The New Year Had Me Seeing Red

January 1, 2004

Okay, first entry of 2004, it feels kind of special.  Well, the curse of the woman has continued into the new year.  Getting a bloody nose while kissing a girl is not something you want to happen, just my luck.¹

My 2004 started out with a bang.

There was history between Brenda and I.  I just couldn’t tell you exactly what it was.  Something to do with a party, copious amounts of booze, and a couple of Grande Meals from Taco Bell around 3:00 AM.

That was 6 months prior to what I commonly refer to as “The Red Scare.”

You only get one first impression.

It was the first time I had ever hosted a New Year’s Eve party, and I wanted it to be epic.  Something memorable, something unforgettable, something that would create legendary stories passed down from generation to generation.

It hit on a few of those points.

The night began very mild.

8:03 PM – A few buddies, me and my roommate Brian decided to start the night off by cracking open a few ice cold foam tops; Keystone Light style.  We were basically waiting for the cavalry to arrive so we could fire off a few rounds of flip cup, maybe some beer craps, who knew what this magical night had in store?

That’s when Brian dropped the bomb.

“Oh dude, by the way, Katie is bringing Brenda to the party tonight… you should definitely try to bang her.”

It was sound advice at the time.  I replied the only way a young college male would,

“Awesome.”

Immediately following that incredibly profound and eloquent statement, an ice cold beer was funneled through the “The Tank” and into the back of my throat.

2003 was all but a memory.  New Year’s Eve had officially begun.

There was a knock at the door.

9:37 PM – My debilitated motor skills meant I was slow to react.  Wait, was that a knock at the door?  But everyone was here, right?

Negative ghost rider.  That could mean only one thing… Brenda had arrived.

She walked through the door and looked exactly as I vaguely remembered her.  Ambiguity rarely leaves you disappointed.

She was dressed in a rather elegant red blouse with tight black pants and wore minimal jewelry.   Way too nice for this kind of party.  Her light brown hair was cut to shoulder length and worn down with subtle curls at the ends; only hinting at the fact she spent time doing her hair.

“Oh hey, good to see you again,” I greeted her with a hidden smirk on my face.  My hope for how the night would turn out only blinded me from seeing the tell tale signs imminent of disaster.

You can’t spell “Hour” without “Power.”

I mean, technically you can, but when you’re referring to drinking games the proper rules of spelling and grammar don’t apply.

10:50 PM – Someone came up with the grand idea that we should start Power Hour at 11:00 PM and take our final shot of beer at midnight.  A game where 60 shots of beer went down the hatch in 60 minutes and concluded simultaneously with 2003 – what’s not to love about that?

Actually, quite a bit in hindsight.

11:59:55 PM – 5…4…3…2…1… Happy New Year!

Gulp.

The ball drop in Times Square was synchronized with shot #60 dropping into my belly.  It was the sound that foreshadowed unavoidable pandemonium.  My vision was now comparable to wearing a pair of 1 inch thick glasses covered in vaseline.  I was lucky I didn’t put the moves on Brian by mistake.

Boy would my face have been red…. wait, it was about to be.

The few left standing retired to their rooms.   

Brian had escorted his girlfriend to his room.
A few friends stumbled into Tate’s room.
I had a few people passed out in my bed – not the privacy I was expecting.

But it’s okay, I’m resourceful, I can find a place to put the moves on Brenda.  Think for a minute Steve.

Got it.  Let’s dim the lights in the kitchen and go in for the kill.

In case you didn’t know, the kitchen is believed to be the most social room in the house.   I took it a step further and decided it was also the best room in the house to make-out with a girl.

I was so romantic in college.

I hit the switch and leaned in.  Our lips pressed against one another as we engaged in a passionate, yet very awkward embrace.  I’m no expert, but I believe that’s a sign you’re kissing a girl right on the mouth.  I immediately recalled an earlier response,

“Awesome.”

Indeed it was.

There were a few head shifts from left to right, keeping things fresh.  Then I felt something.  It felt like a little extra moisture on my upper lip.  Non-sober make-out sessions tend to be a little more aggressive and sloppy, probably just the byproduct of an overactive tongue.   I’ll pull back just to check.

