Ophelia Street

For New Year’s Eve, my husband and I hosted an intimate gathering at our home, inviting only a few couples. We set the dress code as Festive Cocktail, which my husband was at first kind of pissed about because he didn’t want to wear a tie. But of course, for those of us in the dress-code-know, wearing a tie obviously contradicts Festive Cocktail, which is a button-down shirt/trousers/loafers. Duh.

At any rate it was quite a grown-up affair, which one friend pointed out as we sat around eating cheese, drinking wine and over-using the word “lovely.” At 11:50 p.m. we tuned into Dick Clark and tried not to then throw up our wine and cheese, as he does not hold up in HD at all. We watched the ball dropped, kissed and hugged, and raised our gin gimlets to toast 2009.

Soon after the other two couples left to go home, one of our single guy friends, Bill, showed up. He not only brought a bottle of wine, but also a fun little invention he called a blint (a small version of a blunt made with a little tobacco and cigarette rolling paper, a.k.a. spliff). So we stood on our front porch and indulged. Across the street three girls from Duquesne University were also having a party. We waved, shouting, “Happy New Year.” Before I knew it, I was standing in their kitchen in my PJs watching my husband downing a beer bong.

Oh how the mighty had fallen. Our pleasant, sophisticated, grown-up New Year’s Eve reverted to our sloppy, beer-stained New Year’s Eves of old less than 45 minutes from the beginning of 2009. Bill also joined us in the festivities. And strangely enough, these girls and their friends we really cool. I know that’s not that strange, but some of these kids were KIDS, as in not yet 21. And when I was not-yet-21, the idea of partying with 30/near-30-year-olds was not something I would have considered cool.

But the Duquesne girls and their friends were very excited to have us there — from what I can remember. And as the beer bongs wore on and my husband started squatting people and the Duquesne girls couldn’t wait to Facebook friend me, I realized that I’ve been too caught up in age. Too focused on the way I think my life should be regarding how old I am, how old I’m not and how young I’ve been. But I don’t think I’m the only one. In America there seems to be a lot of boundaries related to age. Music, movies, clothes, jobs, lifestyle choices — all are constantly being compared and defined in terms of age appropriateness. And where does that get us? It gets us creating intangible borders we close around ourselves.

I’ve always been a firm believer in experiencing new things and evolving as I age and mature. But this past New Year’s Eve, I realized that it’s not all about moving forward, growing up. It’s also about reverting every so often so as not to close off the past and the possibilities it can contain.

The next day, my husband woke up still drunk, while my head was hot and angry. Talk about feeling your age, that part of the past I could do without. Another realization: If you want to reach back, be prepared for the fallout. Overall — though I recommend dropping the grown-up façade on occasions such as when a 230-lb man wants to throw you over his shoulders and do squats — its probably a good idea to just go with it. Don’t struggle, you’ll end up crashing.

Happy New Year!

— Bernadette Ulsamer