Counting down the hours of our lives

It's almost 8 p.m. on New Year's Eve. We're at home, but when I look at Dave, I know that nobody's home. He's sitting on the floor, reclining at the foot of the couch, fast asleep next to an almost empty glass of Pepperwood Grove Syrah. He rolls over, eyes me as I study his eyes and apologizes for some reason. It's beautiful to know that 2006 will hold one of the happiest and most memorable days of my life, and I'll share that day with the man curled up on the carpet in the fetal position next to a bottle of vino.

Quaint, isn't it? I mean, most people my age would be getting dolled up and going out on the town to get wasted and pretend like they know the words to Auld Lang Syne then run about the dancefloor to find some random person to kiss before the seconds run out.

And then I'm reminded of an earlier moment; limping on my way out of the market, we run into one of Dave's old roommates and his wife (who was wearing the pelt of another animal, might I add) and their carrot-topped son, who was cute as a button, and knew it, too. They, of course, are staying home tonight.

So, as I see it, it's okay not to go out tonight to some crowded place and risk my life on the trip home after midnight with other partygoers. It's perfectly okay for us to stay in, as he still naps on the carpet with a fleece throw wadded up as a pillow under his sweet, sleeping face. Maybe next year we'll host a party in our own home.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, I'm reminded of something completely different, but nonetheless applicable. The Ice of Boston by The Dismemberment Plan:

Pop open a third bottle of bubbly
Yeah, and I take that bottle of champagne
Go into the kitchen, stand in front of the kitchen window
And I take all my clothes off, take that bottle of champagne
And I pour it on my head, feel it cascade through my hair
And across my chest, and the phone rings.
And it's my mother.
And she says, "HI HONEY, HOW'S BOSTON?"
And I stand there, all alone on New Year's Eve
Buck naked, drenched in champagne, looking at a bunch of strangers
Uh, looking at them, looking at me, looking at them, and I say:
"Oh, I'm fine Mom, how's Washington?"