NSFW: My NYE Experience

Editor's note: Let me just preface by saying that I love these people. I really do. When they're sober. Drunk is entirely another matter.

This New Year's Eve, Scott and I attended a party thrown by and for his fantasy football league. This group of good-natured sports lovers has been drafting, trading, lamenting, trash-talking, and excessively celebrating in the endzone for the past 15 years. They pretty much live for August, and the culmination of the fall's fun is the annual New Year's Eve party, when the champion takes possession of the, yes, really, championship trophy.

Apparently, back in the day (before I was Mrs. Blair), these parties were legendary. There was a little drink (one of the guys' wives used to be a bartender), a little gaming (poker, board games, video games), and a little snacking, followed by a champagne toast at midnight. Sounds fun, right? Well, that must have been then. This is now.

A few new faces were present at this year's party, and they made this entire blog post possible, God bless 'em. Here's MOST of the blow-by-blow, painstakingly recreated from texts between Stefanie and me.

We walked in, and I staked out a seat on the couch. From there, I had the vantage point to see the entire room. I texted Stefanie: Pics to come.

I visited with Tater, the host's adorable Chihuahua, until the Unibomber walked in. Seriously. Hoodie in the house. I sent a photo to Stefanie, and it was appreciated. Someone knocked on the door, and a partygoer screamed: Come on in! Don't bother knocking ... if you gotta knock, you're at the wrong house! And we were off.

Greetings all around for the newcomer, and later I overheard this: I saw some nice looking ladies out there at the Walmart. All I could think of was to wonder whether there were fewer teeth or IQ points in the room.

And then the trophy arrived, carried by its own young, ahem, insert your own noun here. She looked like one of those ring girls from wrestling, and she immediately alerted us all that she had a tattoo, and yes, you could see it through her clothes. With that, she turned and bared her hiney to us, eradicating the need to see through her clothes at all. She then proclaimed that she was "Already getting naked and I ain't even started drinking yet!"

The traditional poker game started, and I found myself at a disadvantage: I could use only three of my senses. Sense of sight was out because the smoke was too thick, and hearing was out because the amount of SCREAMING in the room rendered me temporarily deaf. Why do drunks feel they must scream to be heard? Scott won the game, by the way. I guess being deaf in one ear has certain advantages.

At that point I was jolted out of my stupor by a drunk-text... I have no idea who it was, but they wanted to tell me that they hoped my new year was nice. I texted back: You too! :)

Stefanie tells me her party went south, so she was heading home. I should have done the same thing. At about that time, I sent Stef what could have been the night's most raw quote, but I just can't bring myself to print it. Ten minutes later, they were all telling each other how much they love each other. It was a drunk-love fest like I have never seen.

At that point, ring-girl announces, "I just felt something go up the crack of my ass!" Stefanie, intrigued, writes back: Reaaaallly? What was it?

Mark's hand, I replied.

It just went downhill from there. I can't even bring myself to print most of the rest. Let's just say that ring girl bared more than her ass, and then a rousing round of "Who can smack my ass the hardest" commenced. God, where was midnight?

Finally, the stroke of twelve hit. My ever-romantic husband handed me a plastic cup of very cheap champagne and planted a peck on my lips. He looked so very proud of himself. Then he disappeared to the other side of the room for more Little Smokies. It was about that time that someone dumped over an entire ice chest of water and beer ... onto the kitchen floor. Not a single person made a move to clean up the mess, but you better believe the beer was back in the cooler in under a minute. I looked up at my husband. He was texting.

I looked down at my phone, and read the message: My bad. I owe you for this. Ready to go?

It's times like this that I remember why I love my husband.