For as long as I can remember, I have hated New Year’s Eve with a burning passion.
At this point, I don’t even truly remember all the reasons why, but it’s just common knowledge. Em loves the beach, has a Phineas and Ferb tattoo, and hates New Year’s. Simple as that.
It wasn’t until this year that I realized my hatred for New Year’s doesn’t really stem from the holiday itself (I think it did at one point), but more from grudges I have against people and events that I associate with New Year’s.
I hold grudges for a long time.
I have some ex-things (because that’s the easiest way to describe my past “relationships”) who have birthdays on New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day. Boo, thanks for the reminder that it didn’t work out.
Last year, I went to a club on New Year’s Eve. It was a small club, it was packed to the limits, and oh hey, I’m incredibly claustrophobic. The night ended with me having a panic attack at 10:30, crying in a club, and my mom promising me that she would pick me up at 12:15 – but not a moment sooner. Now I flashback to that public display of weakness whenever I pass said club, or when someone brings up New Year’s.
My final and longest grudge against this holiday, comes from 7 years ago when I got the first of many visits from Mother Nature. I originally blamed the cramps and stomach pains on the Chinese food we had the night before (Editors note – Em still holds a grudge against Chinese food too). So now, when you all count down to the New Year and make drunken resolutions and promises, I raise a glass to my anniversary of adult-womanhood. Fuck you.
Happy New Year; may 2017 bring you fortune and good health; insert joke about writing 2016 on everything for the next two weeks; so happy to be done with this sorry excuse for a year, yada yada. Can I go to bed yet?
P.S – I don’t care who the fuck you are, there is literally NEVER a reason to drink & drive. Please find a taxi, uber, or sober friend tonight. Be safe, and see you in the New Year.