Because the last New Year’s celebration I actually enjoyed was the switchover from 1993 to 1994.
Janet Reno was named Attorney General that year. Eric Clapton’s Tears in Heaven won like every Grammy that existed. Picket Fences won the Emmy for Best Drama Series.
PICKET FUCKING FENCES, people.
The Big Bean and I were were super young and ridiculously in love and we looked good and had cash to burn, so pretty much every day of our lives was like a fucking trip to Disneyland – New Years or not. He was in town for a visit, about four months before he finally bought the cow and moved here, and we spent the evening on a pub crawl the likes of which had never been seen before. Dancing, drinking, singing, sitting on pianos, drinking, laughing, shouting, drinking, singing again, making friends, wearing silly hats, making other people wear silly hats, drinking, falling down, trying not to pee, laughing some more… and of course the 3:30 AM stop at Whataburger on the way home for some fries to soak up a little of the remaining alcohol. All followed by devastating hangovers the next day.
It was great.
It was the last time.
Over the years we’ve been to other New Year’s parties, of course — but none of them have ever held the charm or allure of that one big night.
Maybe it was just so great that we gave up on another one ever living up to it.
Or maybe we just got fucking OLD.
We definitely had a baby, which pretty much ruins New Year’s for anyone, I think — at least for a while. Fireworks and babies are a shitty, shitty combination. The day my child was born, New Year’s Eve and the Fourth of July officially became the Most Annoying Holidays of the Year.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m GLAD to say Good Riddance to 2008, a year that in many ways sucked fuckballs and will definitely NOT be missed by me. And who doesn’t love the idea of a fresh start? I could definitely use a fresh start right about now.
But I’m afraid the days of champagne and party hats are long gone for us. In fact, as I type this, I’m in bed wearing my sweatshirt and flannel pajama bottoms, the ones with the holes, cursing the neighbors every time I hear a firecracker from the street, HOW DARE THEY CELEBRATE WHILE MY BABY’S SLEEPING?!, desperately hoping that the noise doesn’t wake the Bean and terrified that it will and I’ll have to somehow get this kid back to sleep at 12:15 AM with huge colored explosions going off in the sky above our house.
However, at the same time I am absolutely certain that a Roman Candle could blast into the house and set us all on fire and it STILL wouldn’t be enough to wake up the Big Bean.
I had a whole list of reasons why New Year’s Eve sucks, from the hangovers to the drunk drivers to the dumb asses who get sloppy and fall into plants (long story) and Ryan Seacrest, that FUCKING RYAN SEACREST, who is the DEVIL and trying to destroy us all with his product-drenched hair and Smeagol-like grin and lame jokes and ass kissing.
(And if you don’t believe me just cruise on over to Sarcastic Mom’s blog and check out my guest post. Sure, it’s a little insane but I still think it lays out my case against the Devil-slash-Ryan Seacrest quite nicely.)
But I think that video pretty much sums it up for me. New Year’s Eve can suck it. I’m tired and joining the Big Bean in happy slumber, assuming the nutjobs down the street keep the f’crackers to a minimum and the Little Bean stays dormant.
See you in 2009, suckers.Stumble it!