I didn’t notice anything unusual.

We had since moved against the countertop to assist our inner ear function.  Balance is hard to come by when you’re 3 sheets to the wind, eyes closed, and trying to keep your mouth on target so you don’t end up making out with the other person’s nose.

But there it was again; that feeling of something wet on my face.  I’ll take a longer look this time.  I pulled back and paused… I wish I hadn’t.

I once was drunk, but now I’m sober. 

1:17 AM – I had to double take to make sure my eyes weren’t deceiving me.  The combination of dark red streaks and smears looked as though someone had prepared her for battle with red war paint.

I had donated so much blood to her face that I was waiting for a nurse to come in and hand me a square piece of gauze and a cookie.  I would have loved a cookie.

At first she didn’t notice, then her eyes adjusted to the dim light and she caught a glimpse of my crimson face.  I couldn’t tell if her pupils were dilated from the alcohol or the shock of seeing my face covered in thick red plasma.

I was at a loss of words.  So, I simply turned around and headed toward the bathroom without uttering a sound.  I flipped on the bathroom light, and readjusted my eyes toward the mirror.

I was seeing red.

I didn’t know if I should clean my face off or reach for a wooden stake to drive into my heart; I looked like a vampire.

I began vigorously washing my face and uncovered the culprit: a bloody nose.  I would get them rather frequently during the winter because of the dry air in Colorado.  Unfortunately bloody noses have no concept of time, so making out with a girl and not making out with a girl are one in the same to my nostrils.

Of course I was embarrassed, disappointed, disgruntled, and another dis- word I can’t think of right now.  The next thing or person I saw was going to feel my wrath.  It just so happened to be the unsuspecting toilet clogged with vomit.

So I plunged.  I plunged good.  I plunged real good and real hard.

“You like that!?  You fucking piece of shit toilet!

In hindsight I question why I ever asked my toilet if it liked me jamming a plunger down its throat.

Brian heard my tirade and immediately came out of his room to find me violently plunging the toilet.  Confused and still in search of answers, he continued into the kitchen to find Brenda scrubbing blood off of her face in the kitchen sink.

He returned to the bathroom and asked me, “Uh, what the hell happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it dude.”

“Um, okay, can you at least tell me why Brenda’s face looks like Rocky Balboa’s after he went 15 rounds with Ivan Drago?

“I got a fucking bloody nose while we were making out, that’s why.”

That got his attention real fast.  I proceeded to give him the play-by-play with very emphatic hand gestures and aggressive pantomimes.  Brian offered some very consoling words.

“Hahahaha, hahahaha… that sucks dude.”

I appreciated his honesty.

2004 welcomed me with closed arms.

There was little left to do in the bathroom, so I decided to check on Brenda.  Obviously she wasn’t too distraught over the whole situation because I found her passed out in a kitchen chair with her head hanging next to the trash can.

She had just made her contribution to the waste basket.

So maybe it was a blessing in disguise.  I had to bleed on her so she couldn’t spew on me.  Seemed like a fair trade.

I never saw Brenda again.

It started out with a kiss, how did it end up like this?  It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss…

Open up my eager eyes, cause I’m Mr. Brightside.

2004 was one of the most disastrous New Year’s experiences I’ve ever had.  I would even put it up there as one of my most embarrassing moments of all I time.  I mean, for Pete’s sake, I bled all over an innocent girl’s face.

But you know what, I’m still here.

Plans don’t always play out how you pictured they would.  Sometimes you bleed on people’s faces, it happens.  But that doesn’t mean you can’t learn something from the experience (like have a box of Kleenex readily available).

Joking aside, I’ve realized an important principle during my journey on this planet.

The beginning of each adventure is a step into the unknown.  There will inevitably be obstacles and pitfalls along the way.  But it’s not how you start the journey, it’s how you finish.  Revel in your triumphs, learn from your misfortunes, and enjoy the journey.

Here’s to a phenomenal finish to 2011.

Cheers, and Keep Drifting.

¹This is an actual entry from my journal, no lies here.