Hoppy Nuh Yor

(That's how the Community Choir director made us say it.)

How was your New Year's Eve? Did it SUCK? Mine didn't, nyah nyah.

Brigee came to visit just for the night and we had a swell time. I sent out an evite to a very small number of people in hopes of having a bit o' wine and cheese and a very chill night. Everyone had other plans (plural - no one ever has just ONE plan for New Year's Eve, which is why it sucks). So Brig and I got to talk and eat Thai food and haaang the hell out. Eventually we decided we should join the rest of humanity, but we didn't want to join the malicious throngs of First Nighters. Instead, we went to Bukowski's.

Now, we ended up at Bukowski's a few years back (our first year in Boston? We don't recall) after attempting to make good use of our First Night buttons. After wandering aimlessly, catching a bit of good music, catching the sad remnants of an improv comedy show, we finally stumbled into Bukowski's. Things were different there... The bouncer wore a "Fuck New Year's!" shirt, as did the guy sitting on a stool just inside the door. We took out our wallets, and asked what the cover was. He said, "one dollar." Weird, right? We both got out a dollar. "Nooo," he said, "we GIVE you a dollar. Fuck New Year's!" Ahh... home.

So this year we were banking on a very happy Fuck New Year's party. Off we went, hoorah hooray, and yes, Bukowski's had the same schtick going on. As soon as we walked in and cased the joint for seating (there was none), there were two strange young men thrusting their hands out for shaking.

"Do you wanna arm wrestle me? Left-handed..." said the guy with the ridiculous Thoreau-esque beard and knit hat. "I'm Daniel."*

"Hi Daniel. And, no."

"C'mon... you look like you have amazing muscles. Left-handed?"

"I'm not, if that's what you're asking."

"No, I mean... How about a thumb wrestle?"

"I need a drink."

Meanwhile, a very eager-looking skinny kid with WIDE OPEN EYES insinuated himself into my space.

"Hi, I'm Ian."

"Nice to meet you, Ian. Do you want to arm wrestle him, please, so I can get a drink?"

"What?"

At this point it may help to tell you that Bukowski's is a great alternative to Boylston bars except for one sticky thing: the music is waaay tooo loud. If you told the barstaff, they would say, "Fuck you, go to Whiskeys." But, since you're at Bukowski's to avoid the Boylston Bars, you say nothing. Or, you say everything VERY LOUDLY.

Ian leaned in very, very close, and shouted, "What's your name?"

"I'm Jo. And this is Brigid."

That was unkind of me. Brig smiled nicely and shook the boy's hand. It was then that I noticed he was wearing a headband in his shaggy dark hair.

Daniel reached over to the girl sitting next time, touched her shoulder... she got up and moved somewhere else, smiling apologetically - to me? to Daniel?

Brig and I somehow ended up with two seats at the bar. It was a Christmas miracle, I decided. We got drinks, we paid for them, we got settled in... I was waiting for a boy to call, Brig was waiting for her brother to call, and we were both cautiously deflecting the attentions of Daniel and Ian.

Eventually, Brig's brother showed up with a friend, Ben. I somehow ended up thumb wrestling Daniel (he had very small hands and I won), and turned back to Brig to hear something about hair bands.

"Like Poison?"

She burst out laughing... "No, no, Ian's wearing one!"

"Yes, yes he is..."

Eventually, midnight rolled around. We joined the muted celebrations around the bar (it was, after all, a Fuck New Year's party). Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder. I sat looking at the people in the bar who I would allow to touch me. They were all in front of me: Brig, Pat, and Ben.

Imagine my incredible bewilderment when a gaping mouth and two wide-open eyes came over my shoulder, wedging between Ben and me. I turned my head JUST in time...

"Happy New Year, girls!" Ian screeched.

In the same moment, Daniel touched my other shoulder. I turned, welcoming the interruption from Ian's attentions.

"So what are the chances of someone hooking up with your friend Bridget."

"Brigid."

"Brig... what are the chances?"

"Nil. That's her brother behind me."

Daniel registered this, turned to look at the Air Force Academy grad, not tall but certainly built, hovering defensively over his sister.

"Oh."

It seemed kinder than telling him that she doesn't go for thumb wrestler's who dress like Thoreau and mumble through their beards about living without heat and without debt and insisting on paying for drinks then forgetting when the bartender comes around... He wouldn't have heard half of that anyway.

So, after two beers and quite enough attention from our two new friends, Brig and I headed back to Longwood. On the T we reminisced about other goings-out which had ended in ransacking of our local 7-Eleven, witnessed by two stoners who thought we were also high. I had prepared for a Brig and Jo Outgoing, and regaled her with tales of the hummus, cheese, and thin mint cookies cozily nestled in my refrigerator. We sat up for another hour or so, eating and talking. And eating.

A very hoppy nuh yor.



* Names have not been changed to protect the innocent. I don't believe these characters were terribly innocent.