Why I hate New Year's Eve

God damnit I hate New Year's Eve. I look forward to New Year's Eve about as much as I look forward to Flag Day. Except that's not completely true because this past Flag Day I went to a really sick indie radio party on the Lower East Side and met a hot guy who put himself in my phone as "Ron Big Wang" and then went and rode a mechanical bull at a bar uptown. New Year's Eve doesn't have shit on Flag Day.

Logistically speaking, New Year's Eve should be my favorite holiday. If there's anything I love more than my friends, it's getting drunk and rowdy with my friends. And if there's anything I could possibly love even more than that, it's making out with total strangers. When you combine these factors together, you'd think it would create the perfect storm of holiday fun. But no. A couple of days before New Year's Eve I get the same anxious feeling I get a couple of days before my yearly pelvic exam at the gyno's. And frankly I would prefer to get the pelvic exam because then at least I know I'm gettin' some out of it.

I really should want to go out and celebrate this New Year's Eve. Thankfully, things are finally looking up for me: I'm moving out of my parent's house in the 'burbs and into Becca's old studio in Dupont next weekend, I got a great bartending job down the street from my apartment and I've been hired to blog for a fashion website (although the thought of writing about things other than Kashi Go Lean Cereal, The Slanket and one night stands is slightly intimidating.) I really do have the most amazing friends in the word and I should be with them, drunk off my ass with my boobs hiked up in a dress I can't afford when I ring in the New Year.

Instead all I want to do is host my own I'm A Big Fat Loser Party '08 and invite the following exclusive guests:
1.) My Mom
2.) My Dad
3.) Their cat
4.) Half a pound of steamed shrimp

So why the attitude? Honestly, I just can't handle the pressure of New Year's Eve. Although my cover letter says differently, I do not work well under pressure at all. In stressful situations I have the composure of a fat person water skiing. I'm like a chicken with it's head cut off; I just run around freaking out until I lose steam and fall over. And then twitch for a while.

There are multiple layers of pressure to New Year's Eve that I can't handle. There's the initial pressure of finding something to do so you can answer people when they inevitably ask you what your big plans are. Don't feel guilty. I ask people too. I'm part of the problem and in no way the solution. After New Year's you then have to deal with people asking what you did for New Years. And you better be ready with a good answer, my friend.

Once you've figure out something to do, there's the age-old question of who you're going go kiss at midnight. Whoever originated the superstition that if you don't hook up on New Year's you're sexually cursed for the rest of the year is a real asshole. How dare you put that burden on me?! Being a highly superstitious individual, every year I put an unreasonable amount of stress on myself to find someone to make out with. This is difficult because if you get to a party at about 10pm, that only leaves you with two hours to find someone to kiss at midnight. Sadly, the first two hours of a party are usually the most sober, so your odds of making out when the ball drops are pretty slim unless your real friendly. The rest of the party is then spent hunting for someone to hook up with to avoid being cursed for an excruciating 12 months. But it's a jungle out there; every other single girl at the party is hunting her own prey for the evening and my friends are inconveniently attractive. This makes the hunt more intense and challenging. And god I hate a challenge. New Year's Eve would be so much more bearable if I had a boyfriend, which turns New Year's into another holiday designed for people in a relationship. And nuts to that.

There has only been one New Year's Eve when I had someone to kiss when the ball dropped, but that didn't so much go as I had planned. I had been talking to a guy (not even talking to, maybe chatting with) for a bit, and when I saw him over Thanksgiving Break he said he had made plans for a fancy schmancy New Year's Eve so I should get my gown ready. I was psyched. Finally, a stress-free New Year's Eve (and in formal wear no less!) About a week before New Year;s I was a bit perplexed why he hadn't called me (or returned any of my many couple of calls) to confirm our plans. A few days before New Year's I found out from a friend that he secretly had a girlfriend at school who came down to surprise him for Christmas and New Year's, which meant I was out on my ass for the big night. That night when the ball dropped, I realized what an idiot I had been for trusting him and I could feel my thumb twitching, ready to text various Ghosts of Hook-Ups Past. In an effort to keep some dignity that New Year's, I grabbed a bottle of Andre from the kitchen and quietly slipped out of the party, ready to bench myself for the evening. Half a bottle of Andre and a line of Klonopin later, I was no longer a danger to myself. For at least 12 more hours.

...God I hate new Year's Eve.

After a firm talkin' to by Anna, Jill and Talia tonight, I realized I need to stop acting like a superstitious curmudgeon and allow myself to have fun this year. But old habits die hard and I can't stop being so unreasonably superstitious. Therefore, if I even remotely know you and will be seeing you this New Year's Eve, I will be making out with you. Whether you like it or not. I might not even say hello. I might just walk up, stick my tongue down your throat, slap you on the ass, say "good game" and walk on. Gender is a non-issue. I've got 12 months to cover and it's a recession. Game on bitches.


This page sponsored by The World's Largest Online Party Casino