To remember everything for Wednesday? Usually not, but I do have a vague memory: pictures of One Direction heartthrob Harry Styles and actor / director Olivia Wilde hand in hand at the quarantine wedding of Jeff Azoff, Styles manager, who turned up on Monday sparking dating rumors. She and fiancé Jason Sudeikis ended their seven-year engagement in early 2020, and for the past few months, Styles and Wilde have collaborated on the set of her upcoming movie, Don’t worry honey. Their partnership makes sense, but if they met at work, she was technically his boss.
Regardless, this reminded me of the nature of workplace novels, which are usually unwise but also end up in an unpredictable HR field unless you’re apparently an actor. I do not do mean unethical stories about your piece of shit boss flirting with you while your internship; everything goes by mutual consent. Personally, I’ve never had one as I think co-workers are dirty, but if my colleague was Harry Styles I’d change my tune.
T.From this week, I want to hear all about the time you connected with a colleague: did you meet your partner at work? Have you been waiting for a new gig to move? Was meeting up with another summer camp counselor the worst decision you made in the second year of high school? Let us know in the comments below.
First, let’s take a look at last week’s winners (last year!): These are your most magical New Year’s Eve stories:
FilthyHarry, you absolutely win, what the fuck !!!!!!!!!:
When I was a kid, I can’t remember the exact year (but I remember watching Solid Gold as the New Years show, so 80-82?) And we were at a party at our neighbors’ building.
Toward midnight, Harper Lee (who lived in our building) appeared at the front door of the apartment and exclaimed in her fine accent, If we didn’t suppress it, she would buy the building and throw us all away.
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BrianGriffin thinks ‘trustworthy’ is just a state of mind, if you are satisfied, were happy:
A few years ago on NYE my wife and I decided to call it quits. The best resolution I’ve ever made, and pretty much the only one that ever stuck.
ninjagin, this is amazing:
My very best NYE was when I was 19, the first turn of the year after I left home … about 35 years ago, say. I lived in a downtown room, did community theater, wrote and hung out with poets and artists and actors and musicians in my cow town … it was a small scene, but comfortable. You would just about run into someone you knew at just about any gig or gallery show or lecture or whatever. I was selling clothes and working as a shopkeeper, so I had a nice suit to wear. I was invited to the party that happened to be in a few adjoining suites in a hotel in my old stomping ground. I knew the area well, got a bus there, arrived more or less on time when things started to roll.
I’m not going to go into the details, but it was plenty of debauchery. A friend of an artist gave me some [redacted] and I had never had it before, but it was really great. There was dancing and drinking and great philosophical conversations and smoking and filling [redacted] filled with [redacted] and just hang out with a bunch of wild young sexy creatives until the early morning hours. We played with lasers (which were expensive and big and bulky at the time – remember LazerFloyd or Lazerium?) And painted murals with glow-in-the-dark paint and danced and sang and made wild works of art with wax and cardboard and glitter paint. I got a big kiss from someone at midnight. It was like a wrap party without the underlying grief, but reversed as it could be if you had the wrap party at the start of the run? … where all the good stuff was yet to come? Then, predictably, almost everyone started to pass out in an hour or so and I knew it was time to go. I took a taxi, which the city sponsored for free.
I got home a few hours before sunrise and slept most of the next day. It was amazing. No one to complain about what time I was gone, no one to wag my tail for partying and having fun with my friends, no one to give me grief over smoking and drinking and [redacted] filled with [redacted]. I’ve never felt more free and wild and happy in my skin than that night … and I looked like a million dollars. I do not regret it.
Fast forward to the present and I’m not young and sexy anymore, my knees and feet hurt too much to dance, and I don’t dress anywhere near that level anymore … not even in the same building, actually. A single cigarette will beat me up for days and I hardly drink anymore. On school evenings I am in bed at 10 am. Still, I know how to party like it’s 1985, damn it, even if I wouldn’t want to anymore. Ah, to be young and wild and free, when a new year meant a whole universe of change and creativity and opportunity. It was amazing and I was in the thick of it and I will never forget it.
chainsaw trousers, hell yes:
I scored a very very happy houseitting performance during the 99/00 holidays in London. It was spectacular. Unfortunately on Christmas Eve I tripped and knocked my two front teeth out (even I thought the “All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth” thing was funny). On New Year’s Eve, a man I met on the run sent me an appointment with his dentist for a free repair (essentially, a piece of gray plastic melted on the stumps left in my mouth). So I almost had teeth! I was in London! I partied outside of Big Ben! I met an Irish arborist and searched! I was a fake dentist!
I then stopped with new years. Cannot be refilled.
Samantha Stevens, excuse me?:
I went to a party with my boyfriend in a building that rented rehearsal space. As usual as soon as we got there my friend split up to the bar and I didn’t see him again. I spent most of the party in a big chair drinking Haitian rum with a guy I had a huge crush on (who also happened to be Madonna’s boyfriend). Yes, it was quite a few years ago.
Light up the nightmare in the comments below.