Congratulations on surviving the holidays, especially those of you who successfully navigated the minefield of rude remarks family surely hurled in your general direction. You did it. Now all that’s left is getting through New Year’s Eve relatively unscathed.
As one of the year’s biggest party nights (save for Halloween and every birthday party in your early 20s), NYE is ripe with expectation and let-downs—the most hilarious of which are often your own fault.
For that reason, we want to hear all about your sloppiest New Years’ Eves. Mine usually end (that’s right—this is plural) with goth raves and DJ hookups and miscellaneous debauchery I’d rather not recount here, but I know you can top that, so let’s get into it.
But first, a look at last week’s holiday horror stories. Y’all have been through the ringer.
Our winner, TampaBabaYaga Bitches, is lucky to be alive, probably!
A few years after I had moved to Florida from my parents home in an upstate NY college city, I went back home for the holidays. I was flying up there, and then driving back down with three high school friends who wanted to come down to spend New Year’s in my newly acquired tropical paradise.
A night or two before we were going to drive back (in my friend’s junker stick shift which only he and I knew how to drive) a bunch of us went out to the local Irish pub. This was a place that had been around for nearly 100 years, and I grew up down the street from the folks that owned it. Let’s call it O’Kelley’s.
It was still only a few years since we had graduated high school, and tons of people either hadn’t moved or were back for the holidays so O’Kelley’s was packed. People that hadn’t seen each other in several years were all getting their party on. A lot of interesting things happened that night in that bar, but mine happened after.
This area also had a lot of duplexes and triplexes that were popular with college and post college kids. So in the course of the evening my friends and I run into some more old friends, as well as my old high school job friend/crush and he invites me to a house party. Sure, great! At last call we leave the bar and head over to this old triplex, up the back steps that lead into the apartment’s kitchen.
Typical setup of an old place like this that’s rented cheap. Not a bad place by any means, but the usual not in top notch form place that is perfect for a couple or more grads just starting out. We walk into the kitchen from the back stairs, with those great old linoleum floors I now only see at my veterinarian’s office, and although I’m wearing not Doc’s but flat soled, lace up winter boots, I manage to step right into a slick of turkey grease from the earlier “Orphan’s Christmas Dinner” as they were putting away leftovers right before we arrived.
My feet flew right up out from under and behind me! Again, we’d already been at the bar for a considerable amount of time prior to this, so my reflexes weren’t exactly on point here. So I broke the epic fly in the air fall with my left knee and then my chin.
Funny thing about broken skin wounds to the head area, they tend to bleed like 80s soap opera actresses emoting, even if they aren’t that serious.
People are freaking the FUCK out! There is blood everywhere! But I’m kinda lit, and think it’s pretty funny, and I’m like “I’m okay! I’m okay, nothing hurts!” and I lift my head up and see a huge pool of blood. Then I start looking around going “Am I okay???”
Chaos, someone finds someone in med school and they look at my chin and then they start swaying a bit and close their eyes. Now I’m freaked. I also was wearing a new Pierre Cardin scarf my mother bought me for Christmas and I yell for someone to grab the scarf so it doesn’t get blood on it (good call, still have that scarf a million years later).
Nearly passed out med student says she can see my jaw bone. More chaos and screaming. Thankfully there was a bathroom off the kitchen, so I asked someone to grab a shit ton of paper towels and made my way to the bathroom. I still have no idea at this point who’s house we’re at, but some random roommate comes in while I’m trying to stop the bleeding and tells me he’s pre-law and wants me to sign something saying I’m not going to sue. I tell him I know his dad and he can go fuck right off or find me some peroxide/witch hazel/rubbing alcohol, and maybe some gauze or something.
Finally I staunch the bleeding, old HS/work crush is freaking out, but his hot older brother assumes command. I get whisked out of there and brought back to my parents’ house. There is nothing quite so fun as creeping into your Mom’s room at like 4AM, when you think you are a grown adult that lives over a thousand miles away to be like “Mommy? I think I need to go to the emergency room” (my parents wisely had separate rooms as soon as my brother moved out because different sleep schedules and my Dad’s snoring).
