I’ve always been a big fan of eves. New Year’s Eve is glitteriest fucking night of the year, Christmas Eve a fat man and dirty animals defy gravity, and your 21st birthday eve is its whole own kind of magic. Maybe it’s the fact that all of these events are usually decorated with copious amounts of alcohol or that the anticipation is more thrilling to me than the main event (which would explain my reverence for unavailable men), but I think these moments are absolutely fabulous and magical and some of my favorite days of the year.
With all this in mind, I should be absolutely thrilled about Thanksgiving Eve. It’s one of the biggest drinking events in this country, with good cause. First of all, no one, absolutely no one, has school or work the following day (except for like, people in the food industry maybe, but like…they don’t count) so you can get as absolutely shithoused as you want without fearing ramifications. Plus, the following day, you don’t have to do anything but invent a boyfriend to tell your grandparents about and eat…which is exactly what you do when you’re hungover anyway. Secondly, this evening serves as a reunion of sorts. All of the people from your hometown who have traveled far and wide to get the fuck out of your hometown are back in the same place for the first time in months. It’s the perfect opportunity to get together, shriek “OMG” with a rocking hug at all of the people you didn’t even like that much to begin with, and have a dick-measuring contest of sorts to see who’s having the most fun in their new lives. It’s like a high school reunion, but shots are encouraged and you don’t have to have a date.
As a dedicated party girl, I’ve never been one to turn down an opportunity to get belligerent and as a girl whose old boyfriend has a new girlfriend who both live in this town…I’ve never been one to turn down an opportunity to get belligerent. Still, I find myself conjuring up ways to…*gasp* get out of Thanksgiving Eve this year. It’s like for some reason showing off to all the losers of my past that my life actually is better than theirs is in bars that I hated when I was sneaking into them when I was 19 and hate even more now isn’t at the top of my priority list. It just….doesn’t sound that fun. I’d rather watch them blow up the balloons for the parade Wednesday evening than puke beside them Wednesday night.
I mean, I’m sure I’ll get suckered into going to the city (please let it be the city and not the local bars) on Wednesday night…because more than I miss my mom, good pizza, or the barking creature that resides in my home, I miss Manhattan. Plus, I’ve never tried very hard to avoid peer pressure, but…I just sort of feel like I’d rather enjoy my family this year and avoid the other people of my hometown like the plague, much like I did when I was living here. In the past I viewed this night as not only an epic drunkfest but as an obligation. I needed to prove to the unsuspecting “you drink?” faces of my high school classmates that this AP student, does, in fact, drink…a lot. And I adored being totally disinterested in the football team who were suddenly fawning over me but paid me no mind in high school because as my brother so eloquently put it, I was “a sleeper” which I think is some sports term that means I didn’t get hot until later on. But now, surrounding myself with people I never liked and having to worry about my little brother flaking on picking me up because he accidentally got drunk in someone’s basement instead of fulfilling his under-21-obligation to pick me up just doesn’t seem like my cup of sweet tea vodka. I want to be like above it all or something…like I don’t have to become a shitshow and talk to people I don’t care about and probably cry at the end of the night just because every other year I would be furious at myself for not ending this night in drunken tears. Maybe that’s a sign of maturity. Or maybe it’s just a sign that I forgot to bring the dress I wanted to wear. Whatever.