New Year’s Eve is not historically a good night for me. I’m pretty sure I’ve never once had one that didn’t end in tears, rage, or a combination of both. I was determined to start 2012 off on a positive note, so AJ, Tom, Blake, Emily, and I headed up to my parents’ house in North Carolina for the weekend to go skiing. We had no idea what we were going to do for NYE, but we knew it would involve beer, townies, and poor decisions. Please go ahead and check your judgement at the door. I’m judging myself enough.
We headed downtown (and I use that term loosely) to look for beer, figuring we would stop at a bar, if there was a such a thing. A nice lady in a gas station pointed us in the direction of the Catawba Valley Brewing Company, which in my mind had just recently opened downtown. In fact, it’s totally legit and it’s been there for 3 years. We paid the $10 cover figuring it was the only game in town. Apparently, my dignity is only worth $10.
They had all sorts of fancy craft beers, so Emily and I did what any girl would do and asked for the one that tasted the most like Bud Light. Sorry, RDub.
About 2 sips in, Emily and I noticed there were a lot of bearded men at the bar. For some reason, the obvious conclusion became that we would make it our mission to take a picture with all of them. We’re talking long, hipster-meets-mountain-man style beards. The kind you get food stuck in. Also around this time, we checked out the beer menu and noticed they had a beer called Le Sexxxy. Seriously. The description was “At 7.6% ABV, you’ll feel a whole lot sexier after a pint or two!” Forget the Bud Light imposter. At that point, we were getting Le Sexxxy. I think when I ordered it, I actually told the bartender I wanted “two Le Sexxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxys please.” Best beer name ever.
In between photos, we tore up the dance floor. I busted out all my best early 90s moves. The sprinkler, the shopping cart, the running man…no one was safe from my awesome.
There was a really fun band there called Captain Midnight. All the members were basically dressed like Lady Gaga. I have no idea what songs they were playing. I do know that I found a video camera, climbed onto a barrel, and video taped the crowd. The nice lady who left it on the barrel didn’t seem to mind, but the manager who pulled me off the barrel did.
And now here’s a bunch of pictures of random bearded men. Please know that this is not all of them, but I am only willing to publicly humiliate myself so much.
We made our way back to the dance floor to bust out some more sweet moves, and by “made our way back,” I mean I ran as fast as I possibly could and took a flying leap into AJ’s arms. He somehow caught me despite me having the force of Le Sexxxy behind me. When I asked him how he managed to do that, he replied “I’m skinny, not frail. Good Lord.”
Emily and I were admittedly intoxicated, but relatively in control throughout the night. At midnight, there was a champagne toast with what can only be described as the worst champagne in the entire world. It wasn’t even Andre. It was Andre’s bastard cousin that is so nasty they don’t even sell it at Wal-Mart. They sell it at Dollar Tree.
After the champagne toasts, I’ve got nothing. I remember the boys telling me we were going to leave, and after that…nothing. What’s weird is that Emily and I only had three beers and a glass and a half of the world’s worst champagne. Unfortunately, we made the classic mistake of not eating dinner. Apparently, the most entertaining part of the night was the ride home:
- Emily threw up on someone’s lawn…and in the parking lot at Rite Aid…and in my front yard.
- I insisted on going to Wendy’s because I wanted “a fry.” As in singular. One fry. When we got to the drive thru, I ordered two cheeseburgers that I then promptly refused to eat. At some point, I fell out of the car, to which Tom, apparently unconcerned, reported “AJ…she’s down.”
- Emily and I both fell asleep on Blake in the back seat and he held our faces up with his hands so we wouldn’t fall over.
- I refused to allow AJ to help me do anything and repeatedly accused him of groping me, raping me, and otherwise assaulting me. In reality, he was making sure I didn’t fall down. See, Dr J? Both drunk Danielle and sober Danielle hate when people violate her personal space.
I woke up in my clothing with the worst headache I’ve ever had. This is why I don’t drink craft beers. Bud Light would never hurt me like that. Of course, we had plans to head out bright and early to go skiing.
Tom drove to Sugar Mountain, and I’m pretty sure his personal mission was to make me and Emily throw up. I don’t blame him, since he was sober the whole night and unamused by our antics. I had the foresight to bring bagels for breakfast, so I thought I would eat one to soak up all the remnants of my bad decisions. Unfortunately, I buttered it with butter from my parents’ fridge that is anywhere from 1-30 years old. AJ told me it was a bad idea, but I didn’t listen.
We rented our skis and I bought the best hat ever. Despite feeling like absolute death, I was determined to tear up the slopes. Then I got to the slopes, and I remembered that I have only been skiing once in my life and the only thing that would be torn up that day would be my clothing and pride.
It’s really effing hard to walk around in ski boots. If you thinking trying to walk after running a marathon is hard, try wearing ski boots. I would rather have run a marathon that day, after beating my liver to a bloody pulp the night before, than walk another foot in those stupid things.
We made our way over to the “easy” slopes. I wanted to go on the bunny slopes, but AJ and Emily were all “Noooo, you’ll be fiiinnneee.” Except then I tried to get in line for the lift and ended up sliding down the mountain and into a fence. I got on the lift eventually and prepared for the worst. Emily and AJ were my personal ski patrol for the first few runs. Miraculously, I didn’t fall on the green slopes at all! I did scream a little, and I did almost crush a small child, but dammit, that kid was in my way and a much better skier than me. While my aversion to children is well documented, I will say that kids in ski clothes are really freaking cute. That is all.
After two runs, the group decided to step up to the blue runs, which were the hardest ones open due to the lack of snow. Emily told me egregious lies and was all “Oh they’re actually easier than the one we were just on because they’re so much wider and the snow is better.” That’s great, but I’m pretty sure we were going down Mt Everest with the steepness. On my first one, I made it about halfway down before I lost control and crashed into a branch. It literally clotheslined me.
The second trip down was much, much worse. I crashed into a barrel and a series of bushes (this was not a good weekend for me and barrels). I don’t normally scream a lot, but I screamed bloody murder. I got a flesh wound on my hand, but mercifully no broken bones. At that point, I gave up on the blue mountain. While everyone said I did well, I think they must have been lying. If by “well” you mean getting repeatedly passed by small children with no ski poles and no fear, then yes. If by “well” you mean doing a back plant when I attempted to get off the ski left, then yes. At one point, we saw a kid on a leash with his parent holding onto him as they went down the mountain. AJ remarked that he needed that leash for me. There was a bar at the bottom of the mountain, after all.
The trip was a resounding success. We all did have a great time, even if my stomach still has not returned to normal. On the way back, Tom insisted that we pull over at a scenic overlook and take another group shot. He obviously asked the scariest bikers he could find if they would mind taking our picture. Trust me, they minded.
And that, friends, is how I started 2012. If the rest of the year is anything like the first two days…I’ll be dead by June.