My Adventurous Agreement With 2015

January 9th 2015

Story originally experienced: December 30th 2014- January 4th 2015

 

Nonsense. Epic. Wasted.        Yearly. Exhaustion. Asshole. Roulette.

Let me explain.

It was huge.

My New Year’s crew, I mean.

But only because.

When I was 22 years old, I packed my damn duffle bag, moved to New York City and invited all of my friends to come with.

They said no.

But.

That they would visit.

And they did.

Every. Single. Year.

On New Year’s.

And what started as one year. Turned into two. Which nonsensically turned into the third year after that.

Leaving a   t r a i l   of memories along the damn way including:

Intense pillow talk with friends:

I call this one "Open Bar."

Shady and pantless, just the way I like it.

 

Stellar serenades with only partial tone deficiency.

A live performance straight from our sophomore album "Make It Stop."

Treating the audience to a live performance off our sophomore album,”Make It Stop.”

 

And of course, hiring of a magician recruited from a local restaurant for an absurdly rogue NYE pregame:

Thanks...for coming over.

Thanks…for coming over.

 

And I remember lounging half coherent at the Dj, daydream-induced music festival with Al Reade during the summer of June 2014, and I asked him with Fireball in one hand and beef jerky in the other, “When are we all gonna see each other again?”

“…New Year’s?”

“…Should we? Could…we? Do it again? New Year’s in New York City…for the fourth year in a row?”

“Let’s do it, Olive.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” I replied with a mini amount of motor skills.

 drunk girl gif

 “Think I’m gonna invite everyone.”

“Do it.”

And so I did.

Told my Firefly crew and beyond that I was hosting a damn New Year’s Eve celebration in New York City, and that they should all come with.

And they said yes.

All of them.

Most of them at least.

And.

 Fast forward just a few months later.

And all I could find myself saying after our 5 day New York City New Year’s extravaganza was.

Nonsense. Epic. Wasted.        Yearly. Exhaustion. Asshole. Roulette.

Let me explain.

It was huge.

My New Year’s crew, I mean.

The final tally being so colossally unruly, that the only semi-full group photo we were able to manage looked something like this:

Gangs (almost) all here.

Gangs (almost) all here. From left to right: Dan, Drew, Olive, Brandon, Al, Lance, Penny, Jared, Lark and Jordan.

 

 

The rumors were true.

Every year I hosted a hell of a party. And every year it got

e  x  t  e  n  d  e  d

To more people over a     l  o  n  g  e  r     period of time.

5 Days To Be Exact.

Only to be described in the 7 ways I really know how.

1. Nonsense

Strangers beware.

Because from the very first night all the way to the very last, everywhere my wishfully harmonic crew would roll, an innocent and unassuming victim would fall prey to our debatably melodic ways.

Exhibit A:

Proving night one of this extravaganza was already undeniably nonsensical. I proceeded to take these Ohio hoodrats on a speakeasy crawl, ladling a generous serving of luxe liquor into the mouths of the thirsty like a damn good friend.

Some call it alcoholism.

I call it philanthropic tomfoolery:

death and co punch

#icebucketchallenge

 

 

 

2. Epic

Surprises.

I love them.

Especially when I’m the bitch responsible for it.

surprise gif

What she said.

 

The story is this:

As mentioned a handful of sentences above, a magician was inexplicably hired to my NYE pregame just 2 years before:

Never forget.

Never forget.

 

So.

I thought about it.

And thought about it again.

Did a little search.

Found his business card.

mike patrick business card

Hidden gem.

And gave him a ring.

Only to decide.

I was going to bring him the fuck back.

For an anniversary performance.

And not tell a damn soul.

Yup that's what I look like.

Yup that’s what I look like.

 

And there they were. Night 2.  In the living room. Freshly fed from life-sized sandwiches and a plethora of pickles from a deli down the way.

Who's hungry...

Who’s hungry…

 

When suddenly.

My phone secretly went off.

“I’m here.”

“Where?”

“Practicing my tricks in the stairwell. I’ll be up soon. Just put 2 glasses on the table. One with water. One without. It’s for my first trick.”

“You got it.”

“Do they have any idea I’m coming?”

“Not a clue.”

“Fantastic.”

And then there was a knock on the door.

Mikey's here!

Did someone call for Magic Mike?

 

 

 

 

And then I told them.

 And they lost their minds.

Minds = being lost.

Minds = being lost.

 

Especially when he made…magic happen…for 2 hours straight.

mike patrick magic 1

A light snack.

 

He's blowin up.

Things sort of blew up.

 

mike patrick magic 4

…Actions speak louder than words?

 

And immediately after his surprise entrance and departure, we geared up in our most decadent dresses and finest suits and posed for the one and only finessed photo that would be taken before even more epicness ensued on this New Year’s Eve…

Temporary class.

Temporary classiness.

 

We couldn’t see shit.

And that’s just the way we liked it.

No vision here.

No vision here.

 

The Highline Ballroom for New Year’s Eve was.

Well it was…

highline ballroom

Just a few close friends…

 

 

And it was:

Let there be light!...and booze...and dancing.

Let there be light!…and booze…and dancing.

 

And then there was:

Sorry about taking your glasses and leaving you blind, Drew.

Sorry about stealing your glasses and leaving you blind, Drew. Happy New Year…

 

But mostly it was:

 

Resulting in an ample portion of our time the next day boozy brunching our way to recovery:

Going well...

Going well…

 

But wait.

There’s more.

Bring your top hat.

Hold on to your top hat.

 

Later, I told the gang I had one more epic surprise in store.

And the reason is this:

1 month before my friends made their unruly arrival.

I told them to trust me with the 3rd day of the 5. To plan something. Absurd. But that I wouldn’t tell them until 15 minutes before it went down.

