New Year’s Eve is invariably the biggest disappointment of the whole damn year. On this point, we all agreed back in 1983 with the release of a certain Prince song. No matter how hard we try, we are just never going to party like it’s 1999.

And yet, when December 31 rolls around, we somehow convince ourselves that this year will be different. Or at least that this year we won’t wake up in the hospital because we got the flu so badly we needed an IV and the boy who was supposed to kiss us at midnight slept with someone else instead. (Can I get an amen on that one?)

But I finally learned my lesson. I set my expectation dial to “rock bottom” this New Year’s. As mid-December rolled around, I had no date, no dress and no drama. Playing bingo in my parents’ basement in Nebraska appealed more than any La La Land soiree or New York glamfest.

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That is, until an invitation arrived that set my heart a twirl. A friend suggested I check out SPiN, the hippest ping-pong club in NYC, for NYE. “Ping-pong club” isn’t code for the latest designer drug den. We’re talking table tennis, DJs, sweat bands, booze, nerds and Susan Sarandon. (More on Susan in a moment.) In a word – amazeballs.

It’s exactly the kind of place your 11-year-old self would have wanted to spend New Year’s. And if you think about it, 11-year-old you had some pretty sweet ideas.

As things worked out, I also happened to snag myself a ping-pong partner for the evening. This new boy is handsome, bright, kind and funny. More importantly, he promised good hand-eye coordination.