ahh new years. a time of new beginnings, or something like that.
this time last year i was living in kingston. i had to work until close new years eve, but i wasn’t too bothered because i’d had enough of getting glam, stressing about which party would be the best party to commit my midnight to, dealing with the bitch of transporation and navigating mud and slush in strappy stilettos. i decided that i was far too mature for such nonsense, and as such i was going to devote my new years eve to self indulgence and reflection. i bought the best bath salts, sea weed mud mask and deep conditioner. i treated myself to a new nailpolish and a much anticipated chick flick. i bought a new notebook in which to record my grown up and responsible resolutions that i had no doubt i would keep, because clearly i was all grown up. i bought a bottle of wine (no twelve dollar bubbly for me, no sir! red wine was clearly the sophistocated choice).
unfortunately my peers didn’t understand. i was judged rather than applauded for my brilliant plan. throughout the day i was invited to more parties than i could count and when i stood fast my coworkers actually became concerned, pleading and cajoling, trying to convince me that i couldn’t ring in the new years alone. as the day progressed they began behaving strangely, watching me out of the corners of their eyes, clearly anticipating some kind of emotional meltdown or psychotic break. it didn’t come, though my nerves were raw and my resolve did begin to waver. were they right? were my plans pathetic? was i putting on this bravado because secretly i was lonely and insecure about the fact that for the first time since i was sixteen i would have no one to kiss at midnight? i bolted for home the second my shift ended before i could succumb to peer pressure at the last minute.
by the time i got home my resolve was gone. my cousin/roomie was predrinking with a friend and when they invited me out i caved almost instantly.
here is my hypothesis: if i had just made new years plans in advance i would have had an outfit prepared and it wouldn’t have been a mad scramble. i would have allotted time to eat. i would have gone out in a group where i knew more than just one family member and probably wouldn’t have attempted to drink my social awkwardness away. i probably wouldn’t have ended up making a public ass of myself passed out in the middle of the road. i am confident that i wouldn’t have ended up in the hospital.
last years resolution (written new years day): trust instincts. plan ahead. don’t be an embarrassing fuck up, it isn’t worth it. re-evaluate definition of ‘maturity’.
this year i have plans. i have a glittery dress. i can probably manage to wrangle myself a kiss at midnight, but if not that’s ok too. this year i am having a nice dinner and drinking white wine, not red. i’m going to test out that hypothisis and if i end up in the hospital again feel free to write me off as a lost cause, because i assure you i’ll be doing the same. i hope that i dont puke on on my new dress. sequins will be a bitch to dryclean. (that last part there is probably why i’m single).
happy new years!
and about that highly publicized new years kiss? fuck it. kiss a pet, a friend, or my personal favorite: a tree. somewhere out there the person you will one day share the last of your kisses with is kissing someone who isn’t as great as you. or maybe he/she is in the same new years boat, and decided to kiss a tree too.
- e.k.
