Happy Fucking New Year!

For the holidays Sara’s tiny little studio apartment played host to seven different people for different amounts of time and various reasons. It was a bit hectic to say the least. Mom and Dad’s house seemed small with seven people, so I’m sure you can imagine how claustrophobic a 500 sq. ft. studio where the only door is to the bathroom can be. At any rate, now I have my apartment back to myself and all of my friends are going back to school or leaving on world adventures…and…*sniff*…I promise I’m not crying it’s just allergies GOSH!

Lindsay and Jesse stayed in Auburn for New Year's Eve (where apparently fireworks are legal in their neighbor hood OR the police don't give a shit - either way it's awesome). They went out to dinner where Lindsay got crazy after a couple non-alcoholic beers. The main reason they stayed in the South End is because they got Lego Batman 2 for their Xbox for Christmas. Seriously, you guys. It's awesome.

For New Year's Eve, Sara and her little entourage (at that point in time Hoff, Connor, Kelly, and Luke) decided to go home to the parentals’ place for a party instead of going out in the city and throwing all of their money away on being cold/crowded/generally immersed in chaos. It was quiet, but there was enough ridiculousness to keep everyone happy and entertained.

Like when Luke tried to light a bottle rocket out of his hands, didn’t let go, and deafened his left ear when it blew the fuck up right next to his goddamn face.

Hang on. I’m still trying to stop laughing about it.

…

Whoo. Okay. I’m back.

So at one point, Connor was helping prepare a party game for later. It’s the one where you put a famous name on your back and other people give you hints until you guess who it is. You know, the one they played in Inglourious Basterds before Michael Fassbender and friends shot the everloving shit out of all the drunken Nazis/themselves? Anyways, Connor was suggesting some other celebrities that could possibly be used in the game.

Connor: George Clooney…Lady Gaga…Olivia Newton John…

Dad: Is Olivia Newton John big in the gay community?*

Hoff: You mean ONJ? If you don’t know ONJ, then you’re a bad gay.

Dad: Really? So she’s big like Cher?

Connor: Oh not at all. No one’s bigger with the gays than Cher.

* All of my dude friends present were gay. This was relevant, Dad wasn’t just randomly speculating.

Later, after I had begun taking notes for this very blog you see in front of you, Natasha (who had stopped by to wish us all a Happy New Year) wrote about her contribution in very curvy handwriting, which Dad then attempted to read…

Natasha: “Natasha would like to be included in the blog but has nothing relevant to say about anything. Narwhal. Bloop. Dr. Who. Angels. Wristwatch. Matt Damon. – That is all.”

Dad: What the hell kind of pornographic shit is this? “Natasha got laid by some big butt…”

At one point Dad was trying to remember the name of a song that was playing…and failing miserably. Mom gave him a confidence boost to help jog his memory:

Mom: You have a memory like a frog’s dick. It’s really good, but REALLY short.

I have no fucking clue what that means. All I know is that someone needs to keep Mom away from frogs.

After the New Year hit and Mom and Dad’s friends went home, we decided to teach them both how to play King’s Cup. We changed a few of the rules (such as 5 fingers. Like hell I’m playing the game where you list all of the ridiculously inappropriate things you’ve done with my parents), but kept the important ones, like making a rule. My rule was that you had to say some form of “fuck” in every sentence. Here’s a sampling of some of the resulting conversations:

Dad: Are you going to pick up a fucking card?

Sara: Hoff, why the fuck are you so fucking ridiculous all of the fucking time?

Hoff: Why are you such a fucking bitch?

Connor: Fuck you bitches.

Mom: I hate all of you.

Sara: Mom you need to fucking say fuck.

Mom: Fine. I hate all of you whores FUCK!

Luke: I can’t fucking handle this shit.

Connor: (whispered in Mom’s ear when a seven was drawn, meaning you need to point your finger to the ceiling and yell “heaven!” before the last person) Put your fucking hand in the fucking air.

Dad: (after flicking his lighter open for no goddamn reason whatsoever) Don’t stop! Believing! Fucking Journey was the SHIT!

Kelly: Happy fucking New Year!

Indeed, Kelly. From the Bowyers to you, happy fucking New Year! May you stick to all of your resolutions and, when that doesn’t work, have a fantastic 2013!