Now begins the time of year I dread.
Whereas most people feel a sort of apprehension when it comes to the holidays, I actually enjoy them. It's only when they start nearing an end that I start feeling nervous.
And that's all because of one awful night.
New Year's Eve.
I don't know if my ancestors opened the tomb of a mummy on New Year's Eve a hundred years ago, or if everybody just has one holiday they don't enjoy, but I can't seem to ring in the New Year right no matter what I do.
Every year on New Year's Eve, I find myself in some sort of awful predicament.
It all started my freshman year of college--the first year I was actually able to go out and do something fun for New Year's Eve.
I had three parties lined up and a date for the night. I was good to go.
Until my car broke down at the first party--the party I only wanted to spend five minutes at because I didn't know anybody there aside from the host.
I was supposed to pick my date up at the second party. Instead, I ended up spending New Year's Eve in a basement waiting for AAA stuck on a couch between two couples who were making out and inadvertently groping me while trying to grope each other.
The following year I did wind up at a party I wanted to be at, but I made the mistake of agreeing to be set up on a blind date.
That's right--I agreed to a blind date for New Year's Eve.
I'm a bit superstitious so I figured anything was better than not having someone to kiss at midnight.
Oh, how wrong I was.
My date ended up talking incessantly about the rash they had recently acquired--in detail, and when the ball dropped, so did any chance that I'd be kissing anyone.
The following year I was supposed to meet some friends at a club, only to get there an hour late when--yup, you guessed it--my car broke down, and the club was at capacity.
That meant I was out on the curb when the clock struck twelve listening to people inside celebrate while two girls in line next to me argued over which one of them the bouncer was "eyeing."
The final straw was last year, when five friends canceled five separate parties due to food poisoning, a break-up, an eviction, termites, and sheer laziness.
I ended up walking around downtown Providence hoping that the New Year's Eve fairy would take pity on me and have a fun adventure fall on me like a piece of airplane refuse.
Instead, I was at a bus station when cheers of "Happy New Year" were shouted all over by people who obviously do not suffer from the New Year's Eve curse.
I think this year I may just sleep through the whole thing, and save myself the anguish.
It's always disheartening starting the year off with so much bad luck.
Then again, there's always that trip to Times Square I've been meaning to take...
Whereas most people feel a sort of apprehension when it comes to the holidays, I actually enjoy them. It's only when they start nearing an end that I start feeling nervous.
And that's all because of one awful night.
New Year's Eve.
I don't know if my ancestors opened the tomb of a mummy on New Year's Eve a hundred years ago, or if everybody just has one holiday they don't enjoy, but I can't seem to ring in the New Year right no matter what I do.
Every year on New Year's Eve, I find myself in some sort of awful predicament.
It all started my freshman year of college--the first year I was actually able to go out and do something fun for New Year's Eve.
I had three parties lined up and a date for the night. I was good to go.
Until my car broke down at the first party--the party I only wanted to spend five minutes at because I didn't know anybody there aside from the host.
I was supposed to pick my date up at the second party. Instead, I ended up spending New Year's Eve in a basement waiting for AAA stuck on a couch between two couples who were making out and inadvertently groping me while trying to grope each other.
The following year I did wind up at a party I wanted to be at, but I made the mistake of agreeing to be set up on a blind date.
That's right--I agreed to a blind date for New Year's Eve.
I'm a bit superstitious so I figured anything was better than not having someone to kiss at midnight.
Oh, how wrong I was.
My date ended up talking incessantly about the rash they had recently acquired--in detail, and when the ball dropped, so did any chance that I'd be kissing anyone.
The following year I was supposed to meet some friends at a club, only to get there an hour late when--yup, you guessed it--my car broke down, and the club was at capacity.
That meant I was out on the curb when the clock struck twelve listening to people inside celebrate while two girls in line next to me argued over which one of them the bouncer was "eyeing."
The final straw was last year, when five friends canceled five separate parties due to food poisoning, a break-up, an eviction, termites, and sheer laziness.
I ended up walking around downtown Providence hoping that the New Year's Eve fairy would take pity on me and have a fun adventure fall on me like a piece of airplane refuse.
Instead, I was at a bus station when cheers of "Happy New Year" were shouted all over by people who obviously do not suffer from the New Year's Eve curse.
I think this year I may just sleep through the whole thing, and save myself the anguish.
It's always disheartening starting the year off with so much bad luck.
Then again, there's always that trip to Times Square I've been meaning to take...
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