We played lots of games, as usual, including Dance Dance Revolution (which I really don't like as much as everyone else, it's just a little odd watching people play a game instead of playing one with them). Eric reigned supreme as always, even with the added difficulty of wearing the fuzzy-eared hat (this reminds me of that Kurt Vonnegut story in which the strongest, most beautiful people have to lug around dumbbells and uglifying masks).
We also tried out the Wii box or whatever it's called. It's a remote controlled video game that lets you play golf and tennis and monkey games. Here, Michele and Victoria are beating the crap out of each other at boxing.
This game we like to call "Make the Pineapple Empty." It was played many times.
This eventually led to a recreation of the Lipstick Debacle of 2002, in which Victoria and Kristina applying lipstick to everyone's faces. After a while, we started to look like refugees from a chicken pox hospice.
I avoided it for a while, but then was tackled and pockmarked. It's no wonder no one wanted to make out with me.
At several points, the pipes backed up and sewage started overflowing into the basement. It looked like we wouldn't be able to use the toilets at all on NYE, so Vic made the ladies a port-a-potty for the garage. (Luckily, the Rotorooter dude fixed everything right before the other guests arrived.)
Around midnight, we gathered for the dropping of the ball, which had been crafted by Brent and Rolf out of plastic champagne glasses. Inside, there were colored lights and a boombox, which played the theme from Chariots of Fire. (Soon after, Eric D busted out some Diet Coke and Mentos, but somehow I didn't capture the majesty of the explosion.)
Then we danced to Stereo Total, Kenny Loggins, and Fatboy Slim, just like old times. Around 4:30, people collapsed on the floor and listened to Belle & Sebastian.
The only thing that could've made it better is if we'd gotten to ride around on a bike shaped like a camel. Oh well, dare to dream.
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