In honor of NaNoWrMo, I've decided to try and compose the next great American novel. But, to keep it from my loyal readership for an entire month is just wrong. So I will attempt to write and post a chapter of my masterpiece each day of November. The goal of NaNoWrMo is write 50,000 words in a month. Now I dont know if I'll reach that goal, but my personal goal is to entertain. This is more a sneakpeak into a group of friends. Each "chapter" will be a snippet of their lives and the chaos that typically ensues. Enjoy.
It was the eve of a new year and "the gang" was gearing up to ring in 2010 together at Blackberry's NYE party. Having just really formed a strong group bond a few months before, this was to be the first NYE they would ring in together. Being the Italian Mother (IM) that she is, IM offered to help set up and make some food for the occassion. Not wanting to look like a total bum, I agreed to help and even attempt to cook. The night began innocently enough with the three of us whipping up culinary delights, including a fruity but sensibily spiked juice, and awaiting the guests, and inevitable craziness.
Just like any other night, it began innocently enough. I was sipping on said juice, as were many of the other guests. The hours slipped by as drinking game were played and we tried to wash 2009 down, along with our livers. At some point, the juice - once equal parts juice and alcohol - became a dangerous ratio of 1 million parts vodka to 1/4 of a teaspoon juice. Our friend Italian Stallion learned the hard way that colds and spiked juice, coupled with love, jealousy and apparel loss leads to a shitstorm of miscommunication and broken hearts.
I will say, for his part, Italian Stallion held his own for most of the evening. Forced to witness the loving boyfriend of an ex-conquest, he sucked it up and enjoyed the party. Until he hit the wall. And when you hit that wall of emotions, there is just no going back. And then the little comments started flowing. Reason left the premises and anger entered. Believe me, we all had enough regrets for one year, but alcohol-induced resentment was not what anyone was hoping to see that evening, especially not Italian Stallion's (IS) ex-love, also known as the host of the party.
Blackberry handled the situation with class and kindly told IS to leave. Even his friends knew it was time that they lock that horse up for the night. So, like true friends would, they helped him downstairs to grab his coat. Blackberry made sure he was doing OK too. But it was a really cold night, and Italian stallion could not seem to find his scarf! At that point, etiquette contends that you forego the scarf, go home, and recover your dignity. But he was not leaving without that scarf! All other lucid thoughts of the night had long since left him, but he knew he could not leave without his beloved scarf.
Blackberry had had enough, and rightly so. She again, urged them to leave and asked It. Stallion what could possibly be holding him up. He thought back on all the good times they had spent together after kickball and game nights. He was hurt. How could she not know what he was looking for. The audacity! They had spend 3-4 good dates/slightly drunk makeout sessions together, this was outrageous. He looked at her, and as serious as he'd been all night, said with authority, "YOU know what my scarf looks like." I mean how could she not know what his scarf looks like!? How dare she not be able to pick it out, amongst the many other dozens and dozens of scarves worn that night, strewn across her room.
In the end Italian Stalian got his scarf back. And it's a good thing, he had a long walk of shame home.