It’s been three days since New Year’s Eve and we have finally assessed the total damage. No, we did not throw a raging kegger. And no, we did not leave the kids unattended to run through the house with black Sharpies or scissors. And yes, my parents will read this and scoff as it does not even compare to the infamous small gathering of friends (that turned into hundreds of acquaintances) in which I hosted on NYE of ’92: one 911 call; one broken window; one cracked dining room table; at least a dozen fights; and a least a hundred spilled drinks.
We did, however, have two other families down for prime rib (adults) and Wii sports (kids), yet we still need to repaint the kitchen ceiling, throw away Andy’s pants, buy Andy new shoes and scrub the hell out of our grout with the Magic Eraser to ensure that our backsplash turns from purple back to blue. It was an au jous sauce gone wild – overheating with too much fatty meat and red wine – which then splattered the entire kitchen and caused us to break out the 409 before the Champaign. In the end, it was still a delicious meal, good company and plenty of laughs, and Andy bravely climbed back up on his saddle and fixed some kick-ass brazen pork butt for our New Year’s Day feast. No drop cloth, dry cleaning or ammonia based products were required, so we are starting 2011 off right.
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