Xavier Toby

About Xavier Toby

Xavier Toby is a writer and comedian. His debut comedic non-fiction book about six months on a mining site 'Mining My Own Business' is available through UWA Publishing (http://uwap.uwa.edu.au/books-and-authors/book/mining-my-own-business). For more writing, upcoming performance details and some embarrassing photos check out his website.

New Year’s Eve brings with it that perennial feeling of “On this night, you need to have the most unbelievably epic time ever or you’re a loser.”

Reality – it’s easily the most overrated party night of the year.

In my opinion though, any party that’s rated at all usually turns out to be a turkey.

So did you have a good one?

Well I did, and I reckon I’ve finally figured out how to do it right.

The main problem is that there’s an immense amount of pressure to have a great night. It builds every time someone asks that one horrible question, which seems to be asked almost incessantly from about mid-October onwards.

“What are you doing for New Year’s?”

There are a few reasons I detest being asked what I’m doing for New Year’s Eve, as follows:

1)     The last five big NYE parties I’ve been to have run out of booze.

2)     Four girls have dumped me on New Year’s Eve…then have proceeded to act like a single girl…on New Year’s Eve. Yes the same night. Maybe within the same hour even. Right in front of me. Classy.

3)     Only three times have I ever successfully tongue kissed anyone on NYE. That number would be seven, if I were allowed to count animals. More on that later.

4)     Twice I’ve passed out next to a bin and a pool of my own vomit (I think it was my own) hours before the countdown.

5)     Once I got lost in Swan Hill and it took me six hours to find my camp-site.

See what I did there? My own little NYE countdown in the vein of ‘a partridge in a pear tree’.

That’s one part I don’t mind, ‘the countdown’, and I also still find fireworks medium exciting. Especially when caravan park people down at the beach start firing them at each other.

I suppose it’s all the pressure that really gets to me. There’s so much planning, forethought and excitement in the build up that whatever sort of time you end up having, it can never live up to expectations.

It’s an impossible equation.

Unless you make a marriage proposal that’s accepted, win the lottery or are kidnapped by super sexy aliens who only drink beer and communicate with their genitals.

This leads me to the not-so-stunning-actually-really-obvious observation.

New Year’s Eve is just another night.

Just like every other night of the year that just shot by, there’s still gravity, still the same stars in the sky and alcohol still isn’t free. My birthday suffers from the same problem – despite all the questioning about my plans, it’s just another day.

In order to have a winning NYE, this year I ignored the pressure, lowered my expectations and just did what I usually do on a winning night out – spent it with close friends in someone’s home. And while it was very much your basic fun night out, it was easily one of the best NYEs I’ve ever had.

I even found someone to share a tongue kiss, and let me tell you, every rumour about Golden Retrievers is true. (I’ve never actually heard a rumour about Golden Retrievers, but they do have mammoth and delightfully rough tongues, so I’ll leave that with you.)

Oh, and please don’t bother with New Year’s Eve resolutions. If you do bother, keep it to yourself and just tell everyone after you’ve achieved it. The people I know who’ve successfully made any meaningful changes in their lives just quietly got on with it, and very rarely felt the need to tell anyone before they’d actually done anything about it. The people who do blab about what they’re about to do usually wake up and either forget what they promised or are too hung over to bother.

Also, if big parties are your thing, well you’re weird, but there’s no reason you shouldn’t go for it. However, please stop making me feel like there’s something wrong with me for having no interest in paying $200 to listen to a cover band and spend the night waiting at the bar, fighting other drunk men for the meagre finger food, and then swaying with those same men to the last song for the night on a mostly empty 2am dance floor.

Ta.

See you next year.

I guess.

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