Dad is a light sleeper despite the epic leafblower level noises of his own snoring, and as a parent isn’t sleeping because his daughter just came in at around 4AM. So off to the ER we go. I’m concussed and need six stitches, have severely bruised ribs and a left knee that needs to be secured with an ACE bandage (important for that 1200 mile drive back to Florida in a stick shift!)
I spend a day laid out on the couch in several variations of bandages and ice packs. We get our shit together and get ready for the road trip. My buddy does most of the heavy lifting on the drive but I relieve him as I’m able. We’re driving back on a Sunday night when we hit Georgia, and there is some major epic crash on the highway we will not be getting through that night. We pull off to a highway side hotel, and go into an Applebee’s or some shit, looking for food and desperately wanting a drink (we had been sitting in the traffic snarl for about three hours, I was driving so that complete stop and go traffic made my left knee HOWL) and turned out we pulled off into a dry county.
On the upside, we were close enough to the border of a not dry county that I was like, fuck it, I can drive far enough to that county line gas station to get us some beer. We got our beer, went back to a creepy old motel, and then made it to my place the next day. A couple of days later we went to a friend of mine’s dress up NYE party, and every picture of me has my head tilted down, in a very seductive Lauren Bacall pose so that you can’t see the wiry, black stitches in my chin. Also thankfully the slinky cocktail dress I was wearing had the slit up the left leg so you also couldn’t see the ACE bandage on my left knee.
Twenty whatever years later, I’m still friends with those three people, and one of them just recently found the pics he took on that trip and scanned them and posted them on Facebook since we’re all scattered across the country now.
A Lantern of Hope sounds like my ex, your ex, all of our exes:
Just after I graduated high school, my girlfriend had come over to my house to give me a Christmas/birthday present. I opened the box, and it exploded with confetti, which went everywhere. I was majorly pissed off at my girlfriend and even yelled at her, I think. She yelled back at me that it was just a joke, and told me to look in the box, under all the confetti. Turns out she had bought me Donkey Kong 64, which was amazingly awesome of her, and I was a complete asshole and ruined her fun. She broke up with me a few weeks later, which is obviously understandable.
Needless to say, I learned my lesson.
Ivana Pusherova’s family shouldn’t have knives in the first place:
The finest Christmas memory was several years ago, while eating a delicious dinner, my batshit crazy sister accused my sister-in-law of stealing her steak knives. She went around the table and took all of the knives back and stormed out of there.
Her husband called back once they got home to apologize. Seems they have the exact same set of steak knives.
NoMarthaStewart, meet litter:
When I was 9 or 10 i got these new slippers for Christmas. They looked like bear feet. My mom wanted me to clean the cat box before the family came over. I was walking down three little stairs with it when I slipped. Cat box in the air and down comes dirty cat litter all over me. My new (slippery) slippers, Christmas pjs, in my hair. After making sure I hadnt died, my parents preceded to laugh their asses off. And I still had to clean the cat box.
ThinWhiteDutchess.... never go to Utah:
It is Xmas, and my bf (now husband) have been dating for like 6 or 7 years. His mother, who lives in Utah, has been on us to visit, so we are taking a road trip from California to visit and make her happy. However, before we go, my bf clears that we have to sleep in the same room (not even the same bed, just same room) Bc I have epilepsy, and he helps me (rescue meds, etc). She agrees. But... we get there and she’s changed her mind. It would set a bad example for her kids at home. Also, she has epilepsy too, and never needed help, so I’ll be fine (umm, you take one pill and are fine. Mine is not like that). Boyfriend asks what I want to do- do I want to leave? It’s snowing, a blizzard is coming in. We stay. But when we leave I make it clear we aren’t ever visiting again. She is hurt, whines about it. Still complains about it, 10 years later. I remind her she was okay with me dying of SUDEP.
She also demanded I cook the family Mexican food, bc she missed it. Not asked. Demanded. And bought me some pyramid scheme weight loss thing and nail polish for Xmas. I had shown no interest in losing weight, and I don’t paint my nails, bc it’d just get chipped playing guitar. She wonders why we aren’t the best of friends.
You know the drill—sloppiest story wins. Drop those memories (or lack thereof) below.