And for whatever reason.

They all said hell yes.

Suckers.

Suckers.

 

And then the day came.

And as promised.

15 minutes were left on the clock.

And I sat them all down in my living room. Once again. And I told them.

Well…

…I told them.

“I rented a 300 chrysler stretch limo to take us anywhere and everywhere we want to go in New York City for the next 5 hours.

You know.

Just because.”

Bustin out the big moves over here.

Bustin out the big moves over here.

 

And just like that I guided them downstairs and introduced them to epic chauffeur for the evening:

Roll out.

Roll out.

 

And from what I could tell. The surprise went relatively okay:

The ludicrous limo took us everywhere from visiting our friends in Times Square:

Together at last! (For 2 easy payments of $1.99)

Together at last! (In exchange for straight cash)

 

To a swanky rooftop bar:

Not mad about it.

Not mad about it.

 

To a kickass venue with complimentary robes that…consequently doubled as gang uniforms:

We're coming for you.

We’re coming for you.

 

And topped off at the finest dive bar in town…fully-equipped with the…proper padding:

Ladiez were here.

Ladiez were here.

 

I guess all in all…it was fair to say we  spent a good portion of our time together getting

3. Wasted

But.

When you’re rolling with a BYOL (Bring. Your. Own. Limo) policy and friends who have a code of conduct that adds up to none.

Proof.

Proof.

 

Proof.

Proof.

 

prosecco prosexy

Proof.

 

I just don’t know what else to damn else say other than

4. Yearly

Indeed.

With a tradition that won’t seem to die. And not a damn person in the group wanting it to, our continued debauchery, frequenting of the Belgian french fry place we troll every year at 3 am (ordering all 26 of their sauces):

Diet starts tonight.

Diet starts tonight.

 

Long live carbs.

Long live carbs…and Leonardo Dicaprio.

 

Ladies first.

Ladies first.

 

Annual walks through Central Park:

central park nye crew

Especially with such gentlemen and scholars:

Proof.

These guys.

 

It’s the perfect excuse for us to live it the fuck up. Do the damn thing. And feel utter and complete

5. Exhaustion

On everything deemed phenomenally fun.

Whether that’s blissful opulence after a gourmet dinner at a creme de la awesome restaurant:

Sheer joy.

Sheer joy.

 

(With personalized menus for the birthday boys and the epically employed queen):

Shamless inside joke plugin.

(Shameless inside joke plugin.)

 

Passing the fuck out and spooning the shit out of your very best friends:

passed out nye

It’s what it looks like.

 

Or.

If you’re anything like me, harrassing the unconsciously innocent like a total

6. Asshole

Sorry.

Sorry.

 

 

IMG_5654

Sorry.

 

 

Sorry.

Sorry.

 

Then I’m sure you’ll have no choice but to understand that

Day 5 was a struggle.

In fact, I almost shed a tear when I woke up circa 10am on the morning of January 3rd.

“What’s wrong, Olive?”

“I just…I…I made us reservations at a mexican boozy brunch place in 2 hours. And the thought of drinking a margarita after 5 days of binge drinking and eating pepperoni pizza sounds absolutely terrifying.”

“Well, you don’t have to drink.”

skeptical gif

And off we went.

Day 5 of our absurd adventure with a day filled with comedy shows, bar games but mostly

7. Roulette

The brunch special was this: any entree and bottomless drinks for 1.5 hours for $28 and 50 cents.

sold-gif

There were 10 people at the table.

But.

Only one person paid.

Thanks.

Thanks.

 

And here’s why.

Near the end of our meal, Al suggested a friendly game of “Credit Card Roulette.”

To which everyone was like:

Nope.

Nope.

 

But then he said.

“Dan, you owe me money anyway. So if you play, you have to put 2 cards in. One for me, and one for you.”

“Okay man. I’m in.”

To which we were all like:

Take my card.

Take my card.

 

With Dan’s doubled chances now on deck. Everyone   s l o w l y     but   s u r e l y   threw their card in the metal bucket (we mysteriously found?) too.

“Game on. Call the waitress over,” said Al.

“Why?”

“She needs to pick. She needs to pick a card out of the bucket. That way we know it’s fair.”

sold-gif

We called over our innocent waitress. As Al…gently…began to explain the rules.

credit car roulette 2

He has a way with words.

 

And then she began to pick.

credit card roulette 1

And the results went like this:

First card: Dan

Second card:

Dan

The fuck.

FUCK.

 

With Dan’s doubled chances now out of the actual bucket.

There were only 7 names, and 6 lucky contenders left.

And the remaining credit card reveals went like this:

6. Olive

5. Lark

4. Jared

3. Drew

2. Brandon

Which meant the rogue roulette winner for this 10 person brunch could only be:

 

Jordan

Thanks Sugar Daddy.

Thanks Sugar Daddy.

 

 And then that was that. 

Days 1-5 came to an absurdly grand and body-damaging end.

All worth it.

And I said that out loud when someone asked me hours after it all. “Would you do it all again? You could go anywhere for your two week of vacation and you chose to stay in the same city? Exactly where you are? Celebrating with the same people and everything?”

“I’d choose it every time.”

“Why?”

And I guess what I realized about not only this year, the year before that and every year that has yet to damn come.

Was.

Yes.

I had more funds. More time. And more opportunities to explore the places I wanted. Do something different. And celebrate however the hell I really chose how.

But.

Everything about

s

t

a

c

k

i

n

g

Up memories with the best damn people. Every year. Even in the same damn place. Always. Without a doubt. Made for one hell of a

Nonsense. Epic. Wasted.        Yearly. Exhaustion. Asshole. Roulette.

Happy New Year you crazy animals. Let’s agree to make this year (another) one for the books.