So yesterday I decided I finally gotta see that famous New Year’s ball drop live, right? Always watched it on TV like some chump while freezing leftovers. Not this year!
The Plan Goes Down
First thing Tuesday morning, I grabbed my ancient laptop and searched “NYE ball drop tips.” Tons of fancy advice like “book luxury hotel packages” or “VIP access.” Broke blogger vibes only over here! I slammed the laptop shut and decided to wing it.
Step 1: Outfit Warfare
Dug through my closet like a raccoon. Found thermal leggings with holes, two mismatched gloves, and this puffy jacket that makes me look like the Michelin Man. Threw ’em all in a backpack with hand warmers from last winter’s fishing trip. Done.
Step 2: Snack Scavenger Hunt
Raided my kitchen like a burglar. Found half a bag of stale pretzels, three energy bars that expired in October, and a thermos. Made instant coffee so strong it could wake the dead. Tossed in a banana that looked kinda sketchy. Survival mode activated.
Step 3: The Subway Shuffle
Got to 42nd Street around 7 PM thinking “plenty of time!” Yeah… wrong. Cops had barricades everywhere. Crowd was thicker than my grandma’s gravy. Shoved my way toward Broadway until some security dude barked “NO BACKPACKS!” Panic mode! Hid my bag behind a trash can like contraband.
Step 4: Midnight Meltdown
Stood crammed between tourists for FOUR HOURS. Feet went numb around 10 PM. Ate the questionable banana for morale. When the countdown started, some tall dude’s phone blocked my view. Saw maybe two seconds of sparkles through his armpit. Then everyone started crushing toward the exits like canned sardines. Lost a glove in the stampede.
Aftermath Blues
Fished my backpack out from behind the dumpster. Trash juice leaked on my thermos. Waited two hours for a train while smelling like old coffee and regret. Got home at 3 AM with one glove, zero feeling in my toes, and a newfound respect for my couch. Next year? Watching Ryan Seacrest in fuzzy socks. No shame.
