Tell Us the Worst Thing You've Ever Done on New Year's


It’s New Year’s Eve, otherwise known as the night that someone in your friend group is definitely gonna cry. Either you’re about to plunge headlong into a night of mindless, amoral ragery or you’re laying out some PJs thinking “Good Jesus I’m glad that time of my life is over.”

Though I am going “out on the town” tonight, I should be locking myself in a secure basement full of water and healthy snacks to do a little pondering about this crazy thing called life. My New Year’s experiences of the last decade include: 2005 (sneaking piña coladas in Puerto Rico while being filmed as a teenager for a reality show), 2006 (drunkenly spray-painting a heart that contained the words “I LOVE CONOR OBERST” onto a parking lot in Houston and not realizing the man who pretended to apprehend me wasn’t a cop), 2007 (crying while trying unsuccessfully to break up my own relationship while wandering the streets of Alphabet City), 2008 (lots of Black & Milds), 2009 (in Vegas: there was this whole [REDACTED]), 2010 (got into my first-ever fight with my still-boyfriend over a hot dog at a New Jersey Exxon), and well, we are just going to have to stop there because it only gets worse!

It’s a truth universally acknowledged that there is no Party Math as nightmarish as New Year’s Eve Party Math: expectations and prices never get higher, reality is never quite as mediocre, internal vice and darkness never sinks so low. I know you feel me. We welcome any and all New Year’s fiascos in the comments for this Pissing Contest.

But first, the winners from the holiday party season of embarrassments.

Our second runner-up, from TheGaysian:

As for embarassing holiday stories, this happened last year. So me and all my friends were alone at someone’s house during the weekend. So, being extremely bored, we all decided to smoke weed. Some guys however decided to try ecstasy. And what follows is insanity.
First, one of the guys had a wrestling match with me, calling me a “dirty, sexy, commie.” All the while that this has been happening, we also discovered someone’s kink toys and we were doing really silly poses and pictures with them.
Then, clothes began to come off, which is then when we decided to order food, while nude. It is then I think it would be the perfect time to start working on my essay. It is also then when the guys I knew asked me, if they were available, which one I’d go out with first. Which one was the best kisser, and who I’d let experiment on me first.
Then, the doorbell rang, it was the food delivery guy, most people who weren’t clothed ran inside the bathroom without making too much noise, where apparently there was a spider. I answered the door, without realizing that the kink toys were left on the floor, in plain view of the doorway. I sat down and half-asleep, finished my writing.
The next day, I woke up in horror, that the “essay” I sent to my teacher, was the sexual ratings of all the guys at the party, as well as a run down of everything that happened that night! The professor gave me an extension though, with a note that read: “Please keep your erotic fanfiction to yourself, this is American Literature, Not German Dungeon Porn, or Straight-for-Pay.”

Our first runner-up, from Siren:

My birthday is exactly a week before Christmas, and as such, is almost always the day that my office chooses to have their holiday party. This has happened several times over the years with various jobs, and it is generally uncomfortable and has occasionally gotten weird.
The most memorable, however, was several years ago. Not only was I the one who had to plan the party, but my boss decided it would be on my birthday.
About a week prior to the party, I had broken up with my boyfriend of three years. I was no longer attracted to him at all, and had started feeling like a glorified masturbatory aid when we did actually have sex (he took less than two minutes, thought foreplay was for chumps, and was perpetually mystified as to how and why I was never instantly wet and ready to go). I was only in my mid-twenties, so I figured I would end things with dickbag and clear out the cobwebs in my vagina.
I had already made out with another guy who I was very VERY attracted to, and asked him to accompany me to the party. He was charming and gracious, and agreed to attend with me. We were having a great time, had a couple too many drinks, and my boss surprised me with a birthday cake in the middle of the party. Just as everyone was singing happy birthday, my ex shows up to the party.
He had spent an extravagant amount of money that he didn’t have on a hideous engagement ring, sidled his way next to the person holding the cake, and at the end of the happy birthday song, he got down on one knee, opened the ring box and practically screamed at me to marry him. I took one look at him, and suddenly my peppermint martinis decided they were not to be one-upped and wanted their own grand entrance into the party. I ran to the bathroom to throw up.
My charming date, with the assistance of my boss, threw my ex out of the party while I was experiencing my gastrointestinal pyrotechnics. I never heard from him again, but I also never heard the end of that incident until I left the company. Charming date spent hours with his head between my legs later that night.

And our winner, from Priscilla:

Well, this story isn’t from a holiday party, but it was an office party, and I sure as hell did make an ass out of myself. It was my first big party at my first real job; I was in charge of planning the day’s activities, so naturally I was in panic mode for an entire week straight before the event. I wanted to impress the CEO whom I worked closely with, in addition to the gazillions of other twenty somethings who also worked there. In short, I was 22 years old, and really wanted them to love like me.
We went to a fancy bowling alley in NYC which kept bringing us more and more liquor. Being anxious and already stressed, I obliged the waitress returning to our lane with beer after beer. I normally can’t eat a lot when I’m nervous, so I got drunk pretty fast. I lost count around five beers.
My mis-behavior started innocently enough: flirting with some of the other single guys in the office, moon walking on the lanes themselves, impressing coworkers with my ability to keep my eyes closed and still get a strike (apparently I’m a great drunk bowler). But shit really hit the fan when we continued the party at a rooftop bar next door.
I started talking to a co-worker. He was newish to the company and seemed like a nice guy, so me and my friend struck of a conversation about life, love, trials and tribulations, that sort of thing. The guy is going on and on about his girlfriend, and how much he loves her. All the while my friend keeps saying “he’s really cute!” I didn’t agree, and I especially wasn’t interested after he spent forty five minutes talking about the “love of my life,” so I ignored my friend and we kept talking. And of course, drinking.
Somewhere along the line the newish coworker guy grabs me and we start making out. I barely remember this part (I blacked out). We were both so drunk we fell on to the ground. Not quite sure what was happening, I went into full make out mode. I straddled him while laying on the ground as our coworkers made a silent circle around us….and watched.
Another male coworker saw what was happening and was clearly concerned since I was so intoxicated. He tried to help me up but of course I yelled “I DON’T NEED YOU! I DON’T NEED ANY OF YOU!” before bursting into tears and telling everyone…the entire company, how much I hated my job because I felt they didn’t appreciate all the BS I put up with, or all the great things I do for them.
My new make out buddy, stood up slowly walked over to his boss and punched him in the face. Honestly, that was kind of the best part — his boss was a straight up douche.
Sigh, I’ll never forget that day. How I didn’t get fired… I’ll never know.

Happy New Year’s, you beautiful nuts.

Image via Shutterstock.

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