If you're anything like me, December 31st has somehow become the most dreaded day of the whole year. I realize this is quite a statement since there are some other serious contenders for the title. Many would argue Valentines Day is evil incarnate and spend the day inflicting torture on cupid voodoo dolls. I'm not a valentines day fan, but I'm less offended by it. First of all, I've learned I look good in red. Second of all, it's a meaningless holiday manufactured by the greeting card industry to raise revenue. In fact, kudos to you Hallmark, you got us all - when we're in relationships we're obligated to plan something romantic and buy stupid gifts and live up to bizarre expectations that come from nowhere and when we're single, well, its just another reminder that we might want to kill ourselves. So, well played. Some of my new york friends might suggest Halloween as the day to avoid. If you've ever tried to get a cab or attempt to get into a bar in Manhattan (or worse, an outer borough...) on Halloween, observed (i.e., the friday or saturday night closest to October 31st where girls dress like slutty (fill in the blanks) and men dress like the latest snl skit or movie character craze) you'd be empathetic to their disdain for the day. After weeks of planning the perfect, brilliant costume, spending money on said costume and taking hours to ready yourself for the night's event, you end up spending the evening fighting for a drink at the bar, getting hit on by lame guys in predictable costumes which somehow give them the confidence to approach you and your short skirt in the first place, and return home - whether that night courtesy of a long subway ride with people drunker than you (no matter how drunk you may be) falling all over themselves, or worse on you - or the next day (ahh the walk of shame in costume, impressive) with your outfit ripped, your hair mangled and your credit card likely missing. Unless, of course, you've been smart enough to limit yourself to a house, or err apartment, party or are lucky enough to find a bar where the line for the bathroom does not stretch around the corner, and is not filled with recent nyu grads "whoo'-ing" all over the place. Of course, many would argue their birthday - once we are reaching or have reached that dreaded "30" become less of a celebration and more of a day to mourn our youth, but that's a whole other blog post. Interestingly, Groundhog Day is another day that fills me with resentment. While it appears to be such a harmless holiday, or not even a holiday most would argue, my bitterness overfloweth on February 2nd most years. I'm sure this stems from the movie "Groundhog Day" and the fact that I'm fairly certain I'm living it. Having the words staring at me from a calendar to remind me just how routine and mundane my life has become just adds insult to injury. And, when I turn on the news and learn that pesky little groundhog saw his shadow and we have 6 more weeks of wearing uggs and treking to work in the sludge, it makes me want to kill someone. But, despite these compelling cases, I'm sticking with New Years Eve as being the absolute worst day of the whole year.
My problem isn't with New Years Eve in and of itself, I mean who doesn't love an excuse to pop champagne and wear glitzy dresses, it is with the expectations surrounding the night and the production it always becomes. Here's an exercise to illustrate my point. When's the last time you REALLY had fun on new years? No, not like your facebook pictures make it look like you had the time of your life and you paid so much money you are comfortable lying to yourself about how the evening truly unfolded - but, like, really had fun. And if you are fortunate and can think of a time in the not so distant past when you honestly had a fantastic time - was it worth it? Was it worth the hassle, the money, the itty bitty cocktail dress in sub freezing temperatures, the feelings you hurt by choosing one set of plans over another, or the random dude you made out with at midnight even though he was downright offensive, simply because it was 11:58 and at that point you were in it to win it. I'll be honest I've had some decent new years eve celebrations in the past, but were they a better time than that random night at the dive bar the other week? Absolutely not. They did, however, cost me an overpriced ticket, a lost coat at coatcheck, watered down drinks that were damn near impossible to get, frost bite on my toes and a subway ticket because cabs are so hard to come by that if you're lucky enough to snag one I'd suggest just driving around in it all night to celebrate this accomplishment.
More times than I care to admit (since the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results) I attended a New Years party at a club or bar in Manhattan put together by a friend or friend of friend. For the bargain price of anywhere from $100-$200, I got a fun-filled evening of open bar in a private room with 100 of my closest friends (or more likely, 15 friends, 60 strangers and at least 25 people I had hoped I would never have to see again) or a reserved table at a swanky establishment with an enforced dress code (add another $100 to the bill please), which in December means guaranteed tearcicles stuck to your cheek en route to your fancy evening. At both places, drinks were somewhat difficult to obtain - despite my snazzy wristband entitling me to as many as I wanted, the line for the bathroom made me cry, and at midnight when I looked around for someone to kiss, I either made out with my vodka soda (and felt all sorts of sorry for myself) or set myself up for some follow-up regret (and felt all sorts of sorry for myself). One year I even attended a party at a club near times square. Well folks, it turns out that times square is where that big ball drops every year, so, not surprisingly, the streets surrounding times square for at least a 10 block radius were closed to traffic. You guessed it, that meant walking entirely too many blocks in frigid temperatures, grasping on to each other for warmth and trying not to stumble in our stilettos. The simple reality is New Years Eve almost always leads to disappointment. That's right, I said it. The pressure to have a life altering night is unavoidable and sets you up for inevitable failure. Even if you choose to do something low key, with a few friends or just stay in with your significant other and wind up having a nice night by most normal standards, there's always a part of you that can't help but wonder if you're missing out on something more - it is New Years Eve after all, this is THE night of the year, the night that shapes the entire year to come!
Every year when the "what are you doing for new years" emails start, I get anxiety. Only worse than this feeling is the anxiety that occurs when those emails/calls do not happen. Spending new years alone is simply not an option. More so than any other night of the year, to be alone on new years means, from society's standpoint, there is truly something wrong with you. I learned this when I suggested I might do just that to avoid the drama and I'm pretty sure my mother started calling my friends on my behalf. So, you're obligated to go out and have the "best time ever" and spend January 1st nursing your mandatory hangover and already breaking your new years resolutions, whether you'd like to or not. I don't know what I'm doing this year, but I have a sneaking suspicion that despite my best efforts I'll be wearing heels higher than I can handle (which will lead to walking in the street barefoot at 2am - and a trip to the doctor for a tetanus shot soonafter), eating at an overpriced restaurant with abominable service or crying into my tequila for reasons I won't even remember the next day. I bet if you check my facebook page though you'll see my pictures and be super jealous of the fact that I look like I'm having the time of my life. So, off to Ricky's I go to get a cellophane noisemaker (silver please), a tacky 2011 tiara and sweet matching sunglasses. Happy Freakin New Year.
