What RU Doing NYE

The question most asked just before New Year's Eve is "What are you doing ..."  The answer that I hear most is "nothing". And nothing it is for me and a whole lot of other people I know. In fact, those of us doing nothing, really ought to have a Do Nothing NYE party. We won't hug and kiss at the stroke of twelve and we won't serve champagne or reminisce or make predictions or resolutions or eat haggis. We will do nothing at all at midnight. It will be the ultimate rebellion against tradition. Or something. I have to admit that when I had a husband, we did New Year's Eve in the grand style. We went, over the decades, to a real house in our sequins and Christmas neck tie and stood about in an elegantly decorated living room or Tiki basement den or RV park recreation space or tiny cosy living room watching the pre-recorded "ball" drop in Times Square NYC. I can't recall ever enjoying it much. There was great anticipation that at the stroke of twelve, there would be some kind of miracle. But there never was anything but trying to avoid being slobbered on by a stranger or hugged by a loud, corny, drunken fat uncle or wept upon by the soggy older woman who lost someone we never met. If we were lucky, my husband and I, found a quiet spot and said a sincere, I love you and kissed our memories together. (Sigh.) But after some years of life as a single, New Year's Eve is a solitary endeavor. I am inclined, still, to wear something sparkly and pretend that someone handsome and rich will ride up on a white steed and invite me to his castle. Actually, I prefer, rather than a white horse or a prince, a good friend riding over on a pretty dark Arabian pony or two and a nice latte in a mug. It should be an individual who likes good jazz or gentle classics, nibbling fine cheese and veggy caviar, someone who can discuss something other than jabs at a foreign president or nasty talk against our duly elected government. I would love to chat opinions about lovely places like mountains or Italy or France or farms or animals, other than spoiled pets, or Hollywood and its impact on politics or anything else but serious matters that don't matter at all. I would love to relax in an old pair of jeans and scuzzy sweater and big furry slippers and no make-up and my hair undone. I'd like to loll on a pile of cushions flopping on the floor and yes, watch what's going on at Times Square that has nothing to do with reality and that already happened five or six hours ago. I want to go outside at midnight if I can stay awake that long, and bang on a pot that didn't cost a hundred bucks, and yell into the street lights blazing away so that we can't see the stars, and say Happy New Year 2019!