We’ve probably all attended wild New Year’s Eve parties at some point in our lives… but what’s the craziest time you’ve had? BTRtoday staffers share their top picks of debauchery and festivities.
My craziest New Years Eve was either the year I accidentally rode over a Santa-hat wearing kitten while riding my uncle’s unicycle around Bushwick, the year I got drunk off of wine and puked on my naked best friend in the bed of her parent’s ski lodge in Upstate New York, or the year I lived vicariously through a series of events that I wrote for the sake of making my life sound more interesting and “crazy” than reality proves. – Kimberly Ruth
I’ve always had this weird superstition that if you have a good NYE then the rest of your year is going to be shitty, so I usually don’t really put a lot of effort into the night. Plus, like my dad calls it, it’s amateur night–as in, all the people who don’t usually drink, drink that night and get way too fucked up and it’s annoying… – Elena Childers
New Year’s Eve is one of the most stressful holidays, right after Halloween, particularly if you live in a large city like New York. Everyone living in NYC is expected to have the most rocking time on New Year’s Eve, because it’s the most happening of cities according to every freaking sitcom ever. So it’s always a letdown. Do I have a crazy New Year’s Eve story? Not really. One time I cried in the bathroom of the party then left early, another time I hooked up with the only hot guy near my age at a party in SoHo. Every year, without fail, I wish I had stayed home, gone to bed early, and waited for the new year to happen to me while I slept. – Taia Handlin
I guess my craziest New Year’s story would be from when I was still in high school. I was a sophomore, and my sister was in her freshman year in college. My parents decided to go to Montreal for New Year’s with some friends (big mistake). My older sister decided that it would be the perfect time to throw a party.
At first, I was just going to spend the night at my best friend’s house and not attend. My sister had discouraged me from inviting people, insisting that she didn’t want the gathering to get out of control. Well, my best friend got sick, and I figured I really had nothing else to do but to go home and see what was happening at the small, civilized get together my sister had organized.
I walked through the door, and a person I didn’t recognize walked by, looked at me, and said “Who are you?” That’s when I knew that things were going to get out of control! The house was packed! I walked into the kitchen and people were taking shots out of my Great Grandmother’s crystal and gold leaf Shabbat cups! There were two dudes on the back porch fighting, one of whom had pulled a knife! This shit was not what I intended.
Some twins puked in our entryway. A guy went off the road in his car (he was okay.) Our antique coffee table got broken. About twelve kids crashed in my parent’s bed. It was pretty much your classic, cinematic, out of control high school party. And, to be honest, it was pretty terrible.
My parents found out, and that was that. This is a cautionary tale more than anything: throwing a party when your parents are out of town doesn’t always go according to plan, kids! – Rebecca Chodorkoff
During my sophomore year of college, my friends and I were able to get into the local dive bars for the first time in our hometown. The local watering holes are set up within a square format, making it convenient to hop from one bar to the next. I attribute the thrill of being able to get in that first time is what made the night seem magical. Since NYE 2014, these bars typically have a lackluster quality to them and end up being a high school reunion when I have revisited them.
The shenanigans of the night really kicked in, when my friend’s brother who was in high school at the time, came to pick us up from the bars. The first snow of the year was coming down, so her brother thought it would be funny to mess with our intoxicated selves and create donuts in the road with his car. When we finally were stabilized on firm ground at my friend’s house we offered her younger brother and his friends Jager shots as a thank you for driving us. Flash forward thirty minutes. Her brother and his friends overdid it with the shots. They were all excessively puking throughout various places in the house. There are two bathrooms in my friend’s house, so that left the rest of his friends to fend for themselves with whatever items they could find to relieve themselves including mop buckets and the porch. We spent the rest of the night taking care of them and cleaning up the house before my friend’s parents arrived home the next morning. Happy NYE to us! – Cassidy Colarik
New Year’s was always crazy as a kid. It was one of the few times per year my folks would willingly drink in front of me with reckless abandon. It was also a time for bowling–my family had this tradition of midnight bowling with friends from town at a nearby alley to ring in the new year, complete with what I can only assume was an open bar and endless fried bowling alley treats.
One year, when I was five or six, we were getting ready leave for bowling. I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth only to accidentally touch my mom’s still red hot curling iron. The pain was immense and my finger immediately blistered, but more than anything I was worried about bowling–the burn was on my throwing hand, rendering me incapable of tossing a fresh six-pounder down the lane.
After treating my wound and calming me down, my parents took me to the bowling alley, where they asked the clerks behind the counter if I might be able to use a ramp for the evening. I thought they were taking me to some secret skate park somewhere in the back, but lo and behold, the employee came out with a silver metal rack to roll the ball straight down the lane. I was in love the moment I saw it, and proceeded to dominate. I had never bowled a strike before, even with bumpers; that fateful night I bowled three. I’ve purposely burned my finger every year since. (Not really). Don’t let anyone tell you magic doesn’t happen on New Year’s Eve. – Joe Virgillito