At least my BOOK is festive...

I’m a party girl.

This doesn’t mean what it did in the middle eighties, when “party” meant “do drugs and sleep with strangers.”  I mean I like to go out, be around people, have a couple of cocktails, listen to music, dance, tell jokes, flirt, and sweet-talk the band into handing me the microphone.

You know, party.

So New Year’s Eve means a little self-applied mental pressure.  I have not been invited to any house parties—most of my Connecticut friends are quiet types.  I’ve been dating, but the gentleman I see most often is going to a long-standing, annual party at his best friend’s house, where his ex will be attending, and I adhere to the eleventh commandment: “Thou shalt not rub anyone’s face in it.”  I told him (honestly) that my feelings will not be hurt if he goes without me.

The problem is that New Year’s Eve is, in some ways, a lousy night to go out.  The local hot spots, such as they are, all seem to feel obligated to do some kind of inclusive package whereby they charge anywhere from $50 (doesn’t include cocktails) to $400 (includes a hotel room) to eat buffet, hear a band and wear a funny hat.  These events draw a lot of people who don’t usually go out, mostly couples, and if they aren’t fun, you feel like you can’t leave because you already paid to be there.

If I still lived in Miami or Balboa, I could walk or take public transportation to some local places that are less grandiose about the whole thing and, in fact, there are a couple of local joints here that would fill that role swimmingly, except for the driving thing.   Oh, and we have “mixed media” precipitation today.  That means the current gorgeous, fluffy snow will turn to sleet, then freezing rain, then rain, then back again in reverse order.  By about nine tonight, it’ll be an ice rink out there. 

Otherwise, I’d drive the motor home to a local venue, make up the bed in advance, put two aspirin and a bottle of water on the nightstand, and go for it.  I would drive home in the morning, after the amateurs are off the road.   But, while the motor home is easy to drive, I can’t recommend it as an icy road vehicle!

But, if I stay home, I know I will have that wistful moment when I’d really prefer to be dancing my feet black and blue, and instead and I’m watching Dick Clark with the cat on my lap.

What’s a party girl to do??