Sometimes I hate myself

My first New Year's in Sydney. I pay a large sum of money (let's not define "large sum") for entry to a party in the botanical gardens on Sydney Harbour, with a great view of the Opera House and Harbour Bridge behind it. Absolutely fantastic spot, and a warm, gorgeous day to boot.

We got there when the gates opened at 6:30pm. Thanks to my patented bourbon in an iced tea bottle (smuggled in along with several water bottles with vodka), we began drinking. The appetizer was good. As was the liquor. The main course was good. Liquor was still going strong, but -- what the heck! -- we decided to start buying bottles of wine. Then there were the 9pm "family fireworks." They were good, although we all knew they'd pale in comparison to the midnight fireworks. Whatever... we had our liquor and wine (which I was probably double fisting at this point). The dessert was good. As was the booze flowing down my throat.

And then? Well, I couldn't tell you. For the freaking dessert is my last pseudo-solid memory of the night. That was maybe 10pm, no later than 10:30pm.

Now, the Sydney fireworks on New Year's are considered to be some of the best in the world. They are absolutely huh-yuge, and I don't think I've ever been present for a greater display than what Sydney puts on. Fourth of July in New York probably comes the closest, but I think Sydney even beats that fairly handily.

So needless to say, leading up to New Year's, I was excited for the fireworks. And at that particular moment in time, as fireworks were being shot off from every conceivable angle around me -- the bridge, nearby buildings and multiple points on the water -- I'm sure I loved the hell out of them. But please note my careful choice of words in the previous paragraph: "I don't think I've ever been present for a greater display than what Sydney puts on." Because that's as accurate of a statement as I can make; I was physically present for the fireworks.

As far as a memory goes? It just isn't there. When I'm old and shrivelled at 80, I would absolutely love to be able to recall how great those fireworks were. But it just isn't going to happen. For my next semi-vivid memory is at 3am, as I walked back to my house scarfing down some wedges with sour cream and sweet chilli sauce (my new favorite late night drunk food of all time).

For those who were lucky enough to be in New York during New Year's 05/06, you witnessed similar debauchery. So for 06/07, I resolved to pace myself, which I did a little too well. Which put me on a direct collision course for 07/08. Caution was thrown to the wind, and now I have a big fat blank for the night.

It's infuriating, it's embarrassing, it's frustrating. And so on New Year's Day, yesterday, today, and probably the next few weeks, I hate myself for it. Here's to 08/09!