Mommy Gaga And New Year's Eve

This year, unlike every New Year's Eve save 1999 when the world was going to end because computers were going to explode because the date was going to revert to 1900 instead of going to 2000, but then it didn't in a twist of fate that isn't ironic because, let's face it, we all knew it wasn't going to really end.

Wait. What? Where was I?

Ah yes. This year, unlike the past, Husband and I made amazing plans to banish 2011 into the bowels of Hell.  Usually at the stroke of 6, the two of us feed children, look at each other with tired eyes and try to smile weakly.  In fact, usually eye-contact is avoided lest the other misconstrue the look of "I really want to go to bed NOW!" for something entirely more acrobatic; sure the words are the same, but the tone is very different. 

But this year, we've vowed to not only stay awake until midnight, but also to part-ay the night aw-ay.  We secured our babysitter before Hallowe'en; we've have been sending her gift baskets of echinacea and orange juice every day for the last month. I texted her twice daily to make sure she was feeling great and to tell her to keep up the great, healthy, work.

This would be a screen shot if I had any clue how to do that. 

In fact, when the headline of our local paper read "Foul Flu May Postpone New Year's Eve" and "Out with Intestines, In with the Flu" I felt twinges of extreme panic in my stomach.  Then, instead of panicking, I rationalised that we wouldn't get sick-- we'd been walking around with SARS masks since Rememberance Day.  Yet, the twinging in my stomach would not abate.

See, this New Year's Eve wasn't just going to be some great end to a hard year; it was to be a party to triumph over all oppressors!  I mean, I had not only a new dress, but new shoes. Both? For one event? Surely I jest-- but no, this is truth!

I bought The Dress during a Black Friday frenzy. I threw an entire, grand-ay, extra hot, no whip, no foam, 2-pump, triple shot caramel latte at the teen that got to the sale rack before me. The scalding coffee not only got her off my potential dress, but it also got a bunch of people out of line to help her. Teens and their melodramatic tendencies! For all the wailing and the "Why? Whyyy? Why me?" you'd think I'd sprayed Nancy Carrigan, not some kid at a 4am Black Friday sale. Hello? Black Friday-- you should know what you're getting into. Anyway, I scooped up the dress and two carts worth of stuff that cost, in total, $53.71 (God Bless America) and claimed victory.  Oh, and some of my coffee bomb splashed onto my New Year's Eve dress, making the cashier zombie give me an extra discount for damage. Say whaaaat? Boo-yeah.

The Shoes I bought from www.YeOldeTownProstitute.com.  They carry Tranny-friendly shoe sizes and styles which is important to me.  See, I've got the impeccably dramatic style of a transvestite and the shoe size to match.   After I had the perfect (coffee-stained) dress, and the perfect shoes, and tickets to the perfect party, and a sitter for my perfect children, I knew nothing would keep me from celebrating the death of 2011.

Perfect.

Nothing on earth could keep me from that party, until my entire town started down a path of extreme illness that you could only begin to understand if you read the first 200 pages of The Stand by Stephen King. And, the worst part is that having your flu shot didn't make you immune to the New Year's Eve Super Flu. No, I think the only thing that would make you immune is Death itself--here's why.

How You Know You're Minutes From Wishing For Death From The NYE Super Flu

1) You start dripping sweat while sitting down for breakfast.
2) You have blurred vision and general dizziness, yet you're stone sober.
3) You get the "I'm horribly sick" breath that people get when they're truly dying of internal illness, yet you're still (outwardly) feeling (mostly) fine.
4) You have intestinal cramps that are as sharp as labour pains-- and you know this is true whether you've had kids or not. You just do.

Fast forward to December 30th. The sitter is healthy, my husband is healthy, my children are whiny and clingy (hmmm) and I've got those four symptoms for no particular reason.  And then, with very little warning (ok, I full-on ignored the warning signs pretending I was both drunk and going into labour) it hit. Oh it hit.

Do Intestines Come In Bucket Size?

In the next 24 hours, I would lose 8 pounds between what was flying out of my ... opposing ends with jet propulsion.

Oh, what? 24 hours? Oh yeah. By noon on the 31st, I was feeling less close to the brink of death, however, the rest of the family succumbed to the germs.

To celebrate New Years Eve, 2011, I put on my [coffee stained, and now puke spattered] dress and swanky heels. I brought clean buckets to my husband and Kiddo #1 in their respective bathrooms.  I lit a sparkler in an attempt to festively ring in the new year, and kill off the offensive odours being produced.  Kiddo #2, in case you're wondering, was in the shower. It was easier to just hose him down after every episode.

Did you know catering to your family while dressed in a fantastic dress and amazing, glittery shoes, does not make you feel like Cinderella, but it does wish you could fit inside a pumpkin.

And, did you know that taking just 1 tablespoon of Gatorade or pedialyte every 5 minutes of continuous barfing will keep even a grown man hydrated? Did you know you can make your own when you run out of both and it's New Year's Eve and nothing is open? (it's not as tasty as the real stuff, but when you're dying of flu, no one will complain. Much.)

From our house to yours, Happy New Year.