So is it just me, or is this Baby New Year thing totally disturbing? I didn’t even know what Baby New Year was until I saw the Holiday Sweater Lady in her huge blue sweater today, with a baby taking up like half her chest in its top hat and beauty pagent sash, and I was all, “Why is there a fucking BABY on your sweater?” and she was all “That’s the Baby New Year” and I was all “??!??” and she was all “Seriously? You don’t know what the Baby New Year is?” and I was all “Shut the fuck up, Myrtle, obviously I don’t know or I wouldn’t be asking” and she was all “You know my name’s not Myrtle, right?” and I was all “Well, in my head it is” and she gave me a really dirty look and walked away.
And then I was confused so I consulted the Internet because it knows everything and would nevernever lie to me, and it told me that Baby New Year is part of the New Year’s tradition that I have somehow managed to miss out on for the past 30-something years (note to self: blame parents for this in future therapy sessions). This little dude apparently starts out a baby on January 1st, but he ages at lightning speed throughout the year and by December 31st he’s grown into an old man – Father Time – and then when the clock strikes midnight there’s suddenly a NEW Baby New Year running around in his shitty diaper and hat.
The Internet never really explained what happens to the old guy then, but I’m guessing he is murdered and that’s why they have the fireworks, to cover up the gunshots. So remember that this year when you’re drinking your champagne and kissing your honey and barfing into the toilet of some random acquaintance — an old man just took a BULLET for you, dude. Happy New Year.
So anyway, then the Internet laughed and pointed at me and called me stupid for not knowing all that already, and then it showed me some pictures of Baby New Year and I’ve been completely messed up ever since because nearly every picture showed Baby New Year in some insanely terrible situation that I’m pretty sure Child Protective Services would freak the fuck out over.
For starters, don’t even TRY to tell me this baby’s not totally drunk:
And if he’s not drunk, he’s in some other kind of mortal danger:
So what I’m trying to say is, Baby New Year should really be in foster care.
But on the plus side, I finally understand all those dudes who run around in diapers and top hats on New Year’s. It doesn’t make them any less idiotic but at least it makes sense to me now because before, let me tell you, I was WICKED CONFUSED. So, there’s that.
Also, the Creepy Dude kept asking me today what my plans were for New Year’s Eve even though I’d already told him repeatedly that I don’t give a shit about New Year’s Eve, because the clock is going to switch over from 2009 to 2010 tonight whether or not I’m stupid drunk, so I’d really rather just get some sleep and spare myself the embarrassment of the slurred speech and random falling down and barfiness that always seem to result when I collide with champagne. But he kept asking, because he obviously missed that whole “I don’t give a shit” part and also because he really, desperately wanted me to ask him about HIS plans for New Year’s, which I DID NOT DO and would NEVER DO unless someone set me on fire and told me the only way they would extinguish me is if I asked the Creepy Dude about his plans for New Year’s. And even THEN I’d have to ask for a little time to think about it.
And you probably think it’s just because I don’t want to give him the satisfaction, but really it’s because I’m absolutely terrified that his New Year’s plans might involve some kind of diaper and top hat. And if you have a mental image of that floating around in your head now, you’re welcome.
Happy New Year!