If there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that bad things ALWAYS happen on New Year’s Eve.
I don’t mean you always bump your knee on the corner of the coffee table after one too many champagnes, or you lose your purse (and perhaps a little bit of your dignity) at the club with your friends.
In my world, New Year’s Eve means things never go as planned.
Someone (and by someone, I mean me. IT’S ALWAYS ME) will inevitably end up crying, or hurt, or arguing and then the first two weeks of the new year are then spent riddled with guilt that you somehow ruined every chance of happiness you might have had in the new year.
We all know that how you spend the first three minutes of the new year ultimately determines how your year is going to turn out, right?
If you’re crying at 12:02 on January 1, chances are something TERRIBLE is going to happen to you in mid-October. Don’t blame me, that’s just how the universe works.
*Taking this moment to clarify that I am no expert on "the universe" so this may or may not be true.
Anyway, all of the DRAMA surrounding New Year's Eve makes it the holiday I look forward to the LEAST every single year.
Maybe it's just me, but anybody who has ever been lucky (and by lucky I mean extremely unfortunate) to spend the night of December 31 by my side knows NYE and I are just NOT friends.
We don't get along in the slightest.
Why? Because, well, things always get messy and complicated and not very nice at all.
Like the year I had a massive fight with my closest family members because they were CLEARLY CHEATING at a game of Cluedo and didn't speak to them for three months. We were also stuck on an isolated farm at the time. Yes, it made for a very awkward New Year's Day drive back home.
Another year I yelled at my husband at the exact stroke of midnight for lighting too many sparklers in his hand at once (which, I want to be clear, I still think was a stupid idea). He burned himself.
I spent the first few hours of THAT new year crying alone in my room.
Another year... well, I can’t quite remember what happened that year, which is a problem in itself.
Before I go any further, I'd like to take this opportunity to point out that nine times out of 10 I was not under the (heavy) influence of alcohol during these pivotal year-ending (and year-beginning) moments.
This is not about me needing to stop drinking to solve my New Year’s Eve problem. It's about me needing to stop celebrating the day at all.
My bad luck with the holiday means I put extreme pressure on myself to figure out the "perfect" way to say goodbye to one year, and welcome in the next.
Perhaps if I invite the right group of people, find the right party spot and have the right mix of fancy cocktails and decorations that look "chic but not cheap", things will be better. There will be no tears or tantrums.
But this year, I'm over it. I refuse to do that anymore. No parties and no fireworks means no drama, right?
2016, you are no longer getting a big "farewell" from me — and sorry, 2017, but as far as I am concerned, January 1 is just going to be another lazy Sunday morning.
This New Year's Eve, you'll find me tucked into bed at 10:13 pm, after I've finished off a nice game of Scrabble.
Unless... wait... I just remembered that huge family argument started over a board game...