I wish I had an effervescent personality. You know the type: gushing, happy, sickeningly sweet. To; be an extrovert. To announce myself in every room, to be direct, to be ‘Bubbly’. I wish I weren’t inclined to be so nihilistic sometimes, and sit with a charismatic optimism, with that offensive perfume that lingers on trains. ‘Everything is meant to be.’ I wish I too could be tender and ‘nice’, even when looking at a ‘half-full’ champagne glass on NYE. But then, I remember who I am. I sit with a bit of realism. I hate champagne. At the very least, I hate ‘good’ champagne. I hate pretending to like it. I’m tired of bluffing and tired of sucking down shitty wine at weddings and festive occasions. Its a mutual fabricated buoyancy (or whatever it is that makes the bubbles)
I would rather moan bitterly over an Irish Whiskey with a pessimistic smile. An oxymoron of malt would lubricate my feelings with a slow-burning fire. But that’s just it isn’t it? I can’t pretend to be ‘that’, I can’t launch myself with exuberance at anything, I’m not vivacious. I can’t match the taste of champagne with my character and force up bubbles of charm in a glass. I’m just not.
The perpetual self-analysis came right around New Years. Things were, for lack of a better word, a little fucked up. Perhaps my lacklustre sarcasm helped in this regard, and with acceptance, I decided to have one last ‘hoorah’ on New Year’s eve. I intended to pack in the excess for a bit. My hardened exterior wielded the impending doom of my failures with the delusion of #newyearnewme. The idea of a final blow out and celebratory welcoming of a new ‘365 party’ seemed like a glamorous idea.
You’d expect images of party hats and sparkly dresses. Visuals of long-limbed beauties (fashion ready friends) wonderfully fit (after Christmas somehow?) They would be sleek seductive in every pic and snapshot. There would be evidence of my #blessedlife too, photographs of my head rolling back in laughter, sitting on some bean bag, tangled arms together, we’d all strike a pose.
The pictures would appear ghost-like on polaroids; my exuberant arms would stretch out to celebrate as we neared midnight. My eyes closed to focus ever presently on the lyrics of some epic track, and my outstretched champagne glass would be full to the brim. Toasting #bestlife #blessed.
Delusional? I know. I’m not effervescent; I’m not ‘Bubbly’, I’m not (as Dunham would say) ‘that kind of girl’. The everpresent gloom of my cynicism nudged me to reflect on myself, and with it, the realisation that my current state of being needed some review. It could have been the effects on my body and mental health that were key drivers, the thumping anxiety at 5 am was losing its appeal. Plus, the slipping blinkers avoiding debt also weighed on my psyche. The financial implication of ‘just buy it’ #youonlyliveonce was becoming even more real as we became more sucked into the abyss that is the ‘overdraft.’
The allurement of my fabricated illusion of an NYE party was so far from the truth. I sat at home, watching the fireworks on Sky News. Excessive drinking; The last hoorah! Sometimes I wish I was ‘Bubbly;’ I wish I could also be as brazen as the drunk idiots on the live stream. They were slurring over their resolute words to the broadcasters. They all seemed to be so optimistic. I wish I were effervescent. I wish I believed.
A “collerette” line of bubbles trained in my glass upwards. One in front of the other. One step at a time, failing moment to moment didn’t seem so bad. I could make the change. I could finally clean out the ‘bad’. As 2020 neared with Big Bens a witness to the drama, all of us waited, and I raised a glass with them too. I wish I were ‘Bubbly’, carbonation in my heart, an uplifting thought in my soul. But then I remember who I am. I sit with a bit of realism.; I remember it ‘half-empty.’ And the champagne tasted like piss.
How to have Champagne
- Buy Champagne or receive Champagne as a recycled gift from someone you know (dust on bottle included)
- Read Champagne bottle and pretend to know what it says while listening to someone talk about the region and their latest holiday to France (from someone afflicted with Dunning Kruger Effect)
- Pop cork and or if you are female, scream for no reason at all at the moment of cork popping.
- Then listen to a speech and or wait for a celebratory moment and raise your glass. Taste Champagne and smile/ grimace at present company.
- Pour champagne down the drain