have a stranger’s phone number when I’m planning to get pissed drunk? It’s just questions like these that make life worth while, right?


I know I won’t be joining any party, but I still feel quite cheered up. Especially because somebody still finds me fuckable after two days of not showering or maybe it was just pity – nevertheless, pity sex is still sex.

So I get my booze and I go home to my beautiful Bridget Jones.

Why is he called Poppy? Poppy? Really? Oh well… As I’m ringing in the New Year with a Bridget Jones marathon this Poppy dude calls me and I’m sorry, but at this point I’m drunk as hell.

“Happy New Year!” he screams and I can hear that annoying song in the background. He starts singing along with it:

I just need to get it off my chest
Yeah, more than you know
Yeah, more than you know
You should know that baby you’re the best
Yeah, more than you know
Yeah, more than you know

I have to admit I think I sang along too and then I went to sleep. I hope 2018 is going to be at least as good as 2017, please don’t let it be worse.

Happy New Year!

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