The party was party-ish, and much giggling ensued, and much singing of They Might Be Giants songs. Midnight was toasted with sparkling cider, and noise was made. Mad libs were exceptionally mad, and assorted gamergeek humor was shared. Assorted pseudo-drunken filking was attempted, and I learned that Leslie Fish is looking for a roommate. She's reasonably local, and I thought the desired roommate description sounded enough like me to work, except for the part where she smokes (which my lungs just can't take; I have a hard enough time spending time in the same room with someone who has recently smoked outside, much less living with someone who smokes) so that scotched the idea of even trying.
Cats were cute. Loren has two cats: Merith, a great beast of a black fluffy thing who rules the roost, and Jenna, a pretty little calico girl who's learning how to twine Merith around one needle-like foreclaw. Merith always goes places he is not supposed to go, and he sheds.
I wound up leaving around four in the morning. The car had entirely dewed over, and I had to squeegie off the dew with my hand. We were all very tired, and correspondingly silly. The Spoonerisms got worse the more the evening progressed, and so did the singing. I sing very nicely when I'm well-rested, but I can't find the key with both hands and a map when I'm tired. It's more indicative of my sobriety (either alcohol-based or sleep-based) than being able to speak is.
If how you spend midnight at New Year's is indicative of how you're going to spend the rest of the year, I'm going to spend the year in the company of friends, in contact with/mindful of my bondmate, with very good sparkling apple cider.